fa^(cA_.j£o^ 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


SIR  WALTER  SCOTT,  BART. 


WITH   A  MEMOIR. 


Neto  anti   Complete  lEtutton. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

PORTER     and     COATES. 


V 

1W 


t 


PHILADELPHIA: 

Press  of  Heney  B.  Ashmead. 


PREFACE. 


This  Volume  contains  a  more  complete  Collection  of  Sir  Walter's  Poetry  than 
has  ever  before  appeared.  In  addition  to  the  great  Metrical  Romances,  and  the  Miscel- 
laneous Pieces,  given  in  the  later  Editions,  it  includes,  for  the  first  time,  the  Songs  and 
Fragments  scattered  over  his  Novels,  and  various  Specimens,  both  Serious  and  Comic, 
which  were  originally  printed  in  the  Memoirs  of  his  Life. 

As  the  object  in  the  present  Collection  has  been  to  adhere  to  the  original  productions  of 
Sir  Walter,  the  old  parts  of  the  Romance  of  Sir  Tristrem  are  not  given,  nor  the  Contri- 
butions to  the  Minstrelsy  by  other  hands. 

In  the  arrangement  of  annotations,  it  has,  upon  mature  consideration,  been  thought  most 
advisable  to  follow  as  nearly  as  possible  the  plan  originally  adopted  by  the  Poet  himself. 
The  Author's  longer  Notes,  so  rich  in  historical  and  biographical  interest,  are  given  in 
Appendices  to  the  several  Romances,  and  other  larger  performances ;  the  short  onesy  explan- 
atory chiefly  of  ancient  words  and  phrases,  at  the  bottom  of  the  page.  To  avoid  confusion, 
the  Notes  of  the  Editor  are  given  with  these  last. 

The  references  to  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  apply  to  the  Second  Edition,  1839. 

John  G.  Lockhart. 

1841. 


(i) 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

MEMOIR, vii 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL,     .  1 

Advertisement  to  Edition  1833,  .        .  1 

Introduction  to  Edition  1S30,       .       .  l 

Dedication,        ...               .       .  7 

Preface  to  the  First  Edition,    .       .  7 

Introduction, 7 

Canto  i 9 

Canto  ii 14 

Canto  hi 19 

Canto  iv 23 

Canto  v 30 

Canto  vi 35 

Appendix, 44 

MARMION, 73 

Notice  to  Edition  1833,  ....      73 
Introduction  to  Edition  1830,      .       .      73 

Dedication,       , 76 

Advertisement  to  the  First  Edition,      76 
Introduction  to  Canto  i.— To  Wil- 
liam Stewart  Rose,  Esq.     .       .     76 
Canto  i. — The  Castle,  ....      80 
Introduction  to  Canto  ii.— To  the 
Rev.  John  Marriott,  A.M.  .       .      80 
Canto  ii. — The  Convent,     ...      89 
Introduction  to  Canto  hi. — To  Wil- 
liam Erskine,  Esq.         ...      96 
Canto  hi. — The  Hostel,  or  Inn,       .      99 
Introduction  to  Canto  iv. — To  James 

Skene,  Esq 105 

Canto  iv. — The  Camp,  .       .       .        .108 
Introduction  to  Canto  v.— To  George 

Ellis,  Esq 116 

Canto  v.— The  Court,  .        .        .        .118 
Introduction  to  Canto  vi. — To  Rich- 
ard Heber,  Esq 128 

Canto  vi.— The  Battle,       .        .        .131 
Appendix, 145 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE,        .        .  .173 

Introduction  to  Edition  1830,      .  .173 

Dedication, 176 

Argument, .176 

Canto  l— The  Chase,  .       .       .  .177 

Canto  ii.— The  Island,        .       .  .185 

Canto  hi.— The  Gathering,       .  .194 


PAGE 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 

Canto  iv.— The  Prophecy,.       .       .  202 

Canto  v.— The  Combat,       .       .       .211 

Canto  vi.— The  Guard-Room,     .       .  220 

Appendix, 231 

THE  VISION  OF  DON  RODERICK,  .        .  263 

Preface, 263 

DEpiCATION, 264 

Introduction 264 

The  Vision, 266 

Conclusion, 274 

Appendix, 278 

ROKEBY, 285 

Notice  to  Edition  1833,  .       .       .       .285 

Introduction  to  Edition  1830,      .        .  285 

Dedication, 289 

Advertisement, 289 

Canto  i 289 

Canto  ii 299 

Canto  hi. 307 

Canto  iv 316 

Canto  v 324 

Canto  vi .335 

Appendix, 349 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN,  .        .        .  373 

Preface  to  the  First  Edition,    .        .  373 

Introduction, 376 

Canto  i 377 

Canto  ii 382 

Canto  hi 390 

Conclusion,     ...*..  401 

Appendix, 404 

THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES,        .        .        .407 
Notice  to  Edition  1833,  .        .       .        .407 

Introduction  to  Edition  1830,      .       .  407 

Advertisement  to  the  First  Edition,  409 

Canto  i 410 

Canto  ii 417 

Canto  in 424 

Canto  iv 432 

Canto  v 441 

Canto  vi 449 

Conclusion, 460 

Appendix, 463 

(iii) 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO,      .        .        .499 

Dedication, 499 

Advertisement, 499 

Conclusion, 506 

Appendix, 508 

HAROLD  THE  DAUNTLESS,        .        .        .511 

Introduction, 512 

Canto  i 513 

Canto  ii 516 

Canto  hi 520 

Canto  iv 523 

Canto  v 526 

Canto  vi 530 

Conclusion, 534 

CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  THE  BORDER  MIN- 
STRELSY. 
Introductory   Remarks  on   Popular 

Poetry, ,  .  537 

Appendix, 552 

Essay  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient 

Ballad, 554 

Appendix, 569 

Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad. 
Thomas  the  Rhymer,  Part  I.     .        .        .572 

Part  II.    .         .        .  574 
Part  in.  .        .        .581 

Appendix, 583 

Glenfinlas ;  or,  Lord  Ronald's  Coronach, .  586 

Appendix, 590 

The  Eve  of  St.  John 591 

Appendix, 594 

Cadyow  Castle, 595 

Appendix, 599 

The  Gray  Brother, 601 

Appendix, 603 

War-Song  of  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light 

Dragoons, 604 

BALLADS   TRANSLATED  OR    IMITATED 
FROM  THE  GERMAN,  &c. 

William  and  Helen, 606 

The  Wild  Huntsman, 610 

The  Fire-King, 612 

Frederick  and  Alice, 614 

The  Battle  of  Sempach,        ....  615 

The  Noble  Moringer 618 

TheErl-King 622 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES, 

in  the  Order  of  their  Composition  or 

Publication. 

Juvenile  Lines.    From  Virgil.     1782,  .        .  623 

On  a  Thunder  Storm, 623 

On  the  Setting  Sun, 623 

The  Violet, 623 

To  a  Lady,  with  Flowers  from  a  Roman 

Wall 624 


PAGE 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Bothwell  Castle, 624 

The  Shepherd's  Tale, 624 

Cheviot 627 

The  Reiver's  Wedding,         .        .        .        .627 

The  Bard's  Incantation,        ....  628 

Hellvellyn, 629 

The  Dying  Bard, 630 

The  Norman  Horse-shoe,      ...        -  630 

The  Maid  of  Toro, 631 

The  Palmer, 631 

The  Maid  of  Neidpath 632 

Wandering  Willie, 632 

Health  to  Lord  Melville,  1806,     .        .        .633 

Hunting  Song, 634 

The  Resolve, 634 

Epitaph,  designed  for  a  Monument  in  Lich- 
field Cathedral,  at  the  Burial-place  of  the 
family  of  Miss  Seward,      ....  635 
Prologue  to  Miss  Baillie's  Play  of  the  Fa- 
mily Legend, 635 

The  Poacher, 636 

Song — "Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that 

mortified  air," 637 

The  Bold  Dragoon ;  or,  The  Plain  of  Badajos,  637 

On  the  Massacre  of  Glencoe,         .        .        .  638 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that. — A  new  song  to 

an  old  tune, 639 

Song,  for  the  Anniversary  Meeting  of  the 

Pitt  Club  of  Scotland 640 

Pharos  Loquitur, 640 

Lines    addressed    to    Ranald    Macdonald, 

Esq.,  of  Stafifa, 641 

Letter  in  Verse,  on  the  Voyage  with  the 
Commissioners  of  Northern  Lights. — To 

his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch,  1814,  .  641 


From  Waverley. 

Bridal  Song,        .... 

Waverley, 

Davie  Gellatley's  Song, 

Scene  in  Luckie  Macleary's  Tavern, 

Hie  away,  hie  away,  . 

St.  Swithin's  Chair,    . 

Davie  Gellatley's  Song, 

Janet  Gellatley's  alleged  Witchcraft 

Flora  Maclvor's  Song, 

Lines  on  Captain  Wogan,  . 

Follow  me,  follow  me, 


642 
643 
643 
644 
644 
644 
645 
645 
645 
646 
647 


The  Author  of  Waverley?    .        .        .        .647 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kin- 
tail.— From  the  Gaelic,      .        .        .        .647 
Imitation  of  the  preceding  Song,  .        .        .    647 
War-Song  of  Lachlan,  High  Chief  of  Mac- 
lean.— From  the  Gaelic,     ....    648 

Saint  Cloud, 648 

The  Dance  of  Death, 649 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Romance  of  Dunois,      .....  650 

The  Troubabour, 651 

From  the  French, 651 

Song,  on  the  lifting  of  the  Banner  of  the 
House  of  Buccleuch,  at  a  great  Foot-Ball 

Match  on  Carterhaugh,      ....  651 

Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief,  ....  652 


From  Guy  Mannering. 
Songs  of  Meg  Merrilies— 

Nativity  of  Harry  Bertram,   .         .  .  652 

Twist  ye,  Twine  ye,         ...  .  653 

The  Dying  Gipsy  Smuggler,  .        .  .  653 

The  Prophecy 653 

Songs  of  Dirk  Hatteraick  and  Glossin,  .  653 

The  Return  to  Ulster, 654 

Jock  of  Hazeldean, 654 

Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,        ....    655 

Nora's  Vow, 655 

MacGregor's  Gathering,  ....  656 
Verses  composed  for  the  occasion,  and 
sung  by  a  select  band,  after  the  Dinner 
given  by  the  Lord  Provost  of  Edin- 
burgh to  the  Grand  Duke  Nicholas  of 
Russia  and  his  Suite,  19th  December, 
1816, 656 

From  the  Antiquary. 

Time, 657 

Epitaph  on  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell,        .         .  657 

Elspeth's  Ballad, 657 

Mottoes,  1-20, 658 

From  the  Black  Dwarf. 

Mottoes,  1,  2, 660 

From  Old  Mortality. 

Major  Bellenden's  Song,          .         .         .  660 

Verses  found  in  Both  well's  Pocket-book,  660 

Epitaph  on  Balfour  of  Burley,       .        .  660 

Mottoes,  1,  2,  3, 661 

The    Search    after    Happiness;    or,   The 

Quest  of  Sultaun  Solimaun,  .        .        .  661 
Mr.  Kemble's  Farewell  Address  on  taking 

leave  of  the  Edinburgh  Stage,  .  .  665 
Lines  written  for  Miss  Smith,  .  .  .  665 
The  Sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill,  .  .  666 
The  Monks  of  Bangor's  March,  .  .  666 
Letter  to  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch,            667 

From  Rob  Roy. 

To  the  Memory  of  Edward  the  Black 

Prince, .    667 

Translation  from  Ariosto,       .        .        .    668 
Mottoes,  1-7, 668 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Epilogue  to  the  Appeal,     ....  669 

Mackrimmon's  Lament,     ....  669 

Donald  Caird's  Come  again,       .        .        .  670 

From  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian. 

Madge  Wildfire's  Songs,     ....    670 
Mottoes,  1-5 672 

From  the  Bride  of  Lammermoor. 

Lucy  Ashton's  Song,           ....  672 

Norman  the  Forester's  Song,     .        .        .  672 

.  The  Prophecy, 672 

Mottoes,  1-6 672 

From  A  Legend  of  Montrose. 

Ancient  Gaelic  Melody 673 

The  Orphan  Maid,      .        .        .        .        .673 
Mottoes,  1,  2,  3, 674 

From  Ivanhoe. 

The  Crusader's  Return,      ....    674 
The  Barefooted  Friar,        .        .        .        .675 

Saxon  War-Song, 675 

Rebecca's  Hymn 676 

The  Black  Knight's  Song,  .         .        .676 

Song— The  Black  Knight  and  Wamba,     .    677 

Funeral  Hymn, "     677 

Mottoes,  1-9 677 


Epitaph  on  Mrs.  Erskine, 


678 


From  the  Monastery. 

Songs  of  the  White  Lady  of  Avenel — 

On  Tweed  River, 678 

To  the  Sub-Prior 679 

Halbert's  Incantation,    ....  679 

ToHalbert, 679 

Halbert's  Second  Interview,  .        .        .  680 

To  Mary  Avenel, 681 

To  Edward  Glendinning,        .        .        .  681 

The  White  Lady's  Farewell,          .        .  682 

Border  Ballad, 682 

Mottoes,  1-20, 682 

From  the  Abbot. 

The  Pardoner's  Advertisement,         .        .  684 

Mottoes,  1-17 684 

From  Kenilworth. 

Goldthred's  Song, 685 

Speech  of  the  Porter  at  Kenilworth,         .  685 

Mottoes,  1-13, 686 


From  the  Pirate. 

The  Song  of  the  Tempest, 

Claud  Halcro's  Song, 

The  Song  of  Harold  Harfager, 


687 
687 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 
Song  of  the  Mermaids  and  Mermen, 

Noma's  Song, 

Claud  Halcro  and  Noma,  .... 
Song  of  the  Zetland  Fishermen, 

Cleveland's  Songs, 

Claud  Halcro's  Verses 

Noma's  Incantations,         .... 
Bryce  Snailsfoot's  Advertisement,    . 
Mottoes,  1-12,      .        .        •        .        .        . 


.  689 

.  689 

.  690 

.  690 

.  691 

.  691 

.  692 

.  692 

On  Ettrick  Forest's  Mountains  Dun,    .        .  694 

Farewell  to  the  Muse,   .....  694 

The  Maid  of  Isla, 694 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come,         .        .        .  695 

Part  Second,    .  696 


From  the  Fortunes  of  Nigel. 
Mottoes,  1-24,     ... 


From  Peveril  of  the  Peak. 
Mottoes,  1-19, 


697 


699 


From  Quentin  Durward. 

Song — County  Guy, 701 

Mottoes,  1-10, 701 

From  St.  Ronan's  Well. 

Mottoes,  1-9, 702 


The  Bannatyne  Club, 703 

Letter  in  Verse  to  J.  G.  Lockhart,  Esq.,  on 

the  composition  of  Maida's  Epitaph,  .  704 
Lines,  addressed  to    Monsieur  Alexandre, 

the  celebrated  Ventriloquist,  .  .  .  705 
Epilogue  to  the  Drama  founded  on  "St. 

Ronan's  Well," 705 


Epilogue  (Queen  Mary), 

From  Redgauntlet. 

"  As  Lords  their  Laborers'  hire  delay," 

From  the  Betrothed. 
Song — Soldier,  Wake, 

The  Truth  of  Woman,    . 
I  ask'd  of  my  Harp, 


706 


706 


.  707 

.  707 

.  707 

Mottoes,  1-6, 708 

From  the  Talisman. 

Ahriman, 708 

Song  of  Blondel— The  Bloody  Vest,         .  709 

The  Bloody  Vest— Fytte  Second,    .        .  709 

Mottoes,  1-10, 710 


Lines—"  When  with  Poetry  dealing,"  . 


711 


From  Woodstock. 

An  hour  with  thee 711 

Mottoes,  1-8, 711 


LYRICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  PIECES. 

Lines  to  Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp,         .        .        .  ', 

From  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 

Mottoes, 712 

From  the  Fair  Maid  of  Perth. 

The  Lay  of  Poor  Louise,   .        .        .        .713 

Death  Chant, 713 

Song  of  the  Glee-Maiden,  ....  714 

Mottoes,  1-5, 714 


The  Death  of  Keeldar, 714 

From  Annie  of  Geierstein. 

The  Secret  Tribunal, 715 

Mottoes,  1-12 716 


The  Foray, 717 

Inscription  for  the  Monument  of  the  Rev. 

George  Scott, 717 

Lines  on  Fortune, 717 

From  Count  Robert  of  Paris. 

Mottoes,  1-13, 717 

From  Castle  Dangerous. 

Mottoes,  1-5, 719 

DRAMATIC  PIECES. 

Halidon  Hill;   a  Dramatic   Sketch 
from  Scottish  History,      .       .       .721 

Preface, 721 

Act  I.— Scene  I., 723 

MacDuff's  Cross, 738 

Introduction, 738 

Dedication, 738 

Scene  I., 738 

The  Doom  of  Devorgoil,       .       .       .742 

Preface, 742 

Act  I. — Scene  I., 742 


Auchindrane;  or,  The  Ayrshire 

Tragedy, 

Preface, 

Act  I. — Scene  I.,     . 


The  House  of  Aspen, 
Advertisement, 
Act  I. — Scene  I., 


770 
770 
77t3 

796 


Goetz   OF    Berlichingen,    with    the 

Iron  Hand, 815 

Preface 815 

Act  I. — Scene  I., 817 


INDEX, 


853 


MEMOIR  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


Sir  Walter  Scott  was  born  at  Edinburgh  on  the  15th  of  August,  1771,  the  same  day 
which  gave  birth  to  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  "My  birth,"  says  he,  "was  neither  distinguished 
nor  sordid.  According  to  the  prejudices  of  my  country,  it  was  esteemed  gentle,  as  I  was 
connected,  though  remotely,  with  ancient  families,  both  by  my  father's  and  mother's  side." 
His  paternal  great-grandfather — a  cadet  of  the  border  family  of  Harden — was  sprung  in  the 
fourteenth  century  from  the  great  house  of  Buccleuch ;  his  grandfather  became  a  farmer  in 
Roxburghshire;  and  his  father,  Walter  Scott,  was  a  writer  to  the  signet  in  the  Scottish 
capital.  His  mother,  Anne  Rutherford,  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the  medical  professors 
in  the  university  of  Edinburgh. 

Neither  Scott's  poetical  turn  nor  his  extraordinary  powers  of  memory  seem  to  have  been 
inherited  from  either  of  his  parents.  His  early  years  displayed  little  precocity  of  talent ; 
and  the  uneventful  tenor  of  his  childhood  and  youth  seemed  little  calculated  to  awaken  in 
his  mind  a  love  of  the  imaginative  or  romantic. 

Before  he  had  completed  his  second  year,  delicacy  of  constitution,  and  lameness  which 
proved  permanent,  assailed  him,  and  soon  afterwards  caused  his  removal  to  the  country. 
There,  at  his  grandfather's  farm-house  of  Sandyknowe,  situated  beneath  the  crags  of  a  ruined 
baronial  tower,  and  overlooking  a  district  famous  in  border  history,  the  poet  passed  his  child- 
hood till  about  his  eighth  year,  with  scarcely  any  interruption  but  a  year  at  Bath.  At  this 
early  age  was  evinced  his  warm  sympathy  with  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  nature ;  and  the 
ballads  and  legends,  recited  to  him  amid  the  scenes  in  which  their  events  were  laid,  co- 
operated in  after  days  with  family  and  national  pride  to  decide  the  bent  of  the. border 
minstrel's  fancy. 

His  health  being  partially  confirmed,  he  was  recalled  home ;  and  from  the  end  of  1778 
till  1783  his  education  was  conducted  in  the  High  School  of  Edinburgh,  with  the  assistance 
of  a  tutor  resident  in  his  father's  house.  Prior  to  this  change,  he  had  shown  a  decided 
inclination  towards  literary  pursuits ;  but  now,  introduced  with  imperfect  preparation  into  a 
large  and  thoroughly  trained  class,  consisting  of  boisterous  boys,  his  childish  zeal  for  learn- 
ing seems  to  have  been  quenched  by  ambition  of  another  kind.  His  memory,  it  is  true,  was 
still  remarkable,  and  procured  for  him  from  his  master  the  title  of  historian  of  the  class ; 
while  he  produced  some  school-verses,  both  translated  and  original,  at  least  creditable  for  a 
boy  of  twelve.  Even  his  intellectual  powers,  however,  were  less  active  in  the  proper  busi- 
ness of  the  school  than  in  enticing  his  companions  from  their  tasks  by  merry  jests  and  little 
stories ;  and  his  place  as  a  scholar  rarely  rose  above  mediocrity.  But  his  reputation  stood 
high  in  the  play-ground,  where,  possessed  of  unconquerable  courage,  and  eager  to  defeat  the 
scorn  which  his  physical  defects  excited,  he  performed  hazardous  feats  of  agility,  and  gained 

'(vii) 


via  MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 

pugilistic  trophies  over  comrades  who,  that  they  might  have  no  unfair  advantage  over  the 
lame  boy,  fought,  like  him,  lashed  face  to  face  on  a  plank.     At  home,  his  tutor,  a  zealou 
Presbyterian,  instructed  him,  chiefly  by  conversation  in  the  facts  of  Scottish  history,  thougl 
without  being  able  to  shake  those  opinions  which  the  boy  had  already  taken  up  as  an  inher- 
itance from  his  Jacobite  ancestors.     At  every  interval  also  which  could  be  stolen  from  th< 
watchfulness  of  his  elders,  he  eagerly  pursued  a  course  of  reading  miscellaneous  and  undi- 
gested, embracing  much  that  to  most  minds  would  have  been  either  useless  or  positive!; 
injurious.     "I  left  the  High  School,"  says  he,  "with  a  great  quantity  of  general  information, 
ill  arranged,  indeed,  and  collected  without  system,  yet  deeply  impressed  upon  my  mind, 
readily  assorted  by  my  power  of  connection  and  memory,  and  gilded,  if  I  may  be  permitted 
to  say  so,  by  a  vivid  and  active  imagination." 

His  perusal  of  histories,  voyages,  and  travels,  fairy  tales,  romances,  and  English  poetry, 
was  continual  with  increasing  avidity  during  a  long  visit  which,  in  his  twelfth  year,  he  paid 
to  his  father's  sister  at  the  village  of  Kelso,  where  the  young  student  read  for  the  first  time, 
with  entranced  enthusiasm,  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry.  This  work,  besides  the 
delight  imparted  by  its  poems,  gave  new  dignity,  in  his  eyes,  to  his  favorite  Scottish  ballads, 
which  he  had  already  begun  to  collect  from  recitation,  and  to  copy  in  little  volumes,  several 
of  which  are  still  preserved.  "  To  this  period,  also,"  he  tells  us,  "  I  can  trace  distinctly  the 
awaking  of  that  delightful  feeling  for  the  beauties  of  natural  objects  which  has  never  since 
deserted  me.  The  romantic  feelings  which  I  have  described  as  predominating  in  my  mind 
naturally  rested  upon  and  associated  themselves  with  the  grand  features  of  the  landscape 
around  me ;  and  the  historical  incidents  or  traditional  legends  connected  with  many  of  them 
gave  to  my  admiration  a  sort  of  intense  impression  of  reverence,  which  at  times  made  my 
heart  feel  too  big  for  its  bosom.  From  this  time  the  love  of  natural  beauty,  more  especially 
when  combined  with  ancient  ruins,  or  remains  of  our  fathers'  piety  or  splendor,  became  with 
me  an  insatiable  passion,  which,  if  circumstances  had  permitted,  I  would  willingly  have 
gratified  by  travelling  over  half  the  globe." 

In  November,  1783,  Scott  became  a  student  in  the  university  of  Edinburgh,  where  he  seems 
to  have  attended  the  classes  of  Greek,  Latin,  and  logic,  during  one  session,  with  those  of  ethics 
and  universal  history  at  a  later  period,  while  preparing  for  the  bar.  At  college  the  scholastic 
part  of  his  education  proceeded  even  more  unprosperously  than  it  had  previously  done.  For 
science,  mental,  physical,  or  mathematical,  he  displayed  no  inclination  ;  and  in  the  acquisition 
of  languages,  for  which  he  possessed  considerable  aptitude,  he  was  but  partially  industrious 
or  successful.  Of  Greek,  as  his  son-in-law  and  biographer  admits,  he  had  in  later  life  forgotten 
the  very  alphabet.  He  had  indeed  entered  on  the  study  with  disadvantages  similar  to  those 
which  had  formerly  impeded  his  progress  in  Latin.  Inferior  to  his  competitors,  he  petulantly 
resolved  to  despise  the  study  ;  and  by  his  carelessness,  and  by  an  essay  maintaining  Ariosto 
to  be  a  better  poet  than  Homer,  he  provoked  Dr.  Dalziel  to  pronounce  of  him  "  that  dunce 
he  was,  and  dunce  he  would  remain."  His  knowledge  of  Latin  also  does  not  appear  to  have 
been  more  than  superficial,  although  we  are  informed  that  for  some  writers  in  that  tongue, 
especially  Lucan,  Claudian,  and  Buchanan,  he  had  in  after  life  a  decided  predilection.  About 
the  time  now  under  review,  he  also  acquired  French,  Italian,  and  Spanish,  all  of  which  he 
afterwards  read  with  sufficient  ease  ;  and  the  German  language  was  learned  a  few  years  later, 
but  never  critically  understood. 

During  a  severe  illness  between  his  twelfth  and  sixteenth  year  his  stores  of  romantic  and 
poetical  reading  received  a  vast  increase,  and  one  of  his  schoolfellows  has  given  an  interesting 


MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR.  ix 

account  of  excursions  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  city,  during  this  period,  when  the  two 
youths  read  poems  and  romances  of  knight-errantry,  and  exercised  their  invention  in  com- 
posing and  relating  to  each  other  interminable  tales  modelled  on  their  favorite  books.  The 
vocation  of  the  romance-writer  and  poet  of  chivalry  was  thus  already  fixed.  His  health 
likewise  became  permanently  robust,  and  the  lameness  in  one  leg,  which  was  the  sole  remnant 
of  his  early  complaints,  was  through  life  no  obstacle  to  his  habits  of  active  bodily  exertion, 
or  to  his  love  for  out-of-door  sports  and  exercise. 

The  next  step  in  his  life  did  not  seem  directed  towards  the  goal  to  which  all  his  favorite 
studies  pointed.  His  father,  a  formal  though  high-spirited  and  high-principled  man,  designed 
him  for  the  legal  profession ;  and,  although  he  was  desirous  that  his  son  should  embrace  the 
highest  department  of  it,  considered  it  advisable,  according  to  a  practice  not  uncommon  in 
Scotland,  that  he  should  be  prepared  for  the  bar  by  an  education  as  an  attorney.  Accord- 
ingly, in  May,  1786,  Scott,  then  nearly  fifteen  years  old,  was  articled,  for  five,  y^ars  as  an 
apprentice  to  his  father,  in  whose  chambers  he  continued  to  discharge  the  humble  duties  of 
a  clerk,  until,  about  the  year  1790,  he  had,  with  his  father's  approbation,  finally  resolved  on 
coming  to  the  bar.  Of  the  amount  of  the  young  poet's  professional  industry  during  those 
years  of  servitude  we  possess  conflicting  representations;  but  many  circumstances  in  his 
habits,  many  peculiarities  in  the  knowledge  he  exhibits  incidentally  in  his  works,  and  per- 
haps even  much  of  his  resolute  literary  industry,  may  be  safely  referred  to  the  period  of  his 
apprenticeship,  and  be  admitted  as  evidence  that  at  all  events  he  was  not  systematically  neg- 
ligent of  his  duties.  Historical  and  imaginative  reading,  however,  continued  to  be  prosecuted 
with  undiminished  ardor ;  summer  excursions  into  the  Highland  introduced  him  to  the  scenes 
and  to  more  than  one  of  the  characters  which  afterwards  figured  in  his  most  successful  works ; 
while  in  the  law-classes  of  the  university,  as  well  as  in  the  juvenile  debating  societies,  he 
formed,  or  renewed  from  his  school-days,  acquaintance  with  several  who  became  in  manhood 
his  cherished  friends  and  his  literary  advisers.  In  1791  the  Speculative  Society  made  him 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Jeffrey  and  those  other  young  men  whose  subsequent  celebrity  has  re- 
flected lustre  on  the  arena  of  their  early  training. 

Scott's  attempts  in  poetry  had  now  become  more  ambitious  ;  for,  about  the  completion  of 
his  fifteenth  year,  he  is  said  to  have  composed  a  poem  in  four  books  on  the  Couquest  of  Gra- 
nada, which,  however,  he  almost  immediately  burned,  and  no  trace  of  it  has  been  preserved. 
During  some  years  after  this  time,  we  hear  of  no  other  literary  compositions  than  essays  for 
the  debating  societies. 

In  July,  1792,  he  was  called  to  the  bar.  Immediately  after  his  first  circuit,  he  commenced 
that  series  of  "  raids,"  as  he  playfully  called  them,  or  excursions  into  the  secluded  border- 
districts,  which  in  a  few  years  enabled  him  to  amass  the  materials  for  his  first  considerable 
work.  His  walks  on  the  boards  of  the  Parliament  House,  the  Westminster  Hall  of  Scotland, 
if  they  gained  him  for  a  time  few  professional  fees,  speedily  procured  him  renown  among 
his  fellow-lawyers  as  a  story-teller  of  high  excellence ;  his  father's  connections  and  his  own 
friendships  opened  for  him  a  ready  admission  into  the  best  society  of  the  city,  in  which  his 
cheerful  temper  and  his  rich  store  of  anecdotes  made  him  universally  popular ;  and  his  Ger- 
man studies  produced,  in  1796,  his  earliest  poetical  efforts  that  were  published,  namely,  the 
translations  of  Burger's  ballads,  Lenore  and  the  Wild  Huntsman.  The  same  year  witnessed 
the  disappointment  of  a  long  and  fondly-cherished  hope,  by  the  marriage  of  a  young  lady, 
whose  image,  notwithstanding,  clung  to  his  memory  through  life,  and  inspired  some  of  the 
tenderest  strains  of  his  poetry.    In  the  summer  of  1797,  however,  on  a  visit  to  the  watering- 


x  MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 

place  of  Gilsland,  in  Cumberland,  he  became  acquainted  with  Charlotte  Margaret  Carpenter, 
a  young  lady  of  French  birth  and  parentage,  and  a  mutual  attachment  having  ensued,  they 
were  married  at  Carlisle  in  December  of  the  same  year. 

The  German  ballads  served  as  the  translator's  introduction  to  the  then  celebrated  Matthew 
Gregory  Lewis,  who  enlisted  him  as  a  contributor  to  his  poetical  Tales  of  Wonder ;  and  one 
cannot  now  but  smile  to  hear  of  the  elation  with  which  the  author  of  "Waverley  at  that  time 
contemplated  the  patronizing  kindness  extended  to  him  by  the  author  of  The  Monk.  Early 
in  1788  was  published  Scott's  translation  of  Goethe's  Goetz  von  Berlichingen,  which,  through 
Lewis's  assistance,  was  sold  to  a  London  bookseller  for  twenty-five  guineas ;  but,  though 
favorably  criticised,  it  was  coldly  received  by  the  public.  In  the  summer  of  1799,  the  poet 
wrote  those  ballads  which  he  has  himself  called  his  "  first  serious  attempts  in  verse " — the 
Glenfinlas,  the  Eve  of  St.  John,  and  the  Gray  Brother. 

After  Scott's  marriage,  several  of  his  summers  were  spent  in  a  pretty  cottage  at  Lasswade, 
near  Edinburgh,  where  he  formed,  besides  other  acquaintances,  those  of  the  noble  houses  of 
Melville  and  Buccleuch,  whose  influence  procured  for  him,  in  the  end  of  1799,  his  appoint- 
ment as  sheriff-depute  of  Selkirkshire,  an  office  imposing  little  duty,  while  it  yielded  a  per- 
manent salary  of  £300  per  annum.  His  father's  death  had  recently  bestowed  on  him  a  small 
patrimony  ;  his  wife  had  an  income  considerable  enough  to  aid  him  greatly ;  his  practice  as 
a  lawyer  yielded,  though  not  much,  yet  more  than  barristers  of  his  standing  can  usually 
boast  of;  and  altogether,  his  situation  in  life  was  strikingly  favorable  compared  with  that  of 
most  literary  men.  Still,  however,  though  now  twenty-eight  years  of  age,  he  had  done  nothln-i; 
to  found  a  reputation  as  a  man  of  letters;  and  there  appeared  as  yet  little  probability  that 
he  would  devote  himself  to  literature  as  a  profession,  or  consider  it  as  any  thing  more  than 
a  relaxation  for  those  leisure  hours  left  unoccupied  by  business,  and  by  the  enjoyments  of 

society. 

In  1800  and  1801  those  hours  were  employed  in  the  preparation  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy, 
the  first  two  volumes  of  which  appeared  in  the  beginning  of  the  next  year,  and  the  edition, 
consisting  of  eight  hundred  copies,  was  sold  off  before  its  close.  This  work,  the  earliest  which 
can  be  said  to  have  contributed  to  his  general  fame,  yielded  him  about  eighty  pounds  of  clear 
profit;  a  sum  far  inadequate  to  defray  the  expense  of  the  investigations  out  of  which  it 
sprang.  In  1803  it  was  completed  by  the  publication  of  the  third  volume.  Besides  the  value 
which  the  Minstrelsy  possesses  in  itself,  in  the  noble  antique  ballads,  so  industriously,  taste- 
fully, and  yet  conscientiously  edited,  in  the  curious  and  lively  information  which  overflows 
through  all  the  prose  annotations,  and  in  those  few  original  poems  which  gave  the  earliest 
and  most  significant  intimation  of  that  genius  which  as  yet  had  lurked  unseen,  the  work  has 
now  a  separate  value  and  interest,  as  forming  the  most  curious  of  all  .illustrations  for  the 
history  of  its  editor's  mind  and  of  his  subsequent  works.  "  One  of  the  critics  of  that  day," 
remarks  Mr.  Lockhart,  "  said  that  the  book  contained  '  the  elements  of  a  hundred  historical 
romances ; '  and  this  critic  was  a  prophetic  one.  No  person  who  has  not  gone  through  its 
volumes  for  the  express  purpose  of  comparing  their  contents  with  his  great  original  works 
can  have  formed  a  conception  of  the  endless  variety  of  incidents  and  images,  now  expanded 
and  emblazoned  by  his  mature  art,  of  which  the  first  hints  may  be  found  either  in  the  text 
of  those  primitive  ballads  or  in  the  notes  which  the  happy  rambles  of  his  youth  had  gathered 
together  for  their  illustration." 

But  before  the  publication  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  the  poet  had  begun  to  attempt  a 
higher  flight,     "  In  the  third  volume,"  says  he,  writing  to  his  friend  George  Ellis  in  1803, 


MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR.  Xl 

"  I  intend  to  publish  a  long  poem  of  my  own.  It  will  be  a  kind  of  romance  of  border  chiv- 
alry, in  a  light-horseman  sort  of  stanza."  This  border  romance  was  the  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  which,  however,  soon  extended  in  plan  and  dimensions,  and,  originating  as  a  ballad 
on  a  goblin  story,  became  at  length  a  long  and  varied  poem.  The  first  draught  of  it,  in  its 
present  shape,  was  written  in  the  autumn  of  1802,  and  the  whole  history  of  its  progress  has 
been  delightfully  told  by  the  author  himself,  and  is  well  illustrated  by  his  biographer. 

In  1803,  during  a  visit  to  London,  Scott,  already  familiarly  acquainted  with  Ellis,  Heber, 
and  other  literary  men,  and  now  possessing  high  reputation  based  upon  the  Minstrelsy,  was 
introduced  to  several  of  the  first  men  of  the  time ;  and  thenceforth,  bland  as  he  was  in  man- 
ner, and  kind  in  heart,  indefatigable  and  successful  in  his  study  of  human  character,  and 
always  willing  to  receive  with  cordiality  the  strangers  whom  his  waxing  fame  brought  about 
him,  it  is  not  surprising  to  find  that  not  to  know  personally  Walter  Scott  argued  one's  self 
unknown.  The  toleration  and  kindliness  of  his  character  are  illustrated  by  the  fact  that  firm 
as  his  own  political  opinions  were,  and  violently  as  excitement  sometimes  led  him  to  express 
them,  not  only  did  he  always  continue  on  friendly  terms  with  the  chief  men  of  the  opposite 
party  in  Edinburgh,  but  several  of  them  were  his  intimate  friends  and  associates ;  and  he 
even  was  for  some  years  an  occasional  contributor  to  the  Edinburgh  Review. 

In  1804  was  published  his  edition  of  the  ancient  poem  of  Sir  Tristrem,  so  valuable  for  its 
learned  dissertations,  and  for  that  admirable  imitation  of  the  antique  which  appears  as  a 
continuation  of  the  early  minstrel's  work. 

During  that  year  and  the  preceding,  the  Lay  was  freely  submitted  to  all  the  author's 
friends,  Wordsworth  and  Jeffrey  among  the  rest ;  and  after  undergoing  various  changes,  and 
receiving  enthusiastic  approval  in  several  quarters  from  which  commendation  was  wont  to 
issue  but  sparingly,  it  was  at  length  published,  in  the  first  week  of  1805.  The  poet,  now 
thirty-three  years  of  age,  took  his  place  at  once  as  a  classic  in  English  literature.  Its  circu- 
lation immediately  became  immense,  and  has  since  exceeded  that  of  any  other  English  poem. 

At  this  culminating  point  of  the  poet's  life,  we  must  turn  aside  from  the  narrative  of  his 
literary  triumphs,  to  notice  a  step  of  another  kind,  which  proved  the  most  important  he  ever 
took.  In  one  of  those  interesting  communications  of  1830  which  throw  so  much  light  on  his 
personal  history,  he  has  told  us  that,  from  the  moment  when  it  became  certain  that  literature 
was  to  form  the  principal  employment  of  his  days,  he  determined  that  it  should  at  least  not 
constitute  a  necessary  source  of  his  income.  Few  literary  men,  perhaps,  have  not  nourished 
a  wish  of  this  sort ;  but  very  few  indeed  have  possessed,  like  Scott,  the  means  of  converting 
the  desire  into  an  effectual  resolution.  In  1805,  as  his  biographer  tells  us,  he  was,  "  independ- 
ently of  practice  at  the  bar  and  of  literary  profits,  in  possession  of  a  fixed  revenue  of  nearly, 
if  not  quite,  £1000  a  year."  To  most  men  of  letters  this  income  would  have  appeared  afflu- 
ence ;  but  Scott  has  frankly  avowed  that  he  did  not  think  it  such.  His  mind  was  already 
filled  with  the  ambition,  not  of  founding  a  new  family  (for  that  was  too  mean  an  aim  for  his 
pride  of  birth  to  stoop  to),  but  of  adding  to  his  own  ancestral  pretensions  that  claim  to  respect 
which  ancient  pedigree  does  not  always  possess  when  it  stands  alone,  but  which  belongs 
to  it  beyond  challenge  when  it  is  united  with  territorial  possessions.  The  fame  of  a  great 
poet,  now  within  his  reach,  if  not  already  grasped,  seemed  to  him  a  little  thing  compared 
with  the  dignity  of  a  well-descended  and  wealthy  Scottish  landholder ;  and,  while  neither  he 
nor  his  friends  could  yet  have  foreseen  the  immensity  of  those  resources  which  his  genius  was 
afterwards  to  place  at  his  disposal  for  the  attainment  of  his  favorite  wish,  two  plans  occurred, 
and  were  executed,  which  promised  to  conduct  him  far  at  least  towards  the  goal. 


xii  MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 

The  first  of  these  was  the  obtaining  of  one  of  the  principal  clerkships  in  the  Scottish  Court  of 
Session,  offices  of  high  respectability,  the  duties  of  which  were  executed  at  a  moderate  cost 
of  time  and  trouble,  and  remunerated  at  that  time  by  an  income  of  about  £800  a  year,  which 
was  afterwards  increased  to  £1300.  This  object  was  attained  early  in  1806,  through  his 
ministerial  influence,  aided  by  the  consideration  paid  to  his  talents ;  although,  owing  to  a 
private  arrangement  with  his  predecessor,  he  did  not  receive  any  part  of  the  emoluments 
till  six  years  later. 

The  second  plan  was  of  a  different  sort,  being  in  fact  a  commercial  speculation.  James 
Ballantyne,  a  schoolfellow  of  Scott,  a  man  possessing  considerable  literary  talent,  having 
become  the  editor  and  printer  of  a  newspaper  in  Kelso,  had  been  employed  to  print  the  Min- 
strelsy, and  acquired  great  reputation  by  the  elegance  with  which  that  work  was  produced. 
Soon  afterwards,  in  pursuance  of  Scott's  advice,  he  removed  to  Edinburgh,  where,  under  the 
patronage  of  the  poet  and  his  friends,  and  assisted  by  his  own  character  and  skill,  his  print- 
ing business  accumulated  to  an  extent  which  his  capital,  even  with  pecuniary  aid  from  Scott, 
proved  inadequate  to  sustain.  An  application  for  a  new  loan  was  met  by  a  refusal,  accom- 
panied, however,  by  a  proposal  that  Scott  should  make  a  large  advance  on  condition  of  being 
admitted  as  a  partner  in  the  firm,  to  the  amount  of  a  third  share.  Accordingly,  in  May,  1805, 
Walter  Scott  became  regularly  a  partner  of  the  printing-house  of  James  Ballantyne  & 
Co.,  though  the  fact  remained  for  the  public,  and  for  all  his  friends  but  one,  a  profound 
secret.  "  The  forming  of  this  commercial  connection  was,"  says  his  son-in-law,  "  one  of  the 
most  important  steps  in  Scott's  life.  He  continued  bound  by  it  during  twenty  years,  and  its 
influence  on  his  literary  exertions  and  his  worldly  fortunes  was  productive  of  much  good 
and  not  a  little  evil.  Its  effects  were  in  truth  so  mixed  and  balanced  during  the  vicissitudes 
of  a  long  and  vigorous  career  that  I  at  this  moment  doubt  whether  it  ought,  on  the  whole, 
to  be  considered  with  more  of  satisfaction  or  of  regret." 

From  this  time  we  are  to  view  Scott  as  incessantly  engaged  in  that  memorable  course  of 
literary  industry  whose  toils  advancing  years  served  only  to  augment,  and  from  which  neither 
the  duties  of  his  two  professional  offices  of  clerk  of  session  and  sheriff,  nor  the  increasing 
claims  made  on  him  by  society,  were  ever  able  to  divert  him.  He  now  stood  deservedly  high 
in  the  favor  of  the  booksellers,  not  merely  as  a  poet  and  man  of  genius,  but  as  one  possessed 
of  an  extraordinary  mass  of  information,  and  of  such  habits  as  qualified  him  eminently  for 
turning  his  knowledge  to  account.  He  was  therefore  soon  embarked  in  undertakings,  not 
indeed  altogether  inglorious,  but  involving  an  amount  of  drudgery  to  which,  perhaps,  no 
man  of  equal  original  genius  has  ever  condescended.  The  earliest  of  these  was  his  edition 
of  Dryden,  which,  entered  upon  in  1805,  was  completed  and  published  in  1808. 

But  the  list  of  works  in  which  his  poetical  genius  shone  forth  continued  rapidly  to  increase 
amidst  his  multiplicity  of  other  avocations.  From  the  summer  of  1804  till  that  of  1812, 
the  spring  and  autumnal  vacations  of  the  court  were  spent  by  him  and  his  family  at  Ashestiel, 
a  small  mansion  romantically  overhanging  the  Tweed  some  miles  above  Melrose,  and  rented 
from  one  of  the  poet's  kinsmen.  In  this  beautiful  retreat,  at  intervals  during  twelve  months, 
was  chiefly  composed  the  magnificent  poem  of  Marmion,  which  was  published  in  the  beginning 
of  1808.  At  the  same  place,  likewise,  in  1805,  were  composed  the  opening  chapters  of  a 
novel  which,  on  the  disapproval  of  one  of  the  author's  critical  friends,  was  thrown  aside  and 
not  resumed  for  years. 

Scott's  commercial  engagements  must  now  again  be  adverted  to.  In  the  year  1808  he  took 
a  part,  perhaps  as  suggester,  certainly  as  a  zealous  promoter,  of  a  scheme  which  terminated  in 


MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR.  xm 

the  establishment  of  the  Quarterly  Review  in  London,  as  a  political  and  literary  counterpoise 
to  the  Edinburgh  Review,  the  advocate  of  Whig  opinions.  But  the  poet  had  other  than 
political  grounds  for  embarking  in  this  opposition.  He  had  seriously  quarrelled  with  the  firm 
of  Constable  &  Co.,  the  publishers  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  and  of  several  of  his  own 
;  earlier  works  ;  and  his  wish  to  check  the  enterprising  head  of  that  house  in  his  attempts  to 
obtain  a  monopoly  of  Scottish  literature  is  openly  avowed,  in  Scott's  correspondence  at  the 
time,  as  one  of  his  principal  motives  for  framing  another  scheme.  His  plan,  as  far  as  it  was 
explained  either  to  the  public  or  to  his  own  friends,  amounted  only  to  this :  That  a  new 
publishiug  house  should  be  set  up  in  Edinburgh,  under  the  management  of  John  Ballantyne, 
a  younger  brother  of  James ;  and  that  this  firm,  with  the  acknowledged  patronage  of  Scott 
and  his  friends,  should  engage  in  a  series  of  extensive  literary  undertakings,  including, 
amongst  others,  the  annual  publication  of  a  historical  and  literary  Register,  conducted  on 
Tory  principles.  But  unfortunately  both  for  Scott's  peace  of  mind,  and  ultimately  also  for 
his  worldly  fortunes,  there  was  here,  as  in  his  previously  formed  connection  with  the  same 
family,  an  undivulged  secret.  The  profits  of  the  printing-house  had  been  large ;  Scott's 
territorial  ambition  had  been  growing  faster  than  his  prospect  of  being  able  to  feed  it ;  and 
these  causes,  inextricably  mixed  up  with  pique  towards  Constable,  and  kindliness  for  his 
Kelso  proteges,  led  him  into  an  entanglement  which  at  length  ruined  both  himself  and  his 
associates.  By  the  contract  of  the  publishing  house  of  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.,  executed  in 
May,  1808,  Scott  became  a  secret  partner  to  the  extent  of  one  third.  The  unhappy  issue  of 
this  affair  will  force  itself  on  our  notice  at  a  later  stage. 

In  the  mean  time  we  see  him  prosecuting  for  some  time  his  career  of  poetical  success.  The 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  published  in  1810,  was  followed  by  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  in  1811 ; 
by  Rokeby  in  1812 ;  and  by  the  Bridal  of  Triermain,  which  came  out  anonymously,  in  1813. 
His  poems  may  be  said  to  have  closed  in  1815  with  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  and  the  Field  of 
Waterloo ;  since  Harold  the  Dauntless,  in  1817,  appeared  without  the  writer's  name,  and 
the  dramatic  poems  of  1822  and  1830  are  quite  unworthy  of  him.  In  the  midst  of  these 
poetical  employments  he  made  his  second  and  last  great  appearance  as  an  editor  and  com- 
mentator of  English  classics,  by  publishing  in  1814  his  edition  of  Swift. 

But  from  1815  till  1825,  Scott's  name  ceased  almost  entirely  to  be  before  the  public  as  an 
avowed  author ;  and  for  those  who  chose  to  believe  that  he  was  not  the  writer  of  the  Waverley 
Novels  it  must  have  been  a  question  not  a  little  puzzling,  if  it  ever  occurred  to  them,  how  this 
man,  who  wrote  with  such  ease,  and  seemed  to  take  such  pleasure  in  writing,  was  now  occu- 
pying his  hours  of  leisure.  A  few  articles  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  such  works  as  Paul's 
Letters,  and  annotations  in  occasional  editions  of  ancient  tracts,  accounted  but  poorly  for  his 
time  during  ten  years. 

About  1813  and  1814  his  popularity  as  a  poet  was  sensibly  on  the  decline,  partly  from 
causes  inherent  in  his  later  poems  themselves,  and  partly  from  extraneous  causes,  among 
which  a  prominent  place  belongs  to  the  appearance  of  Byron.  No  man  was  more  quick- 
sighted  than  Scott  in  perceiving  the  ebb  of  popular  favor ;  and  no  man  better  prepared  to 
meet  the  reverse  with  firmness.  He  put  in  serious  execution  a  threat  which  he  had  playfully 
uttered  to  one  of  his  own  family  even  before  the  publication  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  "  If 
I  fail  now,"  said  he, "  I  will  write  prose  for  life."  And  in  writing  prose  his  genius  discovered, 
on  its  first  attempt,  a  field  in  which  it  earned  triumphs  even  more  splendid  than  its  early  ones 
in  the  domain  of  poetry. 

The  chapters  of  fiction  begun  at  Ashestiel  in  1805,  which  had  already  been  resumed  and 


xiv  MEMOIR    OF    THE    AUTHOR. 

again  thrown  aside,  were  once  more  taken  up,  and  the  work  was  finished  with  miraculous 
rapidity ;  the  second  and  third  volumes  having  been  written  during  the  afternoons  of  three 
summer  weeks  in  1814.  The  novel  appeared  in  July  of  that  year,  under  the  title  of  Waverley, 
and  its  success  from  the  first  was  unequivocal  and  unparalleled.  In  the  midst  of  occupations 
which  would  have  taken  away  all  leisure  from  other  men,  the  press  poured  forth  novels  and 
romances  in  a  succession  so  rapid  as  to  deprive  of  some  part  of  its  absurdity  one  of  the  absurd 
suppositions  of  the  day,  namely,  that  more  persons  than  one  were  concerned  in  their  produc- 
tion. Guy  Manneriug,  the  second  of  the  series,  in  1815,  was  followed  in  1816  by  the  Anti- 
quary and  the  First  Series  of  the  Tales  of  My  Landlord.  Rob  Roy  appeared  in  1817  ;  the 
Second  Series  of  the  Tales  in  1818;  and  in  1819  the  Third  Series  and  Ivanhoe.  Two 
romances  a  year  now  seemed  to  be  expected  as  the  due  of  the  public.  The  year  1820  gave 
them  the  Monastery  and  the  Abbot;  1821,  Kenilworth  and  the  Pirate;  the  Fortunes  of 
Nigel,  coming  out  alone  in  1822,  was  followed  in  1823  by  no  fewer  than  three  works  of  fiction, 
Peveril  of  the  Peak,  Quentin  Durward,  and  St.  Ronan's  Well ;  and  the  comparatively  scanty 
number  of  novels  in  1824  and  1825,  which  produced  respectively  only  Redgauntlet  and  the 
Tales  of  the  Crusaders,  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  the  author  was  engaged  in  preparing 
a  large  historical  work. 

It  is  impossible  even  to  touch  on  the  mauy  interesting  details  which  Scott's  personal  history 
presents  during  these  brilliant  years ;  but  it  is  indispensable  to  say  that  his  dream  of  terri- 
torial acquisition  was  realized  with  a  splendor  which,  a  few  years  before,  he  himself  could 
not  have  hoped  for.  The  first  step  was  taken  in  1811,  by  the  purchase  of  a  small  farm  of  a 
hundred  acres  on  the  banks  of  the  Tweed,  which  received  the  name  of  Abbotsford,  and  in 
a  few  years  grew,  by  new  purchases,  into  a  large  estate.  The  modest  dwelling  first  planned 
on  this  little  manor,  with  its  two  spare  bed-rooms  and  its  plain  appurtenances,  expanded 
itself  in  like  manner  with  its  master's  waxing  means  of  expenditure,  till  it  had  become  that 
baronial  castle  which  we  now  reverentially  visit  as  the  minstrel's  home.  The  hospitality  of 
the  poet  increased  with  his  seeming  prosperity  ;  his  mornings  were  dedicated  to  composition, 
and  his  evenings  to  society ;  and  from  the  date  of  his  baronetcy  in  1820  to  the  final  catas- 
trophe in  1826,  no  mansion  in  Europe,  of  poet  or  of  nobleman,  could  boast  such  a  succession 
of  guests  illustrious  for  rank  or  talent  as  those  who  sat  at  Sir  Walter  Scott's  board,  and 
departed  proud  of  having  been  so  honored.  His  family  meanwhile  grew  up  around  him  ;  his 
eldest  son  and  daughter  married  ;  most  of  his  early  friends  continued  to  stand  by  his  side ; 
and  few  that  saw  the  poet  in  1825,  a  hale  and  seemingly  happy  man  of  fifty-four,  could  have 
guessed  that  there  remained  for  him  only  a  few  more  years  (years  of  mortification  and  of 
sorrow)  before  he  should  sink  into  the  grave,  struck  down  by  internal  calamity,  not  by 
the  gentle  hand  of  time. 

And  yet  not  only  was  this  the  issue,  but,  even  in  the  hour  of  his  greatest  seeming  prosperity, 
Scott  had  again  and  again  been  secretly  struggling  against  some  of  the  most  alarming  anxieties. 
On  details  as  to  his  unfortunate  commercial  engagements  we  cannot  here  enter.  It  is  enough 
to  say  that  the  printing  company  of  which  he  was  a  partner,  which  seems  to  have  had  con- 
siderable liabilities  even  before  the  establishment  of  the  publishing  house,  was  now  inextricably 
entangled  with  the  concerns  of  the  latter,  many  of  whose  largest  speculations  had  been  com- 
pletely unsuccessful ;  that,  besides  this,  both  firms  were  involved  to  an  enormous  extent  with 
the  house  of  Constable;  and  that  large  sums,  which  had  been  drawn  by  Sir  Walter  as 
copyright  money  for  the  novels,  had  been  paid  in  bills  which  were  still  current,  and  threat- 
ening to  come  back  on  him. 


MEMOIR   OF    THE    AUTHOR  XV 

In  the  beginning  of  1826,  Constable's  bouse  stopped  payment ;  and  the  failure  of  the  firm 
of  Ballantyne,  for  a  very  large  sum,  followed  instantly  and  of  course.  Probably  even  the 
utter  ruin  which  this  catastrophe  brought  upon  Scott  was  not  more  painful  to  him  than  the 
exposure  which  it  necessarily  involved  of  those  secret  connections  the  existence  of  which 
even  his  most  confidential  friends  could  till  now  have  at  most  only  suspected.  But  if  he 
had  been  imprudent,  he  was  both  courageous  and  honorable ;  and  in  no  period  of  his  life 
does  he  appear  to  such  advantage  as  when  he  stood,  as  now,  beggared,  humbled,  and  covered 
with  a  load  of  debt  from  which  no  human  exertions  seemed  able  to  relieve  him.  He  came 
forward  without  a  day's  delay,  and  refused  to  be  dealt  with  as  an  ordinary  bankrupt,  or  to 
avail  himself  of  those  steps  which  would  have  set  him  free  from  the  claims  of  his  creditors, 
on  surrendering  his  property  to  them.  He  insisted  that  these  claims  should,  so  far  as  regarded 
him,  be  still  allowed  to  subsist ;  and  he  pledged  himself  that  the  labor  of  his  future  life 
should  be  unremittingly  devoted  to  the  discharge  of  them.  He  did  more  than  fulfill  his  noble 
promise ;  for  the  gigantic  toil  to  which,  during  years  after  this,  he  submitted,  was  the  imme- 
diate cause  that  shortened  his  life.  His  self-sacrifice,  however,  effected  astonishingly  much 
towards  the  purpose  which  it  was  designed  to  serve.  Between  January,  1826,  and  January, 
1828,  he  had  realized  for  the  creditors  the  surprising  sum  of  nearly  £40,000 ;  and  soon  after 
his  death  the  principal  of  the  whole  Ballantyne  debt  was  paid  up  by  his  executors. 

We  have  now  briefly  to  describe  the  efforts  by  which  this  result  was  accomplished.  After 
spending  at  Abbotsford,  in  1826,  a  solitary  summer,  very  unlike  its  former  scenes  of  splendor, 
Scott,  returning  to  town  for  his  winter  duties,  and  compelled  to  leave  behind  him  his  dying 
wife  (who  survived  but  till  the  spring),  took  up  his  residence  in  lodgings,  and  there  continued 
that  system  of  incessant  and  redoubled  labor  which  he  had  already  maintained  for  months, 
and  maintained  afterwards  till  it  killed  him.  Woodstock,  published  in  1826,  had  been  written 
during  the  crisis  of  his  distresses ;  and  the  next  fruit  of  his  toil  was  the  Life  of  Napoleon, 
which,  commenced  before  the  catastrophe,  appeared  in  1827,  and  was  followed  by  the  First 
Series  of  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate ;  while  to  these  again  succeeded,  in  the  end  of  the  same 
year,  the  First  Series  of  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather.  The  year  1828  produced  the  Second 
Series  of  both  of  these  works ;  1829  gave  Anne  of  Geierstein,  the  first  volume  of  a  History 
of  Scotland  for  Lardner's  Cyclopaedia,  and  the  Third  Series  of  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 
The  same  year  also  witnessed  the  commencement  of  that  annotated  publication  of  the  col- 
lected novels  which,  together  with  the  similar  edition  of  the  poetical  works,  was  so  powerful 
an  instrument  in  effecting  Scott's  purpose  of  pecuniary  disentanglement.  In  1830  came  two 
Dramas,  the  Letters  on  Demonology,  the  Fourth  Series  of  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather,  and 
the  second  volume  of  the  History  of  Scotland.  If  we  are  disappointed  when  we  compare 
most  of  these  works  with  the  productions  of  younger  and  happier  days,  our  criticism  will  be 
disarmed  by  a  recollection  of  the  honorable  end  which  the  later  works  promoted  ;  and  as  to 
the  last  productions  of  the  mighty  master,  the  volumes  of  1831,  containing  Count  Robert  and 
Castle  Dangerous,  no  one  who  is  acquainted  with  the  melancholy  circumstances  under  which 
these  were  composed  and  published  will  be  capable  of  any  feeling  but  that  of  compassionate 
respect. 

The  dejection  which  it  was  impossible  for  Scott  not  to  feel  in  commencing  his  self-imposed 
task  was  materially  lightened,  and  his  health  invigorated,  by  an  excursion  to  London  and 
Paris  in  the  course  of  18§6,  for  the  purpose  of  collecting  materials  for  the  Life  of  Napoleon. 
In  1829  alarming  symptoms  appeared,  and  were  followed  by  a  paralytic  attack  in  February, 
1830,  after  which  the  tokens  of  the  disease  were  always  more  or  less  perceptible  to  his  family ; 


xvi  MEMOIR   OF   THE   AUTHOR. 

but  the  severity  of  his  tasks  continued  unremitted,  although  in  that  year  he  retired  from  his 
clerkship,  and  took  up  his  permanent  residence  at  Abbotsford.  The  mind  was  now  but  too 
evidently  shaken,  as  well  as  the  body ;  and  the  diary  which  he  kept  contains,  about  and  after 
this  time,  melancholy  misgivings  of  his  own  upon  this  subject.  In  April,  1831,  he  had  the 
most  severe  shock  of  his  disease  that  had  yet  attacked  him ;  and  having  been  at  length 
persuaded  to  abandon  literary  exertion,  he  left  Abbotsford  in  September  of  that  year,  on 
his  way  to  the  Continent,  no  country  of  which  he  had  ever  yet  visited,  except  some  parts  of 
France  and  Flanders.  This  new  tour  was  undertaken  with  the  faint  hope  that  abstinence 
from  mental  labor  might  for  a  time  avert  the  impending  blow.  A  ship  of  war,  furnished  for 
the  purpose  by  the  Admiralty,  conveyed  Sir  Walter  first  to  Malta  and  then  to  Naples ;  and 
the  accounts  which  we  have,  both  of  the  voyage  and  of  his  residence  in  Italy,  abound  with 
circumstances  of  melancholy  interest.  After  the  beginning  of  May,  1832,  his  mind  was 
completely  overthrown ;  his  nervous  impatience  forced  his  companions  to  hurry  him  home- 
ward from  Rome  through  the  Tyrol  to  Frankfort ;  in  June  they  arrived  in  London,  whence 
Sir  Walter  was  conveyed  by  sea  to  Edinburgh  ;  and,  having  reached  Abbotsford  on  the  11th 
of  July,  he  there  continued  to  exist,  with  few  intervals  of  consciousness,  till  the  afternoon  of 
the  21st  of  September,  when  he  expired,  having  just  completed  the  sixty-first  year  of  his  age. 
On  the  26th  he  was  buried  in  the  beautiful  ruins  of  Dryburgh  Abbey. — From  an  edition  oj 
Seotfs  Poetry,  published  by  Adam  and  Charles  Black,  Edinburgh,  1853. 


THE 


POETICAL   WORKS 


SIR  WALTER    SCOTT,  BART 


®i)c  JLap  of  tfte  Hast  jWtnsttcl 


A  POEM,   IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


Dum  relego,  scripsisse  pudet ;  quia  pluritna  cerno, 
Me  quoque,  qui  feci,  judice,  digna  lini. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  Introduction  to  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel,  written  in  April,  1830,  was  revised  by  the 
Author  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  when  he  also  made 
some  corrections  in  the  text  of  the  Poem,  and  several 
additions  to  the  notes.  The  work  is  now  printed  from 
his  interleaved  copy. 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the  original  MS.  of 
this  Poem  has  not  been  preserved.  We  are  thus 
denied  the  advantage  of  comparing  throughout  the 
Author's  various  readings,  which,  in  the  case  of  Mar- 
niion,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  &c. 
are  often  highly  curious  and  instructive. — Ed. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 
A  poem  of  nearly  thirty  years'  standing1  may  be 
supposed  hardly  to  need  an  Introduction,  since,  with- 
out one,  it  has  been  able  to  keep  itself  afloat  through 
the  best  part  of  a  generation.  Nevertheless,  as,  in 
the  edition  of  the  Waverley  Novels  now  in  course  of 
publication  [1830],  I  have  imposed  on  myself  the 
task  of  saying  something  concerning  the  purpose  and 
history  of  each,  in  their  turn,  I  am  desirous  that  the 
Poems  for  which  I  first  received  some  marks  of  the 
public  favor,  should  also  be  accompanied  with  such 
scraps  of  their  literary  history  as  may  be  supposed  to 
carry  interest  along  with  them.  Even  if  I  should  be 
mistaken  in  thinking  that  the  secret  history  of  what 
was  once  so  popular  may  still  attract  public  attention 

1  Published  in  quarto,  January,  1805. 


and  curiosity,  it  seems  to  me  not  without  its  use  to 
record  the  manner  and  circumstances  under  which 
the  present,  and  other  Poems  on  the  same  plan,  at- 
tained for  a  season  an  extensive  reputation. 

1  must  resume  the  story  of  my  literary  labors  at 
the  period  at  which  I  broke  off  in  the  Essay  on  the 
Imitation  of  Popular  Poetry  [see  post],  when  I  had 
enjoyed  the  first  gleam  of  public  favor,  by  the  success 
of  the  first  edition  of  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border.  The  second  edition  of  that  work,  published 
in  1803,  proved,  in  the  language  of  the  trade,  rather 
a  heavy  concern.  The  demand  in  Scotland  had  been 
supplied  by  the  first  edition,  and  the  curiosity  of 
the  English  was  not  much  awakened  by  poems  in 
the  rude  garb  of  antiquity,  accompanied  with  notes 
referring  to  the  obscure  feuds  of  barbarous  clans,  of 
whose  very  names  civilized  history  was  ignorant.  It 
was,  on  the  whole,  one  of  those  books  which  are  more 
praised  than  they  are  read.2 

At  this  time  I  stood  personally  in  a  different  posi- 
tion from  that  which  I  occupied  when  I  first  dipt  my 
desperate  pen  in  ink  for  other  purposes  than  those  of 
my  profession.  In  1796,  when  I  first  published  the 
translations  from  Burger,  I  was  an  insulated  indivi- 
dual, with  only  my  own  wants  to  provide  for,  and 
having,  in  a  great  measure,  my  own  inclinations  alone 
to  consult.  In  1803,  when  the  second  edition  of  the 
Minstrelsy  appeared,  I  had  arrived  at  a  period  of  life 
when  men,  however  thoughtless,  encounter  duties  and 
circumstances  which  press  consideration  and  plans 

2  "  The  '  Lay '  is  the  best  of  all  possible  comments  on  the 
Border  Minstrelsy." — British  Critic,  August,  1805. 


■1 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


of  life  upon  the  most  careless  minds.  I  had  been  for 
some  time  married — was  the  father  of  a  rising  family, 
and,  though  fully  enabled  to  meet  the  consequent 
demands  upon  me,  it  was  my  duty  and  desire  to  place 
myself  in  a  situation  which  would  enable  me  to  make 
honorable  provision  against  the  various  contingencies 
of  life. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed  that  the  attempts  which  I 
had  made  in  literature  had  been  unfavorable  to  my  suc- 
eess  at  the  bar.  The  goddess  Themis  is,  at  Edinburgh, 
and  I  suppose  everywhere  else,  of  a  peculiarly  jealous 
disposition.  She  will  not  readily  consent  to  share  her 
authority,  and  sternly  demands  from  her  votaries,  DOi 
only  that  real  duty  be  carefully  attended  to  and  dis- 
charged, but  that  a  certain  air  of  business  shall  be 
observed  even  in  the  midst  of  total  idleness.  It  is 
prudent,  if  not  absolutely  necessary,  in  a  young  bar- 
rister to  appear  completely  engrossed  by  his  profes- 
sion; however  destitute  of  employment  he  may  in 
reality  be,  he  ought  to  preserve,  if  possible,  the  ap- 
pearance of  full  occupation.  He  should,  therefore, 
seem  perpetually  engaged  among  his  law-papers,  dust- 
ing them,  as  it  were ;  and,  as  Ovid  advises  the  fair, 

"Si  nullus  erit  pulvis,  tainen  excute  nullum."1 

Perhaps  such  extremity  of  attention  is  more  especially 
required,  considering  the  great  number  of  counsellors 
who  are  called  to  the  bar,  and  how  very  small  a  pro- 
portion of  them  are  finally  disposed,  or  find  encou- 
ragement, to  follow  the  law  as  a  profession.  Hence  the 
number  of  deserters  is  so  great,  that  the  least  lingering 
look  behind  occasions  a  young  novice  to  be  set  down  as 
one  of  the  intending  fugitives.  Certain  it  is,  that  the 
Scottish  Themis  was  at  this  time  peculiarly  jealous  of 
any  flirtation  with  the  Muses  on  the  part  of  those  who 
had  ranged  themselves  under  her  banners.  This  was 
probably  owing  to  her  consciousness  of  the  superior 
attractions  of  her  rivals.  Of  late,  however,  she  has 
relaxed  in  some  instances  in  this  particular,  an  emi- 
nent example  of  which  has  been  shown  in  the  case  of 
my  friend  Mr.  Jeffrey,  who,  after  long  conducting 
one  of  the  most  influential  literary  periodicals  of  the 
age,  with  unquestionable  ability,  has  been,  by  the 
general  consent  of  his  brethren,  recently  elected  to 
be  their  Dean  of  Faculty,  or  President, — being  the 
highest  acknowledgment  of  his  professional  talents 
which  they  had  it  in  their  power  to  offer.2  But  this 
is  an  incident  much  beyond  the  ideas  of  a  period  of 
thirty  years'  distance,  when  a  barrister  who  really 
possessed  any  turn  for  lighter  literature,  was  at  as 
much  pains  to  conceal  it  as  if  it  had  in  reality  been 
something  to  be  ashamed  of;  and  I  could  mention 
more  than  oite  instance  in  which  literature  and  society 
have  suffered  much  loss,  that  jurisprudence  might  be 
enriched. 

1  "If  dust  be  none,  yet  brush  thai  none  away." 

2  Mr.  Jeffrey,  after  conducting  the  Edinburgh  Review  for 
twenty-seven  years,  withdrew  from  that  office  in  1829,  on 


Such,  however,  was  not  my  case;  for  the  reader 
will  nut  wonder  that  my  open  interference  with  mat- 
ters of  light  literature  diminished  my  employment  in 

the  weightier  matters  of  the  law.  Nor  did  the  solicit- 
ors, upon  whose  choice  the  counsel  takes  rank  in  his 
profession,  do  me  less  than  justice,  by  regarding 
others  among  my  contemporaries  as  fitter  to  discharge 
the  duty  due  to  their  clients  than  a  young  man  who 
was  taken  up  with  running  after  ballads,  whether 
Teutonic  or  national.  My  profession  and  I,  there- 
fore, came  to  a  stand  marly  upon  the  footing  which 
honest  Blender  consoled  himself  on  having  established 
with  Mistress  Anne  Page  :  "  There  was  no  great  love 
between  us  at  the  beginning,  and  it  pleased  Heaven 
to  decrease  it  on  farther  acquaintance."  1  became 
sensible  that  the  time  was  come  when  I  must  either 
buckle  myself  resolutely  to  the  "toil  by  day,  the 
lamp  by  night,"  renouncing  all  the  Delilahs  of  my 
imagination,  or  bid  adieu  to  the  profession  of  the  law, 
and  hold  another  course. 

I  confess  my  own  inclination  revolted  from  the 
more  severe  choice,  which  might  have  been  deemed 
by  many  the  wiser  alternative.  As  my  transgressions 
had  been  numerous,  my  repentance  must  have  been 
signalized  by  unusual  sacrifices.  I  ought  to  have 
mentioned  that,  since  my  fourteenth  or  fifteenth  year, 
my  health,  originally  delicate,  had  become  extremely 
robust.  From  infancy  I  had  labored  under  the  in- 
firmity of  a  severe  lameness,  but,  as  I  believe  is  usually 
the  case  with  men  of  spirit  who  stiller  under  per- 
sonal inconveniences  of  this  nature,  I  bad,  since  the 
improvement  of  my  health,  in  defiance  of  this  incapa- 
citating circumstance,  distinguished  myself  by  the 
endurance  of  toil  on  foot  or  horseback,  having  often 
walked  thirty  miles  a  day,  and  rode  upwards  of  a 
hundred,  without  resting.  In  this  manner  I  made 
many  pleasant  journeys  through  parts  of  the  country 
then  not  very  accessible,  gaining  more  amusement  and 
instruction  than  I  have  been  able  to  acquire  since 
I  have  travelled  in  a  more  commodious  manner.  I 
practiced  most  sylvan  sports  also,  with  some  success, 
and  with  great  delight.  But  these  pleasures  must 
have  been  all  resigned,  or  used  with  great  moderation, 
had  I  determined  to  regain  my  station  at  the  bar. 
It  was  even  doubtful  whether  1  could,  with  perfect 
character  as  a  jurisconsult,  retain  a  situation  in  a 
volunteer  corps  of  cavalry,  which  I  then  held.  The 
threats  of  invasion  were  at  this  time  instant  and 
menacing;  the  call  by  Britain  on  her  children  was 
universal,  and  was  answered  by  some,  who,  like  my- 
self, consulted  rather  their  desire  than  their  ability  to 
bear  arms.  My  services,  however,  were  found  useful 
in  assisting  to  maintain  the  discipline  of  the  corps, 
being  the  point  on  which  their  constitution  rendered 
them  most  amenable  to  military  criticism.     In  other 


being  elected  Dean  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates.  In  1830, 
miller  Earl  Grey's  Ministry.he  was  appointed  Lord  Advocate 
of  Scotland,  and,  in  1834,  a  Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice 
by  the  title  of  Lord  Jeffrey.— Ed. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  M1XSTKEL. 


respects,  the  squadron  was  a  fine  one,  consisting 
chiefly  of  handsome  men,  well  mounted  and  armed 
at  their  own  expense.  My  attention  to  the  corps 
took  up  a  good  deal  of  time ;  and  while  it  occupied 
many  of  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life,  it  furnished  an 
additional  reason  for  my  reluctance  again  to  encounter 
the  severe  course  of  study  indispensable  to  success  in 
the  juridical  profession. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  father,  whose  feelings  might 
have  been  hurt  by  my  quitting  the  bar,  had  been  for 
two  or  three  years  dead,  so  that  I  had  no  control  to 
thwart  my  own  inclination;  and  my  income  being 
equal  to  all  the  comforts,  and  some  of  the  elegancies, 
of  life,  I  was  not  pressed  to  an  irksome  labor  by  ne- 
cessity, that  most  powerful  of  motives ;  consequently, 
I  was  the  more  easily  seduced  to  choose  the  employ- 
ment which  was  most  agreeable  to  me.  This  was  yet 
the  easier  that,  in  1800, 1  had- obtained  the  preferment 
of  Sheriff  of  Selkirkshire,  about  £300  a  year  in  value, 
and  which  was  the  more  agreeable  to  me,  as  in  that 
county  I  had  several  friends  and  relations.  But  I  did 
not  abandon  the  profession  to  which  I  had  been  edu- 
cated without  certain  prudential  resolutions,  which, 
at  the  risk  of  some  egotism,  I  will  here  mention,  not 
without  the  hope  that  they  may  be  useful  to  young 
persons  who  may  stand  in  circumstances  similar  to 
those  in  which  I  then  stood. 

In  the  first  place,  upon  considering  the  lives  and 
fortunes  of  persons  who  had  given  themselves  up  to 
literature,  or  to  the  task  of  pleasing  the  public,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  the  circumstances  which  chiefly 
affected  their  happiness  and  character,  were  those 
from  which  Horace  has  bestowed  upon  authors  the 
epithet  of  the  "  Irritable  Race."  It  requires  no/depth  of 
philosophic  reflection  to  perceive  that  the  petty  war- 
fare of  Pope  with  the  Dunces  of  his  period  could  not 
have  been  carried  on  without  his  sufferimr  the  most 
acute  torture,  such  as  a  man  must  endure  from  mos- 
quitoes, by  whose  stings  he  suffers  agony,  although  lie 
can  crush  them  in  his  grasp  by  myriads.  Nor  is  it 
necessary  to  call  to  memory  the  many  humiliating 
instances  in  which  men  of  the  greatest  ltd  ins  have,  to 
avenge  some  pitiful  quarrel,  made  themselves  ridicu- 
lous during  their  lives,  to  become  the  still  more  de- 
graded objects  of  pity  to  future  times. 

Upon  the  whole,  as  I  had  no  pretension  to  the  ge- 
nius  of  the  distinguished  persons  who  had  fallen  into 
such  errors,  I  concluded  there  could  be  no  occasion 
for  imitating  them  in  their  mistakes,  or  what  I  con- 
sidered as  such;  and,  in  adopting  literary  pursuits  as 
the  principal  occupation  of  my  future  life,  I  resolved, 
if  possible,  to  avoid  those  weaknesses  of  temper  which 
seemed  to  have  most  easily  beset  my  more  celebrated 
predecessors. 

With  this  view,  it  was  my  first  resolution  to  keep  as 
far  as  was  in  my  power  abreast  of  society,  continuing 
to  maintain  my  place  in  general  company,  without 
yielding  to  the  very  natural  temptation  of  narrowing 
myself  to  what  is  called  literary  society.  By  doing  so, 
I  imagined  I  should  escape  the  besetting  sin  of  listen- 


ing to  language  which,  from  one  motive  or  other,  is 
apt  to  ascribe  a  very  undue  degree  of  consequence  to 
literary  pursuit:-,  as  if  they  were,  indeed,  the  business, 
rather  than  the  amusement,  of  life.  The  opposite 
course  can  only  be  compared  to  the  injudicious  con- 
duct of  one  who  pampers  himself  with  cordial  and  lus- 
cious draughts,  until  he  is  unable  to  endure  whole- 
some bitters.  Like  Gil  Bias,  therefore,  I  resolved  to 
stick  by  the  society  of  my  com/mis,  instead  of  seeking 
that  of  a  more  literary  cast,  and  to  maintain  my  gene- 
ral interest  in  what  was  going  on  around  me,  reserving 
the  man  of  letters  for  the  desk  and  the  library. 

My  second  resolution  was  a  corollary  from  the  first. 
I  determined  that,  without  shutting  my  ears  to  the 
voice  of  true  criticism,  I  would  pay  no  regard  to  that 
which  assumed  the  form  of  satire.  I  therefore  resolved 
to  arm  myself  with  that  triple  brass  of  Horace,  of 
which  those  of  my  profession  are  seldom  held  defi- 
cient, against  all  the  roving  warfare  of  satire,  parody, 
and  sarcasm ;  to  laugh  if  the  jest  was  a  good  one,  or 
if  otherwise,  to  let  it  hum  and  buzz  itself  to  sleep. 

It  is  to  the  observance  of  these  rules  (according  to 
my  best  belief)  that,  after  a  life  of  thirty  years  en- 
gaged in  literary  labors  of  various  kinds,  I  attribute 
my  never  having  been  entangled  in  any  literary  quar- 
rel or  controversy ;  and,  which  is  a  still  more  pleasing 
result,  that  I  have  been  distinguished  by  the  personal 
friendship  of  my  most  approved  contemporaries  of  all 
parties. 

I  adopted,  at  the  same  time,  another  resolution,  on 
which  it  may  doubtless  be  remarked,  that  it  was  well 
for  me  that  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  do  so,  and  that, 
therefore,  it  is  a  line  of  conduct  which,  depending  upon 
accident,  can  be  less  generally  applicable  in  other 
cases.  Yet  I  fail  not  to  record  this  part  of  my  plan, 
convinced  that,  though  it  may  not  be  in  every  one's 
power  to  adopt  exactly  the  same  resolution,  he  may 
nevertheless,  by  his  own  exertions,  in  some  shape  or 
other,  attain  the  object  on  which  it  was  founded, 
namely,  to  secure  the  means  of  subsistence,  without 
relying  exclusively  on  literary  talents.  In  this  respect 
I  determined  that  literature  should  be  my  staff',  but 
not  my  crutch,  and  that  the  profits  of  my  literary  la- 
bor, however  convenient  otherwise,  should  not,  if  I 
could  help  it,  become  necessary  to  my  ordinary  ex- 
penses. With  this  purpose  I  resolved,  if  the  interest 
of  my  friends  could  so  far  favor  me,  to  retire  upon 
any  of  the  respectable  offices  of  the  law,  in  which  per- 
sons of  that  profession  are  glad  to  take  refuge  when 
they  feel  themselves,  or  are  judged  by  others,  incom- 
petent to  aspire  to  its  higher  honors.  Upon  such  a 
post  an  author  might  hope  to  retreat,  without  any  per- 
ceptible alteration  of  circumstances,  whenever  the 
time  should  arrive  that  the  public  grew  weary  of  his 
endeavors  to  please,  or  he  himself  should  tire  of  the 
pen.  At  this  period  of  my  life,  I  possessed  so  many 
friends  capable  of  assisting  me  in  this  object  of  ambi- 
tion, that  I  could  hardly  overrate  my  own  prospects 
of  obtaining  the  preferment  to  which  I  limited  my 
wishes;  and,  in  fact,  I  obtained  in  no  long  period 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  reversion  of  a  situation  which  completely  met 
them. 

Thus  far  all  was  well,  and  the  Author  had  been 
guilty,  perhaps,  of  no  great  imprudence  when  he  re- 
linquished his  forensic  practice  with  the  hope  of 
making  some  figure  in  the  field  of  literature.  But  an 
established  character  with  the  public  in  my  new  ca- 
pacity still  remained  to  be  acquired.  I  have  noticed 
that  the  translations  from  Burger  had  been  unsuccess- 
ful, nor  had  the  original  poetry  which  appeared  under 
the  auspices  of  Mr.  Lewis,  in  the  "  Tales  of  Wonder," 
in  any  great  degree  raised  my  reputation.  It  is  true,  I 
had  private  friends  disposed  to  second  me  in  my  efforts 
to  obtain  popularity.  But  I  was  sportsman  enough 
to  know,  that  if  the  greyhound  does  not  run  well,  the 
halloos  of  his  patrons  will  not  obtain  the  prize  for 
him. 

Neither  was  I  ignorant  that  the  practice  of  ballad- 
writing  was  for  the  present  out  of  fashion,  and  that 
any  attempt  to  revive  it,  or  to  found  a  poetical  char- 
acter upon  it,  would  certainly  fail  of  success.  The 
ballad  measure  itself,  which  was  once  listened  to  as 
to  an  enchanting  melody,  had  become  hackneyed  and 
sickening,  from  its  being  the  accompaniment  of  every 
grinding  hand-organ ;  and  besides,  a  long  work  in 
quatrains,  whether  those  of  the  common  ballad  or  such 
as  are  termed  elegiac,  has  an  effect  upon  the  mind 
like  that  of  the  bed  of  Procrustes  upon  the  human 
body ;  for,  as  it  must  be  both  awkward  and  difficult 
to  carry  on  a  long  sentence  from  one  stanza  to  an- 
other, it  follows  that  the  meaning  of  each  period  must 
be  comprehended  within  four  lines,  and  equally  so 
that  it  must  be  extended  so  as  to  fill  that  space.  The 
alternate  dilation  and  contraction  thus  rendered  ne- 
cessary is  singularly  unfavorable  to  narrative  com- 
position ;  and  the  "  Gondibert"  of  Sir  William  D'Ave- 
nant,  though  containing  many  striking  passages,  has 
never  become  popular,  owing  chiefly  to  its  being  told 
in  this  species  of  elegiac  verse. 

In  the  dilemma  occasioned  by  this  objection,  the 
idea  occurred  to  the  Author  of  using  the  measured 
short  line,  which  forms  the  structure  of  so  much  min- 
strel poetry,  that  it  may  be  properly  termed  the  Ro- 
mantic stanza,  by  way  of  distinction,  and  which  ap- 
pears so  natural  to  our  language,  that  the  very  best 
of  our  poets  have  not  been  able  to  protract  it  into  the 
verse  properly  called  Heroic,  without  the  use  of  epi- 
thets which  are,  to  say  the  least,  unnecessary.1  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  extreme  facility  of  the  short 

1  Thus  it  has  been  often  remarked,  that,  in  the  opening 
couplets  of  Pope's  translation  ..l'  the  Iliad,  there  are  two  syl- 
lables forming  a  superfluous  word  in  each  line,  as  may  be 
observed  by  attending  to  such  words  as  are  printed  in  italics. 

"Achilles'  wrath  to  Greece  the  direful  spring 
Of  woes  unnumber'd,  heavenly  goddess,  sing  ; 
That  wrath  which  sent  to  Pluto's  gloomy  reign 
The  souls  of  mighty-chiefs  in  battle  slain, 
Whose  bones,  unburied  on  the  desert  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore." 

2  The  Duchess  died  in  August,  1814.     Sir  Walter  Scott's 


couplet,  which  seems  congenial  to  our  language,  and 
was,  doubtless  for  that  reason,  so  popular  with  our  old 
minstrels,  is,  for  the  same  reason,  apt  to  prove  a  snare 
to  the  composer  who  uses  it  in  more  modern  days,  by 
encouraging  him  in  a  habit  of  slovenly  composition. 
The  necessity  of  occasional,  pauses  often  forces  the 
young  poet  to  pay  more  attention  to  sense,  as  the  boy's 
kite  rises  highest  when  the  train  is  loaded  by  a  due 
counterpoise.  The  Author  was  therefore  intimidated 
by  what  Byron  calls  the  "  fatal  facility"  of  the  octo- 
syllabic verse,  which  was  otherwise  better  adapted  to 
his  purpose  of  imitating  the  more  ancient  poetry. 

I  was  not  less  at  a  loss  for  a  subject  which  might 
admit  of  being  treated  with  the  simplicity  and  wild- 
ness  of  the  ancient  ballad.  But  accident  dictated  both 
a  theme  and  measure,  which  decided  the  subject  as 
well  as  the  structure  of  the  poem. 

The  lovely  youni;  Countess  of  Dalkeith,  afterwards 
Harriet,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  had  come  to  the  land 
of  her  husband  with  the  desire  of  making  herself 
acquainted  with  its  traditions  and  customs,  as  well  as 
its  manners  and  history.  All  who  remember  this  lady 
will  agree,  that  the  intellectual  character  of  her  ex- 
treme beauty,  the  amenity  and  courtesy  of  her  man- 
ners, the  soundness  of  her  understanding,  and  her  un- 
bounded benevolence,  gave  more  the  idea  of  an  ange- 
lic visitant  than  of  a  being  belonging  to  this  nether 
world ;  and  such  a  thought  was  but  too  consistent 
with  the  short  space  she  was  permitted  to  tarry  among 
us.2  Of  course,  where  all  made  it  a  pride  and  pleas- 
ure to  gratify  her  wishes,  she  soon  heard  enough  of 
Border  lore;  among  others,  an  aged  gentleman  of 
property,3  near  Langholm,  communicated  to  her  lady- 
ship  the  story  of  Gilpin  Horner,  a  tradition  in  which 
the  narrator,  and  many  more  of  that  country,  were 
firm  believers.  The  young  Countess,  much  delighted 
with  the  legend,  and  the  gravity  and  full  confidence 
with  which  it  was  told,  enjoined  on  me  as  a  task  to 
compose  a  ballad  on  the  subject.  Of  course,  to  hear 
was  to  obey ;  and  thus  the  goblin  story,  objected  to  by 
several  critics  as  an  excrescence  upon  the  poem,  was, 
in  fact,  the  occasion  of  its  being  written. 

A  chance  similar  to  that  which  dictated  the  subject, 
gave  me  also  the  hint  of  a  new  mode  of  treating  it. 
We  had  at  that  time  the  lease  of  a  pleasant  cottage, 
near  Lasswade,  on  the  romantic  banks  of  the  Esk,  to 
which  we  escaped  when  the  vacations  of  the  Court 
permitted  me  so  much  leisure.  Here  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure to  receive  a  visit  from   Mr.  Stoddart  (now  Sir 


lines  on  her  death  will  be  found  in  a  subsequent  page  of  this 
collection. — Ed. 

3  This  was  Mr.  Seattle  of  Mickledale,  a  man  then  consider- 
ably upwards  of  eighty,  of  a  shrewd  and  sarcastic  temper, 
which  be  did  not  at  all  times  suppress,  as  the  following  anec- 
dote will  show: — A  worthy  clergyman,  now  deceased,  with 
better  good-will  than  tact,  was  endeavoring  to  push  the  senior 
forward  in  his  recollection  of  Border  ballads  and  legends,  by 
expressing  reiterated  surprise  at  his  wonderful  memory.  "No, 
sir,"  said  old  Mickledale;  "my  memory  is  good  for  little,  for 
it  cannot  retain  what  ought  to  be  preserved.  I  can  remem- 
ber all  these  stories  about  the  auld  riding  days,  which  are  of 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTKEL. 


John  Stoddart,  Judge  Advocate  at  Malta),  who  was 
at  that  time  collecting  the  particulars  which  he  after- 
wards embodied  in  his  Remarks  on  Local  Scenery  in 
Scotland.1  I  was  of  some  use  to  him  in  procuring  the 
information  which  he  desired,  and  guiding  him  to  the 
scenes  which  he  wished  to  see.  In  return,  he  made 
me  better  acquainted  than  I  had  hitherto  been  with 
the  poetic  effusions  which  have  since  made  the  Lakes 
of  AVestmoreland,  and  the  authors  by  whom  they  have 
been  sung,  so  famous  wherever  the  English  tongue  is 
spoken. 

I  was  already  acquainted  with  the  "Joan  of  Arc," 
the  "Thalaba,"  and  the  "Metrical  Ballads"  of  Mr. 
Southey,  which  had  found  their  way  to  Scotland,  and 
were  generally  admired.  But  Mr.  Stoddart,  who  had 
the  advantage  of  personal  friendship  with  the  authors, 
and  who  possessed  a  strong  memory  with  an  excellent 
taste,  was  able  to  repeat  to  me  many  long  specimens 
of  their  poetry,  which  had  not  yet  appeared  in  print. 
Amongst  others,  was  the  striking  fragment  called 
Christabel,  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  which,  from  the  singu- 
larly irregular  structure  of  the  stanzas,  and  the  liberty 
which  it  allowed  the  author  to  adapt  the  sound  to  the 
sense,  seemed  to  be  exactly  suited  to  such  an  extra- 
vaganza as  I  meditated  on  the  subject  of  Gilpin  Hor- 
ner. As  applied  to  comic  and  humorous  poetry,  this 
mescolanza  of  measures  had  been  already  used  by 
Anthony  Hall,  Anstey,  Dr.  Wolcott,  and  others ;  but 
it  was  in  Christabel  that  I  first  found  it  used  in  serious 
poetry,  and  it  is  to  Mr.  Coleridge  that  I  am  bound 
to  make  the  acknowledgment  due  from  the  pupil  to 
his  master.  I  observe  that  Lord  Byron,  in  noticing 
my  obligations  to  Mr.  Coleridge,  which  I  have  been 
always  most  ready  to  acknowledge,  expressed,  or  was 
understood  to  express,  a  hope  that  I  did  not  write  an 
unfriendly  review  on  Mr.  Coleridge's  productions.2 
On  this  subject  I  have  only  to  say,  that  I  do  not  even 
know  the  review  which  is  alluded  to;  and  were  I  ever 
to  take  the  unbecoming  freedom  of  censuring  a  man 
of  Mr.  Coleridge's  extraordinary  talents,  it  would  be 
on  account  of  the  caprice  and  indolence  with  which 
he  has  thrown  from  him,  as  if  in  mere  wantonness, 
those  unfinished  scraps  of  poetry  which,  like  the 
Torso  of  antiquity,  defy  the  skill  of  his  poetical  bre- 
thren to  complete  them.3  The  charming  fragments 
which  the  author  abandons  to  their  fate,  are  surely  too 
valuable  to  be  treated  like  the  proofs  of  careless  en- 
gravers, the  sweepings  of  whose  studios  often  make 
the  fortune  of  some  painstaking  collector. 

I  did  not  immediately  proceed  upon  my  projected 

no  earthly  importance ;  but  were  you,  reverend  sir,  to  repeat 
your  best  sermon  in  this  drawing-room,  I  could  not  tell  you 
half  an  hour  afterwards  what  you  had  been  speaking  about." 

1  Two  volumes,  royal  octavo,  1801. 

2  Medwin's  Conversations  of  Lord  Byron,  p.  309. 

3  Sir  Walter,  elsewhere,  in  allusion  to  "  Coleridge's  beau- 
tiful and  tantalizing  fragment  of  Christabel,"  says,  "Has  not 
our  own  imaginative  poet  cause  to  fear  that  future  ages  will 
desire  to  summon  him  from  his  place  of  rest,  as  Milton  longed 


labor,  though  I  was  now  furnished  with  a  subject, 
and  with  a  structure  of  verse  which  might  have  the 
effect  of  novelty  to  the  public  ear,  and  afford  the 
author  an  opportunity  of  varying  his  measure  with  the 
variations  of  a  romantic  theme.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  more  than  a  year 
after  Mr.  Stoddart's  visit  that,  by  way  of  experiment, 
I  composed  the  first  two  or  three  stanzas  of  "  The  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel."  I  was  shortly  afterwards  visited 
by  two  intimate  friends,  one  of  whom  still  survives. 
They  were  men  whose  talents  might  have  raised  them 
to  the  highest  station  in  literature,  had  they  not  pre- 
ferred exerting  them  in  their  own  profession  of  the 
law,  in  which  they  attained  equal  preferment.  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  consulting  them  on  my  attempts  at  com- 
position, having  equal  confidence  in  their  sound  taste 
and  friendly  sincerity.4  In  this  specimen  I  had,  in 
the  phrase  of  the  Highland  servant,  packed  all  that 
was  my  own  at  least,  for  I  had  also  included  a  line  of 
invocation,  a  little  softened,  from  Coleridge — 
"  Mary,  mother,  shield  us  well." 

As  neither  of  my  friends  said  much  to  me  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  stanzas  I  showed  them  before  their  depar- 
ture, I  had  no  doubt  that  their  disgust  had  been 
greater  than  their  good  nature  chose  to  express. 
Looking  upon  them,  therefore,  as  a  failure,  I  threw 
the  manuscript  into  the  fire,  and  thought  as  little 
more  as  I  could  of  the  matter.  Some  time  afterwards 
I  met  one  of  my  two  counsellors,  who  inquired,  with 
considerable  appearance  of  interest,  about  the  progress 
of  the  romance  I  had  commenced,  and  was  greatly  sur- 
prised at  learning  its  fate.  He  confessed  that  neither 
he  nor  our  mutual  friend  had  been  at  first  able  to  give 
a  precise  opinion  on  a  poem  so  much  out  of  the  com- 
mon road ;  but  that  as  they  walked  home  together  to 
the  city,  they  had  talked  much  on  the  subject,  and 
the  result  was  an  earnest  desire  that  I  would  proceed 
with  the  composition.  He  also  added,  that  some  sort 
of  prologue  might  be  necessary,  to  place  the  mind  of 
the  hearers  in  the  situation  to  understand  and  enjoy 
the  poem,  and  recommended  the  adoption  of  such 
quaint  mottoes  as  Spenser  has  used  to  announce  the 
contents  of  the  chapters  of  the  Faery  Queen,  such  as— 

"  Babe's  bloody  hands  may  not  be  cleansed. 

The  face  of  golden  Mean : 
Her  sisters  two,  Extremities, 

Strive  her  to  banish  clean."5 

I  entirely  agreed  with  my  friendly  critic  in  the  neces- 
sity of  having  some  sort  of  pitch-pipe,  which  might 

'To  call  up  him  who  left  half  told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  bold'  ?" 

Notes  to  the  Abbot. — Ed. 

*  One  of  these,  "William  Erskine,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder),  I 
have  often  had  occasion  to  mention,  and  though  I  may  hardly 
be  thanked  for  disclosing  the  name  of  the  other,  yet  I  cannot 
but  state  that  the  second  is  George  Cranstoun,  Esq.,  now  a 
Senator  of  the  College  of  Justice,  by  the  title  of  Lord  Core- 
house.  1831.— [Mr.  Cranstoun  resigned  his  seat  on  the  Bench 
in  1839.]  5  Book  II.  canto  ii. 


tf 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


make  readers  aware  of  the  object,  or  rather  the  tone, 
of  the  publication.  But  I  doubted  whether,  in  as- 
suming the  oracular  style  of  Spenser's  mottoes,  the 
interpreter  might  not  be  censured  as  the  harder  to  be 
ondersti  >od  of  the  two.  I  therefore  introduced  the  Old 
Minstrel,  aa  an  appropriate  prolocutor,  by  whom  the 
lay  might  be  sung,  or  spoken,  and  the  introduction  of 
whom  betwixt  the  cantos  might  remind  the  reader  at 
intervals  of  the  time,  place,  and  circumstances  of  the 
recitation.  This  species  of  cadre,  or  frame,  afterwards 
afforded  the  poem  its  name  of  "  The  Lay  of  the  Last 
Minstrel." 

The  work  was  subsequently  shown  to  other  friends 
during  its  progress,  and  received  the  imprimatur  of 
Mr.  Francis  Jeffrey,  who  had  been  already  for  some 
time  distinguished  by  his  critical  talent. 

The  poem,  being  once  licensed  by  the  critics  as  fit 
for  the  market,  was  soon  finished,  proceeding  at  about 
the  rate  of  a  canto  per  week.  There  was,  indeed, 
little  occasion  for  pause  or  hesitation,  when  a  trouble- 
some rhyme  might  be  accommodated  by  an  alteration 
of  the  stanza,  or  where  an  incorrect  measure  might  be 
remedied  by  a  variation  of  the  rhyme.  It  was  finally 
published  in  1805,  and  may  be  regarded  as  the  first 
work  in  which  the  writer,  who  has  been  since  so  volu- 
minous, laid  his  claim  to  be  considered  as  an  original 
author. 

The  book  was  published  by  Longman  &  Co.,  and 
Archibald  Constable  &  Co.  The  principal  of  the  latter 
firm  was  then  commencing  that  course  of  bold  and 
liberal  industry  which  was  of  so  much  advantage  to 
his  country,  and  might  have  been  so  to  himself,  but 
for  causes  which  it  is  needless  to  enter  into  here.    The 


1  Mr.  Owen  Rees,  here  alluded  to,  retired  from  the  house 
of  Longman  &  Co.,  at  Midsummer,  1S37,  and  died  5th  Septem- 
ber following,  in  his  67th  year. — Ed. 

-  "  Through  what  channel  or  in  what  terms  Fox  made  known 
his  opinion  of  the  Lay,  I  have  failed  to  ascertain.  Pitt's  praise, 
as  expressed  to  his  niece,  Lady  Hester  Stanhope,  within  a  few 
weeks  after  the  poem  appeared,  was  repeated  by  her  to  Mr. 
William  Stewart  Rose,  who,  of  course,  communicated  it  forth- 
with to  the  author ;  and  not  long  after,  the  Minister,  in  con- 
versation with  Scott's  early  friend,  the  Right  Hon.  William 
Dundas,  signified  that  it  would  give  him  pleasure  to  find  some 
opportunity  of  advancing  the  fortunes  of  such  a  writer.  'I 
remember,'  writes  this  gentleman,  'at  Mr.  Pitt's  table  in 
1805,  the  Chancellor  asked  me  about  you  and  your  then  situa- 
tion, and  after  I  had  answered  him,  Mr.  Pitt  observed — "He 
can't  remain  as  he  is,"  and  desired  me  to  "look  to  it.'""— 
Lockhart.    J/ife  of  Scott,  vol.  iL  p.  226. 


work,  brought  out  on  the  usual  terms  of  division  of 
profits  between  the  Author  and  publishers,  was  not 
long  after  purchased  by  them  for  £500,  to  which 
Messrs.  Longman  &  Co.  afterwards  added  £100,  in 
their  own  unsolicited  kindness,  in  consequence  of  the 
uncommon  success  of  the  work.  It  was  handsomely 
given  to  supply  the  loss  of  a  fine  horse,  which  broke 
down  suddenly  while  the  Author  was  riding  with  one 
of  the  worthy  publishers.1 

It  would  be  great  affectation  not  to  own  frankly 
that  the  Author  expected  some  success  from  "  The 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  The  attempt  to  return  to 
a  more  simple  and  natural  style  of  poetry  was  likely 
to  be  welcomed,  at  a  time  when  the  public  had  be- 
come tired  of  heroic  hexameters,  with  all  the  buckram 
and  binding  which  belong  to  them  of  later  days.  But 
whatever  might  have  been  his  expectations,  whether 
moderate  or  unreasonable,  the  result  left  them  far 
behind,  for  among  those  who  smiled  on  the  adventu- 
rous Minstrel,  were  numbered  the  great  names  of 
William  Pitt  and  Charles  Fox.2  Neither  was  the 
extent  of  the  sale  inferior  to  the  character  of  the 
judges  who  received  the  poem  with  approbation. 
Upwards  of  thirty  thousand  copies  of  the  Lay  were  dis- 
posed of  by  the  trade ;  and  the  Author  had  to  perform 
a  task  difficult  to  human  vanity,  when  called  upon  to 
make  the  necessary  deductions  from  his  own  merits, 
in  a  calm  attempt  to  account  for  his  popularity.3 

A  few  additional  remarks  on  the  Author's  literary 
attempts  after  this  period,  will  be  fouud  in  the  Intro- 
duction to  the  Poem  of  Marmion. 

Abbotsfoed,  April,  1830. 


8  "  The  poet  has  under-estimated  even  the  patent  and  tan- 
gible evidence  of  his  success.  The  first  edition  of  the  Lay  was 
a  magnificent  quarto,  750  copies ;  but  this  was  soon  exhausted, 
and  there  followed  an  octavo  impression  of  1500;  in  1806, 
two  more,  one  of  2000  copies,  another  of  2250;  in  1807,  a  fifth 
edition,  of  2000,  and  a  sixth,  of  3000;  in  1808,  3550;  in  1809, 
3000 — a  small  edition  in  quarto  (the  ballads  and  lyrical  pieces 
being  then  annexed  to  it) — and  another  octavo  edition  of 
3250;  in  1811,  3000;  in  1812,  3000;  in  1816,  3000;  in  1823,  1000. 
A  fourteenth  impression  of  2000  foolscap  appeared  in  1825. 
And  besides  all  this,  before  the  end  of  1836,  11,000  copies  had 
gone  forth  in  the  collected  editions  of  his  poetical  works. 
Thus,  nearly  forty-four  thousand  copies  had  been  disposed 
of  in  this  country,  and  by  the  legitimate  trade  alone,  before 
he  superintended  the  edition  of  1830,  to  which  his  biographical 
introductions  were  prefixed.  In  the  history  of  British  Poetry 
nothing  had  ever  equalled  the  demand  for  the  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel."— Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  226. 


STIje  Hag  of  tije  Hast  JWuistrcl. 


TO   THE 
RIGHT    HONORABLE 

CHARLES,  EAEL  OF  DALKEITH, 

THIS    POEM    IS    INSCRIBED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  Poem  nmo  offered  to  the  Public  is  intended  to  illustrate  the  customs  and  manners  which  anciently  pre- 
vailed on  the  Borders  of  England  and  Scotland.  The  inhabitants  living  in  a  state  partly  pastoral  and  partly 
warlike,  and  combining  habits  of  constant  depredation  with  the  influence  of  a  rude  spirit  of  chivalry,  xvere  often 
engaged  in  scenes  highly  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  As  the  description  of  scenery  and  manners  was  more 
the  object  of  the  Author  than  a  combined  and  regular  narrative,  the  plan  of  the  Ancient  Metrical  Romance  was 
adopted,  which  allows  greater  latitude,  in  this  respect,  than  would  be  consistent  with  the  dignity  of  a  regular 
Poem.1 1  The  same  model  offered  other  facilities,  as  it  permits  an  occasional  alteration  of  measure,  which,  in  some 
degree,  authorizes  the  change  of  rhythm  in  the  text?  The  machinery,  also,  adopted  from  popular  belief,  would 
have  seemed  puerile  in  a  Poem  which  did  not  partake  of  the  rudeness  of  the  old  Ballad  or  Metrical  Romance. 

For  these  reasons,  the  Poem  was  put  into  the  mouth  of  an  ancient  Minstrel,  the  last  of  the  race,  who,  as  he 
is  supposed  to  have  survived  the  Revolution,  might  have  caught  somewhat  of  the  refinement  of  modern  poetry, 
without  losing  the  simplicity  of  his  original  model.  The  date  of  the  Tale  itself  is  about  the  middle  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  when  most  of  the  personages  actually  flourished.  The  time  occupied  by  the  action  is  Three 
Nights  and  Three  Bays.3 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  way  was  long,  the  wind  was  cold, 
The  Minstrel  was  infirm  and  old ; 


i  "The  chief  excellence  of  The  Lay  consists  in  the  beauty 
of  the  descriptions  of  local  scenery,  and  the  accurate  picture 
of  customs  and  manners  among  the  Scottish  Borderers  at  the 
time  it  refers  to.  The  various  exploits  and  adventures  which 
occur  in  those  half-civilized  times,  when  the  bands  of  govern- 
ment were  so  loosely  twisted,  that  every  man  depended  for 
safety  more  on  his  own  arm,  or  the  prowess  of  his  chief,  than 
on  the  civil  power,  may  be  said  to  hold  a  middle  rank  between 
history  and  private  anecdote.  War  is  always  most  picturesque 
where  it  is  least  formed  into  a  science ;  it  has  most  variety  and 
interest  where  the  prowess  and  activity  of  individuals  has  most 
play;  and  the  nocturnal  expedition  of  Diomed  and  Ulysses  to 
seize  the  chariot  and  horses  of  Rhesus,  or  a  raid  of  the  Scotts 
or  the  Kerrs  to  drive  cattle,  will  make  a  better  figure  in  verse, 
than  all  the  battles  of  the  great  King  of  Prussia.  The  sleuih- 
dng,  the  beacons-fires,  the  Jedicood-axes,  the  moss-troopers,  the 
yell  of  the  slogan,  and  all  the  irregular  warfare  of  predatory 
expedition,  or  feuds  of  hereditary  vengeance,  are  far  more 
captivating  to  the  imagination  than  a  park  of  artillery  and 
battalions  of  well-drilled  soldiers."— Annual  Review,  1804. 

2  "It  must  be  observed,  that  there  is  this  difference  be- 
tween the  license  of  the  old  romancer,  and  that  assumed  by 
Mr.  Scott;  the  aberrations  of  the  first  are  usually  casual  and 
slight :  those  of  the  other  premeditated  and  systematic.  The 
old  romancer  may  be  compared  to  a  man  who  trusts  his  reins 
to  his  horse;  his  palfrey  often  blunders,  and  occasionally 
breaks  his  pace,  sometimes  from  vivacity,  oftener  through  in- 
dolence.   Mr.  Scott  sets  out  with  the  intention  of  diversifying 


His  wither'd  cheek,  and  tresses  gray, 
Seem'd  to  have  known  a  better  day ; 
The  harp,  his  sole  remaining  joy, 
Was  carried  by  an  orphan  boy. 


his  journey  by  every  variety  of  motion.  He  is  now  at  a  trot, 
now  at  a  gallop ;  nay,  he  sometimes  stops,  as  if  to 

'  Make  graceful  caprioles,  and  prance 
Between  the  pillars.' 

A  main  objection  to  this  plan  is  to  be  found  in  the  shock  which 
the  ear  receives  from  violent  and  abrupt  transitions.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  must  be  allowed,  that  as  different  species  of 
verse  are  individually  better  suited  to  the  expression  of  the 
different  ideas,  sentiments,  and  passions,  which  it  is  the  ob- 
ject of  poetry  to  convey,  the  happiest  efforts  may  be  produced 
by  adapting  to  the  subject  its  most  congenial  structure  of 
verse." — Critical  Review,  1805. 

"  From  the  novelty  of  its  style  and  subject,  and  from  the 
spirit  of  its  execution,  Mr.  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 
kindled  a  sort  of  enthusiasm  among  all  classes  of  readers;  and 
the  concurrent  voice  of  the  public  assigned  to  it  a  very  ex- 
alted rank,  which,  on  more  cool  and  dispassionate  examina- 
tion, its  numerous  essential  beauties  will  enable  it  to  main- 
tain. For  vivid  richness  of  coloring  and  truth  of  costume, 
many  of  its  descriptive  pictures  stand  almost  unrivalled ;  it 
carries  us  back  in  imagination  to  the  time  of  action  ;  and  we 
wander  with  the  poet  along  Tweedside,  or  among  the  wild 
glades  of  Ettrick  Forest." — Monthly  Review,  May,  1808. 

3  "  We  consider  this  poem  as  an  attempt  to  transfer  the 
refinements  of  modern  poetry  to  the  matter  and  the  manner 
of  the  ancient  metrical  romance.    The  author,  enamored  of 

(7) 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  last  of  all  the  Bards  was  he, 

Who  sung  of  Border  chivalry; 

For,  welladay  !  their  date  was  fled, 

His  tuneful  brethren  all  were  dead; 

And  he,  neglected  and  oppress'd, 

Wish'd  to  be  with  them,  and  at  rest.1 

No  more  on  prancing  palfrey  borne, 

He  caroll'd,  light  as  lark  at  morn ; 

No  longer  courted  and  caress'd, 

High  placed  in  hall,  a  welcome  guest, 

He  pour'd,  to  lord  and  lady  gay, 

The  unpremeditated  lay : 

Old  times  were  changed,  old  manners  gone ; 

A  stranger  fill'd  the  Stuarts'  throne ; 

The  bigots  of  the  iron  time 

Had  call'd  his  harmless  art  a  crime. 

A  wandering  Harper,  scorn'd  and  poor, 

He  begg'd  his  bread  from  door  to  door, 

And  tuned,  to  please  a  peasant's  ear, 

The  harp  a  king  had  loved  to  hear. 

He  pass'd  where  Newark's2  stately  tower 
Looks  out  from  Yarrow's  birchen  bower : 

the  lofty  visions  of  chivalry,  and  partial  to  the  strains  in  which 
they  were  formerly  embodied,  seems  to  have  employed  all  the 
resources  of  his  genius  in  endeavoring  to  recall  them  to  the 
favor  and  admiration  of  the  public,  and  in  adapting  to  the 
taste  of  modern  readers  a  species  of  poetry  which  was  once  the 
delight  of  the  courtly,  but  has  long  ceased  to  gladden  any  other 
eyes  than  those  of  the  scholar  and  the  antiquary.  This  is  a 
romance,  therefore,  composed  by  a  minstrel  of  the  present 
day;  or  such  a  romance  as  we  may  suppose  would  have  been 
written  in  modern  times,  if  that  style  of  composition  had  con- 
tinued to  be  cultivated,  and  partakes  consequently  of  the  im- 
provements which  every  branch  of  literature  has  received 
since  the  time  of  its  desertion."— Jeffrey,  April,  1805. 

1  "Turning  to  the  northward,  Scott  showed  us  the  crags 
and  tower  of  Smailholme,  and  behind  it  the  shattered  frag- 
ments of  Erceldoune,  and  repeated  some  pretty  stanzas  as- 
cribed to  the  last  of  the  real  wandering  minstrels  of  this 
district,  by  name  Burn  : 

'Sing  Erceldoune,  and  Cowdenknowes, 

Where  Homes  had  ance  commanding, 
And  Drygrange,  wi'  the  milk-white  ewes, 

'Twixt  Tweed  and  Leader  standing. 
The  bird  that  flees  through  Redpath  trees 

And  Gledswood  banks  each  morrow, 
May  chaunt  and  sing— Sweet  Leader's  haughs 

And  Bonny  howms  of  Yarrow. 
'  But  Minstrel  Burn  cannot  assuage 

His  grief  while  life  endureth, 
To  see  the  changes  of  this  age 

Which  fleeting  time  procurcth  ; 
For  mony  a  place  stands  in  hard  case, 

Where  blythe  folks  kent  nac  sorrow, 
With  Homes  that  dwelt  on  Leader  side, 

And  Scotts  that  dwelt  on  Yarrow.' " 

Life,  vol.  vi.  p.  78. 

2  "  This  is  a  massive  square  tower,  now  unroofed  and 
ruinous,  surrounded  by  an  outward  trail,  defended  by  round 
flanking  turrets.  It  is  most  beautifully  situated,  about  three 
miles  from  Selkirk,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Yarrow,  a  fierce 
and  precipitous  stream,  which  unites  with  the  Ettricke  about 
a  mile  beneath  the  castle. 

"  Newark  Castle  was  built  by  James  II.  The  royal  arms, 
with  the  unicorn,  are  engraved  on  a  stone  in  the  western  side 
of  the  tower.    There  was  a  much  more  ancient  castle  in  its 


The  Minstrel  gazed  with  wishful  eye — 
No  humbler  resting-place  was  nigh. 
With  hesitating  step  at  last, 
The  embattled  portal  arch  he  pass'd, 
Whose  ponderous  grate  and  massy  bar 
Had  oft  roll'd  back  the  tide  of  war, 
But  never  closed  the  iron  door 
Against  the  desolate  and  poor. 
The  Duchess3  mark'd  his  weary  pace, 
His  timid  mien,  and  reverend  face, 
And  bade  her  page  the  menials  tell, 
That  they  should  tend  the  old  man  well : 
For  she  had  known  adversity, 
Though  born  in  such  a  high  degree : 
In  pride  of  power,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Had  wept  o'er  Monmouth's  bloody  tomb ! 

When  kindness  had  his  wants  supplied, 
And  the  old  man  was  gratified, 
Began  to  rise  his  minstrel  pride : 
And  he  began  to  talk  anon, 
Of  good  Earl  Francis,4  dead  and  gone, 

immediate  vicinity,  called  Auldwark,  founded,  it  is  said,  by 
Alexander  III.  Both  were  designed  for  the  royal  residence 
when  the  king  was  disposed  to  take  his  pleasure  in  the  exten- 
sive forest  of  Ettricke.  Various  grants  occur  in  the  records 
of  the  Brivy  Seal,  bestowing  the  keeping  of  the  Castle  of 
Newark  upon  different  barons.  There  is  a  popular  tradition 
that  it  was  once  seized,  and  held  out  by  the  outlaw  Murray, 
a  noted  character  in  song,  who  only  surrendered  Newark  upon 
condition  of  being  made  hereditary  sheriff  of  the  forest.  A 
long  ballad,  containing  an  account  of  this  transaction,  is 
preserved  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy  (vol.  i.  p.  369).  Upon  the 
marriage  of  James  IV.  with  Margaret,  sister  of  Henry  VIII., 
the  Castle  of  Newark,  with  the  whole  Forest  of  Ettricke, 
was  assigned  to  her  as  a  part  of  her  jointure  lands.  But 
of  this  she  could  make  little  advantage;  for,  after  the  death 
of  her  husband,  she  is  found  complaining  heavily,  that 
Buccleuch  had  seized  upon  these  lands.  Indeed,  the  office 
of  keeper  was  latterly  held  by  the  family  of  Buccleuch,  and 
with  so  firm  a  grasp,  that  when  the  Forest  of  Ettricke  was 
disparked,  they  obtained  a  grant  of  the  Castle  of  Newark  in 
property.  It  was  within  the  court-yard  of  this  castle  that 
General  Lesly  did  military  execution  upon  the  prisoners 
whom  he  had  taken  at  the  battle  of  Philiphaugh.  The  castle 
continued  to  be  an  occasional  seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family 
for  more  than  a  century;  and  here,  it  is  said,  the  Duchess  of 
Monmouth  and  Buccleuch  was  brought  up.  For  this  reason, 
probably,  Mr.  Scott  has  chosen  to  make  it  the  scene  in  which 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  is  recited  in  her  presence,  and 
for  her  amusement." — Schetky's  Illustrations  of  Hie  Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel. 

It  may  be  added  that  Bowhill  was  the  favorite  residence  of 
Lord  and  Lady  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Buccleueh-),  at  the  time  when  the  poem  was  composed;  the 
ruins  of  Newark  are  all  but  included  in  the  park  attached  to 
that  modern  scat  of  the  family ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  no 
doubt,  was  influenced  in  his  choice  of  the  locality,  by  the 
predilection  of  the  charming  lady  who  suggested  the  subject 
of  his  Lay  for  the  scenery  of  the  Yarrow — a  beautiful  walk 
on  whose  banks,  leading  from  the  house  to  the  old  castle,  is 
called,  in  memory  of  her,  the  Duchess's  Walk. — Ed. 

3  Anne,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch  and  Monmouth,  representa- 
tiveof  Die  ancient  Lords  of  Buccleuch,  and  widow  of  the  unfor- 
tunate James,  Duke  of  Monmouth,  who  was  beheaded  in  1685. 

*  Francis  Scott,  Earl  of  Buccleuch,  father  of  the  Duchess. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


And  of  Earl  Walter,1  rest  him  God ! 

A  braver  ne'er  to  battle  rode ; 

And  how  full  many  a  tale  he  knew, 

Of  the  old  warriors  of  Buccleuch  : 

And,  would  the  noble  Duchess  deign 

To  listen  to  an  old  man's  strain, 

Though  stiff  his  hand,  his  voice  though  weak, 

He  thought  even  yet,  the  sooth  to  speak, 

That,  if  she  loved  the  harp  to  hear, 

He  could  make  music  to  her  ear. 

The  humble  boon  was  soon  obtain'd ; 
The  Aged  Minstrel  audience  gain'd. 
But  when  he  reach'd  the  room  of  state, 
Where  she,  with  all  her  ladies,  sate, 
Perchance  he  wish'd  his  boon  denied : 
For,  when  to  tune  his  harp  he  tried, 
His  trembling  hand  had  lost  the  ease, 
Which  marks  security  to  please ; 
And  scenes,  long  past,  of  joy  and  pain, 
Came  wildering  o'er  his  aged  brain — 
He  tried  to  tune  his  harp  in  vain  !2 
The  pitying  Duchess  praised  its  chime, 
And  gave  him  heart,  and  gave  him  time, 
Till  every  string's  according  glee 
Was  blended  into  harmony. 
And  then,  he  said,  he  would  full  fain 
He  could  recall  an  ancient  strain, 
He  never  thought  to  sing  again. 
It  was  not  framed  for  village  churls, 
But  for  high  dames  and  mighty  earls ; 
He  had  play'd  it  to  King  Charles  the  Good, 
When  he  kept  court  in  Holyrood: 
And  much  he  wish'd,  yet  fear'd,  to  try 
The  long-forgotten  melody. 
Amid  the  strings  his  fingers  stray'd, 
And  an  uncertain  warbling  made, 
And  oft  he  shook  his  hoary  head. 
But  when  he  caught  the  measure  wild, 
The  old  mau  raised  his  face  and  smiled ; 


1  Walter,  Earl  of  Buccleuch,  grandfather  of  the  Duchess, 
and  a  celebrated  warrior. 

2  "Mr.  W.  Dundas  (see  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  226)  says,  that 
Pitt  repeated  the  lines,  describing  the  old  harper's  embarrass- 
ment when  asked  to  play,  and  said, — 'This  is  a  sort  of  thing 
which  I  might  have  expected  in  painting,  but  could  never 
have  fancied  capable  of  being  given  in  poetry.' " 

3  "In  the  very  first  rank  of  poetical  excellence,  we  are 
inclined  to  place  the  introductory  and  concluding  lines  of 
every  canto,  in  which  the  ancient  strain  is  suspended,  and 
the  feelings  and  situation  of  the  minstrel  himself  described  in 
the  words  of  the  author.  The  elegance  and  the  beauty  of  this 
setting,  if  we  may  so  call  it,  though  entirely  of  modern  work- 
manship, appears  to  us  to  be  fully  more  worthy  of  admiration 
than  the  bolder  relief  of  the  antiques  which  it  encloses,  and 
leads  us  to  regret  that  the  author  should  have  wasted,  in  imitation 
and  antiquarian  researches,  so  much  of  those  powers  which  seem 
fully  equal  to  the  task  of  raising  an  independent  reputation." — 
Jeffrey. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


And  lighten'd  up  his  faded  eye, 
With  all  a  poet's  ecstasy ! 
In  varying  cadence,  soft  or  strong, 
He  swept  the  sounding  chords  along : 
The  present  scene,  the  future  lot, 
His  toils,  his  wants  were  all  forgot : 
Cold  diffidence,  and  age's  frost, 
In  the  full  tide  of  song  were  lost ; 
Each  blank,  in  faithless  memory  void, 
The  poet's  glowing  thought  supplied ; 
And,  while  his  harp  responsive  rung, 
'Twas  thus  the  Latest  Minstrel  sung.8 


Ei)e  Hag  of  tf)e  Hast  fflmztxtl. 


CANTO  FIRST. 


The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower,4 

And  the  Ladye  had  gone  to  her  secret  bower ; 

Her  bower  that  was  guarded  by  word  and  by  spell, 

Deadly  to  hear,  and  deadly  to  tell — 

Jesu  Maria,  shield  us  well ! 

No  living  wight,  save  the  Ladye  alone, 

Had  dared  to  cross  the  threshold  stone. 

II. 

The  tallies  wore  drawn,  it  was  idlesse  all ; 

Knight,  and  page,  and  household  squire, 
Loiter'd  through  the  lofty  hall, 

Or  crowded  round  the  ample  fire : 
The  stag-hounds,  weary  with  the  chase, 

Lay  stretch'd  upon  the  rushy  floor, 
And  urged,  in  dreams,  the  forest  race, 

From  Teviot-stone  to  Eskdale  moor.5 


6  "  The  ancient  romance  owes  much  of  its  interest  to  the 
lively  picture  which  it  affords  of  the  times  of  chivalry,  and 
of  those  usages,  manners,  and  institutions,  which  we  have 
been  accustomed  to  associate  in  our  minds,  with  a  certain  com- 
bination of  magnificence  with  simplicity,  and  ferocity  with 
romantic  honor.  The  representations  contained  in  those 
performances,  however,  are,  for  the  most  part,  too  rude  and 
naked  to  give  complete  satisfaction.  The  execution  is  always 
extremely  unequal ;  and  though  the  writer  sometimes  touches 
upon  the  appropriate  feeling  with  great  effect  and  felicity, 
still  this  appears  to  be  done  more  by  accident  than  design ; 
and  he  wanders  away  immediately  into  all  sorts  of  ridiculous 
or  uninteresting  details,  without  any  apparent  consciousness 
of  incongruity.  These  defects  Mr.  Scott  has  corrected  with 
admirable  address  and  judgment  in  the  greater  part  of  the 
work  now  before  us ;  and  while  he  has  exhibited  a  very  strik- 
ing and  impressive  picture  of  the  old  feudal  usages  and  insti- 
tutions, he  has  shown  still  greater  talent  in  engrafting  upon 
those  descriptions  all  the  tender  or  magnanimous  emotions  to 
which  the  circumstances  of  the  story  naturally  give  rise. 
Without  impairing  the  antique  air  of  the  whole  piece,  or  vio- 
lating the  simplicity  of  the  ballad  style,  he  has  contrived,  in 


10 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


III. 
Nine-and-twenty  knights  of  fame 

Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome  Hall  ;l 
Nine-and-twenty  squires  of  name 
Brought  them  their  steeds  to  bower  from  stall ; 
Nine-and-twenty  yeomen  tall 
Waited,  duteous,  on  them  all: 
They  were  all  knights  of  mettle  true, 
Kinsmen  to  the  bold  Buccleuch. 

IV. 
Ten  of  them  were  sheathed  in  steel, 
With  belted  sword,  and  spur  on  heel : 
They  quitted  not  their  harness  bright, 
Neither  by  day,  nor  yet  by  night : 

They  lay  down  to  rest, 

With  corselet  laced, 
Pillow'd  on  buckler  cold  and  hard ; 

They  carved  at  the  meal 

With  gloves  of  steel, 
And  they  drank  the  red  wine  through  the  helmet 
barr'd. 

V. 

Ten  squires,  ten  yeomen,  mail-clad  men, 
Waited  the  beck  of  the  warders  ten ; 
Thirty  steeds,  both  fleet  and  wight, 
Stood  saddled  in  stable  day  and  night, 
Barbed  with  frontlet  of  steel,  I  trow, 
And  with  Jedwood-axe  at  saddlebow  ;2 
A  hundred  more  fed  free  in  stall : — 
Such  was  the  custom  of  Branksome  Hall. 

VI. 

Why  do  these  steeds  stand  ready  dight  ? 

Why  watch  these  warriors,  arm'd,  by  night? — 

They  watch  to  hear  the  blood-hound  baying ; 

They  watch  to  hear  the  war-horn  braying ; 

To  see  St.  George's  red  cross  streaming, 

To  see  the  midnight  beacon  gleaming  : 

They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 
Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  towers, 

From    Warkworth,    or    Naworth,    or   merry  Car- 
lisle.3 

this  way,  to  impart  a  much  greater  dignity  and  more  power- 
ful interest  to  his  production,  than  could  ever  be  obtained  by 
the  unskillful  and  unsteady  delineations  of  the  old  romancers. 
Nothing,  we  think,  can  afford  a  finer  Illustration  of  this  re- 
mark, than  the  opening  stanzas  of  the  whole  poem;  they 
transport  us  at  once  into  the  days  of  knightly  daring  and 
feudal  hostility,  at  the  same  time  that  they  suggest,  in  a  very 
interesting  way,  all  those  softer  Bentiments  which  arise  out 
of  some  parts  of  the  description." — JEFFREY. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  D,  and  compare  these  stanzas  with  the 
description  of  Jamie  Telfer's  appearance  at  Rranksome  Hall 
(Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  6),  to  claim  the  protection  of 
"Auld  Buccleuch"— and  the  ensuing  scene  (page  9), — 


VII. 
Such  is  the  custom  of  Branksome  Hall. — * 

Many  a  valiant  knight  is  here; 
But  he,  the  chieftain  of  them  all, 
His  sword  hangs  rusting  on  the  wall, 
Beside  his  broken  spear. 
Bards  long  shall  tell 
Eow  Lord  Walter  fell!5 
When  startled  burghers  fled,  afar, 
The  furies  of  the  Border  war ; 
When  the  streets  of  high  Dunedin6 
Saw  lances  gleam,  and  falchions  redden, 
And  heard  the  slogan's7  deadly  yell — 
Then  the  Chief  of  Branksome  fell. 

VIII. 

Can  piety  the  discord  heal, 

Or  stanch  the  death-feud's  enmity  ? 
Can  Christian  lore,  can  patriot  zeal, 

Can  love  of  blessed  charity  ? 
No !  vainly  to  each  holy  shrine, 

In  mutual  pilgrimage,  they  drew ; 
Implored,  in  vain,  the  grace  divine 

For  chiefs,  their  own  red  falchions  slew : 
While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 

While  Ettrick  boasts  the  line  of  Scott, 
The  slaughter'd  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 
The  havoc  of  the  feudal*  war, 

Shall  never,  never  be  forgot  !8 

IX. 

In  sorrow  o'er  Lord  Walter's  bier 

The  warlike  foresters  had  bent ; 
And  many  a  flower,  and  many  a  tear, 

Old  Teviot's  maids  and  matrons  lent : 
But  o'er  her  warrior's  bloody  bier 
The  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  flower  nor  tear  !9 
Vengeance,  deep-brooding  o'er  the  slain, 

Had  lock'd  the  source  of  softer  woe ; 
And  burning  pride,  and  high  disdain, 

Forbade  the  rising  tear  to  flow ; 
Until,  amid  his  sorrowing  clan, 

Her  son  lisp'd  from  the  nurse's  knee — 
"  And  if  I  live  to  be  a  man, 

My  father's  death  revenged  shall  be !" 


"The  Scotts  they  rade,  the  Scotts  they  ran, 

Sae  starkly  and  sae  steadilie  ! 
And  aye  the  ower-word  o'  the  thrang 

Was—Rise  for  Branksome  readilie,'"  &e. 

Compare   also    the   Ballad    of   Kinmonl   Willie  (vol.  ii.  p. 

53) 

"Now  word  is  gane  to  the  bauld  keeper, 

In  Brankaome  ha'  where  thai  he  lay,"  Ac.— Ed. 

i  "There  are  not  many  passages  in  English  poetry  more  im- 
pressive than  some  parts  of  Stanzas  vii.  viii.  ix."— Jeffrky. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

«  Edinburgh. 

'  The  war-cry,  or  gathering-word,  of  a  Border  clan. 

B  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

»  Orig.  (1st  Edition).  "The  Ladye  dropp'd  nor  sigh  nortear." 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTKEL. 


11 


Then  fast  the  mother's  tears  did  seek 
To  dew  the  infant's  kindling  cheek. 

X. 

All  loose  her  negligent  attire, 

All  loose  her  golden  hair, 
Hung  Margaret  o'er  her  slaughter'd  sire, 

And  wept  in  wild  despair. 
But  not  alone  the  bitter  tear 

Had  filial  grief  supplied ; 
For  hopeless  love,  and  anxious  fear, 

Had  lent  their  mingled  tide : 
Nor  in  her  mother's  alter'd  eye 
Dared  she  to  look  for  sympathy. 
Her  lover,  'gainst  her  father's  clan, 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood,1 
When  Mathouse-burn  to  Melrose  ran, 

All  purple  with  their  blood : 
And  well  she  knew,  her  mother  dread, 
Before  Lord  Cranstoun  she  should  wed,2 
Would  see  her  on  her  dying  bed. 

XL 

Of  noble  race  the  Ladye  came, 
Her  father  was  a  clerk  of  fame, 

Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie  :3 
He  learn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name, 

In  Padua,  far  beyond  the  sea.4 
Men  said  he  changed  his  mortal  frame 

By  feat  of  magic  mystery ; 
For  when,  in  studious  mood,  he  paced 

St.  Andrew's  cloister'd  hall,5 
His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 

Upon  the  sunny  wall  !6 

XII. 

And  of  his  skill,  as  bards  avow, 

He  taught  that  Ladye  fair, 
Till  to  her  bidding  she  could  bow 

The  viewless  forms  of  air.7 
And  now  she  sits  in  secret  bower, 
In  old  Lord  David's  western  tower, 
And  listens  to  a  heavy  sound, 
That  moans  the  mossy  turrets  round. 
Is  it  the  roar  of  Teviot's  tide, 
That  chafes  against  the  scaur's8  red  side  ? 
Is  it  the  wind  that  swings  the  oaks  ? 
Is  it  the  echo  from  the  rocks  ? 
What  may  it  be,  the  heavy  sound 
That  moans  old  Branksome's  turrets  round  ? 

XIII. 

At  the  sullen,  moaning  sound, 
The  ban-dogs  bay  and  howl ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  G.  (The  name  is  spelt  differently  by 
the  various  families  who  bear  it.  Carr  is  selected,  not  as  the 
most  correct,  but  as  the  most  poetical  reading.) 

-  See  Appendix,  Note  H.  3  ibid.  Note  I. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 


And,  from  the  turrets  round, 

Loud  whoops  the  startled  owl. 
In  the  hall,  both  squire  and  knight 

Swore  that  a  storm  was  near, 
And  looked  forth  to  view  the  night ; 

But  the  night  was  still  and  clear ! 

XIV. 

From  the  sound  of  Teviot's  tide, 
Chafing  with  the  mountain's  side, 
From  the  groan  of  the  wind-swung  oak, 
From  the  sullen  echo  of  the  rock, 
From  the  voice  of  the  coming  storm, 

The  Ladye  knew  it  well ! 
It  was  the  Spirit  of  the  Flood  that  S]3oke, 

And  he  called  on  the  Spirit  of  the  Fell. 

XV. 

RIVER    SPIRIT. 

"Sleep'st  thou,  brother?" — 

MOUNTAIN  SPIRIT. 
— "  Brother,  nay — 
On  my  hills  the  moonbeams  play. 
From  Craik-cross  to  Skelf  hill-pen, 
By  every  rill,  in  every  glen, 

Merry  elves  their  morris  pacing, 

To  aerial  minstrelsy, 
Emerald  rings  on  brown  heath  tracing, 

Trip  it  deft  and  merrily. 
Up,  and  mark  their  nimble  feet ! 
Up,  and  list  their  music  sweet !" 

XVI. 

RIVER   SPIRIT. 
"Tears  of  an  imprison'd  maiden 

Mix  with  my  polluted  stream ; 
Margaret  of  Branksome,  sorrow-laden, 

Mourns  beneath  the  moon's  pale  beam. 
Tell  me,  thou,  who  view'st  the  stars, 
When  shall  cease  these  feudal  jars? 
What  shall  be  the  maiden's  fate  ? 
Who  shall  be  the  maiden's  mate  ?" — 

XVII. 
MOUNTAIN   SPIRIT. 
"  Arthur's  slow  wain  his  course  doth  roll 
In  utter  darkness  round  the  pole ; 
The  Northern  Bear  lowers  black  and  grim ; 
Orion's  studded  belt  is  dim  ; 
Twinkling  faint,  and  distant  far,  t 

o  >  ?  j 

Shimmers  through  mist  each  planet  star; 

111  may  I  read  their  high  decree ! 
But  no  kind  influence  deign  they  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide,  and  Branksome's  tower, 

Till  pride  be  quell'd,  and  love  be  free." 

5  First    Edition—"^.  Kentigerne's  hall."— St.  Mungo,  or 
Kentigerne,  is  the  patron  saint  of  Glasgow. 


«  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

8  Scaur,  a  precipitous  bank  of  earth. 


i  Ibid.  Note  M. 


12 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XVIII. 
The  unearthly  voices  ceast, 

And  the  heavy  sound  was  still; 
It  died  on  the  river's  in-cast, 

It  died  on  the  side  of  the  hill. 
But  round  Lord  David's  tower 

The  sound  still  floated  near; 
For  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  bower, 

And  it  rung  in  the  Ladye's  car. 
She  raised  her  stately  head, 

And  her  heart  throbb'd  high  with  pride: — 
"Your  mountains  shall  bend, 
And  your  streams  ascend, 

Ere  Margaret  be  our  foeman's  bride." 

XIX. 

The  Ladye  sought  the  lofty  hall, 

Where  many  a  bold  retainer  lay, 
And,  with  jocund  din,  among  them  all, 

Her  son  pursued  his  infant  play. 
A  fancied  moss-trooper,1  the  boy 

The  truncheon  of  a  spear  bestrode, 
And  round  the  hall,  right  merrily, 

In  mimic  foray2  rode. 
Even  bearded  knights,  in  arms  grown  old, 

Share  in  his  frolic  gambols  bore, 
Albeit  their  hearts,  of  rugged  mould, 

Were  stubborn  as  the  steel  they  wore. 
For  the  gray  warriors  prophesied, 

How  the  brave  boy,  in  future  war, 
Should  tame  the  Unicorn's  ])ride,3 

Exalt  the  Crescent  and  the  Star.* 

XX. 

The  Ladye  forgot  her  purpose  high, 

One  moment,  and  no  more ; 
One  moment  gazed  with  a  mother's  eye, 

As  she  paused  at  the  arched  door : 
Then  from  amid  the  armed  train, 
She  call'd  to  her  William  of  Deloraine.5 

XXI. 

A  stark  moss-trooping  Scott  was  he, 
As  e'er  couch'd  Border  lance  by  knee ; 
Through  Solway  sands,  through  Terras  moss, 
Blindfold,  he  knew  the  paths  to  cross; 
By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 
Had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-hounds;6 
In  Eske  or  Liddel,  fords  were  none, 
But  he  would  ride  them,  one  by  one; 
Alike  to  him  was  time  or  tide, 
December's  snow,  or  July's  pride ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

2  Foray,  a  predatory  inroad. 

3  This  line,  of  which  the  metre  appears  defective,  would 
have  its  fuli  complement  of  feet  according  to  the  pronuncia- 
tion of  the  poet  himself — aa  all  who  were  familiar  with  his 
utterance  of  the  letter  r  will  bear  testimony.— En. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  0.     5  Ibid.  Note  P.      «  Ibid.  Note  Q. 
"  Hairibee,  the  place  of  executing  the  Border  marauders  al 

Carlisle.    The  neck-verse  is  the  beginning  of  the  51st  Psalm, 


Alike  to  him  was  tide  or  time, 

Moonless  midnight,  or  matin  prime : 

Steady  of  heart,  and  stout  of  hand. 

As  ever  drove  prey  from  Cumberland ; 

Five  times  outlawed  had  he  been, 

By  England's  King,  and  Scotland's  Queen. 

XXII.      . 
"  Sir  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 
Mount  thee  on  the  wightest  steed; 
Spare  not  to  sjrar,  nor  stint  to  ride, 
Until  thou  come  to  fair  Tweedside ; 
And  in  Melrose's  holy  pile 
Seek  thou  the  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle. 

Greet  the  Father  well  from  me ; 
Say  that  the  fated  hour  has  come, 

And  to-night  he  shall  watch  with  thee, 
To  win  the  treasures  of  the  tomb : 
For  this  will  be  St.  Michael's  night, 
And,  though  stars  be  dim,  the  moon  is  bright ; 
And  the  Cross,  of  bloody  red, 
Will  point  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead. 

XXIII. 
"  What  he  gives  thee,  see  thou  keep ; 
Stay  not  thou  for  food  or  sleep : 
Be  it  scroll,  or  be  it  book, 
Into  it,  Knight,  thou  must  not  look  ; 
If  thou  readest,  thou  art  lorn ! 
Better  hadst  thou  ne'er  been  born." — 

XXIV. 

"  Oh,  swiftly  can  speed  my  dapple-gray  steed, 

Which  drinks  of  the  Teviot  clear ; 
Ere  break  of  day,"  the  Warrior  'gan  say, 

"  Again  will  I  be  here : 
And  safer  by  none  may  thy  errand  be  done, 

Than,  noble  dame,  by  me; 
Letter  nor  line  know  I  never  a  one, 

Wer't  my  neck-verse  at  Hairibee."7 

XXV. 

Soon  in  his  saddle  sat  he  fast, , 

And  soon  the  steep  descent  he  past, 

Soon  cross'd  the  sounding  barbican,8 

And  soon  the  Teviot  side  he  won. 

Eastward  the  wooded  path  he  rode, 

Green  hazels  o'er  his  basnet  nod ; 

He  pass'd  the  Peel9  of  Goldiland, 

And  cross'd  old  Borthwick's  roaring  strand; 

Dimly  he  view'd  the  Moat-hill's  mound, 

Where  Druid  shades  still  flitted  round  ;10 

Miserere  met,  &c.,  anciently  read  by  criminals  claiming  the 
benefit  of  clergy.  ["In  the  rough  but  spirited  sketch  of  the 
marauding  Borderer,  and  in  thenaivete  of  bis  last  declaration, 
the  reader  will  recognize  some  of  the  most  striking  features 
of  the  ancient  ballad." — Critical  Beviea.'] 

8  Barbican,  the  defence  of  the  outer  gate  of  a  feudal  castle. 

o  Peel,  a  Border  tower. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  R. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


13 


In  Hawick  twinkled  many  a  light ; 
Behind  hirn  soon  they  set  in  night  ; 
And  soon  he  spurr'd  his  courser  keen 
Beneath  the  tower  of  Hazeldean.1 

XXVI. 

The  clattering  hoofs  the  watchmen  mark ; — 
"  Stand,  ho !  thou  courier  of  the  dark." — 
"  For  Branksome,  ho !"  the  Knight  rejoin'd, 
And  left  the  friendly  tower  behind. 

He  turn'd  him  now  from  Teviotside, 
And,  guided  by  the  tinkling  rill, 

Northward  the  dark  ascent  did  ride, 
And  gain'd  the  moor  at  Horsliehill ; 
Broad  on  the  left  before  him  lay, 
For  many  a  mile,  the  Roman  way.2 

XXVII. 

A  moment  now  he  slack'd  his  speed, 
A  moment  breathed  his  panting  steed ; 
Drew  saddle-girth  and  corselet-band, 
And  loosen'd  in  the  sheath  his  brand. 
On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint,3 
Where  Barnhill  hew'd  his  bed  of  flint ; 
Who  flung  his  outlaw'd  limbs  to  rest, 
Where  falcons  hang  their  giddy  nest, 
Mid  cliffs,  from  whence  his  eagle  eye 
For  many  a  league  his  prey  could  spy ; 
Cliffs,  doubling,  on  their  echoes  borne, 
The  terrors  of  the  robber's  horn  ; 
Cliffs,  which,  for  many  a  later  year, 
The  warbling  Doric  reed  shall  hear, 
When  some  sad  swain  shall  teach  the  grove, 
Ambition  is  no  cure  for  love ! 

XXVIII. 

Unchallenged,  thence  pass'd  Deloraine, 
To  ancient  Riddel's  fair  domain,4 

Where  Aill,  from  mountains  freed, 
Down  from  the  lakes  did  raving  come ; 
Each  wave  was  crested  with  tawny  foam, 

Like  the  mane  of  a  chestnut  steed. 
Iu  vain !  no  torrent,  deep  or  broad, 
Might  bar  the  bold  moss-trooper's  road. 

XXIX. 

At  the  first  plunge  the  horse  sunk  low, 
And  the  water  broke  o'er  the  saddlebow ; 
Above  the  foaming  tide,  I  ween, 
Scarce  half  the  charger's  neck  was  seen  ; 
For  he  was  barded5  from  counter  to  tail, 
And  the  rider  was  armed  complete  in  mail ; 
Never  heavier  man  and  horse 
Stemm'd  a  midnight  torrent's  force. 


The  Warrior's  very  plume,  I  say, 

Was  daggled  by  the  dashing  spray  ; 

Yet,  through  good  heart,  and  Our  Ladye's  grace, 

At  length  he  gain'd  the  landing  place. 

XXX. 

Now  Bowden  Moor  the  march-man  won, 

And  sternly  shook  his  plumed  head, 
As  glanced  his  eye  o'er  Halidon  ;6 

For  on  his  soul  the  slaughter  red 
Of  that  unhallow'd  morn  arose, 
When  first  the  Scott  and  Carr  were  foes ; 
When  royal  James  beheld  the  fray, 
Prize  to  the  victor  of  the  day  ; 
When  Home  and  Douglas  in  the  van 
Bore  down  Buccleuch's  retiring  clan, 
Till  gallant  Cessford's  heart-blood  dear 
Reek'd  on  dark  Elliot's  Border  spear. 

XXXI. 

In  bitter  mood  he  spurred  fast, 

And  soon  the  hated  heath  was  past ; 

And  far  beneath,  in  lustre  wan, 

Old  Melros'  rose,  and  fair  Tweed  ran : 

Like  some  tall  rock  with  lichens  gray, 

Seem'd  dimly  huge,  the  dark  Abbaye. 

When  Hawick  he  pass'd,  had  curfew  rung, 

Now  midnight  lauds7  were  in  Melrose  sung. 

The  sound,  upon  the  fitful  gale, 

In  solemn  wise  did  rise  and  fail, 

Like  that  wild  harp,  whose  magic  tone 

Is  waken'd  by  the  winds  alone. 

But  when  Melrose  he  reach'd,  'twas  silence  all ; 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 

And  sought  the  convent's  lonely  wall.8 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

2  An  ancient  Roman  road,  crossing  through  part  of  Rox- 
burghshire. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  «  Ibid.  Note  U. 

5  Barded,  or  barbed,— applied  to  a  horse  accoutred  with 
defensive  armor. 


Here  paused  the  harp ;  and  with  its  swell 

The  Master's  fire  and  courage  fell ; 

Dejectedly,  and  low,  he  bow'd, 

And  gazing  timid  on  the  crowd, 

He  seem'd  to  seek,  in  every  eye, 

If  they  approved  his  minstrelsy ; 

And,  diffident  of  present  praise, 

Somewhat  he  spoke  of  former  days, 

And  how  old  age,  and  wand'ring  long, 

Had  done  his  hand  and  harp  some  wrong. 

The  Duchess,  and  her  daughters  fair, 

And  every  gentle  lady  there, 

Each  after  each,  in  due  degree, 

Gave  praises  to  his  melody ; 

His  hand  was  true,  his  voice  was  clear, 

And  much  they  long'd  the  rest  to  hear. 

Encouraged  thus,  the  Affed  Man, 

After  meet  rest,  again  began. 

6  Halidon  was  an  ancient  seat  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford,  now 
demolished.  About  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  northward  lay 
the  field  of  battle  betwixt  Buccleuch  and  Angus,  which  is 
called  to  this  day  the  Skirmish  Field. — See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

7  Lauds,  the  midnight  service  of  the  Catholic  church. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 


14 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Ojc  Hay  of  tijc  Hast  ffiinatxtl. 


CA.N'TO   SECOND. 


Ik  thou  would'st  view  fair  Melrose  aright,1 
tin  visit  it  by  the  pale  moonlight; 
For  the  gay  beams  of  lightsome  day 

Gild,  but  to  flout,  the  ruins  gray. 

When  the  broken  arches  are  black  in  night, 

And  each  shafted  oriel  glimmers  white  : 

When  the  cold  light's  uncertain  shower 

Streams  on  the  ruiu'd  central  tower; 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

And  the  scrolls  that  teach  thee  to  live  and  die  ;2 

When  distant  Tweed  is  heard  to  rave, 

And  the  owlet  to  hoot  o'er  the  dead  man's  grave, 

Then  go— but  go  alone  the  while — 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruiu'd  pile  ;3 

And,  home  returning,  soothly  swear, 

Was  never  scene  so  sad  and  fair ! 

II. 

Short  halt  did  Deloraine  make  there, 
Little  reck'd  he  of  the  scene  so  fair : 
With  dagger's  hilt,  on  the  wicket  strong, 
He  struck  full  loud,  and  struck  full  long. 
The  porter  hurried  to  the  gate — 
"  Who  knocks  so  loud,  and  knocks  s^late?" 
"  From  Branksome  I,"  the  Warrior  cried, 
And  straight  the  wicket  oj>en'd  wide : 
For  Branksome's  Chiefs  had  in  battle  stood, 

To  fence  the  rights  of  fair  Melrose ; 
And  lands  and  livings,  many  a  rood, 

Had  gifted  the  shrine  for  their  souls'  repose.4 

III. 
Bold  Deloraine  his  errand  said; 
The  porter  bent  his  humble  head; 
With  torch  in  hand,  and  feet  unshod, 
And  noiseless  step,  the  path  he  trod: 
The  arched  cloister,  far  and  wide, 
Rang  to  the  Warrior's  clanking  stride, 
Till,  stooping  low  his  lofty  crest, 
He  enter'd  the  cell  of  the  ancient  Priest, 


1  "In  the  description  of  Melrose, which  int  reduces  the  second 
canto,  the  reader  will  observe  how  skillfully  the  Author  calls 
in  the  aid  of  Bentimental  associations  to  heighten  the  effect 
of  the  picture  which  he  presents  to  the  eye." — Jeffeey. 

-  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

3  David  I.  of  Scotland,  purchased  the  reputation  of  sanctity, 
by  founding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
of  Melrose,  hut  those  of  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others; 
which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  successor, 
that  he  was  a  sore  saint  for  Hie  crown. 


And  lifted  his  barred  aventayle,8 
To  hail  the  Monk  of  St  Mary's  aisle. 

IV. 
"The  Ladye  of  Branksome  greets  thee  by  me; 

Says,  that  the  fated  hour  is  come, 
And  that  to-night  I  shall  watch  with  thee, 

To  win  the  treasure  of  the  tomb." 
From  sackcloth  couch  the  Monk  arose, 

With  toil  his  stilfen'd  limbs  he  rear'd  ; 
A  hundred  years  had  flung  their  snows 

On  his  thin  locks  and  floating  beard. 

V. 

And  strangely  on  the  Knight  look'd  he, 

And  his  blue  eyes  gleam'd  wild  and  wide ; 
"And,  darest  thou,  Warrior!  seek  to  see 

What  heaven  and  hell  alike  would  hide? 
My  breast,  in  belt  of  iron  pent, 

With  shirt  of  hair  and  scourge  of  thorn  ; 
For  threescore  years,  in  penance  spent, 

My  knees  those  flinty  stones  have  worn  ; 
Yet  all  too  little  to  atone 
For  knowing  what  should  ne'er  be  known. 

Would'st  thou  thy  every  future  year 
In  ceaseless  prayer  and  penance  drie, 

Yet  wait  thy  latter  end  with  fear — 
Then,  daring  Warrior,  follow  me !" — 

VI. 

"Penance,  father,  will  I  none; 

Prayer  know  I  hardly  one ; 

For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 

Save  to  patter  an  Ave  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray.6 

Other  prayer  can  I  none ; 

So  speed  me  my  errand,  and  let  me  be  gone." — 

VII. 

Again  on  the  Knight  look'd  the  Churchman  old. 

And  again  be  sighed  heavily ; 
For  he  had  himself  been  a  warrior  hold, 

And  fought  in  Spain  and  Italy. 
And  he  thought  on  the  days  that  were  long  since  by 
When  his  limbs  were  strong,  and  his  courage    •• .  • 

high:- 
Now,  slow  and  faint,  he  led  the  way, 
Where,  cloister'd  round,  the  garden  lay ; 
The  pillar'd  arches  were  over  their  head, 
And  beneath  their  feet  were  the  bones  of  the  dead.' 


«  The  Buccleuch  family  were  great  benefactors  to  th( 
of  Melrose.    As  early  as  the  reign  of  Robert  II.,  Robert  Scott, 
Raron  of  Murdieston  and  Eankleburn  (now  Buccleuch),  gav< 
to  the  monks  the  lands  of  Hinkery,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  pn 
salute  ntihmr  sucB—Chartulary  <}f  Melrose,  28th  May,  1415. 

■r'  Aventayle,  visor  of  the  helmet. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

1  The  cloisters  were  frequently  used  as  places  of  sepulture. 
An  io-iance  occurs  in  Dryburgh  Abbey,  where  the  cloister 
has  an  inscription,  hearing,  Hie  jacetfrater  Archibald™. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTEEL. 


15 


VIII. 

tpreading  herbs,  and  flowerets  bright, 
Glisten'd  with  the  dew  of  night  ; 
Nor  herb,  nor  floweret,  glisten'd  there, 
But  was  carved  in  the  cloister-arches  as  fair. 
The  Monk  gazed  long  on  the  lovely  moon, 

Then  into  the  night  he  looked  forth ; 
And  red  and  bright  the  streamers  light 
Were  dancing  in  the  glowing  north. 
So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start  j1 
Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. 
He  knew,  by  the  streamers  that  shot  so  bright, 
That  spirits  were  riding  the  northern  light. 

IX. 

By  a  steel-clenched  postern  door, 

They  enter'd  now  the  chancel  tall ; 
The  darken'd  roof  rose  high  aloof 

On  pillars  lofty  and  light  and  small : 
The  key-stone,  that  lock'd  each  ribbed  aisle, 
Was  a  fleur-de-lys,  or  a  quatre-feuille ; 
The  corbells2  were  carved  grotesque  and  grim ; 
And  the  pillars,  with  cluster'd  shafts  so  trim, 
With  base  and  with  capital  flourish'd  around,3 
Seem'd  bundles  of  lances  which  garlands  had  bound. 


Full  many  a  scutcheon  and  banner  riven, 
Shook  to  the  cold  night-wind  of  heaven, 

Around  the  screened  altar's  pale  ; 
And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn, 
Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn,     ■ 

0  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne  !4 

And  thine,  dark  Knight  of  Liddesdale!5 
Oh,  fading  honors  of  the  dead  ! 
Oh,  high  ambition,  lowly  laid ! 

XI. 

The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone6 
Through  slender  shafts  of  shapely  stone, 

By  foliage  tracery  combined ; 
Thou  would'st  have  thought  some  fairy's  hand 
'Twixt  poplars  straight  the  ozier  wand, 

In  many  a  freakish  knot,  had  twined ; 
Then  framed  a  spell,  when  the  work  was  done, 
And  changed  the  willow-wreaths  to  stone. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

2  Corbells,  the  projections  from  which  the  arches  spring, 
usually  cut  in  a  fantastic  face,  or  mask. 

3  "With plinth  and  with  capital  flourish'd  around." 

First  Edition. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  Z.    s  ibid.  Note  2  A.    6  ibid.  Note  2  B. 
7  " Bombay,  September  25,  1805.— I  began  last  night  to  read 

Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  as  part  of  my  even- 
ing readings  to  my  children.  I  was  extremely  delighted  by 
the  poetical  beauty  of  some  passages,  the  Abbey  of  Melrose 
for  example,  and  most  of  the  prologues  to  the  cantos.  The 
costume,  too,  is  admirable.  The  tone  is  antique ;  and  it  might 
be  read  for  instruction  as  a  picture  of  the  manners  of  the 


The  silver  light,  so  pale  and  faint, 
Shew'd  many  a  prophet,  and  many  a  saint, 

Whose  image  on  the  glass  was  dyed ; 
Full  in  the  midst,  his  Cross  of  Red 
Triumphant  Michael  brandished, 

And  trampled  the  Apostate's  pride. 
The  moonbeam  kiss'd  the  holy  pane, 
And  threw  on  the  pavement  a  bloody  stain.7 

XII. 

They  sate  them  down  on  a  marble  stone,8 — 

(A  Scottish  monarch  slept  below;) 
Thus  spoke  the  Monk,  in  solemn  tone : — 

"  I  was  not  always  a  man  of  woe ; 
For  Paynim  countries  I  have  trod, 
And  fought  beneath  the  Cross  of  God : 
Now,  strange  to  my  eyes  thine  arms  appear, 
And  their  iron  clang  sounds  strange  to  my  ear. 

XIII. 

"  In  these  far  climes  it  was  my  lot 
To  meet  the  wondrous  Michael  Scott;9 

A  wizard,  of  such  dreaded  fame, 
That  when,  in  Salamanca's  cave,10 
Him  listed  his  magic  wand  to  wave, 

The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame ! u 
Some  of  his  skill  he  taught  to  me ; 
And,  Warrior,  I  could  say  to  thee 
The  words  that  cleft  Eildon  hills  in  three,12 

And  bridled  the  Tweed  with  a  curb  of  stone : 
But  to  speak  them  were  a  deadly  sin ; 
And  for  having  but  thought  them  my  heart  within, 

A  treble  penance  must  be  done. 

XIV. 

"  When  Michael  lay  on  his  dying  bed, 

His  conscience  was  awakened : 

He  bethought  him  of  his  sinful  deed, 

And  he  gave  me  a  sign  to  come  with  speed : 

I  was  in  Spain  when  the  morning  rose, 
But  I  stood  by  his  bed  ere  evening  close. 
The  words  may  not  again  be  said, 

That  he  spoke  to  me,  on  death-bed  laid  ; 
They  would  rend  this  Abbaye's  massy  nave, 
And  pile  it  in  heaps  above  his  grave. 

XV. 

"  I  swore  to  bury  his  Mighty  Book, 
That  never  mortal  might  therein  look ; 

middle  ages."  "  November  2, 1805. — We  are  perfectly  enchanted 
with  Walter  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.  He  is  surely 
the  man  born  at  last  to  translate  the  Iliad.  Are  not  the 
good  parts  of  his  poem  the  most  Homeric  of  anything  in  our 
language?  There  are  tedious  passages,  and  so  are  there  in 
Homer."— Sir  James  Mackintosh,  Life,  vol.  i.,  pp.  254,  262. 

8  A  large  marble  stone,  in  the  chancel  of  Melrose,  is  pointed 
out  as  the  monument  of  Alexander  II.,  one  of  the  greatest  of 
our  early  kings ;  others  say,  it  is  the  resting-place  of  Waldeve, 
one  of  the  early  abbots,  who  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C.  10  Ibid.  Note  2  D. 

II  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E.  12  Ibid.  Note  2  F 


1G 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  never  to  tell  where  it  was  hid, 

Save  at  his  Chief  of  Branksome's  need : 

And  when  that  need  was  past  and  o'er, 

Again  the  volume  to  restore. 

1  buried  him  on  St.  Michael's  night, 

When   the   bell   toll'd  one,  and  the  moon  was 

bright, 
And  I  dug  his  chamber  among  the  dead, 
When  the  floor  of  the  chancel  was  stained  red, 
That  his  patron's  cross  might  over  him  wave, 
And  scare  the  fiends  from  the  Wizard's  grave. 

XVI. 

"  It  was  a  night  of  woe  and  dread, 

When  Michael  in  the  tomb  I  laid ! 

Strange  sounds  along  the  chancel  pass'd, 

The  banners  waved  without  a  blast" — 

— Still  spoke  the  Monk,  when  the  bell  toll'd  one  !— 

I  tell  you,  that  a  braver  man 

Than  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 

A  gainst  a  foe  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed  ; 

Yet  somewhat  was  he  chill'd  with  dread, 

And  his  hair  did  bristle  upon  his  head. 

XVII. 
"  Lo,  Wrarrior !  now,  the  Cross  of  Red 
Points  to  the  grave  of  the  mighty  dead  ; 
Within  it  burns  a  wondrous  light, 
To  chase  the  spirits  that  love  the  night : 
That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchably, 
Until  the  eternal  doom  shall  be." — 1 
Slow  moved  the  Monk  to  the  broad  flag-stone, 
Which  the  bloody  Cross  was  traced  upon : 
He  pointed  to  a  secret  nook  ; 
An  iron  bar  the  Warrior  took  ;2 
And  the  Monk  made  a  sign  with  his  wither'd  hand, 
The  grave's  huge  portal  to  expand. 

XVIII. 

With  beating  heart  to  the  task  he  went ; 

I  lis  sinewy  frame  o'er  the  grave-stone  bent; 

With  bar  of  iron  heaved  amain, 

Till  the  toil-drops  fell  from  his  brows,  like  rain. 

It  was  by  dint  of  passing  strength, 

That  he  moved  the  massy  stone  at  length. 

I  would  you  had  been  there,  to  see 

I  low  the  light  broke  forth  so  gloriously, 

Stream'd  upward  to  the  chancel  roof, 

And  through  the  galleries  far  aloof! 

No  earthly  flame  blazed  e'er  so  bright: 

It  shone  like  heaven's  own  blessed  light, 

Ami,  issuing  from  the  tomb, 
Show'd  the  Monk's  cowl,  and  visage  pale, 
Danced  on  the  dark-brow'd  Warrior's  mail, 

And  kiss'd  his  waving  plume. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 

2  Grig. — A  bar  from  thence  the  warrior  took. 

3  "  The  agitation  of  the  monk  at  the  sight  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  loved  with  brotherly  affection— the  horror  of  Deloraine, 
and  his  belief  that  the  corpse  frowned,  as  he  withdrew  the 


XIX. 

Before  their  eyes  the  Wizard  lay, 
As  if  he  had  not  been  dead  a  day. 
His  hoary  beard  in  silver  roll'd, 
He  seem'd  some  seventy  winters  old ; 

A  palmer's  amice  wrapp'd  him  round, 

With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 
Like  a  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea : 

His  left  hand  held  his  Book  of  Might; 

A  silver  cross  was  in  his  right ; 

The  lamp  was  placed  beside  his  knee : 
High  and  majestic  was  his  look, 
At  which  the  fellest  fiends  had  shook, 
And  all  unruffled  was  his  face : 
They  trusted  his  soul  had  gotten  grace.3 

XX. 

Often  had  William  of  Deloraine 

Rode  through  the  battle's  bloody  plain, 

And  trampled  down  the  warriors  slain, 

And  neither  known  remorse  nor  awe ; 
Yet  now  remorse  and  awe  he  own'd  ; 
His  breath  came  thick,  his  head  swam  round, 

When  this  strange  scene  of  deatli  he  saw. 
Bewilder'd  and  unnerved  he  stood, 
And  the  priest  pray'd  fervently  and  loud : 
With  eyes  averted  prayed  he ; 
He  might  not  endure  the  sight  to  see, 
Of  the  man  he  had  loved  so  brotherly. 

XXI. 

And  when  the  priest  his  death-prayer  had  pray'd, 

Thus  unto  Deloraine  he  said : — 

"  Now,  speed  thee  what  thou  hast  to  do, 

Or,  Warrior,  we  may  dearly  rue ; 

For  those,  thou  may'st  not  look  upon, 

Are  gathering  fast  round  the  yawning  stone !" — 

Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 

From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 

With  iron  clasp'd,  and  with  iron  bound  : 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frown'd  ;4 

But  the  glare  of  the  sepulchral  light, 

Perchance,  had  dazzled  the  Warrior's  sight. 

XXII. 
When  the  huge  stone  sunk  o'er  the  tomb, 
The  night  return'd  in  double  gloom  ; 
For  the  moon  had  gone  down,  and  the  stars  were  few ; 
And,  as  the  Knight  and  Priest  withdrew, 
With  wavering  steps  and  dizzy  brain, 
They  hardly  might  the  postern  gain. 
'Tis  said,  as  through  the  aisles  they  pass'd, 
They  heard  strange  noises  on  the  blast ; 
And  through  the  cloister-galleries  small, 
Which  at  mid-height  thread  the  chancel  wall, 


magic  volume  from  its  grasp,  are,  in  a  succeeding  part  of  the 
narrative,  circumstances  not  more  happily  conceived  than 
exquisitely  wrought." — Critical  Review. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 


THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST   MINSTREL. 


17 


Loud  sobs,  and  laughter  louder,  ran, 
And  voices  unlike  the  voice  of  man ; 
As  if  the  fiends  kept  holiday, 
Because  these  spells  were  brought  to  day. 
I  cannot  tell  how  the  truth  may  be ; 
I  say  the  tale  as  'twas  said  to  me. 

XXIII. 

"  Now,  hie  thee  hence,"  the  Father  said, 

"  And  when  we  are  on  death-bed  laid, 

Oh  may  our  dear  Ladye,  and  sweet  St.  John, 

Forgive  our  souls  for  the  deed  we  have  done !" — 

The  Monk  return'd  him  to  his  cell, 
And  many  a  prayer  and  penance  sped ; 

When  the  convent  met  at  the  noontide  bell — 
The  Monk  of  St.  Mary's  aisle  was  dead ! 
Before  the  cross  was  the  body  laid, 
With  hando  clasp'd  fast,  as  if  still  he  pray'd. 

XXIV. 

The  Knight  breathed  free  in  the  morning  wind, 

And  strove  his  hardihood  to  find : 

He  was  glad  when  he  pass'd  the  tombstones  gray, 

Which  girdle  round  the  fair  Abbaye; 

For  the  mystic  Book  to  his  bosom  prest, 

Felt  like  a  load  upon  his  breast ; 

And  his  joints,  with  nerves  of  iron  twined, 

Shook,  like  the  aspen  leaves  in  wind. 

Full  fain  was  he  when  the  dawn  of  day 

Began  to  brighten  Cheviot  gray ; 

He  joy'd  to  see  the  cheerful  light, 

And  he  said  Ave  Mary,  as  well  as  he  might. 

XXV. 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  Cheviot  gray, 

The  sun  had  brighten'd  the  Carter's1  side ; 
And  soon  beneath  the  rising  day 

Smiled  Branksome  Towers  and  Teviot's  tide.2 
The  wild  birds  told  their  warbling  tale, 

And  waken'd  every  flower  that  blows ; 
And  peeped  forth  the  violet  pale, 

And  spread  her  breast  the  mountain  rose. 
And  lovelier  than  the  rose  so  red, 

Yet  paler  than  the  violet  pale, 
She  early  left  her  sleepless  bed, 

The  fairest  maid  of  Teviotdale. 

XXVI. 

Why  does  fair  Margaret  so  early  awake,3 

And  don  her  kirtle  so  hastilie ; 
And  the  silken  knots,which  in  hurry  she  would  make, 

Why  tremble  her  slender  fingers  to  tie ; 
Why  does  she  stop,  and  look  often  around, 

As  she  glides  down  the  secret  stair ; 
And  why  does  she  pat  the  shaggy  blood-hound, 

As  he  rouses  him  up  from  his  lair ; 

1  A  mountain  on  the  Border  of  England,  above  Jedburgh. 

2  "  How  lovely  and  exhilarating  is  the  fresh  cool  morning 
landscape  which  relieves  the  mind  after  the  horrors  of  the 
spell-guarded  tomb  !" — Anna  Seward. 

2 


And,  though  she  passes  the  postern  alone, 
Why  is  not  the  watchman's  bugle  blown  ? 

XXVII. 

The  ladye  steps  in  doubt  and  dread, 

Lest  her  watchful  mother  hear  her  tread ; 

The  ladye  caresses  the  rough  blood-hound 

Lest  his  voice  should  waken  the  castle  round ; 

The  watchman's  bugle  is  not  blown, 

For  he  was  her  foster-father's  son ; 

And  she  glides  through  the  greenwood  at  dawn  of 

light 
To  meet  Baron  Henry,  her  own  true  knight, 

XXVIII. 
The  Knight  and  ladye  fair  are  met, 
And  under  the  hawthorn's  boughs  are  set. 
A  fairer  pair  were  never  seen 
To  meet  beneath  the  hawthorn  green. 
He  was  stately,  and  young,  and  tall ; 
Dreaded  in  battle,  and  loved  in  hall : 
And  she,  when  love,  scarce  told,  scarce  hid, 
Lent  to  her  cheeks  a  livelier  red ; 
When  the  half  sigh  her  swelling  breast 
Against  the  silken  ribbon  prest ; 
When  her  blue  eyes  their  secret  told, 
Though  shaded  by  her  locks  of  gold — 
Where  would  you  find  the  peerless  fair, 
With  Margaret  of  Branksome  might  compare ! 

XXIX. 

And  now,  fair  dames,  methinks  I  see 

You  listen  to  my  minstrelsy  ; 

Your  waving  locks  ye  backward  throw, 

And  sidelong  bend  your  necks  of  snow : 

Ye  ween  to  hear  a  melting  tale, 

Of  two  true  lovers  in  a  dale ; 

And  how  the  Knight,  with  tender  fire, 
To  paint  his  faithful  passion  strove ; 

Swore  he  might  at  her  feet  expire, 
But  never,  never,  cease  to  love ; 
And  how  she  blush'd  and  how  she  sigh'd, 
And,  half  consenting,  half  denied, 
And  said  that  she  would  die  a  maid ; — 
Yet,  might  the  bloody  feud  be  stay'd, 
Henry  of  Cranstoun,  and  only  he, 
Margaret  of  Branksome's  choice  should  be. 

XXX. 

Alas !  fair  dames,  your  hopes  are  vain ! 
My  harp  has  lost  the  enchanting  strain ; 

Its  lightness  would  my  age  reprove : 
My  hairs  are  gray,  my  limbs  are  old, 
My  heart  is  dead,  my  veins  are  cold : 

I  may  not,  must  not,  sing  of  love. 

3  "How  true,  sweet,  and  original,  is  this  description  of 
Margaret— the  trembling  haste  with  which  she  attires  her- 
self,  descends,    and    speeds    to    the    bower."— Anna    Sb- 


18 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXXI. 
Beneath  an  oak,  moss'd  o'er  by  eld, 
The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held,1 

And  held  his  crested  helm  and  spear: 
That  Dwarf  was  scarce  an  earthly  man, 
If  the  tales  were  true  that  of  him  ran 

Through  all  the  Border  far  and  near. 
'Twas  said,  when  the  Baron  a-hunting  rode 
Through  Reedsdale's  glens,  but  rarely  trod, 

He  heard  a  voice  cry,  "Lost!  lost!  lost!" 

And,  like  tennis-hall  by  racket  toss'd, 
A  leap,  of  thirty  feet  and  three, 

Made  from  the  gorse  this  elfin  shape, 

Distorted  like  some  dwarfish  ape, 
And  lighted  at  Lord  Cranstoun's  knee. 

Lord  Cranstoun  was  some  whit  dismay'd ; 

'Tis  said  that  five  good  miles  he  rade, 
To  rid  him  of  his  company; 
But  where  he  rode  one  mile,  the  Dwarf  ran  four, 
And  the  Dwarf  was  first  at  the  castle  door. 

XXXII. 

Use  lessens  marvel,  it  is  said : 

This  elfish  Dwarf  with  the  Baron  staid ; 

Little  he  ate  and  less  he  spoke, 

Nor  mingled  with  the  menial  flock : 

And  oft  apart  his  arms  he  toss'd, 

And  often  mutter'd  " Lost !  lost!  lost!" 
He  was  waspish,  arch,  and  litherlie,2 
But  well  Lord  Cranstouu  served  he : 

And  he  of  his  service  was  full  fain ; 

For  once  he  had  been  ta'en  or  slain, 
An  it  had  not  heen  for  his  ministry. 

All  hetween  Home  and  Hermitage, 

Talk'd  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin  Page. 

XXXIII. 
For  the  Baron  went  on  pilgrimage, 
And  took  with  him  this  elfish  Page, 

To  Mary's  Chapel  of  the  Lowes : 
For  there,  beside  Our  Ladye's  lake, 
An  offering  he  had  sworn  to  make, 

And  he  would  pay  his  vows. 
But  the  Latlye  of  Branksome  gather'd  a  band 
Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command  :3 

The  trysting  place  was  Newark  Lee. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

2  The  idea  of  the  imp  domesticating  himself  with  the  first 
person  hemet.and  subjecting  himself  to  that  one's  authority, 
is  perfectly  consonant  to  old  opinions.  Ben  Jonson,  in  his 
play  of  "  The.  Devil  w  an  Ass,"  has  founded  the  leading  Inci- 
dent of  that  comedy  upon  this  article  of  the  popular  creed. 
A  fiend,  styled  Pug,  is  amhitious  of  figuring  in  the  world,  and 
petitions  his  superior  for  permission  to  exhibit  himself  upon 
earth.  The  devil  grants  him  a  day-rule,  but  clogs  it  with  this 
condition, — 

"Satan — Only  this  more,  T  hind  you 
To  serve  the  first  man  that  you  meet ;  and  him 
I'll  show  you  now  ;  observe  him,  follow  him ; 
But,  once  engaged,  there  you  must  stay  and  fix." 


Wat  of  Harden  came  thither  amain, 
And  thither  came  John  of  Thirlestane, 

And  thither  came  William  of  Deloraine, 

They  were  three  hundred  spears  and  three. 
Through  Douglas-burn,  up  Yarrow  stream,4 
Their  horses  prance,  their  lances  gleam. 
They  came  to  St.  Mary's  lake  ere  day ; 
But  the  chapel  was  void,  and  the  Baron  away. 
They  burn'd  the  chapel  for  very  rage, 
And  cursed  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin  Page. 

XXXIV. 

And  now,  in  Branksome's  good  green  wood, 
As  under  the  aged  oak  he  stood, 
The  Baron's  courser  pricks  his  ears, 
As  if  a  distant  noise  he  hears. 
The  Dwarf  waves  his  long  lean  arm  on  high, 
And  signs  to  the  lovers  to  part  and  fly ; 
No  time  was  then  to  vow  or  sigh. 
Fair  Margaret  through  the  hazel  grove 
Flew  like  the  startled  cushat-dove  :5 
The  Dwarf  the  stirrup  held  and  rein ; 
Vaulted  the  Knight  on  his  steed  amain, 
And,  pondering  deep  that  morning's  scene, 
Rode  eastward  through  the  hawthorns  green. 


While  thus  he  pour'd  the  lengthen'd  tale, 
The  Minstrel's  voice  began  to  fail : 
Full  slyly  smiled  the  observant  page, 
And  gave  the  wither'd  hand  of  age 
A  goblet,  crown'd  with  mighty  wine, 
The  blood  of  Velez'  scorched  vine. 
He  raised  the  silver  cup  on  high, 
And,  while  the  big  drop  fill'd  his  eye, 
Pray'd  God  to  bless  the  Duchess  long, 
And  all  who  cheer'd  a  son  of  song. 
The  attending  maidens  smiled  to  see 
How  long,  how  deep,  how  zealously, 
The  precious  juice  the  Minstrel  quafPd ; 
And  he,  embolden'd  by  the  draught, 
Look'd  gayly  back  to  them,  and  laugh'd. 
The  cordial  nectar  of  the  bowl 
Swell'd  his  old  veins,  and  cheer'd  his  soul ; 
A  lighter,  livelier  prelude  ran, 
Ere  thus  his  tale  again  began. 


It  is  observable  that  in  the  same  play,  Pug  alludes  to  the 
spareness  of  his  diet.  Mr.  Scott's  gohlin,  though  "  waspish, 
arch,  and  litherlie,"  proves  a  faithful  and  honest  retainer  to 
the  lord,  into  whose  service  be  bad  introduced  himself.  This 
sort  of  inconsistency  seems  also  to  form  a  prominent  part  of 
the  diabolic  character.  Thus,  in  the  romances  of  the  Round 
Tahle,  we  find  Merlin,  tbe  son  of  a  devil,  exerting  himself 
most  zealously  in  the  cause  of  virtue  and  of  religion,  the  friend 
and  counsellor  of  King  Arthur,  the  cbastiser  of  wrongs,  and 
the  scourge  of  the  infidels. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

*  See  notes  on  The  Douglas  Tragedy  in  the  Minstrelsy,  vol. 
iii.  p.  3.— Ed. 

6  Wood-pigeon. 


THE    LAY   OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


19 


W$z  ILag  of  tije  SLast  JHinstrd. 


CANTO   THIRD. 


And  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old, 
And  said  I  that  my  blood  was  cold, 
And  that  my  kindly  fire  was  fled, 
And  my  poor  wither'd  heart  was  dead, 

And  that  I  might  not  sing  of  love  ? — 
How  could  I  to  the  dearest  theme, 
That  ever  warm'd  a  minstrel's  dream, 

So  foul,  so  false  a  recreant  prove ! 
How  could  I  name  love's  very  name, 
Nor  wake  my  heart  to  notes  of  flame ! 

II. 

In  peace,  Love  tunes  the  shepherd's  reed ; 

In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior's  steed ; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen  ; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rales  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove, 

And  men  below,  and  saints  above ; 

For  love  is  heaven,  and  heaven  is  love. 

III. 
So  thought  Lord  Cranston n,  as  I  ween, 
While,  pondering  deep  the  tender  scene, 
He  rode  through  Branksome's  hawthorn  green. 
But  the  page  shouted  wild  and  shrill, 
And  scarce  his  helmet  could  he  don, 
When  downward  from  the  sbady  hill 
A  stately  knight  came  pricking  on. 
That  warrior's  steed,  so  dapple-gray, 
Was  dark  with  sweat,  and  splash'd  with  clay ; 

His  armor  red  with  many  a  stain  : 
He  seem'd  in  such  a  weary  plight, 
As  if  he  had  ridden  the  live-long  night ; 
For  it  was  William  of  Deloraine. 

IV. 

But  no  whit  weary  did  he  seem, 

When,  dancing  in  the  sunny  beam, 

He  mark'd  the  crane  on  the  Baron's  cre=t  ;x 

For  his  ready  spear  was  in  his  rest. 

Few  were  the  words,  and  stern  and  high, 
That  mark'd  the  foemen's  feudal  hate ; 

For  question  fierce,  and  proud  reply, 
Gave  signal  soon  of  dire  debate. 
Their  very  coursers  seem'd  to  know 
That  each  was  other's  mortal  foe, 
And  snorted  fire,  when  wheel'd  around, 
To  give  each  Knight  his  vantage-ground. 

1  The  crest  of  the  Cranstouns,  in  allusion  to  their  name, 
is  a  crane  dormant,  holding  a  stone  in  his  foot,  with  an 


V. 

In  rapid  round  the  Baron  bent ; 

He  sigh'd  a  sigh,  and  pray'd  a  prayer ; 
The  prayer  was  to  his  patron  saint, 

The  sigh  was  to  his  ladye  fair. 
Stout  Deloraine  nor  sigh'd  nor  pray'd, 
Nor  saint,  nor  ladye,  call'd  to  aid ; 
But  he  stoop'd  his  head,  and  couch'd  his  spear, 
And  spurr'd  his  steed  to  full  career. 
The  meeting  of  these  champions  proud 
Seem'd  like  the  bursting  thunder-cloud. 

VI. 

Stern  was  the  dint  the  Borderer  lent ! 

The  stately  Baron  backwards  bent ; 

Bent  backwards  to  his  horse's  tail, 

And  his  plumes  went  scattering  on  the  gale ; 

The  tough  ash  spear,  so  stout  and  true, 

Into  a  thousand  flinders  flew. 

But  Cranstoun's  lance,  of  more  avail, 

Pierced  through,  like  silk,  the  Borderer's  mail ; 

Through  shield,  and  jack,  and  acton,  past, 

Deep  in  his  bosom  broke  at  last. — 

Still  sat  the  Warrior  saddle-fast, 

Till,  stumbling  in  the  mortal  shock, 

Down  went  the  steed,  the  girthing  broke, 

Hurl'd  on  a  heap  lay  man  and  horse. 

The  Baron  onward  pass'd  his  course ; 

Nor  knew — so  giddy  roll'd  his  brain — 

His  foe  lay  stretch'd  upon  the  plain. 

VII. 
But  when  he  rein'd  his  courser  round, 
And  saw  his  foeman  on  the  ground 

Lie  senseless  as  the  bloody  clay, 
He  bade  his  page  to  stanch  the  wound, 

And  there  beside  the  warrior  stay, 
And  tend  him  in  his  doubtful  state, 
And  lead  him  to  Branksome  castle-gate : 
His  noble  mind  was  inly  moved 
For  the  kinsman  of  the  maid  he  loved. 
"  This  shalt  thou  do  without  delay : 
No  longer  here  myself  may  stay ; 
Unless  the  swifter  I  speed  away, 
Short  shrift  will  be  at  my  dying  day." 

VIII. 

Away  in  speed  Lord  Cranstoun  rode ; 

The  Goblin  Page  behind  abode ; 

His  lord's  command  he  ne'er  withstood, 

Though  small  his  pleasure  to  do  good. 

As  the  corselet  off  he  took, 

The  Dwarf  espied  the  Mighty  Book ! 

Much  he  marvell'd  a  knight  of  pride, 

Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest  should  ride  :2 

He  thought  not  to  search  or  stanch  the  wound, 

Until  the  secret  he  had  found. 


emphatic  Border  motto,  Thou  shalt  want  ere  I  want. 
2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 


20 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


IX. 

The  iron  band,  the  iron  clasp, 

Resisted  long  the  elfin  grasp : 

For  when  the  first  he  had  undone, 

It  closed  as  he  the  next  begun. 

Those  iron  clasps,  that  iron  band, 

Would  not  yield  to  unchristen'd  hand, 

Till  he  smearM  the  cover  o'er 

With  the  Borderer's  curdled  gore ; 

A  moment  then  the  volume  spread, 

And  one  short  spell  therein  he  read, 

It  had  much  of  glamour1  might, 

Could  make  a  ladye  seem  a  knight ; 

The  cobwebs  on  a  dungeon  wall 

Seem  tapestry  in  lordly  hall ; 

A  nut-shell  seem  a  gilded  barge, 

A  sheeling2  seem  a  palace  large, 

And  youth  seem  age,  and  age  seem  youth — 

All  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth.3 

X. 

He  had  not  read  another  spell, 

When  on  his  cheek  a  buffet  fell, 

So  fierce,  it  stretch'd  him  on  the  plain, 

Beside  the  wounded  Deloraine. 

From  the  ground  he  rose  dismay'd, 

And  shook  his  huge  and  matted  head ; 

One  word  he  mutter'd  and  no  more, 

"  Man  of  age,  thou  smitest  sore !" — 

No  more  the  Elfin  Page  durst  try 

Into  the  wondrous  Book  to  pry ; 

The  clasps  though  smear'd  with  Christian  gore, 

Shut  faster  than  they  were  before. 

He  hid  it  underneath  his  cloak. — 

Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive ; 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive.* 

XI. 

Unwillingly  himself  he  address'd, 

To  do  his  master's  high  behest : 

He  lifted  up  the  living  corse, 

And  laid  it  on  the  weary  horse : 

He  led  him  into  Branksome  Hall, 

Before  the  beards  of  the  warders  all ; 

And  each  did  after  swear  and  say, 

There  only  pass'd  a  wain  of  hay. 

He  took  him  to  Lord  David's  tower, 

Even  to  the  Ladye's  secret  bower ; 

And,  but  that  stronger  spells  were  spread, 

And  the  door  might  not  be  opened, 

He  had  laid  him  on  her  very  bed. 

Whate'er  he  did  of  gramarye,5 

Was  always  done  maliciously ; 

He  flung  the  warrior  on  the  ground, 

And  the  blood  well'd  freshly  from  the  wound. 


1  Magical  delusion. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 


2  A  shepherd's  hut. 
*  Ibid.  Note  2  N. 


XII. 

As  he  repass'd  the  outer  court, 

He  spied  the  fair  young  child  at  sport ; 

He  thought  to  train  him  to  the  wood; 

For,  at  a  word,  be  it  understood, 

He  was  always  for  ill,  and  never  for  good. 

Seem'd  to  the  boy  some  comrade  gay 

Led  him  forth  to  the  woods  to  play ; 

On  the  drawbridge  the  warders  stout 

Saw  a  terrier  and  lurcher  passing  out. 

XIII. 
He  led  the  boy  o'er  bank  and  fell, 

Until  they  came  to  a  woodland  brook ; 
The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell,6 

And  his  own  elfish  shape  he  took. 
Could  he  have  had  his  pleasure  vilde, 
He  had  crippled  the  joints  of  the  noble  child ; 
Or,  with  his  fingers  long  and  lean, 
Had  strangled  him  in  fiendish  spleen : 
But  his  awful  mother  he  had  in  dread, 
And  also  his  power  was  limited ; 
So  he  but  scowl'd  on  the  startled  child, 
And  darted  through  the  forest  wild ; 
The  woodland  brook  he  bounding  cross'd, 
And  laugh'd,  and  shouted,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost  !"- 

XIV. 

Full  sore  amazed  at  the  wondrous  change, 

And  frighten'd  as  a  child  might  be, 
At  the  wild  yell  and  visage  strange, 

And  the  dark  words  of  gramarye, 
The  child,  amidst  the  forest  bower, 
Stood  rooted  like  a  lily  flower ; 

And  when  at  length,  with  trembling  pace, 
He  sought  to  find  where  Branksome  lay, 

He  fear'd  to  see  that  grisly  face 
Glare  from  some  thicket  on  his  way. 
Thus,  starting  oft,  he  journey'd  on, 
And  deeper  in  the  wood  is  gone, — 
For  aye  the  more  he  sought  his  way, 
The  farther  still  he  went  astray, — 
Until  he  heard  the  mountains  round 
Ring  to  the  baying  of  a  hound. 

XV. 

And  hark  !  and  hark !  the  deep-mouth'd  bark 

Comes  nigher  still,  and  nigher : 
Bursts  on  the  path  a  dark  blood-hound, 
His  tawny  muzzle  track'd  the  ground, 

And  his  red  eye  shot  fire. 
Soon  as  the  wilder'd  child  saw  he, 
He  flew  at  him  right  furiouslie. 
I  ween  you  would  have  seen  with  joy 
•  The  bearing  of  the  gallant  boy, 
When,  worthy  of  his  noble  sire, 
His  wet  cheek  glow'd  'twixt  fear  and  ire ! 


6  Magic. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  0. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


21 


He  faced  the  blood-hound  manfully, 
And  held  his  little  bat  on  high ; 
So  fierce  he  struck,  the  dog,  afraid, 
At  cautious  distance  hoarsely  bay'd, 

But  still  in  act  to  spring ; 
When  dash'd  an  archer  through  the  glade, 
And  when  he  saw  the  hound  was  stay'd, 

He  drew  his  tough  bow-string ; 
But  a  rough  voice  cried,  "  Shoot  not,  hoy ! 
Ho !  shoot  not,  Edward — 'Tis  a  boy !" 

XVI. 

The  speaker  issued  from  the  wood, 
And  check'd  his  fellow's  surly  mood, 

And  quell'd  the  ban-dog's  ire : 
He  was  an  English  yeoman  good, 

And  born  in  Lancashire. 
Well  could  he  hit  a  fallow-deer 

Five  hundred  feet  him  fro ; 
With  hand  more  true,  and  eye  more  clear, 

No  archer  bended  bow. 
His  coal-black  hair,  shorn  round  and  close, 

Set  off  his  sunburn'd  face : 
Old  England's  sign,  St.  George's  cross, 

His  barret-cap  did  grace ; 
His  bugle-horn  hung  by  his  side, 
All  in  a  wolf-skin  baldric  tied ; 
And  his  short  falchion,  sharp  and  clear, 
Had  pierced  the  throat  of  many  a  deer. 

XVII. 

His  kirtle,  made  of  forest  green, 

Reach'd  scantly  to  his  knee  ; 
And,  at  his  belt,  of  arrows  keen 

A  furbish'd  sheaf  bore  he ; 
His  buckler,  scarce  in  breadth  a  span, 

No  larger  fence  had  he ; 
He  never  counted  him  a  man, 

Would  strike  below  the  knee  i1 
His  slacken'd  bow  was  in  his  hand, 
And  the  leash,  that  was  his  blood-hound's  band. 

XVIII. 
He  would  not  do  the  fair  child  harm, 
But  held  him  with  his  powerful  arm, 
That  he  might  neither  fight  nor  flee ; 
For  when  the  red  cross  spied  he, 
The  boy  strove  long  and  violently. 
"  Now,  by  St.  George,"  the  archer  cries, 
"Edward,  methinks  we  have  a  prize! 
This  boy's  fair  face,  and  courage  free, 
Show  he  is  come  of  high  degree." — 

XIX. 
"  Yes !  I  am  come  of  high  degree, 

For  I  am  the  heir  of  bold  Buccleuch ; 
And,  if  thou  dost  not  set  me  free, 

False  Southron,  thou  shalt  dearly  rue ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

2  Bandelier,  belt  for  carrying  ammunition. 


For  Walter  of  Harden  shall  come  with  speed, 

And  William  of  Deloraine,  good  at  need, 

And  every  Scott,  from  Esk  to  Tweed ; 

And,  if  thou  dost  not  let  me  go, 

Despite  thy  arrows,  and  thy  bow, 

I'll  have  thee  hang'd  to  feed  the  crow !" — 

XX. 

"  Gramercy,  for  thy  good- will,  fair  boy ! 
My  mind  was  never  set  so  high ; 
But  if  thou  art  chief  of  such  a  clan, 
And  art  the  son  of  such  a  man, 
And  ever  comest  to  thy  command, 

Our  wardens  had  need  to  keep  good  order ; 
My  bow  of  yew  to  a  hazel  wand, 

Thou' It  make  them  work  upon  the  Border. 
Meantime,  be  pleased  to  come  with  me, 
For  good  Lord  Dacre  shalt  thou  see ; 
I  think  our  work  is  well  begun, 
When  we  have  taken  thy  father's  son." 

XXI. 

Although  the  child  was  led  away, 
In  Branksome  still  he  seem'd  to  stay, 
For  so  the  Dwarf  his  part  did  play ; 
And,  in  the  shape  of  that  young  boy, 
He  wrought  the  castle  much  annoy. 
The  comrades  of  the  young  Buccleuch 
He  pinch'd,  and  beat,  and  overthrew ; 
Nay,  some  of  them  he  wellnigh  slew. 
He  tore  Dame  Maudlin's  silken  tire, 
And,  as  Sym  Hall  stood  by  the  fire, 
He  lighted  the  match  of  his  bandelier,2 
And  woefully  scorch'd  the  hackbuteer.5 
It  may  be  hardly  thought  or  said, 
The  mischief  that  the  urchin  made, 
Till  many  of  the  castle  guess'd 
That  the  young  Baron  was  possess'd ! 

XXII. 
Well  I  ween  the  charm  he  held 
The  noble  Ladye  had  soon  dispell'd ; 
But  she  was  deeply  busied  then 
To  tend  the  wounded  Deloraine. 
Much  she  wonder'd  to  find  him  lie, 

On  the  stone  threshold  stretch'd  along ; 
She  thought  some  spirit  of  the  sky 
Had  done  the  bold  moss-trooper  wrong ; 
Because,  despite  her  precept  dread, 
Perchance  he  in  the  Book  had  read ; 
But  the  broken  lance  in  his  bosom  stood, 
And  it  was  earthly  steel  and  wood. 

XXIII. 

She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  wound, 
And  with  a  charm  she  stanch'd  the  blood  ;4 

She  bade  the  gash  be  cleansed  and  bound : 
No  longer  by  his  couch  she  stood ; 

3  ffackbuteer,  musketeer. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 


22 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 

And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 

And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er.1 
William  of  Deloraine,  In  trance, 

Whene'er  she  turn'd  it  round  and  round, 

Twisted  as  if  she  gall'd  his  wound. 
Then  to  her  maidens  she  did  say, 

That  he  should  be  whole  man  and  sound, 
Within  the  course  of  a  night  and  day. 
Full  long  she  toil'd ;  for  she  did  rue 
Mishap  to  friend  so  stout  and  true. 

XXIV.2 
So  pass'd  the  day — the  evening  fell, 
'Twas  near  the  time  of  curfew  bell ; 
The  air  was  mild,  the  wind  was  calm, 
The  stream  was  smooth,  the  dew  was  balm ; 
E'en  the  rude  watchman,  on  the  tower, 
Enjoy'd  and  bless'd  the  lovely  hour. 
Far  more  fair  Margaret  loved  and  bless'd 
The  hour  of  silence  and  of  rest. 
On  the  high  turret  sitting  lone, 
She  waked  at  times  the  lute's  soft  tone ; 
Touch'd  a  wild  note,  and  all  between 
Thought  of  the  bower  of  hawthorns  green. 
Her  golden  hair  stream'd  free  from  band, 
Her  fair  cheek  rested  on  her  hand, 
Her  blue  eyes  sought  the  west  afar, 
For  lovers  love  the  western  star. 

XXV. 

18  yon  the  star,  o'er  Penchryst  Pen, 

That  rises  slowly  to  her  ken, 

And,  spreading  broad  its  wavering  light, 

Shakes  its  loose  tresses  on  the  night? 

Is  yon  red  glare  the  western  star  ? — 

Oh,  'tis  the  beacon-blaze  of  war ! 

Scarce  could  she  draw  her  tighten'd  breath, 

For  well  she  knew  the  fire  of  death ! 

XXVI. 

The  Warder  view'd  it  blazing  strong, 
And  blew  his  war-note  loud  and  long, 
Till,  at  the  high  and  haughty  sound, 
Rock,  wood,  and  river,  rung  around. 
The  blast  alarm'd  the  festal  hall, 
And  startled  forth  the  warriors  all; 
Far  downward,  in  the  castle-yard, 
Full  many  a  torch  and  cresset  glared ; 
And  helms  and  plumes,  confusedly  toss'd, 
Were  in  the  blaze  half-seen,  half-lost; 
And  spears  in  wild  disorder  shook, 
Like  reeds  beside  a  frozen  brook. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 

2  "As  another  illustration  of  the  prodigious  improvement 
■which  the  style  of  the  old  romance  is  capable  of  receiving  from 
a  more  liberal  admixture  of  pathetic  sentiments  and  gentle 
affections,  we  insert  the  following  passage  (stanzas  xxiv.  to 
xxvii.),  where  the  effect  of  the  picture  is  finely  assisted  by 
the  contrast  of  it3  two  compartments."— Jeffrey. 


XXVII. 
The  Seneschal,  whose  silver  hair 
Was  redden'd  by  the  torches'  glare, 
Stood  in  the  midst,  with  gesture  proud, 
And  issued  forth  his  mandates  loud  : — 
"  On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale3  of  fire, 
And  three  are  kindling  on  Priesthaughswire ; 

Ride  out,  ride  out, 

The  foe  to  scout ! 
Mount,  mount  for  Branksome,4  every  man ! 
Thou,  Todrig,  warn  the  Johnstone  clan, 

That  ever  are  true  and  stout — 
Ye  need  not  send  to  Liddesdale ; 
For  when  they  see  the  blazing  bale, 
Elliots  and  Armstrongs  never  fail. — 
Ride,  Alton,  ride,  for  death  and  life ! 
And  warn  the  Warder  of  the  strife. 
Young  Gilbert,  let  our  beacon  blaze, 
Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends,  to  raise."5 

XXVIII. 

Fair  Margaret,  from  the  turret  head, 
Heard,  far  below,  the  coursers'  tread, 

While  loud  the  harness  rung, 
As  to  their  seats,  with  clamor  dread, 

The  ready  horsemen  sprung : 
And  trampling  hoofs,  and  iron  coats, 
And  leaders'  voices,  mingled  notes, 
And  out !  and  out ! 
In  hasty  rout, 

The  horsemen  gallop'd  forth ; 
Dispersing  to  the  south  to  scout, 

And  east,  and  west,  and  north, 
To  view  their  coming  enemies, 
And  warn  their  vassals  and  allies. 

XXIX. 

The  ready  page,  with  hurried  hand,6 
Awaked  the  need-fire's7  slumbering  brand, 

And  ruddy  blush'd  the  heaven  : 
For  a  sheet  of  flame,  from  the  turret  high, 
Waved  like  a  blood-flag  on  the  sky, 

All  flaring  and  uneven ; 
And  soon  a  score  of  fires,  I  ween, 
From  height,  and  hill,  and  cliff,  were  seen ; 
Each  with  warlike  tidings  fraught ; 
Each  from  each  the  signal  caught ; 
Each  after  each  they  glanced  to  sight, 
As  stars  arise  upon  the  night. 
They  gleam'd  on  many  a  dusky  tarn,8 
Haunted  by  the  lonely  earn  ;9 
On  many  a  cairn's10  gray  pyramid, 
Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid; 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  S. 

4  Mount  for  Branksome  was  the  gathering  word  of  the  Scotts. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

6  "We  absolutely  see  the  fires  kindling,  one  after  another, 
in  the  following  animated  description." — Annual  Eem'eu;  1804. 
1  Need-fire,  beacon.  8  Tarn,  a  mountain  lake. 

9  Earn,  a  Scottish  eagle.  10  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTEEL. 


23 


Till  high  Dunedin  the  blazes  saw 
From  Soltra  and  Dumpender  Law ; 
And  Lothian  heard  the  Eegent's  order, 
That  all  should  bowne1  them  for  the  Border. 

XXX. 

The  livelong  night  in  Branksome  rang 

The  ceaseless  sound  of  steel ; 
The  castle-bell,  with  backward  clang, 

Sent  forth  the  larum  peal ; 
Was  frequent  heard  the  heavy  jar, 
Where  massy  stone  and  iron  bar 
Were  piled  on  echoing  keep  and  tower, 
To  whelm  the  foe  with  deadly  shower  ; 
Was  frequent  heard  the  changing  guard, 
And  watchword  from  the  sleepless  ward ; 
While,  wearied  by  the  endless  din, 
Blood-hound  and  ban-dog  yell'd  within. 

XXXI. 

The  noble  Dame,  amid  the  broil, 
Shared  the  gray  Seneschal's  high  toil, 
And  spoke  of  danger  with  a  smile  ; 

Cheer'd  the  young  knights,  and  council  sage 

Held  with  the  chiefs  of  riper  age. 
No  tidings  of  the  foe  were  brought, 
Nor  of  his  numbers  knew  they  aught, 
Nor  what  in  time  of  truce  he  sought. 

Some  said,  that  there  were  thousands  ten ; 
And  others  ween'd  that  it  was  nought 

But  Leven  Clans,  or  Tynedale  men, 
Who  came  to  gather  in  black-mail  ;2 
And  Liddesdale,  with  small  avail, 

Might  drive  them  lightly  back  agen. 
So  pass'd  the  anxious  night  away, 
And  welcome  was  the  peep  of  day. 


Ceased  the  high  sound — the  listening  throng 

Applaud  the  Master  of  the  Song ; 

And  marvel  much,  in  helpless  age, 

So  hard  should  be  his  pilgrimage. 

Had  he  no  friend — no  daughter  dear, 

His  wandering  toil  to  share  and  cheer ; 

No  son  to  be  his  father's  stay, 

And  guide  him  on  the  rugged  way  ? 

"  Ay,  once  he  had — but  he  was  dead !" 

Upon  the  harp  he  stoop'd  his  head, 

1  Bourne,  make  ready. 

2  Protection  money  exacted  by  freebooters. 

3  "  Nothing  can  excel  the  simple  concise  pathos  of  the 
close  of  this  canto — nor  the  touching  picture  of  the  Bard 
when,  with  assumed  business,  he  tries  to  conceal  real  sorrow. 
How  well  the  poet  understands  the  art  of  contrast — and  how 
judiciously  it  is  exerted  in  the  exordium  of  the  next  canto, 
where  our  mourning  sympathy  is  exchanged  for  the  thrill  of 
pleasure!" — Anna  Sewaed. 

*  "  What  luxury  of  sound  in  this  line !" — Anna  Seward. 

5  Orig. :  "  Since  first  they  rolled  their  way  to  Tweed." 

6  The  Viscount  of  Dundee,  slain  in  the  battle  of  Killi- 
crankie. 

7  "  Some  of  the  most  interesting  passages  of  the  poem  are 


And  busied  himself  the  strings  withal, 
To  hide  the  tear  that  fain  would  fall. 
In  solemn  measure,  soft  and  slow, 
Arose  a  father's  notes  of  woe.3 


&f>t  Eag  of  tfje  Hast  Minstul 


CANTO   FOURTH. 


Sweet  Teviot !  on  thy  silver  tide 

The  glaring  bale-fires  blaze  no  more ; 
No  longer  steel-clad  warriors  ride 

Along  thy  wild  and  willow'd  shore  ;4 
Where'er  thou  wind'st,  by  dale  or  hill, 
All,  all  is  peaceful,  all  is  still, 

As  if  thy  waves,  since  Time  was  born, 
Since  first  they  roll'd  upon  the  Tweed,5 
Had  only  heard  the  shepherd's  reed, 

Nor  started  at  the  bugle-horn. 

II. 

Unlike  the  tide  of  human  time, 

Which,  though  it  change  in  ceaseless  flow, 
Retains  each  grief,  retains  each  crime 

Its  earliest  course  was  doom'd  to  know ; 
And,  darker  as  it  downward  bears, 
Is  stain'd  with  past  and  present  tears. 

Low  as  that  tide  has  ebb'd  with  me, 
It  still  reflects  to  Memory's  eye 
The  hour  my  brave,  my  only  boy, 

Fell  by  the  side  of  great  Dundee.6 
Why,  when  the  volleying  musket  play'd 
Against  the  bloody  Highland  blade, 
Why  was  not  I  beside  him  laid ! — 
Enough — he  died  the  death  of  fame ; 
Enough — he  died  with  conquering  Graeme.7 

III. 
Now  over  Border,  dale,  and  fell, 

Full  wide  and  far  was  terror  spread ; 
For  pathless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell, 

The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed.8 
The  frighten'd  flocks  and  herds  were  pent 
Beneath  the  peel's  rude  battlement ; 

those  in  which  the  author  drops  the  business  of  his  story  to 
moralize,  and  apply  to  his  own  situation  the  images  and  re- 
flections it  has  suggested.  After  concluding  one  canto  with 
an  account  of  the  warlike  array  which  was  prepared  for  the 
reception  of  the  English  invaders,  he  opens  the  succeeding 
one  with  the  following  beautiful  verses  (stanzas  i.  and  ii.). 

"There  are  several  other  detached  passages  of  equal 
beauty,*  which  might  be  quoted  in  proof  of  the  effect  which 
is  produced  by  this  dramatic  interference  of  the  narrator."— 
Jeffrey. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 

»  No  one  will  dissent  from  this,  who  reads,  in  particular,  the  first  two 
and  heart-glowing  stanzas  of  canto  vi. — now,  by  association  of  the  past, 
rendered  the  more  affecting.— Ed. 


24 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  maids  and  matrons  dropp'd  the  tear, 
While  ready  warriors  seized  the  spear. 
From  Branksonie's  towers,  the  watchman's  eye 
Dun  wreaths  of  distant  smoke  can  spy, 
Which,  curling  in  the  rising  sun, 
Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun.1 

IV. 

Now  loud  the  heedful  gate-ward  cried — 
"  Prepare  ye  all  for  blows  aud  blood ! 
Watt  Tinlinn,2  from  the  Liddel-side, 
Comes  wading  through  the  flood.3 
Full  oft  the  Tynedale  snatchers  knock 
At  his  lone  gate,  and  prove  the  lock ; 
It  was  but  last  St.  Barnabright 
They  sieged  him  a  whole  summer  night, 
But  fled  at  morning ;  well  they  knew, 
In  vain  he  never  twang'd  the  yew. 
Right  sharp  has  been  the  evening  shower, 
That  drove  him  from  his  Liddel  tower ; 
And,  by  my  faith,"  the  gate-ward  said, 
"  I  think  'twill  prove  a  Warden-Raid."* 


While  thus  he  spoke,  the  bold  yeoman5 
Entered  the  echoing  barbican. 
He  led  a  small  and  shaggy  nag, 
That  through  a  bog,  from  hag  to  hag,6 
Could  bound  like  any  Billhope  stag.7 
It  bore  his  wife  and  children  twain ; 
A  half-clothed  serf8  was  all  their  train ; 
His  wife,  stout,  ruddy,  and  dark-brow'd, 
Of  silver  brooch  and  bracelet  proud,9 
Laugh'd  to  her  friends  among  the  crowd. 
He  was  of  stature  passing  tall, 
But  sparely  form'd,  and  lean  withal ; 
A  batter'd  morion  on  his  brow; 
A  leather  jack,  as  fence  enow, 
On  his  broad  shoulders  loosely  hung ; 
A  border  axe  behind  was  slung ; 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W.  Ml  .id.  Note  2  X. 

3  "And  when  they  cam  to  Branksome  ha', 
They  shouted  a'  haith  loud  and  hie, 
Till  up  and  spak  him  auld  Bueeleuch, 

Said — 'Whae's  this  brings  the  fraye  to  me?' — 
'It's  I,  Jamie  Telfcr,  o'  the  fair  Dudhcad, 
And  a  harried  man  I  think  I  be,'"  <tc. 

Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  8. 
*  An  inroad  commanded  by  the  Warden  in  person. 
6  "  The  dawn  displays  the  smoke  of  ravaged  fields,  and  shep- 
herds, with  their  flocks,  flying  before  the  storm.  Tidings 
brought  by  a  tenant  of  the  family,  not  used  to  seek  a  shelter 
on  light  occasions  of  alarm,  disclose,  the  strength  and  object 
of  the  invaders.  This  man  is  a  character  of  a  lower  and  of 
a  rougher  cast  than  Dcloraine.  The  portrait  of  the  rude  re- 
tainer is  sketched  with  the  same  masterly  hand.  Here,  again, 
Mr.  Scott  has  trod  in  the  footsteps  of  the  old  romancers,  who 
confine  not  themselves  to  the  display  of  a  few  personages  who 
stalk  over  the  stage  on  stately  stilts,  but  usually  reflect  all  the 
varieties  of  character  that  marked  the  era  to  which  they  be- 
long. The  interesting  example  of  manners  thus  preserved  to 
us  is  not  the  only  advantage  which  results  from  this  peculiar 


His  spear,  six  Scottish  ells  in  length, 

Seem'd  newly  dyed  with  gore ; 
His  shafts  and  bow,  of  wondrous  strength, 

His  hardy  partner  bore. 

VI. 

Thus  to  the  Ladye  did  Tinlinn  show 

The  tidings  of  the  English  foe : — 

"  Belted  Will  Howard10  is  marching  here, 

And  hot  Lord  Dacre,11  with  many  a  spear, 

And  all  the  German  hackbut-men,12 

Who  have  long  lain  at  Askerten : 

They  cross'd  the  Liddel  at  curfew  hour, 

And  burn'd  my  little  lonely  tower : 

The  fiend  receive  their  souls  therefor ! 

It  had  not  been  burnt  this  year  and  more. 

Barn-yard  and  dwelling,  blazing  bright, 

Served  to  guide  me  on  my  flight ; 

But  I  was  chased  the  livelong  night. 

Black  John  of  Akeshaw,  and  Fergus  Graeme, 

Fast  upon  my  traces  came, 

Until  I  turn'd  at  Priesthaugh  Scrogg, 

And  shot  their  horses  in  the  bog, 

Slew  Fergus  with  my  lance  outright — 

I  had  him  long  at  high  despite : 

He  drove  my  cows  last  Fastern's  night." 

VII. 

Now  weary  scouts  from  Liddesdale, 
Fast  hurrying  in,  confirm'd  the  tale ; 
As  far  as  they  could  judge  by  ken, 

Three  hours  would  bring  to  Teviot's  strand 
Three  thousand  armed  Englishmen — 
Meanwhile,  full  many  a  warlike  band, 
From  Teviot,  Aill,  and  Ettrick  shade, 
Came  in,  their  Chief's  defence  to  aid. 
There  was  saddling  and  mounting  in  haste, 

There  was  pricking  o'er  moor  and  lea ; 
He  that  was  last  at  the  trysting-place 
Was  but  lightly  held  of  his  gaye  ladye.13 

structure  of  their  plan.  It  is  this,  amongst  other  circum- 
stances, which  enables  them  to  carry  us  along  with  them, 
under  I  know  not  what  species  of  fascination,  and  to  make 
us,  as  it  were,  credulous  spectators  of  their  most  extravagant 
scenes.  In  this  they  seem  to  resemble  the  painter,  who,  in 
the  delineation  of  a  battle,  while  he  places  the  adverse  heroes 
of  the  day  combating  in  the  front,  takes  care  to  fill  his  back- 
ground with  subordinate  figures,  whose  appearance  adds  at 
once  both  spirit  and  an  air  of  probability  to  the  scene."— 
Critical  Review,  1805. 

6  The  broken  ground  in  a  bog. 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

8  Bondsman. 

9  As  the  Borderers  were  indifferent  about  the  furniture  of 
their  habitations,  so  much  exposed  to  be  burned  and  plun- 
dered, they  were  proportionally  anxious  to  display  splendor 
in  decorating  and  ornamenting  their  females. — See  Lesley 
de  Moribus  lAmilaneoncm. 

w  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z.  u  Ibid.  Note  3  A. 

t-  Musketeers.    See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 
"  The  four  last  lines  of  stanza  vii.  are  not  in  the  first  edi- 
tion.—Ed. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


25 


VIII. 

From  fair  St.  Mary's  silver  wave, 

From  dreary  Gamescleugh's  dusky  height, 
His  ready  lances  Thirlestane  brave 

Array'd  beneath  a  banner  bright. 
The  tressured  fleur-de-luce  he'  claims, 
To  wreathe  his  shield,  since  royal  James, 
Encamp'd  by  Falla's  mossy  wave, 
The  proud  distinction  grateful  gave, 

For  faith  'mid  feudal  jars ; 
What  time,  save  Thirlestane  alone, 
Of  Scotland's  stubborn  barons  none 

Would  march  to  southern  wars ; 
And  hence,  in  fair  remembrance  worn, 
Yon  sheaf  of  spears  his  crest  has  borne ; 
Hence  his  high  motto  shines  reveal'd — 
"  Beady,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field.1 

IX. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steel'd, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  on 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 

Without  the  bend  of  Murdieston.2 
Wide  lay  his  lands  round  Oakwood  tower, 
And  wide  round  haunted  Castle-Ower ; 
High  over  Borthwick's  mountain  flood, 
His  wood-embosom'd  mansion  stood; 
In  the  dark  glen,  so  deep  below, 
The  herds  of  plunder'd  England  low ; 
His  bold  retainers'  daily  food, 
And  bought  with  danger,  blows,  and  blood. 
Marauding  chief!  his  sole  delight 
The  moonlight  raid,  the  morning  fight ; 
Not  even  the  Flower  of  Yarrow's  charms, 
In  youth,  might  tame  his  rage  for  arms ; 
And  still,  in  age,  he  spurn'd  at  rest, 
And  still  his  brows  the  helmet  press'd, 
Albeit  the  blanched  locks  below 
Were  white  as  Dinlay's  spotless  snow; 

Five  stately  warriors  drew  the  sword 
Before  their  father's  band ; 

A  braver  knight  than  Harden's  lord 
Ne'er  belted  on  a  brand.3 


Scotts  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band,5 
Came  trooping  down  the  Todshawhill ; 

By  the  sword  they  won  their  land, 
And  by  the  sword  they  hold  it  still. 

Hearken,  Ladye,  to  the  tale, 

How  thy  sires  won  fair  Eskdale. — 

Earl  Morton  was  lord  of  that  valley  fair, 

The  Beattisons  were  his  vassals  there. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C.  2  Ibid.  Note  3  D. 

3  See,  besides  the  note  on  this  stanza,  one  in  the  Border 
Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  10,  respecting  Watt  of  Harden,  the 
Author's  ancestor. 

A  satirical  piece,  entitled  "The  Town  Eclogue,"  which 
made  much  noise  in  Edinburgh  shortly  after  the  appearance 
of  the  Minstrelsy,  has  these  lines : — 


The  Earl  was  gentle,  and  mild  of  mood, 

The  vassals  were  warlike,  and  fierce,  and  rude ; 

High  of  heart,  and  haughty  of  word, 

Little  they  reck'd  of  a  tame  liege  lord. 

The  Earl  into  fair  Eskdale  came, 

Homage  and  seignory  to  claim : 

Of  Gilbert  the  Galliard  a  heriot6  he  sought, 

Saying,  "  Give  thy  best  steed,  as  a  vassal  ought." 

— "  Dear  to  me  is  my  bonny  white  steed, 

Oft  has  he  help'd  me  at  pinch  of  need ; 

Lord  and  Earl  though  thou  be,  I  trow, 

I  can  rein  Bucksfoot  better  than  thou." — 

Word  on  word  gave  fuel  to  fire, 

Till  so  highly  blazed  the  Beattison's  ire, 

But  that  the  Earl  the  flight  had  ta'en, 

The  vassals  there  their  lord  had  slain. 

Sore  he  plied  both  whip  and  spur, 

As  he  urged  his  steed  through  Eskdale  muir ; 

And  it  fell  down  a  weary  weight, 

Just  on  the  threshold  of  Branksome  gate. 

XI. 

The  Earl  was  a  wrathful  man  to  see ; 

Full  fain  avenged  would  he  be. 

In  haste  to  Branksome's  Lord  he  spoke, 

Saying — "  Take  these  traitors  to  thy  yoke ; 

For  a  cast  of  hawks,  and  a  purse  of  gold, 

All  Eskdale  I'll  sell  thee,  to  have  and  hold : 

Beshrew  thy  heart,  of  the  Beattisons'  clan 

If  thou  leavest  on  Eske  a  landed  man ; 

But  spare  Woodkerrick's  lands  alone, 

For  he  lent  me  his  horse  to  escape  upon. 

A  glad  man  then  was  Branksome  bold, 

Down  he  flung  him  the  purse  of  gold  ; 

To  Eskdale  soon  he  spurr'd  amain, 

And  with  him  five  hundred  riders  has  ta'en. 

lie  left  his  merry -men  in  the  mist  of  the  hill, 

And  bade  them  hold  them  close  and  still ; 

And  alone  he  wended  to  the  plain, 

To  meet  witli  the  Galliard  and  all  his  train. 

To  Gilbert  the  Galliard  thus  he  said : — 

"  Know  thou  me  for  thy  liege  lord  and  head ; 

Deal  not  with  me  as  with  Morton  tame, 

For  Scotts  play  best  at  the  roughest  game. 

Give  me  in  peace  my  heriot  due, 

Thy  bonny  white  steed,  or  thou  shalt  rue. 

If  my  horn  I  three  times  wind, 

Eskdale  shall  long  have  the  sound  in  mind." 

XII. 

Loudly  the  Beattison  laugh'd  in  scorn ; 
"  Little  care  we  for  thy  winded  horn. 
Ne'er  shall  it  be  the  Galliard's  lot, 
To  yield  his  steed  to  a  haughty  Scott. 

"A  modern  author  spends  a  hundred  leaves, 
To  prove  his  ancestors  notorious  thieves." — Ed. 

4  Stanzas  x.  xi.  xii.  were  not  in  the  first  edition. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

6  The  feudal  superior,  in  certain  cases,  was  entitled  to  the 
best  horse  of  the  vassal,  in  name  of  Heriot,  or  Herezeld. 


26 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Wend  thou  to  Branksome  back  on  foot, 

With  rusty  spur  and  miry  boot." — 

He  blew  his  bugle  so  loud  and  hoarse, 

That  the  dun  deer  started  at  fair  Craikcross; 

He  blew  again  so  loud  and  clear, 

Through  the  gray  mountain  mist  there  did  lances 

appear; 
And  the  third  blast  rang  with  such  a  din, 
That  the  echoes  answered  from  Pentoun-linn, 
And  all  his  riders  came  lightly  in. 
Then  had  you  seen  a  gallant  shock, 
When  saddles  were  emptied,  and  lances  broke ! 
For  each  scornful  word  the  Galliard  had  said, 
A  Beattison  on  the  field  was  laid. 
His  own  good  sword  the  chieftain  drew, 
And  he  bore  the  Galliard  through  and  through ; 
Where  the  Beattisons'  blood  mix'd  with  the  rill, 
The  Galliard's-Haugh  men  call  it  still. 
The  Scotts  have  scatter'd  the  Beattison  clan, 
In  Eskdale  they  left  but  one  landed  man. 
The  valley    of   Eske,   from    the    mouth    to    the 

source, 
Was  lost  and  won  for  that  bonny  white  horse. 

XIII. 

Whitslade  the  Hawk,  and  Headshaw  came, 
And  warriors  more  than  I  may  name; 
From  Yarrow-cleugh  to  Hindhaugh-swair,1 

From  Woodhouselie  to  Chester-glen, 
Troop'd  man  and  horse,  and  bow  and  spear ; 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden.2 
And  better  hearts  o'er  Border  sod 
To  siege  or  rescue  never  rode. 
The  Ladye  mark'd  the  aids  come  in, 
And  high  her  heart  of  pride  arose : 
She  bade  her  youthful  son  attend, 
That  he  might  know  his  father's  friend, 

And  learn  to  face  his  foes. 
" The  boy  is  ripe  to  look  on  war; 

I  saw  him  draw  a  cross-bow  stiff, 
And  his  true  arrow  struck  afar 
The  raven's  nest  upon  the  cliff; 
The  red  cross,  on  a  southern  breast, 
Is  broader  than  the  raven's  nest : 
Thou,  Whitslade,  shalt  teach  him  his  weapon  to 

wield, 
And  o'er  him  hold  Ins  father's  shield." 

XIV. 

Well  may  you  think,  the  wily  page 
Cared  not  to  face  the  Ladye  sage. 
He  counterfeited  childish  fear, 
And  sliriek'd,  and  shed  full  many  a  tear, 
And  moan'd  and  plain'd  in  manner  wild. 

The  attendants  to  the  Ladye  (old, 
Some  fairy,  sure,  had  changed  the  child, 
That  wont  to  be  so  free  anil  hold. 


1  This  and  the  three  following  lines  are  not  in  the  first 
edition. — Ed. 


Then  wrathful  was  the  noble  dame ; 
She  blush'd  blood-red  for  very  shame : — 
"  Hence !  ere  the  clan  his  faintness  view ; 
Hence  with  the  weakling  to  Buccleuch ! — 
Watt  Tinlinn,  thou  shalt  be  his  guide 
To  Ilangleburn's  lonely  side. — 
Sure  some  fell  fiend  has  cursed  our  line, 
That  coward  should  e'er  be  son  of  mine !" — 

XV. 

A  heavy  task  Watt  Tinlinn  had, 
To  guide  the  counterfeited  lad. 
Soon  as  the  palfrey  felt  the  weight 
Of  that  ill-omen'd  elfish  freight, 
He  bolted,  sprung,  and  rear'd  amain, 
Nor  heeded  bit,  nor  curb,  nor  rein. 

It  cost  Watt  Tinlinn  mickle  toil 

To  drive  him  but  a  Scottish  mile  ; 
But  as  a  shallow  brook  they  cross'd, 

The  elf,  amid  the  running  stream, 

His  figure  changed,  like  form  in  dream, 
And  fled,  and  shouted,  "Lost!  lost!  lost!" 
Full  fast  the  urchin  ran  and  laugh'd, 
But  faster  still  a  cloth-yard  shaft 
Whistled  from  startled  Tinlinn's  yew, 
And  pierced  his  shoulder  through  and  through. 
Although  the  imp  might  not  be  slain, 
And  though  the  wound  soon  heal'd  again, 
Yet,  as  he  ran,  he  yell'd  for  pain  ; 
And  Wat  of  Tinlinn,  much  aghast, 
Rode  back  to  Branksome  fiery  fast. 

XVI. 

Soon  on  the  hill's  steep  verge  he  stood, 
That  looks  o'er  Branksome's  towers  and  wood 
And  martial  murmurs,  from  below, 
Proclaim'd  the  approaching  southern  foe. 
Through  the  dark  wood,  in  mingled  tone, 
Were  Border  pipes  and  bugles  blown  ; 
The  coursers'  neighing  he  could  ken, 
A  measured  tread  of  marching  men ; 
While  broke  at  times  the  solemn  hum, 
The  Almayn's  sullen  kettle-drum  ; 

And  banners  tall,  of  crimson  sheen, 
Above  the  copse  appear ; 

And,  glistening  through  the  hawthorns  green, 
Shine  helm,  and  shield,  and  spear. 

XVII. 

Light  forayers,  first,  to  view  the  ground, 
Spurr'd  their  fleet  coursers  loosely  round; 
Behind,  in  close  array,  and  fast, 

The  Kendal  archers,  all  in  green, 
Obedient  to  the  bugle  blast, 
Advancing  from  the  wood  were  seen. 
To  back  and  guard  the  archer  band, 
Lord  Dacre's  bill-men  were  at  hand  : 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 


THE    LAY    OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


27 


A  hardy  race  on  Irthing  bred, 
With  kirtles  white  and  crosses  red, 
Array'd  beneath  the  banner  tall, 
That  stream'd  o'er  Acre's  conquer'd  wall ; 
And  minstrels,  as  they  march'd  in  order, 
Play'd  "Noble  Lord  Dacre,  he  dwells  on  the 
Border." 

XVIII. 

Behind  the  English  bill  and  bow, 
The  mercenaries,  firm  and  slow, 

Moved  on  to  fight,  in  dark  array, 
By  Conrad  led  of  Wolfenstein, 
Who  brought  the  band  from  distant  Rhine, 

And  sold  their  blood  for  foreign  pay. 
The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  knew  no  country,  own'd  no  lord  i1 
They  were  not  arm'd  like  England's  sons, 
But  bore  the  levin-darting  guns ; 
Buff  coats,  all  frounced  and  'broider'd  o'er, 
And  morsing-horns2  and  scarfs  they  wore; 
Each  better  knee  was  bared,  to  aid 
The  warriors  in  the  escalade ; 
All  as  they  march'd,  in  rugged  tongue 
Songs  of  Teutonic  feuds  they  sung. 

XIX. 

But  louder  still  the  clamor  grew, 

And  louder  still  the  minstrels  blew, 

When,  from  beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 

Rode  forth  Lord  Howard's  chivalry  ; 

His  men-at-arms,  with  glaive  and  spear, 

Brought  up  the  battle's  glittering  rear. 

There  many  a  youthful  knight,  full  keen 

To  gain  his  spurs,  in  arms  was  seen ; 

With  favor  in  his  crest,  or  glove, 

Memorial  of  his  ladye-love. 

So  rode  they  forth  in  fair  army, 

Till  full  their  lengthen'd  lines  display ; 

Then  call'd  a  halt,  and  made  a  stand, 

And  cried,  "  St.  George  for  merry  England  !"3 

XX. 

Now  every  English  eye,  intent 

On  Branksome's  armed  towers  was  bent ; 

So  near  they  were,  that  they  might  know 

The  straining  harsh  of  each  cross-bow ; 

On  battlement  and  bartizan 

Gleam'd  axe,  and  spear,  and  partisan  ; 

Falcon  and  culver,4  on  each  tower, 

Stood  promjit  their  deadly  hail  to  shower ; 

And  flashing  armor  frequent  broke 

From  eddying  whirls  of  sable  smoke, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 

2  Powder-flasks. 

3  "  The  stanzas  describing  the  march  of  the  English  forces, 
and  the  investiture  of  the  Castle  of  Branxholm,  display  a 
great  knowledge  of  ancient  costume,  as  well  as  a  most  pictu- 
resque and  lively  picture  of  feudal  warfare." — Critical  Review. 


Where  upon  tower  and  turret  head, 
The  seething  pitch  and  molten  lead 
Beek'd  like  a  witch's  caldron  red. 
While  yet  they  gaze,  the  bridges  fall, 
The  wicket  opes,  and  from  the  wall 
Rides  forth  the  hoary  Seneschal. 

XXL 

Armed  he  rode,  all  save  the  head, 

His  white  beard  o'er  his  breast-plate  spread ; 

Unbroke  by  age,  erect  his  seat, 

He  ruled  his  eager  courser's  gait  ; 

Forced  him,  with  chasten'd  fire,  to  prance, 

And,  high  curvetting,  slow  advance : 

In  sign  of  truce,  his  better  hand 

Display'd  a  peeled  willow  wand ; 

His  squire,  attending  in  the  rear, 

Bore  high  a  gauntlet  on  a  spear.5 

When  they  espied  him  riding  out, 

Lord  Howard  and  Lord  Dacre  stout 

Sped  to  the  front  of  their  array, 

To  hear  what  this  old  Knight  should  say. 

XXII. 

"  Ye  English  warden  Lords,  of  you 

Demands  the  Ladye  of  Buccleuch, 

Why,  'gainst  the  truce  of  Border  tide, 

In  hostile  guise  ye  dare  to  ride, 

With  Kendal  bow,  and  Gilsland  brand, 

And  all  yon  mercenary  band, 

Upon  the  bounds  of  fair  Scotland  ? 

My  Ladye  reads  you  swith  return ; 

And,  if  but  one  poor  straw  you  burn, 

Or  do  our  towers  so  much  molest 

As  scare  one  swallow  from  her  nest, 

St.  Mary  !  but  we'll  light  a  brand 

Shall  warm  your  hearths  in  Cumberland." 

XXIII. 

A  wrathful  man  was  Dacre's  Lord, 
But  calmer  Howard  took  the  word : 
"  May't  please  thy  Dame,  Sir  Seneschal, 
To  seek  the  castle's  outward  wall, 
Our  pursuivant-at-arms  shall  show 
Both  why  we  came,  and  when  we  go." — 
The  message  sped,  the  noble  Dame 
To  the  wall's  outward  circle  came ; 
Each  chief  around  lean'd  on  his  spear, 
To  see  the  pursuivant  appear. 
All  in  Lord  Howard's  livery  dress'd, 
The  lion  argent  deck'd  his  breast ; 
He  led  a  boy  of  blooming  hue — 
Oh,  sight  to  meet  a  mother's  view ! 
It  was  the  heir  of  great  Buccleuch. 


4  Ancient  pieces  of  artillery. 

5  A  glove  upon  a  lance  was  the  emblem  of  faith  among  the 
ancient  Borderers,  who  were  wont,  when  any  one  broke  his 
word,  to  expose  this  emblem,  and  proclaim  him  a  faithless 
villain  at  the  first  Border  meeting.  This  ceremony  was  much 
dreaded.    See  Lesley. 


28 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Obeisance  meet  the  herald  made, 
And  thus  his  master's  will  he  said : — 

XXIV. 

"  It  irks,  high  Dame,  my  noble  Lords, 
'Gainst  ladye  fair  to  draw  their  swords; 
But  yet  they  may  not  tamely  see, 
All  through  the  Western  Wardenry, 
Your  law-contemning  kinsmen  ride, 
And  burn  and  spoil  the  Border-side ; 
And  ill  beseems  your  rank  and  birth 
To  make  your  towers  a  flemens-firth.1 
We  claim  from  thee  William  of  Deloraine, 
That  he  may  suffer  march-treason2  pain. 
It  was  but  last  St.  Cuthbert's  even 
He  prick'd  to  Stapleton  on  Leven, 
Harried3  the  lands  of  Richard  Musgrave, 
And  slew  his  brother  by  dint  of  glaive. 
Then,  since  a  lone  and  widow'd  Dame 
These  restless  riders  may  not  tame, 
Either  receive  within  thy  towers 
Two  hundred  of  my  master's  powers, 
Or  straight  they  sound  their  warrison,* 
And  storm  and  spoil  thy  garrison : 
And  this  fair  boy,  to  London  led, 
Shall  good  King  Edward's  page  be  bred." 

XXV. 

He  ceased — and  loud  the  boy  did  cry, 
And  stretch'd  his  little  arms  on  high ; 
Implored  for  aid  each  well-known  face, 
And  strove  to  seek  the  Dame's  embrace. 
A  moment  changed  that  Ladye's  cheer, 
Gush'd  to  her  eye  the  unbidden  tear; 
She  gazed  upon  the  leaders  round, 
And  dark  and  sad  each  warrior  frown'd ; 
Then,  deep  within  her  sobbing  breast 
She  lock'd  the  struggling  sigh  to  rest ; 
Unalter'd  and  collected  stood, 
And  thus  replied,  in  dauntless  mood : — 

XXVI. 

"  Say  to  your  Lords  of  high  emprise,5 

Who  war  on  women  and  on  boys, 

That  either  William  of  Deloraine 

Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  stain,6 

Or  else  he  will  the  combat  take 

'Gainst  Musgrave  for  his  honor's  sake. 

No  knight  in  Cumberland  so  good, 

But  William  may  count  with  him  kin  and  blood. 

Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword,7 

When  English  blood  swell'd  Ancram's  ford;8 

And,  but  Lord  Dacre's  steed  was  wight, 

And  bare  him  ably  in  the  flight, 

Himself  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight, 

1  An  asylum  for  outlaws. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

3  Plundered. 

*  Note  of  assault. 


For  the  young  heir  of  Branksome's  line, 
God  be  his  aid,  and  God  be  mine ; 
Through  me  no  friend  shall  meet  his  doom; 
Here,  while  I  live,  no  foe  finds  room. 
Then,  if  thy  Lords  their  purpose  urge, 

Take  our  defiance  loud  and  high  ; 
Our  slogan  is  their  lyke-wake9  dirge, 
Our  moat,  the  grave  where  they  shall  lie." 

XXVII. 
Troiid  she  look'd  round,  applause  to  claim — 
Then  lighten'd  Thirlestane's  eye  of  flame ; 

His  bugle  Wat  of  Harden  blew ; 
Pensils  and  pennons  wide  were  flung, 
To  heaven  the  Border  slogan  rung, 

"  St.  Mary  for  the  young  Buccleuch !" 
The  English  war-cry  answer'd  wide, 

And  forward  bent  each  southern  spear ; 
Each  Kendal  archer  made  a  stride, 

And  drew  the  bowstring  to  his  ear ; 
Each  minstrel's  war-note  loud  was  blown ; — 
But,  ere  a  gray-goose  shaft  had  flown, 

A  horseman  gallop'd  from  the  rear. 

XXVIII. 

"Ah!  noble  Lords!"  he  breathless  said, 

"  What  treason  has  your  march  betray'd? 

What  make  you  here,  from  aid  so  far, 

Before  you  walls,  around  you  war  ? 

Your  foemen  triumph  in  the  thought, 

That  in  the  toils  the  lion's  caught. 

Already  on  dark  Ruberslaw 

The  Douglas  holds  his  weapon-schaw  ;10 

The  lances,  waving  in  his  train, 

Clothe  the  dun  heath  like  autumn  grain ; 

And  on  the  Liddel's  northern  strand, 

To  bar  retreat  to  Cumberland, 

Lord  Maxwell  ranks  his  merry-men  good, 

Beneath  the  eagle  and  the  rood ; 

And  Jedwood,  Eske,  and  Teviotdale, 
Have  to  proud  Angus  come ; 

And  all  the  Merse  and  Lauderdale 
Have  risen  with  haughty  Home. 

An  exile  from  Northumberland, 
In  Liddesdale  I've  wandered  long ; 

But  still  my  heart  was  with  merry  England, 
And  cannot  brook  my  country's  wrong: 
And  hard  I've  spurr'd  all  night  to  show 
The  mustering  of  coming  foe."— 

XXIX. 
"  And  let  them  come !"  fierce  Dacre  cried ; 
"  For  soon  yon  crest,  my  father's  pride, 
That  swept  the  shores  of  Judah's  sea, 
And  waved  in  gales  of  Galilee, 


6  Orig. :  "  Say  to  thy  Lords  of  high  emprise." 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  31.  7  Ibid.  Note  3  K. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L. 

»  Lyke-wake,  the  watching  a  corpse  previous  to  interment. 

i«  Weapmschaw,  the  military  array  of  a  county. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


29 


From  Branksome's  highest  towers  displayed, 
Shall  mock  the  rescue's  lingering  aid ! — 
Level  each  harquebuss  on  row ; 
Draw,  merry  archers,  draw  the  bow ; 
Up,  bill-men,  to  the  walls,  and  cry, 
Dacre  for  England,  win  or  die !" — 

XXX. 

"  Yet  hear,"  quoth  Howard,  "  calmly  hear, 

Nor  deem  my  words  the  words  of  fear : 

For  who,  in  field  or  foray  slack, 

Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back  ?* 

But  thus  to  risk  our  Border  flower 

Iu  strife  against  a  kingdom's  power, 

Ten  thousand  Scots  'gainst  thousands  three, 

Certes,  were  desperate  policy. 

Nay,  take  the  terms  the  Ladye  made, 

Ere  conscious  of  the  advancing  aid : 

Let  Musgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine2 

In  single  fight,  and,  if  he  gain, 

He  gains  for  us ;  but  if  he's  cross'd, 

'Tis  but  a  single  warrior  lost : 

The  rest,  retreating  as  they  came, 

Avoid  defeat,  and  death,  and  shame." 

XXXI. 

Ill  could  the  haughty  Dacre  brook 
His  brother  Warden's  sage  rebuke ; 
And  yet  his  forward  step  he  staid, 
And  slow  and  sullenly  obey'd. 
But  ne'er  again  the  Border  side 
Did  these  two  lords  in  friendship  ride ; 
And  this  slight  discontent,  men  say, 
Cost  blood  upon  another  day. 

XXXII. 

The  pursuivant-at-arms  again 

Before  the  castle  took  his  stand ; 
His  trumpet  call'd,  with  parleying  strain, 

The  leaders  of  the  Scottish  band ; 
And  he  defied,  in  Musgrave's  right, 
Stout  Deloraine  to  single  fight; 
A  gauntlet  at  their  feet  he  laid, 
And  thus  the  terms  of  fight  he  said : — 
"  If  in  the  lists  good  Musgrave's  sword 

Vanquish  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 
Your  youthful  chieftain,  Branksome's  Lord, 

Shall  hostage  for  his  clan  remain  : 
If  Deloraine  foil  good  Musgrave, 
The  boy  his  liberty  shall  have. 

Howe'er  it  falls,  the  English  band, 
Unharming  Scots,  by  Scots  unharm'd, 
Iu  peaceful  march,  like  men  unarm'd, 

Shall  straight  retreat  to  Cumberland." 

XXXIII. 

Unconscious  of  the  near  relief, 

The  proffer  pleased  each  Scottish  chief, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M. 


2  Ibid.  Note  3  N. 


Though  much  the  Ladye  sage  gainsay'd ; 
For  though  their  hearts  were  brave  and  true, 
From  Jedwood's  recent  sack  they  knew 

How  tardy  was  the  Regent's  aid : 
And  you  may  guess  the  noble  Dame 

Durst  not  the  secret  prescience  own, 
Sprung  from  the  art  she  might  not  name, 

By  which  the  coming  help  was  known. 
Closed  was  the  compact,  and  agreed 
That  lists  should  be  enclosed  with  speed, 

Beneath  the  castle,  on  a  lawn : 
They  fix'd  the  morrow  for  the  strife, 
On  foot,  with  Scottish  axe  and  knife, 

At  the  fourth  hour  from  peep  of  dawn ; 
When  Deloraine,  from  sickness  freed, 
Or  else  a  champion  in  his  stead, 
Should  for  himself  and  chieftain  stand, 
Against  stout  Musgrave,  hand  to  hand. 

XXXIV. 

I  know  right  well,  that,  in  their  lay, 
Full  many  minstrels  sing  and  say, 

Such  combat  should  be  made  on  horse, 
On  foaming  steed,  in  full  career, 
With  brand  to  aid,  when  as  the  spear 

Should  shiver  in  the  course : 
But  he,  the  jovial  Harper,3  taught 
Me,  yet  a  youth,  how  it  was  fought, 

In  guise  which  now  I  say : 
He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Archibald's  battledaws,* 

In  the  old  Douglas'  day. 
He  brook'd  not,  he,  that  scoffing  tongue 
Should  tax  his  minstrelsy  with  wrong, 

Or  call  his  song  untrue : 
For  this,  when  they  the  goblet  plied, 
And  such  rude  taunt  had  chafed  his  pride, 

The  Bard  of  Reull  he  slew. 
On  Teviot's  side,  in  fight  they  stood, 
And  tuneful  hands  were  stain'd  with  blood ; 
Where  still  the  thorn's  white  branches  wave, 
Memorial  o'er  his  rival's  grave. 

XXXV. 

Why  should  I  tell  the  rigid  doom, 
That  dragg'd  my  master  to  his  tomb ; 

How  Ousenam's  maidens  tore  their  hair, 
Wept  till  their  eyes  were  dead  and  dim, 
And  wrung  their  hands  for  love  of  him, 

Who  died  at  Jedwood  Air  ? 
He  died! — his  scholars,  one  by  one, 
To  the  cold  silent  grave  are  gone ; 
And  I,  alas !  survive  alone, 
To  muse  o'er  rivalries  of  yore, 
And  grieve  that  I  shall  hear  no  more 
The  strains,  with  envy  heard  before ; 
For,  with  my  minstrel  brethren  fled, 
My  jealousy  of  song  is  dead. 


3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  0. 


*  Ibid.  Note  3  P. 


30 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


He  paused:  the  listening  dames  again 
Applaud  the  hoary  Minstrel's  strain. 
With  many  a  word  of  kindly  cheer, — 
In  pity  half,  and  half  sincere, — 
Marvell'd  the  Duchess  how  so  well 
His  legendary  song  could  tell 
Of  ancient  deeds,  so  long  forgot ; 
Of  feuds,  whose  memory  was  not ; 
Of  forests,  now  laid  waste  and  bare ; 
Of  towers,  which  harbor  now  the  hare; 
Of  manners,  long  since  changed  and  gone; 
Of  chiefs,  who  under  their  gray  stone 
So  long  had  slept,  that  fickle  Fame 
Had  blotted  from  her  rolls  their  name, 
And  twined  round  some  new  minion's  head 
The  fading  wreath  for  which  they  bled ; 
In  Booth,  'twas  strange  this  old  man's  verse 
Could  call  them  from  their  marble  hearse. 

The  Harper  smiled,  well  pleased ;  for  ne'er 
Was  flattery  lost  on  poet's  ear : 
A  simple  race  !  they  waste  their  toil 
For  the  vain  tribute  of  a  smile ; 
E'en  when  in  age  their  flame  expires, 
Her  dulcet  breath  can  fan  its  fires : 
Their  drooping  fancy  wakes  at  praise, 
And  strives  to  trim  the  short-lived  blaze. 

Smiled  then,  well  pleased,  the  Aged  Man, 
And  thus  his  tale  continued  ran. 


Ef)P  Hag  of  tf)c  3Last  fflinztxtl 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


Call  it  not  vain : — they  do  not  err 
Who  say  that  when  the  Poet  dies, 

Mute  Nature  mourns  her  worshipper, 
And  celebrates  his  obsequies: 

Who  say,  tall  cliff,  and  cavern  lone, 

For  the  departed  Bard  make  moan ; 

That  mountains  weep  in  crystal  rill ; 

That  flowers  in  tears  of  balm  distill ; 

Through  his  loved  groves  that  breezes  sigh, 

And  oaks,  in  deeper  groan,  reply; 

And  rivers  teach  their  rushing  wave 

To  murmur  dirges  round  his  grave. 

1  Orig. :  "  Spear-lieads  above  the  columns  dun."— Ed. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Q. 

3  In  the  first  edition  we  read — 

"Vails  not  to  tell  what  hundreds  more 
From  the  rich  Merse  and  Lammermore,"  <&c. 


II. 

Not  that,  in  sooth,  o'er  mortal  urn 

Those  things  inanimate  can  mourn ; 

But  that  the  stream,  the  wood,  the  gale, 

Is  vocal  with  the  plaintive  wail 

Of  those  who,  else  forgotten  long, 

Lived  in  the  Poet's  faithful  song, 

And,  with  the  Poet's  parting  breath, 

Whose  memory  feels  a  second  death. 

The  Maid's  pale  shade,  who  wails  her  lot, 

That  love,  true  love,  should  be  forgot, 

From  rose  and  hawthorn  shakes  the  tear 

Upon  the  gentle  Minstrel's  bier : 

The  phantom  Knight,  his  glory  fled, 

Mourns  o'er  the  field  he  heap'd  with  dead ; 

Mounts  the  wild  blast  that  sweeps  amain, 

And  shrieks  along  the  battle-plain. 

The  Chief,  whose  antique  crownlet  long 

Still  sparkled  in  the  feudal  song, 

Now,  from  the  mountain's  misty  throne, 

Sees,  in  the  thanedom  once  his  own, 

His  ashes  undistinguish'd  lie, 

His  place,  his  power,  his  memory  die ; 

His  groans  the  lonely  caverns  fill, 

His  tears  of  rage  impel  the  rill : 

All  mourn  the  Minstrel's  harp  unstrung, 

Their  name  unknown,  their  praise  unsung. 

III. 

Scarcely  the  hot  assault  was  staid, 

The  terms  of  truce  were  scarcely  made, 

When  they  could  spy,  from  Branksome's  towers, 

The  advancing  march  of  martial  powers. 

Thick  clouds  of  dust  afar  appear 'd, 

And  trampling  steeds  were  faintly  heard ; 

Bright  spears,1  above  the  columns  dun, 

Glanced  momentary  to  the  sun ; 

And  feudal  banners  fair  display'd 

The  bands  that  moved  to  Branksome's  aid. 

IV. 

Vails  not  to  tell  each  hardy  clan, 

From  the  fair  Middle  Marches  came ; 
The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 

Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name ! 2 
Vails  not  to  tell  what  steeds  did  spurn,3 
Where  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburne* 

Their  men  in  battle  order  set; 
And  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 
That  tamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 

Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet.5 
Nor  list  I  say  what  hundreds  more, 
From  the  rich  Merse  and  Lammermore, 

The  lines  on  Wedderburne  and  Swinton  were  inserted  in 
the  second  edition. — Ed. 

4  Sir  David  Home  of  Wedderburn,  who  was  slain  in  the 
fatal  battle  of  Flodden,  left  seven  sons  by  his  wife,  Isabel, 
daughter  of  Hoppringle  of  Galashiels  (now  Pringle  of  White- 
bank).    They  were  called  the  Seven  Spears  of  Wedderburne. 

&  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 


THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


31 


And  Tweed's  fair  borders,  to  the  war, 
Beneath  the  crest  of  old  Dunbar, 

And  Hepburn's  mingled  banners  come, 
Down  the  steep  mountain  glittering  far, 

And  shouting  still,  "  A  Home !  a  Home  I"1 


Now  squire  and  knight,  from  Branksome  sent, 

On  many  a  courteous  message  went ; 

To  every  chief  and  lord  they  paid 

Meet  thanks  for  prompt  and  powerful  aid ; 

And  told  them, — how  a  truce  was  made, 

And  how  a  day  of  fight  was  ta'en 

'Twixt  Musgrave  and  stout  Deloraine  ; 
And  how  the  Ladye  pray'd  tliem  dear, 

That  all  would  stay  the  fight  to  see, 

And  deign,  in  love  and  courtesy, 
To  taste  of  Branksome  cheer. 
Nor,  while  they  bade  to  feast  each  Scot, 
Were  England's  noble  Lords  forgot. 
Himself,  the  hoary  Seneschal, 
Rode  forth,  in  seemly  terms  to  call 
Those  gallant  foes  to  Branksome  Hall. 
Accepted  Howard,  than  whom  knight 
Was  never  dubb'd  more  bold  in  fight ; 
Nor,  when  from  war  and  armor  free, 
More  famed  for  stately  courtesy : 
But  angry  Dacre  rather  chose 
In  his  pavilion  to  repose. 

VI. 

Now,  noble  Dame,  perchance  you  ask, 

How  these  two  hostile  armies  met  ? 
Deeming  it  were  no  easy  task 

To  keep  the  truce  which  here  was  set ; 
Where  martial  spirits,  all  on  fire, 
Breathed  only  blood  and  mortal  ire. — 
By  mutual  inroads,  mutual  blows, 
By  habit,  and  by  nation,  foes, 

They  met  on  Teviot's  strand ; 
They  met  and  sat  them  mingled  down, 
Without  a  threat,  without  a  frown, 

As  brothers  meet  in  foreign  land : 
The  hands,  the  spear  that  lately  grasp'd, 
Still  in  the  mailed  gauntlet  clasp'd, 

Were  interchanged  in  greeting  dear; 
Visors  were  raised,  and  faces  shown, 
And  many  a  friend,  to  friend  made  known, 

Partook  of  social  cheer. 
Some  drove  the  jolly  bowl  about; 

With  dice  and  draughts  some  chased  the  day ; 
And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout, 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout, 

Pursued  the  foot-ball  play.2 

VII. 

Yet,  be  it  known,  had  bugles  blown, 
Or  sign  of  war  been  seen, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 
3  A  sort  of  knife  or  poniard. 


2  Ibid.  Note  3  T. 


Those  bands,  so  fair  together  ranged, 
Those  hands,  so  frankly  interchanged, 

Had  dyed  with  gore  the  green : 
The  merry  shout  by  Teviot-side 
Had  sunk  in  war-cries  wild  and  wide, 

And  in  the  groan  of  death ; 
And  whingers,3  now  in  friendship  bare, 
The  social  meal  to  part  and  share, 

Had  found  a  bloody  sheath. 
'Twixt  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange, 

In  the  old  Border-day : 4 
But  yet  on  Branksome's  towers  and  town, 
In  peaceful  merriment,  sunk  down 

The  sun's  declining  ray. 

VIII. 

The  blithesome  signs  of  wassail  gay 
Decay'd  not  with  the  dying  day ; 
Soon  through  the  latticed  windows  tall 
Of  lofty  Branksome's  lordly  hall, 
Divided  square  by  shafts  of  stone, 
Huge  flakes  of  ruddy  lustre  shone ; 
Nor  less  the  gilded  rafters  rang 
With  merry  harp  and  beakers'  clang : 

And  frequent,  on  the  darkening  plain, 
Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran, 

As  bands,  their  stragglers  to  regain, 
Give    the    shrill    watchword    of   their 
clan  ;5 
And  revellers,  o'er  their  bowls,  proclaim 
Douglas'  or  Dacre's  conquering  name. 

IX. 

Less  frequent  heard,  and  fainter  still, 

At  length  the  various  clamors  died : 
And  you  might  hear,  from  Branksome  hill, 

No  sound  but  Teviot's  rushing  tide ; 
Save  when  the  changing  sentinel 
The  challenge  of  his  watch  could  tell ; 
And  save,  where,  through  the  dark  profound, 
The  clanging  axe  and  hammer's  sound 

Rung  from  the  nether  lawn ; 
For  many  a  busy  hand  toil'd  there, 
Strong  pales  to  shape,  and  beams  to  square,6 
The  lists'  dread  barriers  to  prepare 

Against  the  morrow's  dawn. 


Margaret  from  hall  did  soon  retreat, 
Despite  the  Dame's  reproving  eye ; 

Nor  mark'd  she,  as  she  left  her  seat, 
Full  many  a  stifled  sigh ; 

For  many  a  noble  warrior  strove 

To  win  the  Flower  of  Teviot's  love, 
And  many  a  bold  ally. — 

With  throbbing  head  and  anxious  heart, 

All  in  her  lonely  bower  apart, 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U.  6  Ibid.  Note  3  V. 

•  This  line  is  not  in  the  first  edition. 


32 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


In  broken  sleep  she  lav : 
By  times,  from  silken  couch  she  rose; 
While  yet  the  hanner'd  hosts  repose, 

She  view'd  the  dawning  day  : 
Of  all  the  hundreds  sunk  to  rest, 
First  woke  the  loveliest  and  the  best. 

XI. 

She  gazed  upon  the  inner  court, 

Which  in  the  tower's  tall  shadow  lay ; 
Where  coursers'  clang,  and  stamp,  and  snort, 

Had  rung  the  livelong  yesterday ; 
Now  still  as  death ;  till  stalking  slow, — 

The  jingling  spurs  announced  his  tread, — 
A  stately  warrior  pass'd  below  ; 

But  when  he  raised  his  plumed  head — 
Blessed  Mary !  can  it  be  ? — 
Secure,  as  if  in  Ousenam  bowers, 
He  walks  through  Branksome's  hostile  towers, 

With  fearless  step  and  free. 
She  dare  not  sign,  she  dare  not  speak — 
Oh  !  if  one  page's  slumbers  break, 

His  blood  the  price  must  pay ! 
Not  all  the  pearls  Queen  Mary  wears, 
Not  Margaret's  yet  more  precious  tears, 

Shall  buy  his  life  a  day. 

XII. 

Yet  was  his  hazard  small ;  for  well 
You  may  bethink  you  of  the  spell 

Of  that  sly  urchin  page ; 
This  to  his  lord  he  did  impart, 
And  made  him  seem,  by  glamour  art, 

A  knight  from  Hermitage. 
Unchallenged  thus,  the  warder's  post, 
The  court,  unchallenged,  thus  he  cross'd, 

For  all  the  vassalage : 
But  oh !  what  magic's  quaint  disguise 
Could  blind  fair  Margaret's  azure  eyes ! 

She  started  from  her  seat ; 
While  with  surprise  and  fear  she  strove, 
And  both  could  scarcely  master  love — 

Lord  Henry's  at  her  feet. 

XIII. 
Oft  have  I  mused,  what  purpose  bad 
That  foul  malicious  urchin  had 

To  bring  this  meeting  round; 
For  happy  love's  a  heavenly  sight, 
And  by  a  vile  malignant  sprite 

In  such  no  joy  is  found  ; 
And  oft  I've  deem'd,  perchance  he  thought 
Their  erring  passion  might  have  wrought 

1  In  the  first  edition,  "the  silver  cord;"— 

"Yes,  love,  indeed,  is  light  from  heaven; 

A  spark  of  that  immortal  fire 
With  angels  shared,  by  Allah  given, 
To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desire,"  &c. 

The  Giaour. 
3  A  martial  piece  of  music,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes. 


Sorrow,  and  sin,  and  shame ; 
And  death  to  Cranstoun's  gallant  Knight, 
And  to  the  gentle  ladye  bright, 

Disgrace,  and  loss  of  fame. 
But  earthly  spirit  could  not  tell 
The  heart  of  them  that  loved  so  will. 
True  love's  the  gift  which  God  lias  given 
To  mail  alone  beneath  the  heaven : 

It  is  not  fantasy's  hot  fire, 
Whose  wishes,  soon  as  granted,  fly ; 

It  liveth  not  in  fierce  desire, 
With  dead  desire  it  does  not  die ; 
It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 
The  silver  link,1  the  silken  tie, 
Which  heart  to  heart,  and  mind  to  mind, 
In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind. — 
Now  leave  we  Margaret  and  her  Knight, 
To  tell  you  of  the  approaching  fight. 

XIV. 

Their  warning  blasts  the  bugles  blew, 
The  pipe's  shrill  port2  aroused  each  clan, 

In  haste,  the  deadly  strife  to  view, 
The  trooping  warriors  eager  ran  : 

Thick  round  the  lists  their  lances  stood, 

Like  blasted  pines  in  Ettrick  wood ; 

To  Branksome  many  a  look  they  threw, 

The  combatants'  approach  to  view, 

And  bandied  many  a  word  of  boast, 

About  the  knight  each  favored  most. 

XV. 
Meantime  full  anxious  was  the  Dame ; 
For  now  arose  disputed  claim, 
Of  who  should  fight  for  Deloraine, 
'Twixt  Harden  and  'twixt  Thirlestane  :3 
They  'gan  to  reckon  kin  and  rent, 
And  frowning  brow  on  brow  was  bent ; 

But  yet  not  long  the  strife — for,  lo ! 
Himself,  the  Knight  of  Deloraine, 
Strong,  as  it  seem'd,  and  free  from  pain, 

In  armor  sheath'd  from  top  to  toe, 
Appear'd,  and  craved  the  combat  due. 
The  Dame  her  charm  successful  knew,4 
And  the  fierce  chiefs  their  claims  withdrew. 

XVI. 

When  for  the  lists  they  sought  the  plain, 
The  stately  Ladye's  silken  rein 

Did  noble  Howard  hold ; 
Unarmed  by  her  side  he  walk'd, 
And  much,  in  courteous  phrase,  they  talk'd 

Of  feats  of  arms  of  old. 

3  It  may  be  noticed  that  the  late  Lord  Napier,  the  repre- 
sentative of  the  Scotts  of  Thirlestane,  was  Lord  Lieutenant 
Of  Selkirkshire  (of  which  the  author  was  sheriff-depute)  at 
the  time  when  the  poem  was  written  ;  the  competitor  for  the 
honor  of  supplying  Deloraine's  place  was  the  poet's  own 
ancestor. — Ed. 

*  See  canto  iii.  stanza  xxiii. 


THE    LAY   OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


33 


Costly  his  garb — his  Flemish  ruff 
Fell  o'er  his  doublet  shaped  of  buff, 

With  satin  slash'd  and  lined ; 
Tawny  his  boot,  and  gold  his  spur, 
His  cloak  was  all  of  Poland  fur, 

His  hose  with  silver  twined ; 
His  Bilboa  blade,  by  March-men  felt, 
Hung  in  a  broad  and  studded  belt ; 
Hence,  in  rude  phrase,  the  Borderers  still 
CalPd  noble  Howard,  Belted  Will. 

XVII. 

Behind  Lord  Howard  and  the  Dame, 
Fair  Margaret  on  her  palfrey  came, 

Whose  foot-cloth  swept  the  ground : 
White  was  her  wimple,  and  her  veil, 
And  her  loose  locks  a  chaplet  pale 

Of  whitest  roses  bound ; 
The  lordly  Angus,  by  her  side, 
In  courtesy  to  cheer  her  tried ; 
Without  his  aid,  her  hand  in  vain 
Had  strove  to  guide  her  broider'd  rein. 
He  deem'd,  she  shudder'd  at  the  sight 
Of  warriors  met  for  mortal  fight ; 
But  cause  of  terror,  all  unguess'd, 
Was  fluttering  in  her  gentle  breast, 
When,  in  their  chairs  of  crimson  placed, 
The  Dame  and  she  the  barriers  graced. 

XVIII. 
Prize  of  the  field,  the  young  Buccleuch, 
An  English  knight  led  forth  to  view ; 
Scarce  rued  the  boy  his  present  plight, 
So  much  he  long'd  to  see  the  fight. 
Within  the  lists,  in  knightly  pride, 
High  Home  and  haughty  Dacre  ride ; 
Their  leading  staffs  of  steel  they  wield, 
As  marshals  of  the  mortal  field ; 
While  to  each  knight  their  care  assign'd 
Like  vantage  of  the  sun  and  wind.1 
Then  heralds  hoarse  did  loud  proclaim, 
In  King  and  Queen  and  Warden's  name, 

That  none,  while  lasts  the  strife, 
Should  dare,  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word, 
Aid  to  a  champion  to  afford, 

On  peril  of  his  life ; 
And  not  a  breath  the  silence  broke, 
Till  thus  the  alternate  Heralds  spoke : — 

XIX. 

ENGLISH   HERALD. 

"  Here  standeth  Richard  of  Musgrave, 
Good  knight  and  true,  and  freely  born, 

Amends  from  Deloraine  to  crave, 
For  foul  despiteous  scathe  and  scorn. 

1  This  couplet  was  added  in  the  second  edition. 

*  After  this,  in  the  first  edition,  we  read  only, 
"  At  the  last  words,  with  deadly  blows, 
The  ready  warriors  fiercely  close." — Ed. 

3  "The  whole  scene  of  the  duel,  or  judicial  combat,  is  con- 
3 


He  sayeth,  that  William  of  Deloraine 

Is  traitor  false  by  Border  laws ; 
This  with  his  sword  he  will  maintain, 

So  help  him  God,  and  his  good  cause !" 

XX. 

SCOTTISH  HEKALD. 
"  Here  standeth  William  of  Deloraine, 
Good  knight  and  true,  of  noble  strain, 
Who  sayeth,  that  foul  treason's  stain, 
Since  he  bore  arms,  ne'er  soil'd  his  coat ; 
And  that,  so  help  him  God  above  ! 
He  will  on  Musgrave's  body  prove, 
He  lies  most  foully  in  his  throat." 
LORD  DACRE. 
"  Forward,  brave  champions,  to  the  fight ! 

Sound  trumpets !" 

LORD  HOME. 

"  God  defend  the  right  !"2— 

Then,  Teviot !  how  thine  echoes  rang, 
When  bugle-sound  and  trumpet-clang 

Let  loose  the  martial  foes, 
And  in  mid  list,  with  shield  poised  high, 
And  measured  step  and  wary  eye, 
The  combatants  did  close. 

XXI. 

Ill  would  it  suit  your  gentle  ear, 
Ye  lovely  listeners,  to  hear 
How  to  the  axe  the  helms  did  sound, 
And  blood  pour'd  down  from  many  a  wound ; 
For  desperate  was  the  strife  and  long, 
And  either  warrior  fierce  and  strong. 
But,  were  each  dame  a  listening  knight, 
I  well  could  tell  how  warriors  fight ! 
For  I  have  seen  war's  lightning  flashing, 
Seen  the  claymore  with  bayonet  clashing, 
Seen  through  red  blood  the  war-horse  dash- 
ing, 
And  scorn'd,  amid  the  reeling  strife, 
To  yield  a  step  for  death  or  life. — 

XXII. 

'Tis  done,  'tis  done !  that  fatal  blow3 
Has  stretch'd  him  on  the  bloody  plain ; 

He  strives  to  rise — Brave  Musgrave,  no ! 
Thence  never  shalt  thou  rise  again ! 

He  chokes  in  blood — some  friendly  hand 

Undo  the  visor's  barred  band, 

Unfix  the  gorget's  iron  clasp, 

And  give  him  room  for  life  to  gasp ! — 

Oh,  bootless  aid!— haste,  holy  Friar,* 

Haste,  ere  the  sinner  shall  expire ! 

Of  all  his  guilt  let  him  be  shriven, 

And  smooth  his  path  from  earth  to  heaven ! 

ducted  according  to  the  strictest  ordinances  of  chivalry,  and 
delineated  with  all  the  minuteness  of  an  ancient  romancer. 
The  modern  reader  will  probably  find  it  rather  tedious ;  all 
but  the  concluding  stanza,  which  are  in  a  loftier  measure— 
'  'Tis  done !  'tis  done !' "  Ac.— Jeffrey. 
*  First  edition,  "  In  vain — In  vain  !  haste,  holy  Friar." 


34 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXIII. 

In  haste  the  holy  Friar  sped; — 
His  naked  foot  was  dyed  with  red, 

As  through  the  lists  he  ran; 
Unmindful  of  the  shouts  on  high, 
Thai  hail'd  the  conqueror's  victory, 

He  raised  the  dying  man; 
Loose  waved  his  silver  beard  and  hair, 
As  o'er  him  he  kneel'd  down  in  prayer; 
And  still  the  crucifix  on  high 
He  holds  before  his  darkening  eye ; 
And  still  he  bends  an  anxious  ear, 
His  faltering  penitence  to  hear ; 

Still  props  him  from  the  bloody  sod, 
Still,  even  when  soul  and  body  part, 
Pours  ghostly  comfort  on  his  heart, 

And  bids  him  trust  in  God! 
Unheard  be  prays; — the  death-pang's  o'er!1 
Richard  of  Musgrave  breathes  no  more. 

XXIV. 
As  if  exhausted  in  the  fight, 
Or  musing  o'er  the  piteous  sight, 

The  silent  victor  stands ; 
His  beaver  did  be  not  unclasp, 
Mark'd  not  the  shouts,  felt  not  the  grasp 

Of  gratulating  hands. 
When  lo !  strange  cries  of  wild  surprise, 
Mingled  with  seeming  terror,  rise 

Among  the  Scottish  bands  ; 
And  all,  amid  the  throng'd  array, 
In  panic  haste  gave  open  way 
To  a  half-naked  ghastly  man, 
"Who  downwards  from  the  castle  ran : 
He  cross'd  the  barriers  at  a  bound, 
And  wild  and  haggard  look'd  around, 

As  dizzy,  and  in  pain ; 
And  all,  upon  the  armed  ground, 

Knew  William  of  Deloraine! 
Each  ladye  sprung  from  seat  with  speed; 
Vaulted  each  marshal  from  his  steed ; 

"  And  who  art  thou,"  they  cried, 
"  Who  hast  this  battle  fought  and  won?" — 
His  plumed  helm  was  soon  undone — 

"  Cranstoun  of  Teviot-side ! 
For  this  fair  prize  I've  fought  and  won," — 
And  to  the  Ladye  led  her  son. 

XXV. 
Full  oft  the  rescued  boy  she  kiss'd, 
And  often  press'd  him  to  her  breast; 
For,  under  all  her  dauntless  show, 
Her  heart  had  tbrobb'd  at  every  blow; 
Yet  not  Lord  Cranstoun  deign'd  she  greet, 
Though  low  he  kneeled  at  her  feet. 
Me  lists  not  tell  what  words  were  made, 
What  Douglas,  Home,  and  Howard,  said — 

— For  Howard  was  a  generous  foe — 
And  how  the  clan  united  pray'd 

1  Orig. :  "  Unheard  he  prays ; — 'tis  o'er!  His  o'er  I" 


The  Ladye  would  the  feud  forego, 
And  deign  to  bless  the  nuptial  hour 
Of  Cranstoun's  Lord  and  Teviot's  Flower. 

XXVI. 

She  look'd  to  river,  look'd  to  bill, 

Thought  on  the  Spirit's  prophecy, 
Then  broke  her  silence  stern  and  still, — 

"  Not  you,  but  Fate,  has  vanquished  me ; 
Their  influence  kindly  stars  may  shower 
On  Teviot's  tide  and  Branksome's  tower, 

For  pride  is  quell'd,  and  love  is  free." — 
She  took  fair  Margaret  by  the  hand, 
Who  breathless,  trembling,  scarce  might  stand ; 

That  hand  to  Cranstoun's  Lord  gave  she : — 
"  As  I  am  true  to  thee  and  thine, 
Do  thou  be  true  to  me  and  mine ! 

This  clasp  of  love  our  bond  shall  be ; 
For  this  is  your  betrothing  day, 
And  all  these  noble  lords  shall  stay, 

To  grace  it  with  their  company." 

XXVII. 

All  as  they  left  the  listed  plain, 

Much  of  the  story  she  did  gain ; 

How  Cranstoun  fought  with  Deloraine, 

And  of  his  page,  and  of  the  Book 

Which  from  the  wounded  Knight  he  took; 

And  how  he  sought  her  castle  high, 

That  morn,  by  help  of  gramarye ; 

How,  in  Sir  William's  armor  dight, 

Stolen  by  his  page,  while  slept  the  Knight, 

He  took  on  him  the  single  fight. 

But  half  his  tale  die  left  unsaid, 

And  linger'd  till  he  join'd  the  maid. — 

Cared  not  the  Ladye  to  betray 

Her  mystic  arts  in  view  of  day ; 

But  well  she  thought  ere  midnight  came, 

Of  that  strange  page  the  pride  to  tame, 

From  his  foul  hands  the  Book  to  save, 

And  send  it  back  to  Michael's  grave. — 

Needs  not  to  tell  each  tender  word 

'Twixt  Margaret  and  'twixt  Cranstoun's  Lord ; 

Nor  how  she  told  of  former  woes, 

And  how  her  bosom  fell  and  rose, 

While  he  and  Musgrave  bandied  blows. — 

Needs  not  these  lovers'  joys  to  tell : 

One  day,  fair  maids,  you'll  know  them  well. 

XXVIII. 

William  of  Deloraine,  some  chance 
Had  waken'd  from  bis  deathlike  trance ; 

And  taught  that,  in  the  listed  plain, 
Another,  in  his  anus  and  shield, 
Against  fierce  Musgrave  axe  did  wield, 

Under  the  name  of  Deloraine. 
Hence,  to  the  field,  unarm'd  he  ran, 
And  hence  his  presence  scared  the  clan, 
Who  held  him  for  some  fleeting  wraith,2 


•  The  spectral  apparition  of  a  living  person. 


THE    LAY    OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


35 


And  not  a  man  of  blood  and  breath. 
Not  much  this  new  ally  he  loved, 
Yet,  when  he  saw  what  hap  had  proved, 
He  greeted  him  right  heartilie : 
He  would  not  waken  old  debate, 
For  he  was  void  of  rancorous  hate, 

Though  rude,  and  scant  of  courtesy ; 
In  raids  he  spilt  but  seldom  blood, 
Unless  when  men-at-arms  withstood, 
Or,  as  was  meet,  for  deadly  feud. 
He  ne'er  bore  grudge  for  stalwart  blow, 
Ta'en  in  fair  fight  from  gallant  foe ; 
And  so  'twas  seen  of  him,  e'en  now, 

When  on  dead  Musgrave  he  look'd  down ; 
Grief  darken'd  on  his  rugged  brow, 
Though  half  disguised  with  a  frown ; 
And  thus,  while  sorrow  bent  his  head, 
His  foeman's  epitaph  he  made : — 

XXIX. 

"  Now,  Richard  Musgrave,  liest  thou  here ! 

I  ween,  my  deadly  enemy ; 
For,  if  I  slew  thy  brother  dear, 

Thou  slew'st  a  sister's  son  to  me ; 
And  when  I  lay  in  dungeon  dark, 

Of  Naworth  Castle,  long  months  three, 
Till  ransom'd  for  a  thousand  mark, 

Dark  Musgrave,  it  was  long  of  thee. 
And,  Musgrave,  could  our  fight  be  tried, 

And  thou  wert  now  alive,  as  I, 
No  mortal  man  should  us  divide, 

Till  one,  or  both  of  us,  did  die : 
Yet  rest  thee  God !  for  well  I  know 
I  ne'er  shall  find  a  nobler  foe. 
In  all  the  northern  counties  here, 
Whose  word  is  Snaffle,  spur,  and  spear,1 
Thou  wert  the  best  to  follow  gear ! 
'Twas  pleasure,  as  we  look'd  behind, 
To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind, 
Cheer  the  dark  blood-hound  on  his  way, 
And  with  the  bugle  rouse  the  fray  !2 
I'd  give  the  lands  of  Deloraine, 
Dark  Musgrave  were  alive  again."3 — 

XXX. 

So  mourn'd  he,  till  Lord  Dacre's  band 

Were  bowning  back  to  Cumberland. 

They  raised  brave  Musgrave  from  the  field, 

And  laid  him  on  his  bloody  shield ; 

On  levell'd  lances,  four  and  four, 

By  turns,  the  noble  burden  bore. 

Before,  at  times,  upon  the  gale, 

Was  heard  the  Minstrel's  plaintive  wail ; 

Behind,  four  priests,  in  sable  stole, 

Sung  requiem  for  the  Warrior's  soul : 

1  "  The  lands,  that  over  Ouse  to  Berwick  forth  do  bear, 
Have  for  their  blazon  had,  the  snaffle,  spur,  and  spear." 
Poly-Albion,  song  13. 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

3  "  The  style  of  the  old  romancers  has  been  very  success- 
fully imitated  in  the  whole  of  the  scene ;  and  the  speech  of 


Around,  the  horsemen  slowly  rode ; 
With  trailing  pikes  the  spearmen  trode ; 
And  thus  the  gallant  Knight  they  bore, 
Through  Liddesdale  to  Leven's  shore ; 
Thence  to  Holme  Coltrame's  lofty  nave, 
And  laid  him  in  his  father's  grave. 


The  harp's  wild  notes,  though  hush'd  the  song, 

The  mimic  march  of  death  prolong ; 

Now  seems  it  far,  and  now  a-near, 

Now  meets,  and  now  eludes  the  ear ; 

Now  seems  some  mountain  side  to  sweep, 

Now  faintly  dies  In  valley  deep ; 

Seems  now  as  if  the  Minstrel's  wail, 

Now  the  sad  requiem,  loads  the  gale ; 

Last,  o'er  the  Warrior's  closing  grave, 

Rung  the  full  choir  in  choral  stave. 

After  due  pause,  they  bade  him  tell, 
Why  he,  who  touch'd  the  harp  so  well, 
Should  thus,  with  ill-rewarded  toil, 
Wander  a  poor  and  thankless  soil, 
When  the  more  generous  Southern  Land 
Would  well  requite  his  skillful  hand. 

The  Aged  Harper,  howsoe'er 
His  only  friend,  his  harp,  was  dear, 
Liked  not  to  hear  it  rank'd  so  high 
Above  his  flowing  poesy : 
Less  liked  he  still,  that  scornful  jeer 
Misprized  the  land  he  loved  so  dear ; 
High  was  the  sound,  as  thus  again 
The  Bard  resumed  his  minstrel  strain. 


©D*  3Lag  of  tty  ILast  JHmstrel. 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead,  <-^ 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn'd, 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turn'd, 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand ! 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell ; 
High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 

Deloraine,  who,  roused  from  his  bed  of  sickness,  rashes  into 
the  lists,  and  apostrophizes  his  fallen  enemy,  brought  to  our 
recollection,  as  well  from  the  peculiar  turn  of  expression  in 
its  commencement,  as  in  the  tone  of  sentiments  which  it  con- 
veys, some  of  the  funebres  orationes  of  the  Mori  Arthur." — 
Critical  Review. 


36 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonor'd,  and  unsung. 

II. 

0  Caledonia !  stern  and  wild,1 
Meet  nurse  for  a  poetic  child ! 

Land  of  brown  heath  and  shaggy  wood, 

Land  of  the  mountain  and  the  flood, 

Land  of  my  sires !  what  mortal  hand 

Can  e'er  untie  the  filial  band 

That  knits  me  to  thy  rugged  strand ! 

Still,  as  I  view  each  well-known  scene, 

Think  what  is  now,  and  what  hath  been, 

Seems  as,  to  me,  of  all  bereft, 

Sole  friends  thy  woods  and  streams  were  left ; 

And  thus  I  love  them  better  still, 

Even  in  extremity  of  ill. 

By  Yarrow's  streams  still  let  me  stray, 

Though  none  should  guide  my  feeble  way ; 

Still  feel  the  breeze  clown  Ettrick  break, 

Although  it  chill'd  my  wither'd  cheek  ;2 

Still  lay  my  head  by  Teviot's  Stone,3 

Though  there,  forgotten  and  alone, 

The  Bard  may  draw  his  parting  groan. 

III. 
Not  scorn'd  like  me !  to  Branksome  Hall 
The  Minstrels  came,  at  festive  call  ; 
Trooping  they  came,  from  near  and  far, 
The  jovial  priests  of  mirth  and  war; 
Alike  for  feast  and  fight  prepared, 
Battle  and  banquet  both  they  shared. 
Of  late,  before  each  martial  clan, 
They  blew  their  death-note  in  the  van, 
But  now,  for  every  merry  mate, 
Rose  the  portcullis'  iron  grate ; 
They  sound  the  pipe,  they  strike  the  string, 
They  dance,  they  revel,  and  they  sing, 
Till  the  rude  turrets  shake  and  ring. 

IV. 

Me  lists  not  at  this  tide  declare 

The  splendor  of  the  spousal  rite, 
How  muster'd  in  the  chapel  fair 

Both  maid  and  matron,  squire  and  knight; 
Me  lists  not  tell  of  owches  rare, 
Of  mantles  green,  and  braided  hair, 
And  kirtles  furr'd  with  miniver; 
What  plumage  waved  the  altar  round, 
How  spurs  and  ringing  chain  lets  sound; 
And  hard  it  were  for  Bard  to  speak 
The  changeful  hue  of  Margaret's  cheek ; 

1  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so  good  as  the  ad- 
dress to  Scotland."— Mackintosh. 

2  The  preceding  four  lines  now  form  the  inscription  on  the 
monument  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  market-place  of  Sel- 
kirk.— See  Life,  vol.  x.  p.  257. 

3  The  line  "Still  lay  my  head,"  Ac,  was  not  in  the  first 
edition.— Ed. 


That  lovely  hue  which  comes  and  flies, 
As  awe  and  shame  alternate  rise ! 

V. 

Some  bards  have  sung,  the  Ladye  high 
Chapel  or  altar  came  not  nigh ; 
Nor  durst  the  rites  of  spousal  grace, 
So  much  she  fear'd  each  holy  place. 
False  slanders  these : — I  trust  right  well 
She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell  ;4 
For  mighty  words  and  signs  have  power 
O'er  sprites  in  planetary  hour ; 
Yet  scarce  I  praise  their  venturous  part, 
Who  tamper  with  such  dangerous  art. 

But  this  for  faithful  truth  I  say, 
The  Ladye  by  the  altar  stood, 

Of  sable  velvet  her  array, 

And  on  her  head  a  crimson  hood, 
With  pearls  embroider'd  and  entwined, 
Guarded  with  gold,  with  ermine  lined ; 
A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist,5 
Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  twist. 

VI. 

The  spousal  rites  were  ended  soon : 

'Twas  now  the  merry  hour  of  noon, 

And  in  the  lofty  arched  hall 

Was  spread  the  gorgeous  festival. 

Steward  and  squire,  with  heedful  haste, 

Marshall' d  the  rank  of  every  guest; 

Pages,  with  ready  blade,  were  there, 

The  mighty  meal  to  carve  and  share : 

O'er  capon,  heron-shew,  and  crane, 

And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train,6 

And  o'er  the  boar-head,  garnish'd  brave, 

And  cygnet  from  St.  Mary's  wave  ;T 

O'er  ptarmigan  and  venison, 

The  priest  had  spoke  his  benison. 

Then  rose  the  riot  and  the  din, 

Above,  beneath,  without,  within ! 

For,  from  the  lofty  balcony, 

Rung  trumpet,  shalm,  and  psaltery : 

Their  clanging  bowls  old  warriors  quafTd, 

Loudly  they  spoke,  and  loudly  laugh'd ; 

Whisper'd  young  knights,  in  tone  more  mild, 

To  ladies  fair,  and  ladies  smiled. 

The  hooded  hawks,  high  perch'd  on  beam, 

The  clamor  join'd  with  whistling  scream, 

And  flapp'd  their  wings,  and  shook  their  bells, 

In  concert  with  the  stag-hounds'  yells. 

Round  go  the  flasks  of  ruddy  wine, 

From  Bordeaux,  Orleans,  or  the  Rhine ; 

Their  tasks  the  busy  sewers  ply, 

And  all  is  mirth  and  revelry. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X.  6  Ibid.  Note  3  Y. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 

i  There  are  often  flights  of  wild  swans  upon  St.  Mary's 
Lake,  at  the  head  of  the  river  Yarrow.  See  Wordsworth's 
Yarrow  Visited: 

"  The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow."— Ed. 


THE    LAY    OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


37 


VII. 

The  Goblin  Page,  omitting  still 

No  opportunity  of  ill, 

Strove  now,  while  blood  ran  hot  and  high, 

To  rouse  debate  and  jealousy ; 

Till  Courad,  Lord  of  Wolfenstein, 

By  nature  fierce,  and  warm  with  wine, 

And  now  in  humor  highly  cross'd, 

About  some  steeds  his  band  had  lost, 

High  words  to  words  succeeding  still, 

Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthill  j1 

A  hot  and  hardy  Rutherford, 

Whom  men  called  Dickon  Draw-the-sword. 

He  took  it  on  the  page's  saye, 

Hunthill  had  driven  these  steeds  away. 

Then  Howard,  Home,  and  Douglas  rose, 

The  kindling  discord  to  compose : 

Stern  Rutherford  right  little  said, 

But  bit  his  glove,2  and  shook  his  head. — 

A  fortnight  thence,  in  Inglewood, 

Stout  Conrad,  cold,  and  drench'd  in  blood, 

His  bosom  gored  with  many  a  wound, 

Was  by  a  woodman's  lyme-dog  found ; 

Unknown  the  manner  of  his  death, 

Gone  was  his  brand,  both  sword  and  sheath ; 

But  ever  from  that  time,  'twas  said, 

That  Dickon  wore  a  Cologne  blade. 

VIII. 

The  Dwarf,  who  fear'd  his  master's  eye 

Might  his  foul  treachery  espie, 

Now  sought  the  castle  buttery, 

Where  many  a  yeoman,  bold  and  free, 

Revell'd  as  merrily  and  well 

As  those  that  sat  in  lordly  selle. 

Watt  Tinlinn,  there,  did  frankly  raise 

The  pledge  to  Arthur  Fire-the-Braes  ;8 

And  he,  as  by  his  breeding  bound, 

To  Howard's  merry-men  sent  it  round. 

To  quit  them,  on  the  English  side, 

Red  Roland  Forster  loudly  cried, 

"  A  deep  carouse  to  yon  fair  bride !" 

At  every  pledge,  from  vat  and  pail 

Foam'd  forth  in  floods  the  nut-brown  ale ; 

While  shout  the  riders  every  one ; 

Such  day  of  mirth  ne'er  cheer'd  their  clan, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 

3  The  person  bearing  this  redoubtable  norm  de  guerre  was  an 
Elliot,  and  resided  at  Thorleshope,  in  Liddesdale.  He  occurs 
in  the  list  of  Border  riders,  in  1597. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

5  "  The  appearance  and  dress  of  the  company  assembled  in 
the  chapel,  and  the  description  of  the  subsequent  feast,  in 
which  the  hounds  and  hawks  are  not  the  least  important  per- 
sonages of  the  drama,  are  again  happy  imitations  of  those 
authors  from  whose  rich  but  unpolished  ore  Mr.  Scott  has 
wrought  much  of  his  most  exquisite  imagery  and  description. 
A  society,  such  as  that  assembled  in  Branxholm  Castle,  in- 
flamed with  national  prejudices,  and  heated  with  wine,  seems 
to  have  contained  in  itself  sufficient  seeds  of  spontaneous  dis- 


Since  old  Buccleuch  the  name  did  gain, 
When  in  the  cleuch  the  buck  was  ta'en.* 

IX. 

The  wily  page,  with  vengeful  thought, 
Remember'd  him  of  Tinlinn's  yew, 

And  swore,  it  should  be  dearly  bought 
That  ever  he  the  arrow  drew. 

First,  he  the  yeoman  did  molest, 

With  bitter  gibe  and  taunting  jest; 

Told,  how  he  fled  at  Solway  strife, 

And  how  Hob  Armstrong  cheer'd  his  wife ; 

Then,  shunning  still  his  jjowerful  arm, 

At  unawares  he  wrought  him  harm ; 

From  trencher  stole  his  choicest  cheer, 

Dash'd  from  his  lips  his  can  of  beer ; 

Then,  to  his  knee  sly  creeping  on, 

With  bodkin  pierced  him  to  the  bone : 

The  venom'd  wound,  and  festering  joint, 

Long  after  rued  that  bodkin's  point. 

The  startled  yeoman  swore  and  spurn'd, 

And  board  and  flagons  overturn'd.5 

Riot  and  clamor  wild  began ; 

Back  to  the  hall  the  urchin  ran ; 

Took  in  a  darkling  nook  his  post, 

And  grinn'd,  and  mutter' d,  "  Lost !  lost !  lost !" 


By  this,  the  Dame,  lest  farther  fray 

Should  mar  the  concord  of  the  day, 

Had  bid  the  Minstrels  tune  their  lay. 

And  first  stept  forth  old  Albert  Graeme, 

The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name  :6 

Was  none  who  struck  the  harp  so  well, 

Within  the  Land  Debatable ; 

Well  friended,  too,  his  hardy  kin, 

Whoever  lost,  were  sure  to  win ; 

They  sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 

In  Scotland  and  in  England  both. 

In  homely  guise,  as  nature  bade, 

His  simple  song  the  Borderer  said. 

XI. 

ALBERT  GR.£ME.T 
It  was  an  English  ladye  bright, 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,8) 


order ;  but  the  Goblin  Page  is  well  introduced,  as  applying  a 
torch  to  this  mass  of  combustibles.  Quarrels,  highly  charac- 
teristic of  Border  manners,  both  in  their  cause  and  in  the 
manner  in  which  they  are  supported,  ensue,  as  well  among 
the  lordly  guests,  as  the  yeomen  assembled  in  the  buttery." — 
Critical  Review,  1805. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

1  "  It  is  the  author's  object,  in  these  songs,  to  exemplify 
the  different  styles  of  ballad  narrative  which  prevailed  in  this 
island  at  different  periods,  or  in  different  conditions  of  society. 
The  first  (Albert's)  is  conducted  upon  the  rude  and  simple 
model  of  the  old  Border  ditties,  and  produces  its  effect  by  the 
direct  and  concise  narrative  of  a  tragical  occurrence."— Jef- 
frey. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 


38 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


And  she  would  marry  a  Scottish  knight, 
For  Love  will  still  be  lord  of  all. 

Blithely  they  saw  the  rising  sun, 
When  he  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

But  they  were  sad  ere  day  was  done, 
Though  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Her  sire  gave  brooch  and  jewel  fine, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall ; 

Her  brother  gave  but  a  flask  of  wine, 
For  ire  that  Love  was  lord  of  all. 

For  she  had  lands,  both  meadow  and  lea, 
Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall, 

And  he  swore  her  death,  ere  he  would  see 
A  Scottish  knight  the  lord  of  all ! 

XII. 
That  wine  she  had  not  tasted  well, 

(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 
When  dead,  in  her  true  love's  arms,  she  fell, 

For  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all ! 

He  pierced  her  brother  to  the  heart, 

Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall : — 

So  perish  all  would  true  love  part, 
That  Love  may  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

And  then  he  took  the  cross  divine, 

(Where  the  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

And  died  for  her  sake  in  Palestine, 
So  Love  was  still  the  lord  of  all. 

Now  all  ye  lovers,  that  faithful  prove, 
(The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall,) 

Pray  for  their  souls  who  died  for  love, 
For  Love  shall  still  be  lord  of  all ! 

XIII. 

As  ended  Albert's  simple  lay, 

Arose  a  bard  of  loftier  port ; 
For  sonnet,  rhyme,  and  roundelay, 

Renown'd  in  haughty  Henry's  court : 
There  rung  thy  harp,  unrivall'd  long, 
Fitztraver  of  the  silver  song ! 

The  gentle  Surrey  loved  his  lyre — 
Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame  ?l 

His  was  the  hero's  soul  of  fire, 
And  his  the  bard's  immortal  name, 
And  his  was  love,  exalted  high 
By  all  the  glow  of  chivalry. 

XIV. 
They  sought,  together,  climes  afar, 
Aii'l  lift,  within  some  olive  grove, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

•  First  Edit. :  "  So  sweet  their  harp  and  voices  join." 

i  "The  second  song,  that  of  Fitztraver,  the  bard  of  the 


When  even  came  with  twinkling  star, 

They  sung  of  Surrey's  absent  love. 
His  step  the  Italian  peasant  stay'd, 

And  deem'd,  that  spirits  from  on  high, 
Round  where  some  hermit  saint  was  laid, 

Were  breathing  heavenly  melody ; 
So  sweet  did  harp  and  voice  combine,1 
To  praise  the  name  of  Geraldine. 

XV. 

Fitztraver !  oh,  what  tongue  may  say 
The  pangs  thy  faithful  bosom  knew, 

When  Surrey,  of  the  deathless  lay, 
Ungrateful  Tudor's  sentence  slew  ? 

Regardless  of  the  tyrant's  frown, 

His  harp  call'd  wrath  and  vengeance  down. 

He  left,  for  Naworth's  iron  towers, 

Windsor's  green  glades,  and  courtly  bowers, 

And,  faithful  to  his  patron's  name, 

With  Howard  still  Fitztraver  came ; 

Lord  William's  foremost  favorite  he, 

And  chief  of  all  his  minstrelsy. 

XVI. 

FITZTRAVER.3 

'Twas   All-soul's   eve,    and    Surrey's   heart   beat 
high; 
He  heard  the  midnight  bell  with  anxious  start, 
Which  told  the  mystic  hour,  approaching  nigh, 

When  wise  Cornelius  promised,  by  his  art, 
To  show  to  him  the  ladye  of  his  heart, 

Albeit  betwixt  them  roar'd  the  ocean  grim ; 
Yet  so  the  sage  had  bight  to  play  his  part, 
That  he  should  see  her  form  in  life  and  limb, 
And  mark,  if  still  she  loved,  and  still  she  thought 
of  him. 

XVII. 

Dark  was  the  vaulted  room  of  gramarye, 

To  which  the  wizard  led  the  gallant  Knight, 
Save  that  before  a  mirror,  huge  and  high, 

A  hallow'd  taper  shed  a  glimmering  light 
On  mystic  implements  of  magic  might; 

On  cross,  and  character,  and  talisman, 
And  almagest,  and  altar,  nothing  bright : 

For  fitful  was  the  lustre,  pale  and  wan, 
As  watchlight  by  the  bed  of  some  departing  man. 

XVIII. 

But  soon,  within  that  mirror  huge  and  high, 
Was  seen  a  self-emitted  light  to  gleam ; 

And  forms  upon  its  breast  the  Earl  'gan  spy, 
Cloudy  and  indistinct,  as  feverish  dream ; 

Till,  slow  arranging,  and  defined,  they  seem 
To  form  a  lordly  and  a  lofty  room, 

Part  lighted  by  a  lamp  with  silver  beam, 

accomplished  Surrey,  has  more  of  the  richness  and  polish  of 
the  Italian  poetry,  and  is  very  beautifully  written  in  a  stanza 
resembling  that  of  Spenser." — Jeffrey. 


THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


39 


Placed  by  a  couch  of  Agra's  silken  loom, 
And  part  by  moonshine  pale,  and  part  was  hid  in 
gloom. 

XIX. 

Fair  all  the  pageant — but  how  passing  fair 

The  slender  form,  which  lay  on  couch  of  Ind ! 
O'er  her  white  bosom  stray'd  her  hazel  hair, 

Pale  her  dear  cheek,  as  if  for  love  she  pined  ; 
All  in  her  night-robe  loose  she  lay  reclined, 

And,  pensive,  read  from  tablet  eburnine 
Some  strain  that  seem'd  her  inmost  soul  to  find  ;— 

That  favor'd  strain  was  Surrey's  raptured  line, 
That  fair  and  lovely  form,  the  Lady  Geraldine. 

XX. 

Slow  roll'd  the  clouds  upon  the  lovely  form, 

And  swept  the  goodly  vision  all  away — 
So  royal  envy  roll'd  the  murky  storm 

O'er  my  beloved  Master's  glorious  day. 
Thou  jealous,  ruthless  tyrant !  Heaven  repay 

On  thee,  and  on  thy  children's  latest  line, 
The  wild  caprice  of  thy  despotic  sway, 

The  gory  bridal  bed,  the  plunder'd  shrine, 
The  murder'd  Surrey's  blood,  the  tears  of  Geral- 
dine! 

XXI. 

Both  Scots  and  Southern  chiefs  prolong 
Applauses  of  Fitztraver's  song ; 
These  hated  Henry's  name  as  death, 
And  those  still  held  the  ancient  faith. — 
Then,  from  his  seat,  with  lofty  air, 
Pvose  Harold,  bard  of  brave  St.  Clair ; 
St.  Clair,  who,  feasting  high  at  Home, 
Had  with  that  lord  to  battle  come. 
Harold  was  born  where  restless  seas 
Howl  round  the  storm-swept  Orcades  j1 
Where  erst  St.  Clairs  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay ; — 
Still  nods  their  palace  to  its  fall, 
Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall  !2 — 
Thence  oft  he  mark'd  fierce  Pentland  rave, 
As  if  grim  Odin  rode  her  wave ; 
And  watch'd,  the  whilst,  with  visage  pale, 
And  throbbing  heart,  the  struggling  sail ; 
For  all  of  wonderful  and  wild 
Had  rapture  for  the  lonely  child. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G. 


2  Ibid.  Note  4  H. 


3  The  chiefs  of  the  Vakingr,  or  Scandinavian  pirates,  as- 
sumed the  title  of  Scekonungr,  or  Sea-kings.  Ships,  in  the 
inflated  language  of  the  Scalds,  are  often  termed  the  serpents 
of  the  ocean. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  1.  fr  Ibid.  Note  4  K. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  L. 

T  "  The  third  song  is  intended  to  represent  that  wild  style 
of  composition  which  prevailed  among  the  bards  of  the 
Northern  Continent,  somewhat  softened  and  adorned  by  the 


XXII. 

And  much  of  wild  and  wonderful 

In  these  rude  isles  might  fancy  cull ; 

For  thither  came,  in  times  afar, 

Stern  Lochlin's  sons  of  roving  war, 

The  Norsemen,  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 

Skill'd  to  prepare  the  raven's  food ; 

Kings  of  the  main  their  leaders  brave, 

Their  barks  the  dragons  of  the  wave.s 

And  there,  in  many  a  stormy  vale, 

The  Scald  had  told  his  wondrous  tale ; 

And  many  a  Runic  column  high 

Had  witness'd  grim  idolatry. 

And  thus  had  Harold,  in  his  youth, 

Learn'd  many  a  Saga's  rhyme  uncouth, — 

Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curl'd, 

Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world  ;* 

Of  those  dread  Maids,5  whose  hideous  yell 

Maddens  the  battle's  bloody  swell ; 

Of  Chiefs,  who,  guided  through  the  gloom 

By  the  pale  death-lights  of  the  tomb, 

Ransack'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

Their  falchions  wrench'd  from  corpses'  hold,6 

Waked  the  deaf  tomb  with  war's  alarms, 

And  bade  the  dead  arise  to  arms ! 

With  war  and  wonder  all  on  flame, 

To  Roslin's  bowers  young  Harold  came, 

Where,  by  sweet  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 

He  learn'd  a  milder  minstrelsy ; 

Yet  something  of  the  Northern  spell 

Mix'd  with  the  softer  numbers  well. 

XXIII. 

HAROLD.7 

Oh  listen,  listen,  ladies  gay! 

No  haughty  feat  of  arms  I  tell ; 
Soft  is  the  note,  and  sad  the  lay, 

That  mourns  the  lovely  Rosabelle.8 

"  Moor,  moor  the  barge,  ye  gallant  crew ! 

And,  gentle  ladye,  deign  to  stay  ! 
Rest  thee  in  Castle  Ravensheuch.9 

Nor  tempt  the  stormy  firth  to-day. 

"  The  blackening  wave  is  edged  with  white : 
To  inch10  and  rock  the  sea-mews  fly ; 

The  fishers  have  heard  the  Water-Sprite, 
Whose  screams  forbode  that  wreck  is  nigh. 


Minstrel's  residence  in  the  south.  We  prefer  it,  upon  the 
whole,  to  either  of  the  two  former,  and  shall  give  it  entire  to 
our  readers,  who  will  probably  be  struck  with  the  poetical 
effect  of  the  dramatic  form  into  which  it  is  thrown,  and  of  the 
indirect  description  by  which  everything  is  most  expressively 
told,  without  one  word  of  distinct  narrative."— Jeffrey. 

8  This  was  a  family  name  in  the  house  of  St.  Clair.  Henry 
St.  Clair,  the  second  of  the  line,  married  Rosabelle,  fourth 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Stratherne. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  4  M. 

10  Inch,  isle. 


40 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"  Last  night  the  gifted  Seer  did  view 
A  wet  shroud  swathed1  round  ladye  gay; 

Then  stay  thee,  Fair,  in  Ravensheuch: 
Why  cross  the  gloomy  firth  to-day  ?" — 

"  'Tis  not  because  Lord  Lindesay's  heir 
To-night  at  Roslin  leads  the  ball, 

But  that  my  ladye-mother  there 
Sits  lonely  in  her  castle-hall. 

"  'Tis  not  because  the  ring  they  ride, 
And  Lindesay  at  the  ring  rides  well, 

But  that  my  sire  the  wine  will  chide, 
If  'tis  not  fill'd  by  Rosabelle."— 

O'er  Roslin  all  that  dreary  night, 
A  wondrous  blaze  was  seen  to  gleam ; 

'Twas  broader  than  the  watch-fire's  light, 
And  redder  than  the  bright  moonbeam. 

It  glared  on  Roslin's  castled  rock, 
It  ruddied2  all  the  copse-wood  glen ; 

'Twas  seen  from  Dryden's  groves  of  oak, 
And  seen  from  cavern'd  Hawthornden. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  that  chapel  proud, 
Where  Roslin's  chiefs  uncoffin'd  lie, 

Each  baron,  for  a  sable  shroud, 
Sheathed  in  his  iron  panoply. 

Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 
Deep  sacristy3  and  altar's  pale : 

Shone  every  pillar  foliage-bound, 
And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail.4 

Blazed  battlement  and  pinnet  high, 
Blazed  every  rose-carved  buttress  fair — 

So  still  they  blaze,  when  fate  is  nigh 
The  lordly  line  of  high  St.  Clair. 

There  are  twenty  of  Roslin's  barons  bold 
Lie  buried  within  that  proud  chapelle ; 

Each  one  the  holy  vault  doth  hold — 
But  the  sea  holds  lovely  Rosabelle ! 


1  First  Edit.:  "A  wet  shroud  roWd." 

2  First  Edit. :  "  It  reddened,"  &c. 

3  First  Edit.:  "Both  vaulted  crypt,"  &c. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  4  N. 

6  First  Edit. :  "  But  the  kelpie  rung  and  the  mermaids  sung." 
*  "I  observe  a  great  poetic  climax,  designed,  doubtless,  in 
the  two  last  of  these  songs,  from  the  first." — Anna  Sewakd. 
"We  (G.  Ellis  and  J.  H.  Frere) entertain  some  doubts  about 
the  propriety  of  dwelling  so  long  on  the  minstrel  songs  in  the 
last  canto.  I  say  we  doubt,  because  we  are  not  aware  <if  your 
having  ancient  authority  for  BUCh  a  practice;  but  though  the 
attempt  was  a  bold  otic,  Inasmuch  as  it  is  not  usual  to  add  a 
whole  canto  to  a  story  which  is  already  finished,  we  are  far 
from  wishing  that  you  had  left  it  unattempted." — Ellis  to 
Scott.  "The  sixth  canto  is  altogether  redundant;  for  the 
poem  should  certainly  have  closed  with  the  union  of  the 


And  each  St.  Clair  was  buried  there, 

With  candle,  with  book,  and  with  knell; 

But  the  sea-caves  rung,  and  the  wild  winds  sung,5 
The  dirge  of  lovely  Rosabelle  ! 

XXIV. 

So  sweet  was  Harold's  piteous  lay,6 

Scarce  mark'd  the  guests  the  darken'd  hall, 
Though,  long  before  the  sinking  day, 

A  wondrous  shade  involved  them  all : 
It  was  not  eddying  mist  or  fog, 
Drain'd  by  the  sun  from  fen  or  bog; 

Of  no  eclipse  had  sages  told ; 
And  yet  as  it  came  on  apace, 
Each  one  could  scarce  his  neighbor's  face, 

Could  scarce  his  own  stretch'd  hand  behold. 
A  secret  horror  check'd  the  feast, 
And  chill'd  the  soul  of  every  guest; 
Even  the  high  Dame  stood  half  aghast, 
She  knew  some  evil  on  the  blast; 
The  elvish  page  fell  to  the  ground, 
And,  shuddering,  mutter'd,  "  Found !  found ! 
found !" 

XXV. 

Then  sudden  through  the  darken'd  air 

A  flash  of  lightning  came ; 
So  broad,  so  bright,  so  red  the  glare, 

The  castle  seem'd  on  flame. 
Glanced  every  rafter  of  the  hall, 
Glanced  every  shield  upon  the  wall  ; 
Each  trophied  beam,  each  sculptured  stone, 
Were  instant  seen,  and  iustant  gone ; 
Full  through  the  guests'  bedazzled  band 
Resistless  flash'd  the  levin-brand, 
And  fill'd  the  hall  with  smouldering  smoke, 
As  on  the  elvish  page  it  broke. 

It  broke,  with  thunder  long  and  loud, 

Dismay'd  the  brave,  appall'd  the  proud, — 
From  sea  to  sea  the  larum  rung ; 

On  Berwick  wall,  and  at  Carlisle  withal, 
To  arms  the  startled  warders  sprung. 
When  ended  was  the  dreadful  roar, 
The  elvish  Dwarf  was  seen  no  more  !7 


lovers,  when  the  interest,  if  any,  was  at  an  end.  But  what 
could  I  do?  I  had  my  book  and  my  page  still  on  my  hands, 
and  must  get  rid  of  them  at  all  events.  Manage  them  as  I 
would,  their  catastrophe  must  have  been  insufficient  to 
occupy  an  entire  canto;  so  I  was  fain  to  eke  it  out  with  the 
snugs  of  the  minstrels."— Scott  to  Miss  Seward— Life,  vol.  ii. 
pp.  J  IS,  222. 

"  "  The  Goblin  Page  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  capital  deformity 
of  the  poem.  We  have  already  said  the  whole  machinery 
is  useless;  but  the  magic  studies  of  the  lady,  and  the  rifled 
tomb  of  Michael  Scott,  give  occasion  to  so  much  admirable 
poetry,  that  we  can,  on  no  account,  consent,  to  part  with 
them.  The  page,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  perpetual  burden 
to  the  poet  and  to  the  readers;  it  is  an  undignified  and 
improbable  fiction,  which  excites  neither  terrorTartnitration, 
nor  astonishment,  but  needlessly  debases  the  strain  of  the 
whole  work,  and  excites  at  once  our  incredulity  and  con- 


« 

K 

•?. 

o 

<t> 

PS 

5- 

o 

THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


41 


XXVI. 

Some  heard  a  voice  in  Branksoine  Hall, 
Some  saw  a  sight,  not  seen  by  all ; 
That  dreadful  voice  was  heard  by  some, 
Cry,  with  loud  summons,  "  Gylbin,  COME !" 

And  on  the  spot  where  burst  the  brand, 
Just  where  the  page  had  flung  him  down, 

Some  saw  an  arm,  and  some  a  hand, 
And  some  the  waving  of  a  gown. 
The  guests  in  silence  pray'd  and  shook, 
And  terror  dimm'd  each  lofty  look. 
But  none  of  all  the  astonish'd  train 
Was  so  dismay'd  as  Deloraine ; 
His  blood  did  freeze,  his  brain  did  burn, 
'Twas  fear'd  his  mind  would  ne'er  return  ; 

For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran, 

Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man.1 
At  length,  by  fits,  he  darkly  told, 
With  broken  hint,  and  shuddering  cold — 

That  he  had  seen,  right  certainly, 
A  shape  with  amice  wrapp'd  around, 
With  a  wrought  Spanish  baldric  bound, 

Like  pilgrim  from  beyond  the  sea; 
And  knew — but  how  it  matter'd  not — 
It  was  the  wizard,  Michael  Scott. 

XXVII. 
The  anxious  crowd,  with  horror  pale, 
All  trembling  heard  the  wondrous  tale ; 

No  sound  was  made,  no  word  was  spoke, 

Till  noble  Angus  silence  broke ; 
And  he  a  solemn  sacred  plight 

Did  to  St.  Bride  of  Douglas  make,2 

That  he  a  pilgrimage  would  take 

To  Melrose  Abbey,  for  the  sake 
Of  Michael's  restless  sprite. 
Then  each,  to  ease  his  troubled  breast, 
To  some  bless'd  saint  his  prayers  address'd : 
Some  to  St.  Modan  made  their  vows, 
Some  to  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes, 
Some  to  the  Holy  Rood  of  Lisle, 
Some  to  our  Ladye  of  the  Isle ; 
Each  did  his  patron  witness  make, 
That  he  such  pilgrimage  would  take, 


tempt.  He  is  not  a '  tricksy  spirit,'  like  Ariel,  with  whom  the 
imagination  is  irresistibly  enamored,  nor  a  tiny  monarch, 
like  Oberon,  disposing  of  the  destinies  of  mortals ;  he  rather 
appears  to  us  to  be  an  awkward  sort  of  a  mongrel  between 
Puck  and  Caliban,  of  a  servile  and  brutal  nature,  and  limited 
in  his  powers  to  the  indulgence  of  petty  malignity,  and  the 
infliction  of  despicable  injuries.  Besides  this  objection  to  his 
character,  his  existence  has  no  support  from  any  general  or 
established  superstition.  Fairies  and  devils,  ghosts,  angels, 
and  witches,  are  creatures  with  whom  we  are  all  familiar, 
and  who  excite  in  all  classes  of  mankind  emotions  with  which 
we  can  easily  be  made  to  sympathize.  But  the  history  of 
Gilpin  Horner  was  never  believed  out  of  the  village  where  he 
is  said  to  have  made  his  appearance,  and  has  no  claims  upon 
the  credulity  of  those  who  were  not  originally  of  his  acquaints 
ance.    There  is  nothing  at  all  interesting  or  elegant  in  the 


And  monks  should  sing,  and  bells  should  toll, 
All  for  the  weal  of  Michael's  soul. 
While  vows  were  ta'en,  and  prayers  were  pray'd, 
'Tis  said  the  noble  Dame,  dismay'd, 
Renounced,  for  aye,  dark  magic's  aid. 

XXVIII. 
Nought  of  the  bridal  will  I  tell, 
Which  after  in  short  space  befell ; 
Nor  how  brave  sons  and  daughters  fair 
Bless'd  Teviot's  Flower,  and  Cranstoun's  heir : 
After  such  dreadful  scene,  'twere  vain 
To  wake  the  note  of  mirth  again. 
More  meet  it  were  to  mark  the  day 
Of  penitence  and  prayer  divine, 
When  pilgrim-chiefs,  in  sad  array, 
Sought  Melrose'  holy  shrine. 

XXIX. 

With  naked  foot,  and  sackcloth  vest, 
And  arms  enfolded  on  his  breast, 

Did  every  pilgrim  go ; 
The  standers-by  might  hear  uneath, 
Footstej),  or  voice,  or  high-drawn  breath, 

Through  all  the  lengthen'd  row : 
No  lordly  look,  nor  martial  stride ; 
Gone  was  their  glory,  sunk  their  pride, 

Forgotten  their  renown ; 
Silent  and  slow,  like  ghosts  they  glide 
To  the  high  altar's  hallow'd  side, 

And  there  they  knelt  them  down : 
Above  the  suppliant  chieftains  wave 
The  banners  of  departed  brave ; 
Beneath  the  letter'd  stones  were  laid 
The  ashes  of  their  fathers  dead ; 
From  many  a  garnish'd  niche  around, 
Stern  saints  and  tortured  martyrs  frown'd. 

XXX. 

And  slow  up  the  dim  aisle  afar, 
With  sable  cowl  and  scapular, 
And  snow-white  stoles,  in  order  due, 
The  holy  Fathers,  two  and  two, 

In  long  procession  came ; 
Taper,  and  host,  and  book  they  bare, 


scenes  of  which  he  is  the  hero ;  and  in  reading  these  passages 
we  really  could  not  help  suspecting  that  they  did  not  stand 
in  the  romance  when  the  aged  minstrel  recited  it  to  the  royal 
Charles  and  his  mighty  earls,  but  were  inserted  afterwards  to 
suit  the  taste  of  the  cottagers  among  whom  he  begged  his 
bread  on  the  border.  We  entreat  Mr.  Scott  to  inquire  into 
the  grounds  of  this  suspicion,  and  to  take  advantage  of  any 
decent  pretext  he  can  lay  hold  of  for  purging  the  '  Lay '  of 
this  ungraceful  intruder.*  We  would  also  move  for  a  quo 
warranto  against  the  .Spirits  of  the  River  and  the  Mountain  ; 
for  though  they  are  come  of  a  very  high  lineage,  we  do  not 
know  what  lawful  business  they  could  have  at  Branksome 
Castle  in  the  year  1550."— Jeffrey. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  O. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  P. 

*  See  the  Author's  Introduction  to  the  "  Lay, ".p.  4. 


42 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  holy  banner,  flourish'd  fair 

With  the  Redeemer's  name. 
Above  the  prostrate  pilgrim  band 
The  mitred  Abbot  stretch'd  his  hand, 

And  bless'd  them  as  they  kneel'd; 
With  holy  cross  lie  sign'd  them  all, 
And  pray'd  they  might  be  sage  in  hall, 

And  fortunate  in  field. 
Then  mass  was  sung,  and  prayers  were  said, 
Anil  solemn  requiem  for  the  dead; 
And  bells  toll'd  out  their  mighty  peal, 
For  the  departed  spirit's  weal ; 
Aud  ever  in  the  office  close 
The  hymn  of  intercession  rose: 
And  far  the  echoing  aisles  prolong 
The  awful  burthen  of  the  song, — 

Dies  ie^;,  dies  illa, 

solvet  sieclum  in  favilla ; 
While  the  pealing  organ  rung; 

Were  it  meet  with  sacred  strain 

To  close  my  lay,  so  light  and  vain, 
Thus  the  holy  Fathers  sung : — 

XXXI. 

ilhimn  for  Irjc  ©call. 
That  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 
What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day  ? 

When,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll, 
The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 
When  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread, 
Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead ! 

i  "  the  vale  unfolds 


Rich  groves  of  lofty  stature, 
With  Yarrow  winding  through  the  pomp 

Of  cultivated  nature ; 
And,  rising  from  those  lofty  groves, 

Behold  a  ruin  hoary, 
The  shatter'd  front  of  Newark's  towers, 

Renown'd  in  Border  story. 

"  Fair  scenes  for  childhood's  opening  bloom, 

For  sportive  youth  to  stray  in ; 

For  manhood  to  enjoy  his  strength  ; 

And  age  to  wear  away  in,"  &c. 

Wordsworth's  Yarroio  Visited. 
"  Bowhill  is  now,  as  has  been  mentioned  already,  a  seat  of 
the  Duke  of  Buccleuch.  It  stands  immediately  below  Newark 
Hill,  and  above  the  junction  of  the  Yarrow  and  the  Ettrick. 
For  the  other  places  named  in  the  text,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  various  notes  on  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border. — Ed. 

3  Orig. :  "  And  grain  waved  green  on  Carterhaugh." 

4  "The  arch  allusions  which  run  through  all  these  Introduc- 
tions, without  in  the  least  interrupting  the  truth  and  graceful 
pathos  of  their  main  impression,  seem  to  me  exquisitely  cha- 
racteristic of  Scott,  whose  delight  and  pride  was  to  play  with 
the  genius  which  nevertheless  mastered  him  at  will.  For,  in 
truth,  what  is  it  that  gives  to  all  his  works  their  unique  and 
marking  charm,  except  the  matchless  etf'eet  which  sudden 
effusions  of  the  purest  heart-blood  of  nature  derive  from  their 
being  poured  out,  to  all  appearance  involuntarily,  amidst 


Oh !  on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day, 
When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 
lie  Tin  it'  the  trembling  sinner's  stay, 
Though  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away ! 


Husir'n  is  the  harp — the  Minstrel  gone. 

And  did  he  wander  forth  alone? 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage? 

No! — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower1 

Arose  the  Minstrel's  lowly  bower; 

A  simple  hut;  but  there  was  seen 

The  little  garden  hedged  with  green, 

The  cheerful  hearth,  and  lattice  clean, 

There  shelter'd  wanderers,  by  the  blaze, 

Oft  heard  the  tale  of  other  days ; 

For  much  he  loved  to  ope  his  door, 

And  give  the  aid  he  begg'd  before. 

So  pass'd  the  winter's  day ;  but  still, 

When  summer  smiled  on  sweet  Bowhill,2 

And  July's  eve,  with  balmy  breath, 

Waved  the  blue-bells  on  Newark  heath; 

When  throstles  sung  in  Harehead-shaw, 

And  corn  was  green  on  Carterhaugh,3 

And  flourish'd,  broad,  Blackandro's  oak, 

The  aged  Harper's  soul  awoke ! 

Then  would  he  sing  achievements  high, 

And  circumstance  of  chivalry, 

Till  the  rapt  traveller  would  stay, 

Forgetful  of  the  closing  day ; 

And  noble  youths,  the  strain  to  hear, 

Forsook  the  hunting  of  the  deer ; 

And  Yarrow,  as  he  roll'd  along, 

Bore  burden  to  the  Minstrel's  song.* 


diction  and  sentiment  cast  equally  in  the  mould  of  the  busy 
world,  and  the  seemingly  habitual  desire  to  dwell  on  nothing 
but  what  might  be  likely  to  excite  curiosity,  without  too  much 
disturbing  deeper  feelings,  in  the  saloons  of  polished  life? 
Such  outbursts  come  forth  dramatically  in  all  his  writings; 
but  in  the  interludes  and  passionate  parentheses  of  the  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel  we  have  the  poet's  own  inner  soul  ani^ 
temperament  laid  bare  and  throbbing  before  us.  Even  here, 
indeed,  he  has  a  mask,  and  he  trusts  it— but  fortunately  it  is 
a  transparent  one. 

"  Many  minor  personal  allusions  have  been  explained  in 
the  notes  to  the  last  edition  of  the  '  Lay.'  It  was  hardly  neces- 
sary even  then  to  say  that  the  choice  of  the  hero  had  been 
dictated  by  the  poet's  affection  for  the  living  descendants  of 
the  Baron  of  Cranstoun ;  and  now — none  who  have  perused 
the  preceding  pages  Can  doubt  that  he  had  dressed  out 'his 
Margaret  of  Branksome  in  the  form  and  features  of  his  own 
first  love.  This  poem  may  be  considered  as  the  'bright  con- 
summate flower'  in  which  all  the  dearest  dreams  of  his  youth- 
ful fancy  had  at  length  found  expansion  for  their  strength, 
spirit,  tenderness,  and  beauty. 

"  In  the  closing  lines — 

'  Ilush'd  is  the  harp— the  Minstrel  gone ;  { 

And  did  he  wander  forth  alone? 

Alone,  in  indigence  and  age, 

To  linger  out  his  pilgrimage? 

No ! — close  beneath  proud  Newark's  tower, 

Arose  the  Minstrel's  humble  bower,'  &c. — 


THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


43 


in  these  charming  lines  he  has  embodied  what  was,  at  the 
time  when  he  penned  them,  the  chief  day-dream  of  Ashestiel. 
From  the  moment  that  his  uncle's  death  placed  a  considerable 
sum  of  ready  money  at  his  command,  he  pleased  himself,  as 
we  have  seen,  with  the  idea  of  buying  a  mountain  farm,  and 
becoming  not  only  the  'sheriff'  (as  he  had  in  former  days 
delighted  to  call  himself),  but '  the  laird  of  the  cairn  and  the 
scaur.' "— Lockhart.    Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  212. 

"The  large  quotations  we  have  made  from  this  singular 
poem  must  have  convinced  our  readers  that  it  abounds  equally 
with  poetical  description  and  with  circumstances  curious  to 
the  antiquary.  These  are  farther  illustrated  in  copious  and 
very  entertaining  notes :  they,  as  well  as  the  poem,  must  be 
particularly  interesting  to  those  who  are  connected  with  Scot- 
tish  families,  or  conversant  in  their  history.  The  author  has 
managed  the  versification  of  the  poem  with  great  judgment, 
and  the  most  happy  effect.  If  he  had  aimed  at  the  grave 
and  stately  cadence  of  the  epic,  or  any  of  our  more  regular 
measures,  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him  to  have 
brought  in  such  names  as  Watt  Tinlinn,  Black  John,  Priest- 
haugh  Scrogg,  and  other  Scottish  names,  or  to  have  spoken  of 
the  lyke-wake,  and  the  slogan,  and  driving  of  cattle,  which  Pope 
and  Gray  would  have  thought  as  impossible  to  introduce  into 
serious  poetry,  as  Boileau  did  the  names  of  towns  in  the 
campaigns  of  Louis  IV.  Mr.  Scott  has,  therefore,  very  judi- 
ciously thrown  in  a  great  mixture  of  the  familiar,  and  varied 
the  measure  ;  and  if  it  has  not  the  finished  harmony,  which, 
iu  such  a  subject,  it  were  in  vain  to  have  attempted,  it  has 
great  ease  and  spirit,  and  never  tires  the  readers. ,  Indeed  we 
think  we  see  a  tendency  in  the  public  taste  to  go  back  to  the 
more  varied  measures  and  familiar  style  of  our  earlier  poets ; 
a  natural  consequence  of  having  been  satiated  with  the  regu- 
lar harmony  of  Pope  and  his  school,  and  somewhat  wearied 
with  the  stiffness  of  lofty  poetic  language.  We  now  know 
what  can  be  done  in  that  way,  and  we  seek  entertainment  and 
variety,  rather  than  finished  modulation  and  uniform  dignity. 
We  now  take  our  leave  of  this  very  elegant,  spirited,  and 
striking  poem."— Annual  Review,  1804. 


"  From  the  various  extracts  we  have  given,  our  readers  will 
be  enabled  to  form  a  tolerably  correct  judgment  of  the  poem  ; 
and,  if  they  are  pleased  with  those  portions  of  it  which  have 
now  been  exhibited,  we  may  venture  to  assure  them  that  they 
will  not  be  disappointed  by  the  perusal  of  the  whole.  The 
whole  night  journey  of  Deloraine — the  opening  of  the 
Wizard's  tomb — the  march  of  the  English  battle— and  the 
parley  before  the  walls  of  the  castle,  are  all  executed  with  the 
same  spirit  and  poetical  energy  which  we  think  is  conspicu- 
ous in  the  specimens  we  have  already  extracted ;  and  a  great 
variety  of  short  passages  occur  in  every  part  of  the  poem, 
which  are  still  more  striking  and  meritorious,  though  it  is 
impossible  to  detach  them,  without  injury,  in  the  form  of  a 
quotation.  It  is  but  fair  to  apprise  the  reader,  on  the  other 
hand,  that  he  will  meet  with  very  heavy  passages,  and  with 
a  variety  of  details  which  are  not  likely  to  interest  any  one 
but  a  Borderer  or  an  antiquary.  We  like  very  well  to  hear  of 
'the  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne,'  or  'the  Dark  Knight  of 
Liddesdale,'  and  feel  the  elevating  power  of  great  names,  when 
we  read  of  the  tribes  that  mustered  to  the  war, '  beneath  the 
crest  of  old  Dunbar  and  Hepburn's  mingled  banners.'  But 
we  really  cannot  so  far  sympathize  with  the  local  partialities 
of  the  author  as  to  feel  any  glow  of  patriotism  or  ancient 
virtue  in  hearing  of  the  Todrig  or  Johnston  clans,  or  of  Elliots, 
Armstrongs,  and  Tinlinns;  still  less  can  we  relish  the  intro- 
duction of  Black  Jock  of  Athelstane,  Whitslade  the  Hawk,  Arthur 
Fire-the-Braes,  Bed  Roland  Forster,  or  any  other  of  those 
worthies,  who 

'  Sought  the  beeves  that  made  their  broth, 
In  Scotland  and  in  England  both,' 

into  a  poem  which  has  any  pretensions  to  seriousness  or  dig- 
nity. The  ancient  metrical  romance  might  have  admitted 
these  homely  personalities ;  but  the  present  age  will  no! 
endure  them ;  and  Mr.  Scott  must  either  sacrifice  his  Border 
prejudices,  or  offend  all  his  readers  in  the  other  part  of  the 
empire."— Jeffrey. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

The  feast  was  over  in  Branksome  tower. — P.  9. 

In  the  reign  of  James  I.,  Sir  William  Scott  of  Buccleuch, 
chief  of  the  clan  bearing  that  name,  exchanged,  with  Sir 
Thomas  Inglis  of  Mum  ir,  t  lie  estate  of  Murdiestone,  in  Lanark- 
shire, for  one-half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome,  or  Brank- 
holin,1  lying  upon  the  Teviot,  about  three  miles  above  Hawick. 
He  was  probably  induced  to  this  transaction  from  the  vici- 
nity of  Branksome  to  the  extensive  domain  which  he  possessed 
in  Ettrick  Forest  and  in  Teviotdale.  In  the  former  district 
he  held  by  occupancy  the  estate  of  Buccleuch,2  and  much  of 
the  forest  land  on  the  river  Ettrick.  In  Teviotdale,  he  en- 
joyed the  barony  of  Eckford,  by  a  grant  from  Robert  II.  to 
his  ancestor,  Walter  Scott  of  Kirkurd,  for  the  apprehending 
of  Gilbert  Ridderford,  confirmed  by  Robert  III.  3d  May,  1424. 
Tradition  imputes  the  exchange  betwixt  Scott  and  Inglis  to  a 
conversation,  in  which  the  latter — a  man,  it  would  appear, 
of  a  mild  and  forbearing  nature — complained  much  of  the  in- 
juries which  he  was  exposed  to  from  the  English  Borderers, 
who  frequently  plundered  his  lands  of  Branksome.  Sir  Wil- 
liam Scott  instantly  offered  him  the  estate  of  Murdiestone,  in 
exchange  for  that  which  was  subject  to  such  egregious  incon- 
venience. When  the  bargain  was  completed,  he  dryly  re- 
marked, that  the  cattle  in  Cumberland  were  as  good  as  those 
of  Teviotdale ;  and  proceeded  to  commence  a  system  of  reprisals 
upon  the  English,  which  was  regularly  pursued  by  his  suc- 
cessors. In  the  next  reign,  James  II.  granted  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott  of  Branksome,  and  to  Sir  David,  his  son,  the  remaining 
half  of  the  barony  of  Branksome,  to  be  held  in  blanche  for  the 
payment  of  a  red  rose.  The  cause  assigned  for  the  grant  is, 
their  brave  and  faithful  exertions  in  favor  of  the  King  against 
the  house  of  Douglas,  with  whom  James  had  been  recently 
tugging  for  the  throne  of  Scotland.  This  charter  is  dated  the 
2d  February,  1443 ;  and  in  the  same  month  part  of  the  barony 
of  Langholm,  and  many  lands  in  Lanarkshire,  were  conferred 
upon  Sir  Walter  and  his  son  by  the  same  monarch. 

After  the  period  of  the  exchange  with  Sir  Thomas  Inglis, 
Branksome  became  the  principal  seat  of  the  Buccleuch  family. 
The  castle  was  enlarged  and  strengthened  by  Sir  David  Scott, 
the  grandson  of  Sir  William,  its  first  possessor.  But,  in 
1570-1,  the  vengeance  of  Elizabeth,  provoked  by  the  inroads 
of  Buccleuch,  and  his  attachment  to  the  cause  of  Queen 
Mary,  destroyed  the  castle,  and  laid  waste  the  lands  of  Brank- 
some. In  the  same  year  the  castle  was  repaired  and  enlarged 
by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  its  brave  possessor;  but  the  work  was 
not  completed  until  after  his  death,  in  1574,  when  the  widow 
finished  the  building.  This  appears  from  the  following  in- 
scriptions. Around  a  stone  bearing  the  arms  of  Scott  of 
Buccleuch  appears  the  following  legend:—"  jgfr.  {[St.  Scott 

of  Brimifmirt  Sjfcngt  at  of  Sir  SSJilliant  jgtott  of 
?lirfeurli  Jingt  fircjan  tic  fcoork  upon  ju  2\  of  fStxvfoi 
1571  ?rar  qufja  fctpartit  at  (Sou's  plcisour  jc  17  glpril 

1571."     On  a  similar  copartment  are  sculptured  the  arms  of 


1  Branxholm  is  the  proper  name  of  the  barony ;  but  Brank- 
some has  been  adopted,  as  suitable  to  the  pronunciation,  and 
more  proper  for  poetry. 

-  There  are  no  vestiges  of  any  building  at  Buccleuch,  except 
the  site  of  a  chapel,  where,  according  to  a  tradition  current  in 
(44) 


Douglas,  with  this  inscription:  "Dame  Margaret  Douglas 

HIS    SFOUS    COMPLETIT    THE    FORESAID    WORK    IN    OCTOBER 

1576."    Over  an  arched  door  is  inscribed  the  following  moral 
verse : — 

In  fcarlb".  is.  norf)t.  itaturt.  fas.  broiujtt.  fiat.  sal. 

It st.  at). 
S^anfott.  strbc.  (Gcou.  keip.  kil.  2*-  roil,  tfje.  fame. 

sal.  norijt.  irckaj. 
Sir  Multn  Stntt  of  Branifjolm  Smafct.  piarflant 

jDomjIas.  1571. 

Branksome  Castle  continued  to  be  the  principal  seat  of  the 
Buccleuch  family,  while  security  was  any  object  in  their 
choice  of  a  mansion.  It  has  since  been  the  residence  of  the 
Commissioners,  or  Chamberlains,  of  the  family.  From  the 
various  alterations  which  the  building  has  undergone,  it  is  not 
only  greatly  restricted  in  its  dimensions,  but  retains  little  of 
the  castellated  form,  if  we  except  one  square  tower  of  massy 
thickness,  the  only  part  of  the  original  building  which  now 
remains.  The  whole  forms  a  handsome  modern  residence, 
lately  inhabited  by  my  deceased  friend,  Adam  Ogilvy,  Esq.. 
of  ILartwoodmyres,  Commissioner  of  his  Grace  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch. 

The  extent  of  the  ancient  edifice  can  still  be  traced  by  some 
vestiges  of  its  foundation,  and  its  strength  is  obvious  from  the 
situation,  on  a  deep  bank  surrounded  by  the  Teviot,  and 
flanked  by  a  deep  ravine,  formed  by  a  precipitous  brook.  It 
was  anciently  surrounded  by  wood,  as  appears  from  the  sur- 
vey of  Roxburghshire,  made  for  Pont's  Atlas,  and  preserved 
in  the  Advocates'  Library.  This  wood  was  cut  about  fifty 
years  ago,  but  is  now  replaced  by  the  thriving  plantations, 
which  have  been  formed  by  the  noble  proprietor,  for  miles 
around  the  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers. 


Note  B. 


Nine-and-ticenty  knights  of  fame 
Hung  their  shields  in  Branksome  Hail. — P.  10. 

The  ancient  barons  of  Buccleuch,  both  from  feudal  splendor 
and  from  their  frontier  situation,  retained  in  their  household 
at  Branksome  a  number  of  gentlemen  of  their  own  name,  who 
held  hinds  from  their  chief,  for  the  military  service  of  watching 
and  wardinghis  castle.  Satchells  tells  us,  in  his  doggerel  poetry, 

"No  baron  was  better  served  in  Britain ; 
The  barons  of  Buckleugh  they  kept  their  call, 
Four  and  twenty  gentlemen  in  their  hall, 
All  being  of  his  name  and  kin ; 

the  time  of  Scott  of  Satchells,  many  of  the  ancient  barons 
of  Buccleuch  lie  buried.  There  is  also  said  to  have  been  a 
mill  near  this  solitary  spot ;  an  extraordinary  circumstance, 
as  little  or  no  corn  grows  within  several  miles  of  Buccleuch. 
Satchells  says  it  was  used  to  grind  corn  for  the  hounds  of  the 
chieftain. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY    OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


45 


Each  two  had  a  servant  to  wait  upon  them 

Before  supper  and  dinner,  most  renowned, 

The  bells  rung  and  the  trumpets  sowned; 

And  more  than  that,  I  do  confess, 

They  kept  four  and  twenty  pensioners. 

Think  not  I  lie,  nor  do  me  blame, 

For  the  pensioners  I  can  all  name : 

There's  men  alive,  elder  than  I, 

They  know  if  I  speak  truth,  or  lie. 

Every  pensioner  a  room l  did  gain, 

For  service  done  and  to  be  done ; 

This  let  the  reader  understand, 

The  name  both  of  the  men  and  land, 

Which  they  possessed,  it  is  of  truth, 

Both  from  the  Lairds  and  Lords  of  Buckleugh." 

Accordingly,  dismounting  from  his  Pegasus,  Satchells  gives 
us,  in  prose,  the  names  of  twenty-four  gentlemen,  younger 
brothers  of  ancient  families,  who  were  pensioners  to  the  house 
of  Buccleuch,  and  describes  the  lands  which  each  possessed 
for  his  Border  service.  In  time  of  war  with  England,  the 
garrison  was  doubtless  augmented.  Satchells  adds,  "These 
twenty-three  pensioners,  all  of  his  own  name  of  Scott,  and 
Walter  Gladstones  of  Whitelaw,  a  near  cousin  of  my  lord's 
as  aforesaid,  were  ready  on  all  occasions,  when  his  honor 
pleased  cause  to  advertise  them.  It  is  known  to  many  of  the 
country  better  than  it  is  to  me,  that  the  rent  of  these  lands, 
which  the  Lairds  and  Lords  of  Buccleuch  did  freely  bestow 
upon  their  friends,  will  amount  to  above  twelve  or  fourteen 
thousand  marks  a  year." — History  of  the  Name  of  Scott,  p.  45. 
An  immense  sum  in  those  times. 


1  Room,  portion  of  land. 


Note  C. 

with  Jedivood-axe  at  saddleboio. — P.  10. 

"Of  a  truth,"  says  Froissart,  "the  Scottish  cannot  boast 
great  skill  with  the  bow,  but  rather  bear  axes,  with  which,  in 
time  of  need,  they  give  heavy  strokes."  The  Jedwood-axe 
was  a  sort  of  partisan,  used  by  horsemen,  as  appears  from  the 
arms  of  Jedburgh,  which  bear  a  cavalier  mounted,  and  armed 
with  this  weapon.    It  is  also  called  a  Jedwood  or  Jeddart 


Note  D. 


They  watch,  against  Southern  force  and  guile, 
Lest  Scroop,  or  Howard,  or  Percy's  powers, 
Threaten  Branksome's  lordly  lowers, 

From  Warkworth,  or  Naworth,  or  merry  Carlisle. — P.  10. 

Branksome  Castle  was  continually  exposed  to  the  attacks 
of  the  English,  both  from  its  situation  and  the  restless  mili- 
tary disposition  of  its  inhabitants,  who  were  seldom  on  good 
terms  with  their  neighbors.  The  following  letter  from  the 
Earl  of  Northumberland  to  Henry  VIII.  in  1533  gives  an  ac- 
count of  a  successful  inroad  of  the  English,  in  which  the 
country  was  plundered  up  to  the  gates  of  the  castle,  although 
the  invaders  failed  in  their  principal  object,  which  was  to 
kill,  or  make  prisoner,  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  It  occurs  in 
the  Cotton  MS.  Calig.  b.  viii.  f.  222. 

"  Pleaseth  yt  your  most  gracious  highness  to  be  aduertised, 
that  my  comptroller,  with  Raynald  Carnaby,  desyred  licence 


of  me  to  invade  the  realme  of  Scotlande,  for  the  annoysaunce 
of  your  highnes  enemys,  where  they  thought  best  exploit  by 
theyme  might  be  done,  and  to  haue  to  concur  with  they  me 
the  inhabitants  of  Northumberland,  suche  as  was  towards  me 
according  to  theyre  assembly,  and  as  by  theyre  discretions 
vpone  the  same  they shulde  thinke  most  convenient;  and  soo 
they  dyde  meet  vppone  Monday,  before  night,  being  the  iii 
day  of  this  instant  monthe,  at  Wawhope,  upon  North  Tyn  3 
water,  above  Tyndaill,  where  they  were  to  the  number  of  xv 
c  men,  and  soo  invadet  Scotland  at  the  hour  of  viii  of  the  clok 
at  nyght,  at  a  place  called  Whele  Causay ;  and  before  xi  of 
the  clok  dyd  send  forth  a  forrey  of  Tyndaill  and  Ryddisdail 
and  laide  all  the  resydewe  in  a  bushment,  and  actyvely  did 
set  vpon  a  towne  called  Branxholme,  where  the  Lord  of  Bu- 
clough  dwellythe,  and  purpesed  theymeselves  with  a  trayne 
for  hym  lyke  to  his  accustomed  manner,  in  rysynge  to  all 
frayes ;  albeit,  that  knyght  he  was  not  at  home,  and  so  they 
brynt  the  said  Branxholm,  and  other  townes,  as  to  say  Which- 
estre,  Whichestre-helme  and  Whelley,  and  haid  ordered 
theymself,  soo  that  sundry  of  the  said  Lord  Buclough's  ser- 
vants, who  dyd  issue  fourthe  of  his  gates,  was  takyn  prison- 
ers. They  dyd  not  leve  one  house,  one  stak  of  corne,  nor  one 
shyef,  without  the  gate  of  the  said  Lord  Buclough  vnbrynt, 
and  thus  scrymaged  and  frayed,  supposing  the  Lord  of  Bu- 
clough to  be  within  iii  or  iiii  myles  to  have  trayned  him  to  the 
bushment ;  and  soo  in  the  breyking  of  the  day  dyd  the  forrey 
and  the  bushment  mete,  and  reculed  homeward,  making 
theyre  way  westward  from  theyre  invasion  to  be  over  Lydders- 
daill,  as  intending  yf  the  fray  frome  theyre  furst  entry  by  the 
Scotts  waiches,  or  otherwyse  by  warnyng,  shud  haue  bene 
gyven  to  Gedworth  and  the  countrey  of  Scotland  theyrea- 
bouts  of  theyre  invasion ;  whiche  Gedworth  is  from  the 
Wheles  Causay  vi  miles,  that  thereby  the  Scotts  shulde  have 
comen  further  vnto  theyme,  and  more  out  of  ordre ;  and  soo 
upon  sundry  good  considerations,  before  they  entered  Lyd- 
dersdaill,  as  well  aceompting  the  inhabitants  of  the  same  to  be 
towards  your  highness,  and  to  enforce  theyme  the  more  there- 
by, as  alsoo  to  put  an  occasion  of  suspect  to  the  Kinge  of 
Scotts,  and  his  counsaill,  to  be  taken  anenst  theyme,  amonges 
theymeselves,  made  proclamacions,  commanding,  vpon  payne 
of  dethe,  assurance  to  be  for  the  said  inhabitants  of  Lydders- 
daill,  without  any  prejudice  or  hurt  to  be  done  by  any  Inglys- 
man  vnto  theyme,  and  soo  in  good  ordre  abowt  the  howre  of 
ten  of  the  clok  before  none,  vppon  Twisday,  dyd  pass  through 
the  said  Lyddersdail,  when  dyd  come  diverse  of  the  said  in- 
habitants there  to  my  servauntes,  under  the  said  assurance, 
offerring  theymselfs  with  any  service  they  couthe  make ;  and 
thus,  thanks  be  to  Godde,  your  highnes'  subjects,  abowte  the 
howre  of  xii  of  the  clok  at  none  the  same  daye,  came  into 
this  your  highnes  realme,  bringing  wt  theyme  above  xl  Scotts- 
men  prisoners,  one  of  theyme  named  Scot,  of  the  surname  and 
kyn  of  the  said  Lord  of  Buclough,  and  of  his  howsehold ;  they 
brought  also  ccc  nowte,  and  above  Ix  horse  and  mares,  keping 
in  savetie  frome  losse  or  hurte  all  your  said  highnes  subjects. 
There  was  alsoo  a  towne,  called  Newbyggins,  by  diverse  fot- 
men  of  Tyndaill  and  Byddesdaill,  takyn  vp  of  the  night,  and 
spoyled,  when  was  slayne  ii  Scottsmen  of  the  said  towne,  and 
many  Scotts  there  hurte ;  your  highnes  subjects  was  xiii  myles 
within  the  grounde  of  Scotlande,  and  is  from  my  house  at 
Werkworthe,  above  lx  miles  of  the  most  evil  passage,  where 
great  snawes  doth  lye ;  heretofore  the  same  townes  now  brynt 
haith  not  at  any  tyme  in  the  mynd  of  man  in  any  warrs  been 
enterprised  unto  nowe ;  your  subjects  were  thereto  more  en- 
couraged for  the  better  advancement  of  your  highnes  service, 
the  said  Lord  of  Buclough  beyng  always  a  mortall  enemy  to 
this  your  Graces  realme,  and  he  dyd  say,  within  xiii  days  be- 
fore, he  would  see  who  durst  lye  near  hym ;  wt  many  other 
cruell  words,  the  knowledge  whereof  was  certainly  haid  to  my 
said  servaunts,  before  theyre  enterprice  maid  vpon  him ;  most 
humbly  beseeching  your  majesty,  that  youre  highnes  thanks 
may  concur  vnto  theyme,  whose  names  be  here  inclosed,  and 
to  have  in  your  most  gracious  memory,  the  paynfull  and  dili- 


4G 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


gent  service  of  my  pore  servaunte  Wharton,  and  thus,  as  I  am 
most  bounden,  shall  dispose  wt  them  that  be  under  me  f  .  .  . 
.  . .  annoysauuce  of  your  highnes  enemys."  In  resentment  of 
this  foray,  Buccleuch,  with  other  Border  chiefs,  assembled  an 
army  of  8000  riders,  with  which  they  penetrated  into  Nor- 
thumberland, and  laid  waste  the  country  as  far  as  the  banks 
Of  l'.raniish.  Tliey  baffled,  or  defeated,  the  English  forces 
opposed  to  them,  and  returned  loaded  with  prey. — PINKER- 
SOU'S  History,  vol.  ii.  p.  318. 


Note  E. 


Bards  long  shall  tell 

Mow  Lord  Walter  fell.— P.  10. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Buccleuch  succeeded  to  his  grandfather, 
Sir  David,  in  1492.  He  was  a  brave  and  powerful  baron,  and 
Warden  of  the  West  Marches  of  Scotland.  His  death  was 
the  consequence  of  a  feud  betwixt  the  Scotts  and  Kerrs,  the 
history  of  which  is  necessary  to  explain  repeated  allusions  in 
the  romance. 

In  the  year  1526,  in  the  words  of  Pitscottie,  "  the  Earl  of 
Angus,  and  the  rest  of  the  Douglasses,  ruled  all  which  they 
liked,  and  no  man  durst  say  the  contrary ;  wherefore  the 
King  (James  V.,  then  a  minor)  was  heavily  displeased,  and 
would  fain  have  been  out  of  their  hands,  if  he  might  by  any 
way :  And,  to  that  effect,  wrote  a  quiet  and  secret  letter  with 
his  own  hand,  and  sent  it  to  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  beseech- 
ing him  that  he  would  come  with  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all 
the  force  that  he  might  be,  and  meet  him  at  Melross,  at  his 
home  passing,  and  there  to  take  him  out  of  the  Douglasses 
hands,  and  to  put  him  to  liberty,  to  use  himself  among  the 
lave  (rest)  of  his  lords,  as  he  thinks  expedient. 

•'  This  letter  was  quietly  directed,  and  sent  by  one  of  the 
King's  own  secret  servants,  which  was  received  very  thank- 
fully by  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  who  was  very  glad  thereof, 
to  be  put  to  such  charges  and  familiarity  with  his  prince,  and 
did  great  diligence  to  perform  the  King's  writing,  and  to  bring 
the  matter  to  pass  as  the  King  desired:  And,  to  that  effect, 
convened  all  his  kin  and  friends,  and  all  that  would  do  for 
him,  to  ride  with  him  to  Melross,  when  he  knew  of  the  King's 
homecoming.  And  so  he  brought  with  him  six  hundred  spears, 
of  Liddesdale,  and  Annandale,  and  countrymen,  and  clans 
thereabout,  and  held  themselves  quiet  while  that  the  King 
returned  out  of  Jedburgh,  and  came  to  Melross,  to  remain 
there  all  that  night. 

"But  when  the  Lord  Hume,  Cessfoord,  and  Fernyherst 
(the  chiefs  of  the  clan  of  Kerr),  took  their  leave  of  the  King, 
and  returned  home,  then  appeared  the  Lord  of  Buccleuch  in 
sight,  and  his  company  with  him,  in  an  arrayed  battle,  in- 
tending to  have  fulfilled  the  King's  petition,  and  therefore 
came  stoutly  forward  on  the  back  side  of  Haliden  Hill.  By 
that  the  Earl  of  Angus,  with  George  Douglas,  his  brother,  and 
sundry  other  of  his  friends,  seeing  this  army  coming,  they 
marvelled  what  the  matter  meant;  while  at  the  last  they 
knew  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  with  a  certain  company  of  the 
thieves  of  Annandale.  With  him  they  were  less  affeared,  and 
made  them  manfully  to  the  field  contrary  them,  and  said  to 
the  King  in  this  manner,  'Sir,  yon  is  Buccleuch,  and  thieves 
of  Annandale  with  him,  to  unbeset  your  Grace  from  the  gate ' 
(i  e.  interrupt  your  passage).  '  I  vow  to  God  they  shall  either 
fight  or  flee;  and  ye  shall  tarry  here  on  this  know,  and  my 
brother  George  with  you,  with  any  other  company  you  please; 
and  I  shall  pass,  and  put  yon  thieves  off  the  ground,  and  rid 


1  Darnwiek,  near  Melrose.  The  place  of  conflict  is  Btfll 
called  Skinner's  Field,  from  a  corruption  of  Skirmish  Fields. 
[See  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vols.  i.  and  ii.,  for 


the  gate  unto  your  Grace,  or  else  die  for  it.'  Th«  King  tar- 
ried  still,  as  was  devised;  and  George  Douglas  with  him,  and 
sundry  other  lords,  such  as  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  and  the 
Lord  Erskine,  and  some  of  the  King's  own  servants;  but 
all  the  lave  (rest)  past  with  the  Earl  of  Angus  to  the  field 
against  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  who  joyned  and  countered 
cruelly  both  the  said  parties  in  the  field  of  Darnelinver,1 
either  against  other,  with  uncertain  victory.  But  at  the  last, 
the  Lord  Hume,  hearing  word  of  that  matter  how  it  stood. 
returned  again  to  the  King  in  all  possible  haste,  with  him  the 
Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and  Fernyhirst,  to  the  number  of  four- 
score spears,  and  set  freshly  on  the  lap  and  wing  of  the  Laird 
of  Bueeleuch's  field,  and  shortly  bare  them  backward  to  the 
ground;  which  caused  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  and  the  rest 
of  his  friends,  to  go  back  and  flee,  whom  they  followed  and 
chased ;  and  especially  the  Lairds  of  Cessfoord  and  Fernyhirst 
followed  furiouslie,  till  at  the  foot  of  a  path  the  Laird  of  Cess- 
foord was  slain  by  the  stroke  of  a  spear  by  an  Elliot,  who  was 
then  servant  to  the  Laird  of  Buccleuch.  But  when  the  Laird 
of  Cessfoord  was  slain,  the  chase  ceased.  The  Earl  of  Angus 
returned  again  with  great  merriness  and  victory,  and  thanked 
God  that  he  saved  him  from  that  chance,  and  passed  with 
the  King  to  Melross,  where  they  remained  all  that  night.  On 
the  morn  they  past  to  Edinburgh  with  the  King,  who  was 
very  sad  and  dolorous  of  the  slaughter  of  the  Laird  of  Cess- 
foord, and  many  other  gentlemen  and  yeomen  slain  by  the 
Laird  of  Buccleuch,  containing  the  number  of  fourscore  and 
fifteen,  which  died  in  defence  of  the  King,  and  at  the  com- 
mand of  his  writing." 

I  am  not  the  first  who  has  attempted  to  celebrate  in  verse 
the  renown  of  this  ancient  baron,  and  his  hazardous  attempt 
to  procure  his  sovereign's  freedom.  In  a  Scottish  Latin  poet 
we  find  the  following  verses : — 

Valterius  Scotus  Balcluchius. 

Egregio  suscepto  facinore,  libertate  Regis,  ac  aliis  rebus  gestis 
clarus,  sub  Jacobo  V.  A0.  Christi,  1526. 

"  Intentata  aliis,  nullique  audita  priorum 

Audet,  nee  pavidum  niorsve,  metusve  quatit, 
Libertatem  aliis  soliti  transcribere  Regis: 

Subreptam  hanc  Regi  restituisse  paras; 
Si  vincis,  quanta  6  succedunt  praemia  dextrse ! 

Sin  victus,  falsas  spes  jace,  pone  animam. 
Hostica  vis  nocuit :  stant  altse  robora  mentis 

Atque  decus.    Vincet,  Rege  prqbante,  fides 
Insita  queis  animis  virtus,  quosque  acrior  ardor 

Obsidet,  obscuris  nox  premat  an  tenebris?" 

Heroes  ex  omni  Historia  Scotica  lectissimi,  Auctore  Johan. 
Joustonio  Abredonense  Scoto,  1603. 

In  consequence  of  the  battle  of  Melrose,  there  ensued  a 
deadly  feud  betwixt  the  names  of  Scott  and  Kerr,  which,  in 
spite  of  all  means  used  to  bring  about  an  agreement,  raged 
for  many  years  upon  the  Borders.  Buccleuch  was  imprisoned, 
and  his  estates  forfeited,  in  the  year  1535,  for  levying  war 
against  the  Kerrs,  and  restored  by  act  of  Parliament,  dated 
15th  March,  1542,  during  the  regency  of  Mary  of  Lorraine. 
But  the  most  signal  act  of  violence  to  which  this  quarrel 
gave  rise  was  the  murder  of  Sir  Walter  himself,  who  was 
slain  by  the  Kerrs  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  in  1552.  This 
is  the  event  alluded  to  in  stanza  vii. ;  and  the  poem  is  sup- 
posed to  open  shortly  after  it  had  taken  place. 

The  feud  between  these  two  families  was  not  reconciled  in 
1596,  when  both  chieftains  paraded  the  streets  of  Edinburgh 
with  their  followers,  and  it  was  expected  fJieir  first  meeting 
would  decide  their  quarrel.    But,  on  July  14th  of  the  same 

further  particulars  concerning  these  places,  of  all  which  the 
author  of  the  Lay  was  ultimately  proprietor. — Ed.] 


APPENDIX    TO   THE    LAY   OF  THE    LAST   MINSTREL. 


47 


year,  Colvil,  in  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bacon,  informs  him,  "that 
there  was  great  trouble  upon  the  Borders,  which  would  con- 
tinue till  order  should  be  taken  by  the  Queen  of  England  and 
the  King,  by  reason  of  the  two  young  Scots  chieftains,  Cesford 
and  Baclugh,  and  of  the  present  necessity  and  scarcity  of 
corn  amongst  the  Scots  Borderers  and  riders.  That  there  had 
been  a  private  quarrel  betwixt  those  two  lairds  on  the  Bor- 
ders, which  was  like  to  have  turned  to  blood ;  but  the  fear  of 
the  general  trouble  had  reconciled  them,  and  the  injuries 
which  they  thought  to  have  committed  against  each  other 
were  now  transferred  upon  England:  not  unlike  that  emu- 
lation in  France  between  the  Baron  de  Biron  and  Mons. 
Jeverie,  who,  being  both  ambitious  of  honor,  undertook  more 
hazardous  enterprises  against  the  enemy  than  they  would 
have  done  if  they  had  been  at  concord  together." — Birch's 
Memorials,  vol.  ii.  p.  67. 


Note  F. 


While  Cessford  owns  the  rule  of  Carr, 
While  Ettrick  boosts  the  line  of  Scott, 

The  slaughtered  chiefs,  the  mortal  jar, 

The  havoc  of  the  feudal  war, 
Shall  never,  never  be  forgot ! — P.  10. 

Among  other  expedients  resorted  to  for  stanching  the  feud 
betwixt  the  Scotts  and  the  Kerrs,  there  was  a  bond  executed 
in  1529,  between  the  heads  of  each  clan,  binding  themselves 
to  perform  reciprocally  the  four  principal  pilgrimages  of  Scot- 
land, for  the  benefit  of  the  souls  of  those  of  the  opposite  name 
who  had  fallen  in  the  quarrel.  This  indenture  is  printed  in 
the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  i.  But  either  it  never 
took  effect,  or  else  the  feud  was  renewed  shortly  afterwards. 

Such  pactions  were  not  uncommon  in  feudal  times ;  and,  as 
might  be  expected,  they  were  often,  as  in  the  present  case, 
void  of  the  effect  desired.  When  Sir  Walter  Mauny,  the  re- 
nowned follower  of  Edward  III.,  had  taken  the  town  of  Ryol 
in  Gascony,  he  remembered  to  have  heard  that  his  father  lay 
there  buried,  and  offered  a  hundred  crowns  to  any  who  could 
show  him  his  grave.  A  very  old  man  appeared  before  Sir 
Walter,  and  informed  him  of  the  manner  of  his  father's  death, 
and  the  place  of  his  sepulture.  It  seems  the  Lord  of  Mauny 
had,  at  a  great  tournament,  unhorsed,  and  wounded  to  the 
death,  a  Gascon  knight,  of  the  house  of  Mirepoix,  whose  kins- 
man was  Bishop  of  Cambray.  For  this  deed  he  was  held  at 
feud  by  the  relations  of  the  knight,  until  he  agreed  to  under- 
take a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  St.  James  of  Compostella, 
for  the  benefit  of  the  soul  of  the  deceased.  But  as  he  returned 
through  the  town  of  Byol,  after  accomplishment  of  his  vow, 
he  was  beset  and  treacherously  slain  by  the  kindred  of  the 
knight  whom  he  had  killed.  Sir  Walter,  guided  by  the  old 
man,  visited  the  lowly  tomb  of  his  father;  and,  having  read 
the  inscription,  which  was  in  Latin,  he  caused  the  body  to  be 
raised,  and  transported  to  his  native  city  of  Valenciennes, 
where  masses  were,  in  the  days  of  Froissart,  duly  said  for  the 
soul  of  the  unfortunate  pilgrim.— Chronycle  of  Feoissakt, 
vol.  i.  p.  123. 


Note  G. 

With  Carr  in  arms  had  stood. — P.  11. 

The  family  of   Ker,   Kerr,  or  Carr,*  was  very  powerful 
on  the  Border.     Fynes   Moryson   remarks,  in  his  Travels, 


1  The  name  is  spelt  differently  by  the  various  families  who 
bear  it.  Carr  is  selected,  not  as  the  most  correct,  but  as  the 
most  poetical  reading. 


that  their  influence  extended  from  the  village  of  Preston- 
Grange,  in  Lothian,  to  the  limits  of  England.  Cessford 
Castle,  the  ancient  baronial  residence  of  the  family,  is  situated 
near  the  village  of  Morebattle,  within  two  or  three  miles  of 
the  Cheviot  Hills.  It  has  been  a  place  of  great  strength  and 
consequence,  but  is  now  ruinous.  Tradition  affirms  that  it 
was  founded  by  Halbert  or  Habby  Kerr,  a  gigantic  warrior, 
concerning  whom  many  stories  are  current  in  Roxburghshire. 
The  Duke  of  Roxburghe  represents  Ker  of  Cessford.  A  dis- 
tinct and  powerful  branch  of  the  same  name  own  the  Marquis 
of  Lothian  as  their  chief.  Hence  the  distinction  betwixt 
Kerrs  of  Cessford  and  Fairnihirst. 


Note  H. 


Lord  Cranstoun. — P.  11. 

The  Cranstouns,  Lord  Cranstoun,  are  an  ancient  Border 
family,  whose  chief  seat  was  at  Crailing,  in  Teviotdale.  They 
were  at  this  time  at  feud  with  the  clan  of  Scott ;  for  it  ap- 
pears that  the  Lady  of  Buccleuch,  in  1557,  beset  the  Laird  of 
Cranstoun,  seeking  his  life.  Nevertheless,  the  same  Cran- 
stoun, or  perhaps  his  sou,  was  married  to  a  daughter  of  the 
same  lady. 


Note  I. 


Of  Bethune's  line  of  Picardie. — P.  11. 

The  Bethunes  were  of  French  origin,  and  derived  their 
name  from  a  small  town  in  Artois.  There  were  several  distin- 
guished families  of  the  Bethunes  in  the  neighboring  province 
of  Picardy;  they  numbered  among  their  descendants  the 
celebrated  Due  de  Sully ;  and  the  name  was  accounted  among 
the  most  noble  in  France,  while  aught  noble  remained  in  that 
country.2  The  family  of  Bethune,  or  Beatoun,  in  Fife,  pro- 
duced three  learned  and  dignified  prelates;  namely,  Cardinal 
Beaton,  and  two  successive  Archbishops  of  Glasgow,  all  of 
whom  flourished  about  the  date  of  the  romance.  Of  this 
family  was  descended  Dame  Jarret  Beaton,  Lady  Buccleuch, 
widow  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  of  Branksome.  She  was  a  woman 
of  masculine  spirit,  as  appeared  from  her  riding  at  the  head 
of  her  son's  clan,  after  her  husband's  murder.  She  also  pos- 
sessed the  hereditary  abilities  of  her  family  in  such  a  degree 
that  the  superstition  of  the  vulgar  imputed  them  to  super- 
natural knowledge.  With  this  was  mingled,  by  faction,  the 
foul  accusation  of  her  having  influenced  Queen  Mary  to  the 
murder  of  her  husband.  One  of  the  placards,  preserved  in 
Buchanan's  Detection,  accuses  of  Darnley's  murder  "the  Erie 
of  Bothwell,  Mr.  James  Balfour,  the  persoun  of  Fliske,  M  r. 
David  Chalmers,  black  Mr.  John  Spens,  who  was  principal 
deviser  of  the  murder;  and  the  Quene,  assenting  thairto. 
throw  the  persuasion  of  the  Erie  Bothwell,  and  the  witchcraft 
of  Lady  Buck/euch." 


Note  K. 


He  learn'd  the  art  that  none  may  name, 
In  Padua,  fir  beyond  the  sea. — P.  11. 

Padua  was  long  supposed,  by  the  Scottish  peasants,  to  be 


2  This  expression  and  sentiment  were  dictated  by  the  situa- 
tion of  France  in  the  year  1803,  when  the  poem  was  originally 
written.    1821. 


48 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  principal  school  of  necromancy.  The  Earl  of  Gowrie, 
slain  at  Perth,  in  1600,  pretended,  during  his  studies  in  Italy, 
to  have  acquired  some  knowledge  of  tlie  cabala,  by  which,  he 
said,  he  could  charm  snakes,  and  work  other  miracles;  and, 
in  particular,  could  produce  children  without  the  intercourse 
of  tnesext  s. — See  the  examination  of  Wemyss  of  Bogie  before 
the  Privy  Council,  concerning  Gowrie's  Conspiracy. 


Note  L. 


His  form  no  darkening  shadow  traced 
Cjioii  the  sunny  waUf—T.  11. 

The  shadow  of  a  necromancer  is  independent  of  the  sun. 
Glycas  informs  us  that  Simon  Magus  caused  his  shadow  to  go 
before  him,  making  people  believe  it  was  an  attendant  spirit. 
— Heywood's  Hierarchie,  p.  475.  The  vulgar  conceive  that 
when  a  class  of  students  have  made  a  certain  progress  in 
their  mystic  studies,  they  are  obliged  to  ran  through  a  subter- 
raneous hall,  where  the  devil  literally  catches  the  hindmost 
in  the  race,  unless  he  crosses  the  hall  so  speedily  that  the 
arch-enemy  can  only  apprehend  his  shadow.  In  the  latter 
case,  the  person  of  the  sage  never  after  throws  any  shade; 
and  those  who  have  thus  lost  their  shadow  always  prove  the 
best  magicians. 


Note  M. 


The  viewless  fonns  of  air.— P.  11. 

The  Scottish  vulgar,  without  having  any  very  defined  no- 
tion of  their  attributes,  believe  in  the  existence  of  an  inter- 
mediate class  of  spirits,  residing  in  the  air,  or  in  the  waters ; 
to  whose  agency  they  ascribe  floods,  storms,  and  all  such 
phenomena  as  their  own  philosophy  cannot  readily  explain. 
They  are  supposed  to  interfere  in  the  affairs  of  mortals,  some- 
times  with  a  malevolent  purpose,  and  sometimes  with  milder 
views.  It  is  said,  for  example,  that  a  gallant  baron,  having 
returned  from  the  Holy  Land  to  his  castle  of  Drummelziar, 
found  his  fair  lady  nursing  a  healthy  child,  whose  birth  did 
not  by  any  means  correspond  to  the  date  of  his  departure. 
Such  an  occurrence,  to  the  credit  of  the  dames  of  the  Cru- 
saders be  it  spoken,  was  so  rare  that  it  required  a  miraculous 
solution.  The  lady,  therefore,  was  believed  when  she  averred 
confidently  that  the  Spirit  of  the  Tweed  had  issued  from  the 
river  while  she  was  walking  upon  its  bank,  and  compelled 
her  to  submit  to  his  embraces ;  and  the  name  of  Tweedie  was 
bestowed  upon  the  child,  who  afterwards  became  Baron  of 
Drummelziar,  and  chief  of  a  powerful  clan.  To  those  spirits 
were  also  ascribed,  in  Scotland,  the 

— "  Airy  tongues,  that  syllable  men's  names, 
On  sands,  and  shores,  and  desert  wildernesses." 

When  the  workmen  were  engaged  in  erecting  the  ancient 
church  of  Old  Deer,  in  Aberdeenshire,  upon  a  small  hill 
called  Bissau,  they  were  surprised  to  find  that  the  work  was 
impeded  by  supernatural  obstacles.  At  length,  the  Spirit  of 
the  River  was  heard  to  say, 

"  It  is  not  here,  it  is  not  here, 

That  ye  shall  build  the  church  of  Deer; 

But  on  Taptillery, 

Where  many  a  corpse  shall  lie." 

The  site  of  the  edifice  was  accordingly  transferred  to  Tap- 
tillery, an  eminence  at  some  distance  from  the  place  where 
the  building  had  been  commenced.—  Macfarlane's  MSS. 


I  mention  these  popular  fables,  because  the  introduction  of 
the  River  and  Mountain  Spirits  may  not,  at  first  sight,  seem 
to  accord  with  the  general  tone  of  the  romance,  and  the  super- 
stitions of  the  country  where  the  scene  is  laid. 


Note  N. 


A  fancied  moss-trooper,  <fcc. — P.  12. 

This  was  the  usual  appellation  of  the  marauders  upon  the 
Borders;  a  profession  diligently  pursued  by  the  inhabitants 
on  both  sides,  and  by  none  more  actively  and  successfully 
than  by  Buccleuch's  elan.  Long  after  the  anion  of  the  crowns 
the  moss-troopers,  although  sunk  in  reputation,  and  no  longer 
enjoying  the  pretext  of  national  hostility,  continued  to  pur- 
sue their  calling. 

Fuller  includes,  among  the  wonders  of  Cumberland,  "The 
moss-troopers ;  so  strange  in  the  condition  of  their  living,  if 
considered  in  their  Original,  Increase,  Height,  Decay,  and 
Ruine. 

"  1.  Original.  I  conceive  them  the  same  called  Borderers 
in  Mr.  Camden;  and  characterized  by  him  to  be  a  wild  and 
warlike  people.  They  are  called  moss-troopers,  because  dwell- 
ing in  the  mosses,  and  riding  in  troops  together.  They  dwell 
in  the  bounds,  or  meeting,  of  the  two  kingdoms,  but  obey  the 
laws  of  neither.  They  come  to  church  as  seldom  as  the  29th 
of  February  comes  into  the  kalendar. 

"2.  Increase.  When  England  and  Scotland  were  united 
in  Great  Britain,  they  that  formerly  lived  by  hostile  incur- 
sions betook  themselves  to  the  robbing  of  their  neighbors. 
Their  sons  are  free  of  the  trade  by  their  fathers'  copy.  They 
are  like  to  Job,  not  in  piety  and  patience,  but  in  sudden 
plenty  and  poverty;  sometimes  having  flocks  and  herds  in  the 
morning,  none  at  night,  and  perchance  many  again  next  day. 
They  may  give  for  their  motto,  vivitur  ex  rapto,  stealing  from 
their  honest  neighbors  what  they  sometimes  require.  They 
are  a  nest  of  hornets;  strike  one,  and  stir  all  of  them  about 
your  ears.  Indeed,  if  they  promise  safely  to  conduct  a  traveller, 
they  will  perform  it  with  the  fidelity  of  a  Turkish  janizary; 
otherwise,  woe  be  to  him  that  falleth  into  their  quarters ! 

"3.  Height.  Amounting,  forty  years  since,  to  some  thou- 
sands. These  compelled  the  vicinage  to  purchase  their  secu- 
rity, by  paying  a  constant  rent  to  them.  When  in  their 
greatest  height,  they  had  two  great  enemies, — the  Laics  of  the 
Land,  and  the  Lord  William  Howard  of  Naworth.  He  sent 
many  of  them  to  Carlisle,  to  that  place  where  the  officer  doth 
always  his  work  by  daylight.  Yet  these  moss-troopers,  if  possi- 
bly they  could  procure  the  pardon  for  a  condemned  person  of 
their  company,  would  advance  great  sums  out  of  their  common 
stock,  who,  in  such  a  case,  cast  in  their  lots  amongst  themselves, 
and  all  have  one  purse. 

"  4.  Decay.  Caused  by  the  wisdom,  valor,  and  diligence  of 
the  Right  Honorable  Charles  Lord  Howard,  Earl  of  Carlisle, 
who  routed  these  English  Tories  with  his  regiment.  His 
severity  unto  them  will  not  only  be  excused,  but  commended, 
by  the  judicious,  who  considers  how  our  great  lawyer  doth 
describe  such  persons,  who  are  solemnly  outlawed.  BBACTON, 
lib.  viii.  trac.  2.  cap.  11. — '  Ei  tunc  grriui/  caput  lupinum,ita 
quod  sine  judiciali  ingui.ti/ione  rite  pereant,  el  secum  suum  judi- 
cium portent;  el  merito  sine  lege  pereunt,  qui  secundum  legem 
vivere  recusdrunl.'  —  'Thenceforward  (after  that  they  are 
outlawed),  they  wear  a  wolf's  head,  so  that  they  lawfully 
may  be  destroyed,  without  any  judicial  inquisition,  as  who 
carry  their  own  condemnation  about  them,  and  deservedly 
die  without  law,  because  they  refused  to  live  according  to 
law.' 

"5.  Ruine.  Such  was  the  success  of  this  worthy  lord's 
severity,  that  he  made  a  thorough  reformation  among  them  ; 
and  the  ring-leaders  being  destroyed,  the  rest  are  reduced  to 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


49 


legal  obedience,  and  so,  I  trust,  will  continue." — Fuller's 
Worthies  of  England,  p.  216. 

The  last  public  mention  of  moss-troopers  occurs  during  the 
civil  wars  of  the  17th  century,  when  many  ordinances  of  Par- 
liament were  directed  against  them. 


Note  O. 


tame  the  Unicorn's  pride, 

Exalt  the  Orescent  and  the  Star. — P.  12. 

The  arm*  of  the  Kerrs  of  Cessford  were,  Vert  on  a  che- 
veron,  betwixt  three  unicorns'  heads  erased  argent,  three 
mullets  sable;  crest,  a  unicorn's  head,  erased  proper.  The 
Scotts  of  Buccleuch  bore  Or,  on  a  bend  azure ;  a  star  of  six 
points  betwixt  two  crescents  of  the  first. 


Note  P. 


William  of  Deloraine. — P.  12. 

The  lands  of  Deloraine  are  joined  to  those  of  Buccleuch  in 
Ettrick  Forest.  They  were  immemorially  possessed  by  the 
Buccleuch  family,  under  the  strong  title  of  occupancy,  al- 
though no  charter  was  obtained  from  the  crown  until  1545. 
Like  other  possessions,  the  lands  of  Deloraine  were  occa- 
sionally granted  by  them  to  vassals,  or  kinsmen,  for  Border 
service.  Satchells  mentions,  among  the  twenty-four  gentle- 
men-pensioners of  the  family,  "  William  Scott,  commonly 
called  Cul-al-the-Black,  who  had  the  lands  of  Nether  Delo- 
raiue  for  his  service."  And  again,  "This  William  of  Delo- 
raine, commonly  called  Out-at-the-Black,  was  a  brother  of  the 
ancient  house  of  Haining,  which  house  of  Haining  is  de- 
scended from  the  ancient  house  of  Hassendean."  The  lands 
of  Deloraine  now  give  an  earl's  title  to  the  descendant  of 
Henry,  the  second  surviving  son  of  the  Duchess  of  Buccleuch 
and  Monmouth.  I  have  endeavored  to  give  William  of 
Deloraine  the  attributes  which  characterized  the  Borderers 
of  his  day ;  for  which  I  can  only  plead  Froissart's  apology, 
that,  "it  behoveth,  in  a  lynage,  some  to  be  folyshe  and  out- 
rageous, to  maynteyne  and  sustayne  the  peasable."  As  a 
contrast  to  my  Marchman,  I  beg  leave  to  transcribe,  from  the 
same  author,  the  speech  of  Amergot  Marcell,  a  captain  of 
the  Adventurous  Companions,  a  robber,  and  a  pillager  of  the 
country  of  Auvergne,  who  had  been  bribed  to  sell  his  strong- 
holds, and  to  assume  a  more  honorable  military  life  under 
the  banners  of  the  Earl  of  Armagnac.  But  "  when  he  re- 
membered alle  this,  he  was  sorrowful ;  his  treasour  he  thought 
he  wolde  not  mynysshe ;  he  was  wonte  dayly  to  serche  for 
newe  pyllages,  wherbye  encresed  his  profyte,  and  then  he 
sawe  that  alle  was  closed  fro'  hym.  Then  he  sayde  and 
imagyned,  that  to  pyll  and  to  robbe  (all  thynge  considered) 
was  a  good  lyfe,  and  so  repented  hym  of  his  good  doing.  On 
a  tyine,  he  said  to  his  old  companyons,  'Sirs,  there  is  no 
sporte  nor  glory  in  this  worlde  amonge  men  of  warre,  but  to 
use  suche  lyfe  as  we  have  done  in  tyme  past.  What  a  joy 
was  it  to  us  when  we  rode  forth  at  adventure,  and  sometyme 
found  by  the  way  a  riche  priour  or  merchaunt,  or  a  route  of 
mulettes  of  Mountpellyer,  of  Narbonne,  of  Lymens,  of  Fon- 
gans,  of  Besyers,  of  Tholous,  or  of  Carcasonne,  laden  with 
cloth  of  Brussels,  or  peltre  ware  comynge  fro  the  fayres,  or 
laden  with  spycery  fro  Bruges,  fro  Damas,  or  fro  Alysaundre ; 
whatsoever  we  met,  all  was  ours,  or  els  ransoumed  at  our 
pleasures ;  dayly  we  gate  new  money,  and  the  vyllaynes  of 
Auvergne  and  of  Lymosyn  dayly  provyded  and  brought  to 


our  castell  whete  mele,  good  wynes,  beffes,  and  fatte  mottons, 
pullayne,  and  wylde  foule :  We  were  ever  furnyshed  as  tho 
we  had  been  kings.  When  we  rode  forthe,  all  the  countrey 
trymbled  for  feare :  all  was  ours  goyng  and  comynge.  How 
tok  we  Carlast,  I  and  the  Bourge  of  Companye,  and  I  and 
Perot  of  Bernoys  took  Caluset ;  how  dyd  we  scale,  with  lytell 
ayde,  the  strong  castell  of  Marquell,  pertayning  to  the  Erl 
Dolphyn :  I  kept  it  nat  past  fyve  days,  but  I  receyved  for  it, 
on  a  feyre  table,  fyve  thousande  frankes,  and  forgave  one 
thousande  for  the  love  of  the  Erl  Dolphyn's  children.  By 
my  fayth,  this  was  a  fayre  and  a  good  lyfe!  wherefore  I 
repute  myselfe  sore  deceyved,  in  that  I  have  rendered  up 
the  fortress  of  Aloys;  for  it  wolde  have  kept  fro  alle  the 
worlde,  and  the  daye  that  I  gave  it  up,  it  was  fournyshed 
with  vytaylles,  to  have  been  kept  seven  yere  without  any 
re-vytayllinge.  This  Erl  of  Armynake  hath  deceyved  me ; 
Olyve  Barbe,  and  Perot  le  Bornoys,  shewed  to  me  how  I 
shulde  repente  myselfe :  certayne  I  sore  repente  myselfe  of 
what  I  have  done.' " — Froissart,  vol.  ii.  p.  195. 


Note  Q. 

By  wily  turns,  by  desperate  bounds, 

Had  baffled  Percy's  best  blood-hounds. — P.  12. 

The  kings  and  heroes  of  Scotland,  as  well  as  the  Border- 
riders,  were  sometimes  obliged  to  study  how  to  evade  the 
pursuit  of  blood-hounds.  Barbour  informs  us,  that  Robert 
Bruce  was  repeatedly  tracked  by  sleuth-dogs.  On  one  occa- 
sion, he  escaped  by  wading  a  bow-shot  down  a  brook,  and 
ascending  into  a  tree  by  a  branch  which  overhung  the  water ; 
thus  leaving  no  trace  on  land  of  his  footsteps,  he  baffled  the 
scent.    The  pursuers  came  up : 

"  Rycht  to  the  burn  thai  passy t  ware, 
Bot  the  sleuth-hund  made  stinting  thar, 
And  waueryt  lang  tyme  ta  and  fra, 
That  he  na  certain  gate  couth  ga; 
Till  at  the  last  that  John  of  Lome 
Perseuvit  the  bund  the  sleuth  had  lorne." 

The  Bruce,  book  vii. 

A  sure  way  of  stopping  the  dog  was  to  spill  blood  upon  the 
track,  which  destroyed  the  discriminating  fineness  of  his 
scent.  A  captive  was  sometimes  sacrificed  on  such  occa- 
sions. Henry  the  Minstrel  tells  a  romantic  story  of  Wal- 
lace, founded  on  this  circumstance: — The  hero's  little  band 
had  been  joined  by  an  Irishman,  named  Fawdoun,  or  Fad- 
zean,  a  dark,  savage,  and  suspicious  character.  After  a 
sharp  skirmish  at  Black-Erne  Side,  Wallace  was  forced  to 
retreat  with  only  sixteen  followers.  The  English  pursued 
with  a  border  sleuth-bratch,  or  blood-hound. 

"  In  Gelderland  there  was  that  bratchet  bred, 

Siker  of  scent,  to  follow  them  that  fled ; 

So  was  he  used  in  Eske  and  Liddesdail, 

While  (i.  e.  till)  she  gat  blood  no  fleeing  might  avail." 

In  the  retreat,  Fawdoun,  tired,  or  affecting  to  be  so,  would 
go  no  farther.  Wallace,  having  in  vain  argued  with  him,  in 
hasty  anger  struck  off  his  head,  and  continued  the  retreat. 
When  the  English  came  up,  their  hound  stayed  upon  the 
dead  body : — 

"The  sleuth  stopped  at  Fawdon,  still  she  stood, 
Nor  farther  would  fra  time  she  fund  the  blood." 

The  story  concludes  with  a  fine  Gothic  scene  of  terror. 
Wallace  took  refuge  in  the  solitary  tower  of  Gask.    Here  ho 


50 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


was  disturbed  at  midnight  by  the  blast  of  a  horn.  He  sent 
out  his  attendants  by  two  and  two,  but  no  oik-  returned  with 
tidings.  At  length,  when  he  was  left  alone,  the  sound  was 
heard  still  louder.  The  champion  descended,  sword  in  hand ; 
and,  at  the  gate  of  the  tower,  was  encountered  by  the  head- 
less spectre  of  Fawdoun.  whom  lie  had  slain  so  rashly.  Wal- 
lace, in  great  terror,  fled  up  into  the  tower,  tore  open  the 
boards  of  a  window,  leapt  down  fifteen  feet  in  height,  and 
continued  his  flight  up  the  river.  Looking  back  to  Gask,  he 
discovered  the  tower  on  fire,  and  the  form  of  Fawdoun  upon 
the  battlements,  dilated  to  an  immense  size,  and  holding  in 
his  hand  a  blazing  rafter.    The  Minstrel  concludes, 

"Trust  ryght  wele,  that  all  this  be  sooth  indeed, 
Supposing  it  to  be  no  point  of  the  creed." 

The  Wallace,  book  v. 

Mr.  Ellis  has  extracted  this  tale  as  a  sample  of  Henry's 
poetry.— Specimens  of  English  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  351. 


Note  R. 


the  Moat-hiWs  mound, 


Where  Druid  sliades  still  /tilled  round. — P.  12. 

This  is  a  round  artificial  mount  near  Hawick,  which,  from 
its  name  (^Hot.  Ang.  Sax.  Concilium,  Conventus),  was  prob- 
ably anciently  used  as  a  place  for  assembling  a  national 
council  of  the  adjacent  tribes.  There  are  many  such  mounds 
in  Scotland,  and  they  are  sometimes,  but  rarely,  of  a  square 
form. 


Note  S. 

the  tower  of  Hazeldean. — P.  13. 


The  estate  of  Hazeldean,  corruptly  Hassendean,  belonged 
fcrmerly  to  a  family  of  Scotts,  thus  commemorated  by  Satch- 
ells:— 

"Hassendean  came  without  a  call, 
The  ancientest  house  among  them  all." 


Note  T. 


On  Minto-crags  the  moonbeams  glint. — P.  13. 

A  romantic  assemblage  of  cliffs,  which  rise  suddenly  above 
the  vale  of  Te'  'jt,  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  family- 
seat,  from  which  Lord  Minto  takes  his  title.  A  small  platform, 
on  a  projecting  crag,  commanding  a  most  beautiful  prospect, 
is  termed  BarnhitW  Bed.  This  Barnhills  is  said  to  have  been 
a  robber,  or  outlaw.  There  are  remains  of  a  strong  tower 
beneath  the  rocks,  where  he  is  supposed  to  have  dwelt,  and 
from  which  he  derived  his  name.  On  the  summit  of  the  crags 
are  the  fragments  of  another  ancient  tower,  in  a  picturesque 
situation.  Among  the  houses  cast  down  by  the  Earl  of  Hart- 
forde,  in  1545,  occur  the  towers  of  Easter  Rarnhills,  and  of 
Minto-crag,  with  Minto  town  and  place.  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot, 
father  to  the  present  Lord  Minto,1  was  the  author  of  a  beau- 
tiful pastoral  song,  of  which  the  following  is  a  more  correct 

1  Grandfather  to  the  present  Earl.    1819. 


copy  than  is  usually  published.    The  poetical  mantle  of  Sir 
Gilbert  Elliot  has  descended  to  his  family. 

"  My  sheep  I  neglected,  I  broke  my  sheep-hoolc, 
And  all  the  gay  haunts  of  my  youth  I  forsook : 
N'n  mure  fur  Amynta  fresh  garlands  I  wove; 
Ambition,  I  said,  would  soon  cure  me  of  love. 
But  what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do! 
Why  left  I  Amyntal  why  broke  I  my  vow! 

"  Through  regions  remote  in  vain  do  I  rove, 

And  bid  the  wide  world  secure  me  from  love. 

Ah,  fool,  to  imagine  that  aught  could  subdue 

A  love  so  well  founded,  a  passion  so  true! 

Ah,  give  me  my  sheep,  and  my  sheep-hook  restore! 

And  I'll  wander  from  love  and  Amynta  no  more ! 

"  Alas !  'tis  too  late  at  thy  fate  to  repine ! 
Poor  shepherd,  Amynta  no  more  can  be  thine! 
Thy  tears  are  all  fruitless,  thy  wishes  are  vain, 
The  moments  neglected  return  not  again. 
Ah  !  what  had  my  youth  with  ambition  to  do ! 
Why  left  I  Amynta !  why  broke  I  my  vow !" 


Note  U. 


ancient  Riddel's  fair  domain. — P.  13. 


The  family  of  Riddell  have  been  very  long  in  possession  of 
the  barony  called  Riddell,  or  Ryedale,  part  of  which  still 
bears  the  latter  name.  Tradition  carries  their  antiquity  to  a 
point  extremely  remote ;  and  is,  in  some  degree,  sanctioned  by 
the  discovery  of  two  stone  coffins,  one  containing  an  earthen 
pot  filled  with  ashes  and  arms,  bearing  a  legible  date,  A.  D. 
727 ;  the  other  dated  936,  and  filled  with  the  bones  of  a  man 
of  gigantic  size.  These  coffins  were  discovered  in  the  founda- 
tions of  what  was,  but  has  long  ceased  to  be,  the  chapel  of 
Riddell ;  and  as  it  was  argued,  with  plausibility,  that  they 
contained  the  remains  of  some  ancestors  of  the  family,  they 
were  deposited  in  the  modern  place  of  sepulture,  compara- 
tively so  termed,  though  built  in  1110.  But  the  following 
curious  and  authentic  documents  warrant  most  conclusively 
the  epithet  of  "ancient  Riddell :"  1st,  A  charter  by  David  I. 
to  Walter  Rydale,  Sheriff  of  Roxburgh,  confirming  all  the 
estates  of  Liliesclive,  &c.,  of  which  his  father,  Gervarius  de 
Rydale,  died  possessed.  2dly,  A  bull  of  Pope  Adrian  IV., 
confirming  the  will  of  Walter  de  Ridale,  knight,  in  favor  of 
his  brother  Anschittil  de  Ridale,  dated  8th  April,  1155.  3dly, 
A  bull  of  Pope  Alexander  III.,  confirming  the  said  will  of 
Walter  de  Ridale,  bequeathing  to  his  brother  Anschittil  the 
lands  of  Liliesclive,  Whettunes,  &c,  and  ratifying  the  bar- 
gain betwixt  Anschittil  and  Huctredus,  concerning  the  church 
of  Liliesclive,  in  consequence  of  the  mediation  of  Malcolm  II., 
and  confirmed  by  a  charter  from  that  monarch.  This  bull 
is  dated  17th  June,  1160.  4thly,  A  bull  of  the  same  Pope, 
confirming  the  will  of  Sir  Anschittil  de  Ridale,  in  favor  of 
his  son  Walter,  conveying  the  said  lauds  of  Liliesclive  and 
others,  dated  10th  March,  1120.  It  is  remarkable  that  Lilies- 
clive, otherwise  Rydale,  or  Riddell,  and  the  Whittunes,  have 
descended,  through  a  long  train  of  ancestors,  without  ever 
passing  into  a  collateral  line,  to  the  person  of  Sir  John 
Buchanan  Riddell,  Bart,  of  Riddell,  the  lineal  descendant 
and  representative  of  Sir  Anschittil.— These  circumstances 
appeared  worthy  of  notice  in  a  Border  work  " 

-  Since  the  above  note  was  written,  the  ancient  family  of 
Riddell  have  parted  with  all  their  Scotch  estates.— Ed. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


51 


Note  V. 

But  when  Melrose  he  rench'd,  '/was  silence  all; 

He  meetly  stabled  his  steed  in  stall, 

And  sought  the  convents  lonely  ivall. — P.  13. 

The  ancient  and  beautiful  monastery  of  Melrose  was  founded 
by  King  David  I.  Its  ruins  afford  the  finest  specimen  of  Gothic 
architecture  and  Gothic  sculpture  which  Scotland  can  boast. 
The  stone  of  which  it  is  built,  though  it  has  resisted  the  wea- 
ther for  so  many  ages,  retains  perfect  sharpness,  so  that  even 
the  most  minute  ornaments  seem  as  entire  as  when  newly 
wrought.  In  some  of  the  cloisters,  as  is  hinted  in  the  next 
canto,  there  are  representations  of  flowers,  vegetables,  &c, 
carved  in  stone,  with  accuracy  and  precision  so  delicate,  that 
we  almost  distrust  our  senses,  when  we  consider  the  difficulty 
of  subjecting  so  hard  a  substance  to  such  intricate  and  exqui- 
site modulation.  This  superb  convent  was  dedicated  to  St. 
Mary,  and  the  monks  were  of  the  Cistercian  order.  At  the 
time  of  the  Reformation,  they  shared  the  general  reproach  of 
sensuality  and  irregularity,  thrown  upon  the  Roman  church- 
men. The  old  words  of  Galashiels,  a  favorite  Scotch  air,  ran 
thus : — 

"  O  the  monks  of  Melrose  made  gude  kale,1 

On  Fridays  when  they  fasted. 
They  wanted  neither  beef  nor  ale, 

As  long  as  their  neighbors'  lasted." 


1  Kale,  broth. 


Note  W. 

When  buttress  and  buttress,  alternately, 

Seem  framed  of  ebon  and  ivory  ; 

When  silver  edges  the  imagery, 

And  the  scrolls  that  leach  thee  to  live  and  die; 

Then  view  St.  David's  ruined  pile. — P.  14. 

The  buttresses  ranged  along  the  sides  of  the  ruins  of  Mel- 
rose Abbey  are,  according  to  the  Gothic  style,  richly  carved 
and  fretted,  containing  niches  for  the  statues  of  saints,  and 
labelled  with  scrolls,  bearing  appropriate  texts  of  Scripture. 
Most  of  these  statues  have  been  demolished. 

David  I.  of  Scotland  purchased  the  reputation  of  sanctity, 
by  founding,  and  liberally  endowing,  not  only  the  monastery 
of  Melrose,  but  those  of  Kelso,  Jedburgh,  and  many  others ; 
which  led  to  the  well-known  observation  of  his  successor,  that 
he  was  a  sore  saint  for  the  crown. 


Note  X. 


For  mass  or  prayer  can  I  rarely  tarry, 

Save  to  poller  an  Ave  Mary, 

When  I  ride  on  a  Border  foray. — P.  14. 

The  Borderers  were,  as  may  be  supposed,  very  ignorant 
about  religious  matters.  Colville,  in  his  Paranesis,  or  Admo- 
nition, states  that  the  reformed  divines  were  so  far  from  un- 
dertaking distant  journeys  to  convert  the  Heathen,  "as  I 
wold  wis  at  God  that  ye  wold  only  go  hot  to  the  Hieland  and 
Borders  of  our  own  realm,  to  gain  our  awin  countrymen,  who, 
for  lack  of  preching  and  ministration  of  the  sacraments,  must, 
with  tyme,  becum  either  infidells,  or  atheists."  But  we  learn 
from  Lesley  that,  however  deficient  in  real  religion,  they  re- 


gularly told  their  beads,  and  never  with  more  zeal  than  when 
going  on  a  plundering  expedition. 


Note  Y. 


So  had  he  seen,  in  fair  Castile, 

The  youth  in  glittering  squadrons  start ; 

Sudden  the  flying  jennet  wheel, 
And  hurl  the  unexpected  dart. — P.  15. 

"  By  my  faith,"  sayd  the  Duke  of  Lancaster  (to  a  Portu- 
guese squire),  "  of  all  the  feates  of  amies  that  the  Castellyans, 
and  they  of  your  countrey  doth  use,  the  castynge  of  their 
dertes  best  pleaseth  me,  and  gladly  I  wolde  see  it :  for,  as  I 
hear  say,  if  they  strike  one  aryghte,  without  he  be  well  armed, 
the  dart  will  pierce  him  thrughe." — "  By  my  fayth,  sir,"  sayd 
the  squyer,  "  ye  say  trouth ;  for  I  have  seen  many  a  grete 
stroke  given  with  them,  which  at  one  time  cost  us  derely,  and 
was  to  us  great  displeasure ;  for,  at  the  said  skyrmishe,  Sir 
John  Lawrence  of  Coygne  was  striken  with  a  dart  in  such 
wise,  that  the  head  perced  all  the  plates  of  his  cote  of  mayle, 
and  a  sacke  stopped  with  sylke,  and  passed  thrughe  his  body, 
so  that  he  fell  down  dead."— Froissart,  vol.  ii.  ch.  44.  This 
mode  of  fighting  with  darts  was  imitated  in  the  military  game 
called  Jeugo  de  las  canas,  which  the  Spaniards  borrowed  from 
their  Moorish  invaders.  A  Saracen  champion  is  thus  described 
by  Froissart :  "Among  the  Sarazyns,  there  was  a  yonge  knight 
called  Agadinger  Dolyferne ;  he  was  always  wel  mounted  on 
a  redy  and  a  lyght  horse ;  it  seemed,  when  the  horse  ranne, 
that  he  did  fly  in  the  ayre.  The  knighte  seemed  to  be  a  good 
man  of  amies  by  his  dedes ;  he  bare  always  of  usage  three 
fethered  dartes,  and  rychte  well  he  could  handle  them ;  and, 
according  to  their  custome,  he  was  clene  armed,  with  a  long 
white  towell  about  his  head.  His  apparell  was  blacke,  and 
his  own  colour  browne,  and  a  good  horseman.  The  Crysten 
men  say,  they  thoughte  he  dyd  such  deeds  of  amies  for  the 
love  of  some  yonge  ladye  of  his  countrey.  And  true  it  was, 
that  he  loved  entirely  the  King  of  Thune's  daughter,  named 
the.  Lady  Azala;  she  was  inherytor  to  the  realme  of  Thune, 
after  the  discease  of  the  kyng,  her  father.  This  Agadinger 
was  sone  to  the  Duke  of  Olyferne.  I  can  nat  telle  if  they 
were  married  together  after  or  nat ;  but  it  was  showed  me, 
that  this  knyght,  for  love  of  the  sayd  ladye,  during  the  siege, 
did  many  feates  of  armes.  The  knyghtes  of  France  would 
fayne  have  taken  hym ;  but  they  colde  never  attrape  nor  in- 
close him ;  his  horse  was  so  swyft,  and  so  redy  to  his  hand, 
that  alwaies  he  escaped." — Vol.  ii.  ch.  71. 


Note  Z. 


And  there  the  dying  lamps  did  burn, 

Before  thy  low  and  lonely  urn, 

O  gallant  Chief  of  Otterburne  ! — P.  15. 

The  famous  and  desperate  battle  of  Otterburne  was  fought 
15th  August,  1388,  betwixt  Henry  Percy,  called  Hotspur,  and 
James,  Earl  of  Douglas.  Both  these  renowned  champions  were 
at  the  head  of  a  chosen  body  of  troops,  and  they  were  rivals 
in  military  fame;  so  that  Froissart  affirms,  "Of  all  the  bat- 
tayles  and  encounteryngs  that  I  have  made  mencion  of  here 
before  in  all  this  hystory,  great  or  smalle,  this  battayle  that 
I  treat  of  nowe  was  one  of  the  sorest  and  best  fbughten,  with- 
out cowards  or  fayute  hertes :  for  there  was  neyther  knyghte 
nor  squyer  but  that  dyde  his  devoyre,  and  foughte  hande  to 
hande.  This  batayle  was  lyke  the  batayle  of  Becherell,  the 
which  was  valiauntly  fought  and  endured."  The  issue  of  the 
conflict  is  well  known :  Percy  was  made  prisoner,  and  the 


52 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Scots  won  the  day,  dearly  purchased  by  the  death  of  their 
gallant  general,  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  was  slain  in  the 
action.  He  was  buried  at  Melrose,  beneath  the  high  altar. 
"  His  obsequye  was  done  reverently,  and  on  his  bodye  layde 
a  tombe  of  stone,  and  his  bauer  haugyng  over  hym." — Frois- 
SA.RT,  vol.  ii.  p.  165. 


Note  2  A. 


dark  Knight  of  Liddcsdtik  !—V.  15. 


William  Douglas,  called  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale,  flourished 
during  the  reign  of  David  II.,  and  was  so  distinguished  by  his 
valor  that  he  was  called  the  Flower  of  Chivalry.  Neverthe- 
less, he  tarnished  his  renown  by  the  cruel  murder  of  Sir 
Alexander  Ramsay  of  Dalhousie,  originally  his  friend  and 
brother  in  arms.  The  King  had  conferred  upon  Ramsay  the 
sheriffdom  of  Teviotdale,  to  which  Douglas  pretended  some 
claim.  In  revenge  of  this  preference,  the  Knight  of  Liddes- 
dale came  down  upon  Ramsay,  while  he  was  administering 
justice  at  Hawick,  seized  and  carried  him  off  to  his  remote 
and  inaccessible  castle  of  Hermitage,  where  he  threw  his  un- 
fortunate prisoner,  horse  and  man,  into  a  dungeon,  and  left 
him  to  perish  of  hunger.  It  is  said,  the  miserable  captive 
prolonged  his  existence  for  several  days  by  the  corn  which  fell 
from  a  granary  above  the  vault  in  which  he  was  confined.1 
So  weak  was  the  royal  authority,  that  David,  although  highly 
incensed  at  this  atrocious  murder,  found  himself  obliged  to 
appoint  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  successor  to  his  victim,  as 
Sheriff  of  Teviotdale.  But  he  was  soon  after  slain,  while 
hunting  in  Ettrick  Forest,  by  his  own  godson  and  chieftain, 
William,  Earl  of  Douglas,  in  revenge,  according  to  some 
authors,  of  Ramsay's  murder;  although  a  popular  tradition, 
preserved  in  a  ballad  quoted  by  Godscroft,  and  some  parts  of 
which  are  still  preserved,  ascribes  the  resentment  of  the  Earl 
to  jealousy.  The  place  where  the  Knight  of  Liddesdale  was 
killed  is  called,  from  his  name,  William-Cross,  upon  the  ridge 
of  a  hill  called  William-hope,  betwixt  Tweed  and  Yarrow. 
His  body,  according  to  Godscroft,  was  carried  to  Lindean 
church  the  first  night  after  his  death,  and  thence  to  Melrose, 
where  he  was  interred  with  great  pomp,  and  where  his  tomb 
is  still  shown. 


Note  2  B. 


The  moon  on  the  east  oriel  shone. — P.  15. 

It  is  impossible  to  conceive  a  more  beautiful  specimen  of 
the  lightness  and  elegance  of  Gothic  architecture,  when  in 
its  purity,  than  the  eastern  window  of  Melrose  Abbey.  Sir 
James  Hall  of  Douglas,  Hart.,  has,  with  great  ingenuity  and 
plausibility,  traced  the  Gothic  order  through  its  various  forms 
and  seemingly  eccentric  ornaments,  to  an  architectural  imi- 
tation of  wicker  work  ;  of  which,  as  we  learn  from  some  of 
the  legends,  the  earliest  Christian  churches  were  constructed. 
In  such  an  edifice,  the  original  of  the  clustered  pillars  is  traced 

1  There  is  something  affecting  in  the  manner  in  which  the 
old  Prior  of  Lochleven  turns  from  describing  the  death  of  the 
gallant  Ramsay,  to  the  general  sorrow  which  it  excited: — 

"  To  tell  you  there  of  the  manere, 
It  is  bot  sorrow  for  til  here; 
He  wes  the  grettast  menyd  man 
That  ony  cowth  have  thowcht  of  than, 
Of  his  state,  or  of  mare  be  fare : 
All  menyt  him,  bath  bettyr  and  war; 


to  a  set  of  round  posts,  begirt  with  slender  rods  of  willow, 
whose  loose  summits  were  brought  to  meet  from  all  quarters, 
and  bound  together  artificially,  so  as  to  produce  the  frame- 
work of  the  roof:  and  the  tracery  of  our  Gothic  windows  is 
displayed  in  the  meeting  and  interlacing  of  rods  and  hoops, 
affording  an  inexhaustible  variety  of  beautiful  forms  of  open 
work.  This  ingenious  system  is  alluded  to  in  the  romance. 
Sir  James  Hall's  Essay  on  Gothic  Architecture  is  published  in 
The  Edinburgh  Philosophical  Transactions. 


Note  2  C. 

•  the  wondrous  Michael  Scott. — P.  15. 


Sir  Michael  Scott  of  Balwearie  flourished  during  the  13th 
century,  and  was  one  of  the  ambassadors  sent  to  bring  the 
Maid  of  Norway  to  Scotland  upon  the  death  of  Alexander 
III.  By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  here  placed  in  a  later 
era.  He  was  a  man  of  much  learning,  chiefly  acquired  in 
foreign  countries.  He  wrote  a  commentary  upon  Aristotle, 
printed  at  Venice  in  1496;  and  several  treatises  upon  natural 
philosophy,  from  which  he  appears  to  have  been  addicted  to 
the  abstruse  studies  of  judicial  astrology,  alchemy,  physiog- 
nomy, and  chiromancy.  Hence  he  passed  among  his  contem- 
poraries for  a  skillful  magician.  Dempster  informs  us  that 
he  remembers  to  have  heard  in  his  youth  that  the  magic 
books  of  Michael  Scott  were  still  in  existence,  but  could  not 
be  opened  without  danger,  on  account  of  the  malignant  fiends 
who  were  thereby  invoked.  Dempsteri  Hutoria  Ecclesiastica, 
1627,  lib.  xii.  p.  495.  Lesley  characterizes  Michael  Scott  as 
" singtdarie  philosophic,  astronomic,  ac  medicine?  lande  prep- 
lans; dicebatur  peni/issimos  magic  recesfru-s  indagdsse."  Dante 
also  mentions  him  as  a  renowned  wizard : — 

"Quell  altro  che  ne'  fianchi  e  cosi  poco, 
Michele  Scotto  fu,  che  veramente 
Delle  magiche  frode  seppe  il  giuoco." 

Inferno,  canto  xxmo. 

A  personage,  thus  spoken  of  by  biographers  and  historians, 
loses  little  of  his  mystical  fame  in  vulgar  tradition.  Accord- 
ingly, the  memory  of  Sir  Michael  Scott  survives  in  many  a 
legend ;  and  in  the  south  of  Scotland,  any  work  of  great  labor 
and  antiquity  is  ascribed,  either  to  the  agencj  of  Auld 
Michael,  of  Sir  William  Wallace,  or  of  the  devil.  Tradition 
varies  concerning  the  place  of  his  burial ;  some  contend  for 
Home  Coltrame,  in  Cumberland ;  others  for  Melrose  Abbey. 
But  all  agree,  that  his  books  of  magic  were  interred  in  his 
grave,  or  preserved  in  the  convent  where  he  died.  Satchells, 
wishing  to  give  some  authority  for  his  account  of  the  origin 
of  the  name  of  Scott,  pretends  that,  in  1629,  he  chanced  to  be  at 
Burgh  under  Bowness,  in  Cumberland,  where  a  person,  named 
Lancelot  Scott,  showed  him  an  extract  from  Michael  Scott's 
works,  containing  that  story : — 

"  He  said  the  book  which  he  gave  me 
Was  of  Sir  Michael  Scott's  historic; 
Which  history  was  never  yet  read  through, 
Nor  never  will,  for  no  man  dare  it  do. 


The  ryche  and  pure  him  menyde  bath, 

For  of  his  dede  wes  mekil  skath." 
Some  years  ago,  a  person  digging  for  stones,  about  the  old 
castle  of  Hermitage,  broke  into  a  vault,  containing  a  quantity 
cf  chaff,  some  bones,  and  pieces  of  iron;  amongst  others,  the 
curb  of  an  ancient  bridle  which  the  author  has  since  given  to 
the  Earl  of  Dalhousie,  under  the  impression  that  it  possibly 
may  be  a  relic  of  his  brave  ancestor.  The  worthy  clergyman 
of  the  parish  has  mentioned  this  discovery  in  his  Statistical 
Account  of  Castletown. 


APPENDIX   TO    THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST   MINSTREL. 


53 


Young' scholars  have  pick'd  out  something 

From  the  contents,  that  dare  not  read  within. 

He  carried  me  along  the  castle  then, 

And  shew'd  his  written  hook  hanging  on  an  iron  pin. 

His  writing  pen  did  seem  to  me  to  be 

Of  hardened  metal,  like  steel,  or  accumie ; 

The  volume  of  it  did  seem  so  large  to  me, 

As  the  Book  of  Martyrs  and  Turks  historie. 

Then  in  the  church  he  let  me  see 

A  stone  where  Mr.  Michael  Scott  did  lie ; 

I  asked  at  him  how  that  could  appear, 

Mr.  Michael  had  been  dead  above  five  hundred  year? 

He  shew'd  me  none  durst  bury  under  that  stone, 

More  than  he  had  been  dead  a  few  years  agone ; 

For  Mr.  Michael's  name  does  terrifie  each  one." 

History  of  the  Right  Honorable  Name  of  Scott. 


Note  2  D. 

Salamanca's  cave. — P.  15. 

Spain,  from  the  relics,  doubtless,  of  Arabian  learning  and 
superstition,  was  accounted  a  favorite  residence  of  magicians. 
Pope  Sylvester,  who  actually  imported  from  Spain  the  use  of 
the  Arabian  numerals,  was  supposed  to  have  learned  there 
the  magic  for  which  he  was  stigmatized  by  the  ignorance  of 
his  age. — William  of  Malm-sbury,  lib.  ii.  cap.  10.  There  were 
public  schools,  where  magic,  or  rather  the  sciences  supposed 
to  involve  its  mysteries,  were  regularly  taught,  at  Toledo, 
Seville,  and  Salamanca.  In  the  latter  city,  they  were  held  in 
a  deep  cavern,  the  mouth  of  which  was  walled  up  by  Queen 
Isabella,  wife  of  King  Ferdinand. — D'Auton  on  Learned 
Incredulity,  p.  45.  These  Spanish  schools  of  magic  are  cele- 
brated also  by  the  Italian  poets  of  romance : — 

"  Questo  citta  di  Tolleto  solea 
Tenere  studio  di  negromanzia, 
Quivi  di  magica  arte  si  leggea 
Pubblieamente,  e  di  peromanzia ; 
E  molti  gcomanti  sempre  avea, 
Esperimenti  assai  d'  idromanzia 
E  d'  altre  false  opinion'  di  sciocchi 
Come  e  fatture,  o  spesso  batter  gli  occhi." 

H  Morgante  Maggiore,  canto  xxv.  St.  259. 

The  celebrated  magician  Maugis,  cousin  to  Rinaldo  of  Mont- 
alban,  called,  by  Ariosto,  Malagigi,  studied  the  black  art  at 
Toledo,  as  we  learn  from  VHistoire  de  Maugis  D'Aygremonl. 
He  even  held  a  professor's  chair  in  the  necromantic  univer- 
sity ;  for  so  I  interpret  the  passage,  "  qiCon  tores  les  sept  ars 
d'enchantement,  des  charmes  et  conjurations,  il  n'y  avail  meil- 
lieur  maistre  que  lui;  et  en  tel  renom  qu'on  le  laissoil  en 
chaise,  el  Vappelloii  on  maistre  Maugis."  This  Salamancan 
Domdaniel  is  said  to  have  been  founded  by  Hercules.  If  the 
classic  reader  inquires  where  Hercules  himself  learned  magic, 
he  may  consult  "Les  faicts  el  processes  du  noble  et  vaillant 
Hercules,"  where  he  will  learn  that  the  fable  of  his  aiding 
Atlas  to  support  the  heavens  arose  from  the  said  Atlas 
having  taught  Hercules,  the  noble  knight-errant,  the  seven 
liberal  sciences,  and  in  particular,  that  of  judicial  astrology. 
Such,  according  to  the  idea  of  the  middle  ages,  were  the 
studies,  "maximus  quce  docuit  Atlas." — In  a  romantic  history 
of  Roderic,  the  last  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  he  is  said  to  have 
entered  one  of  those  enchanted  caverns.  It  was  situated  be- 
neath an  ancient  tower  near  Toledo ;  and  when  the  iron  gates, 
which  secured  the  entrance,  were  unfolded,  there  rushed  forth 
so  dreadful  a  whirlwind,  that  hitherto  no  one  had  dared  to 
penetrate  into  its  recesses.  But  Roderic,  threatened  with  an 
invasion  of  the  Moors,  resolved  to  enter  the  cavern,  where  he 


expected  to  find  some  prophetic  intimation  of  the  event  of 
the  war.  Accordingly,  his  train  being  furnished  with  torches, 
so  artificially  composed  that  the  tempest  could  not  extinguish 
them,  the  King,  with  great  difficulty,  penetrated  into  a  square 
hall,  inscribed  all  over  with  Arabian  characters.  In  the 
midst  stood  a  colossal  statue  of  brass,  representing  a  Saracen 
wielding  a  Moorish  mace,  with  which  it  discharged  furious 
blows  on  all  sides,  and  seemed  thus  to  excite  the  tempest 
which  raged  around.  Being  conjured  by  Roderic,  it  ceased 
from  striking,  until  he  read,  inscribed  on  the  right  hand, 
"  Wretched  Monarch,  for  thy  evil  hast  thou  come  hither;"  on  the 
left  hand,  "Thou  shalt  be  dispossessed  by  a  strange  people;" 
on  one  shoulder,  "J  invoke  the  sons  of  Hagar ;"  on  the  other, 
"  /  do  mine  office."  When  the  King  had  deciphered  these 
ominous  inscriptions,  the  statue  returned  to  its  exercise,  the 
tempest  commenced  anew,  and  Roderic  retired,  to  mourn 
over  the  predicted  evils  which  approached  his  throne.  He 
caused  the  gates  of  the  cavern  to  be  locked  and  barricaded ; 
but,  in  the  course  of  the  night,  the  tower  fell  with  a  tremen- 
dous noise,  and  under  its  ruins  concealed  forever  the  entrance 
to  the  mystic  cavern.  The  conquest  of  Spain  by  the  Saracens, 
and  the  death  of  the  unfortunate  Don  Roderic,  fulfilled  the 
prophecy  of  the  brazen  statue. — Historia  verdadera  del  Rey 
Don  Rodrigo  por  el  Sabio  Alcayde  Abulcacim,  traduzeda  de  la 
lengua  Arabiga por  Miquel  de  Luna,  1654,  cap.  vi. 


Note  2  E. 
The  bells  would  ring  in  Notre  Dame. — P.  15. 

"  Tantamne  rem  tarn  negligenter  f  says  Tyrwhitt,  of  his 
predecessor,  Speight;  who,  in  his  commentary  on  Chaucer, 
had  omitted,  as  trivial  and  fabulous,  the  story  of  Wade  and 
his  boat  Guingelot,  to  the  great  prejudice  of  posterity,  the 
memory  of  the  hero  and  the  boat  being  now  entirely  lost.  That 
future  antiquaries  may  lay  no  such  omission  to  my  charge,  I 
have  noted  one  or  two  of  the  most  current  traditions  con- 
cerning Michael  Scott.  He  was  chosen,  it  is  said,  to  go  upon 
an  embassy,  to  obtain  from  the  King  of  France  satisfaction 
for  certain  piracies  committed  by  his  subjects  upoo  those  of 
Scotland.  Instead  of  preparing  a  new  equipage  and  splendid 
retinue,  the  ambassador  retreated  to  his  study,  opened  his 
book,  and  evoked  a  fiend  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  black  horse, 
mounted  upon  his  back,  and  forced  him  to  fly  through  the 
air  towards  France.  As  they  crossed  the  sea,  the  devil  insi- 
diously asked  his  rider,  What  it  was  that  the  old  women  of 
Scotland  muttered  at  bed-time  ?  A  less  experienced  wizard 
might  have  answered  that  it  was  the  Pater  Noster,  which 
would  have  licensed  the  devil  to  precipitate  him  from  his 
back.  But  Michael  sternly  replied,  "  What  is  that  to  thee? — 
Mount,  Diabolus,  and  fly !"  When  he  arrived  at  Paris,  he 
tied  his  horse  to  the  gate  of  the  palace,  entered,  and  boldly 
delivered  his  message.  An  ambassador,  with  so  little  of  the 
pomp  and  circumstance  of  diplomacy,  was  not  received  with 
much  respect,  and  the  King  was  about  to  return  a  contemptu- 
ous refusal  to  his  demand,  when  Michael  besought  him  to 
suspend  his  resolution  till  he  had  seen  his  horse  stamp  three 
times.  The  first  stamp  shook  every  steeple  in  Paris,  and 
caused  all  the  bells  to  ring;  the  second  threw  down  three  of 
the  towers  of  the  palace ;  and  the  infernal  steed  had  lifted  his 
hoof  to  give  the  third  stamp,  when  the  King  rather  chose  to 
dismiss  Michael,  with  the  most  ample  concessions,  than  to 
stand  to  the  probable  consequences.  Another  time,  it  is  said 
that,  when  residing  at  the  Tower  of  Oak  wood,  upon  the  Ettrick, 
about  three  miles  above  Selkirk,  he  heard  of  the  fame  of  a 
sorceress,  called  the  Witch  of  Falsehope,  who  lived  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  river.  Michael  went  one  morning  to  put 
her  skill  to  the  test,  but  was  disappointed,  by  her  denying 
positively  any  knowledge  of  the  necromantic  art.    In  his  dis- 


54 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


course  with  her,  he  laid  his  wand  inadvertently  on  the  table, 
which  the  hag  observing,  suddenly  snatched  it  up,  and  struck 
lii in  with  it.  Feeling  the  force  of  the  charm,  he  rushed  out 
of  the  house;  but,  as  it  had  conferred  on  him  the  external 
appearance  of  a  hare,  his  servant,  who  waited  without,  hal- 
looed upon  the  discomfited  wizard  his  own  greyhounds,  and 
pursued  him  so  close,  that,  in  order  to  obtain  a  moment's 
breathing  to  reverse  the  charm,  Michael,  after  a  very  fatiguing 
course,  was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  his  own  jawhole  {Anglice, 
common  sewer).  In  order  to  revenge  himself  of  the  Witch 
of  1  il- -hope,  Michael,  one  morning  in  the  ensuing  harvest, 
went  to  the  hill  above  the  house  with  his  dogs,  and  sent  down 
his  servant  to  ask  a  bit  of  bread  from  the  goodwife  for  his 
greyhounds,  with  instructions  what  to  do  if  he  met  with  a 
denial.  Accordingly,  when  the  witch  had  refused  the  boon 
with  contumely,  the  servant,  as  his  master  had  directed,  laid 
above  the  door  a  papei  which  he  had  given  him,  containing, 
amongst  many  cabalistical  words,  the  well-known  rhyme, — 

"  Maister  Michael  Scott's  man 
Sought  meat,  and  gat  nane." 

Immediately  the  good  old  woman,  instead  of  pursuing  her 
domestic  occupation,  which  was  baking  bread  for  the  reapers, 
began  to  dance  round  the  fire,  repeating  the  rhyme,  and 
continued  this  exercise  till  her  husband  sent  the  reapers  to 
the  house,  one  after  another,  to  see  what  had  delayed  their 
provision ;  but  the  charm  caught  each  as  they  entered,  and, 
losing  all  idea  of  returning,  they  joined  in  the  dance  and 
chorus.  At  length  the  old  man  himself  went  to  the  house; 
but  as  his  wife's  frolic  with  Mr.  Michael,  whom  he  had  seen 
on  the  hill,  made  him  a  little  cautious,  he  contented  himself 
with  looking  in  at  the  window,  and  saw  the  reapers  at  their 
involuntary  exercise,  dragging  his  wife,  now  completely  ex- 
hausted, sometimes  round,  and  sometimes  through,  the  fire, 
which  was,  as  usual,  in  the  midst  of  the  house.  Instead  of 
entering,  he  saddled  a  horse,  and  rode  up  the  hill,  to  humble 
himself  before  Michael,  and  beg  a  cessation  of  the  spell; 
which  the  good-natured  warlock  immediately  granted,  direct- 
ing him  to  enter  the  house  backwards,  and,  with  his  left  hand, 
take  the  spell  from  above  the  door ;  which  accordingly  ended 
the  supernatural  dance. — Tliis  tale  was  told  less  particularly 
in  former  editions,  and  I  have  been  censured  for  inaccuracy 
in  doing  so. — A  similar  charm  occurs  in  Huon  de  Bourdeaux, 
and  in  the  ingenious  Oriental  tale,  called  the  Caliph  Valhek. 

Notwithstanding  his  victory  over  the  Witch  of  Falsehope, 
Michael  Scott,  like  his  predecessor,  Merlin,  fell  at  last  a  vic- 
tim to  female  art.  His  wife,  or  concubine,  elicited  from  him 
the  secret  that  his  art  could  ward  off  any  danger  except  the 
poisonous  qualities  of  broth  made  of  the  flesh  of  a  breme  sow. 
Such  a  mess  she  accordingly  administered  to  the  wizard,  who 
died  in  consequence  of  eating  it ;  surviving,  however,  long 
enough  to  put  to  death  his  treacherous  confidant. 


Note  2  F. 


The  words  thai  cl-efl  Btidon  hills  in  three. — P.  15. 

Michael  Scott  was,  once  upon  a  time,  much  embarrassed 
by  a  spirit,  for  whom  he  was  under  the  necessity  of  finding 
constant  employment.  He  commanded  him  to  build  a  cauld, 
or  dam-head,  across  the  Tweed  at  Kelso;  it  was  accomplished 
in  one  night,  and  still  does  honor  to  the  infernal  architect. 
Michael  next  ordered  that  Eildon  hill,  which  was  then  a 
uniform  cone,  should  be  divided  into  three.  Another  night 
was  sufficient  to  part  its  summit  into  the  three  picturesque 
peaks  which  it  now  bears.  At  length  the  enchanter  con- 
quered this  indefatigable  demon,  by  employing  him  in  the 
hopeless  and  endless  task  of  making  ropes  out  of  sea-sand. 


Note  2  G. 

That  lamp  shall  burn  unquenchabty, 
L'/itil  the  eternal  duum  shall  be. — 1*.  16. 

Baptista  Porta,  and  other  authors  who  treat  of  natural  magic, 
talk  much  of  eternal  lamps,  pretended  to  have  been  found 
burning  in  ancient  sepulchres.  Fortunius  Licetus  investigates 
the  subject  in  a  treatise,  De  L/ueernis  Aniiquorum  Mecondi'is, 
published  at  Venice,  1621.  One  of  these  perpetual  lamps  is 
said  to  have  been  discovered  in  the  tomb  of  Tulliola,  the 
daughter  of  Cicero.  The  wick  was  supposed  to  be  composed 
of  asbestos.  Kircher  enumerates  three  different  recipes  for 
constructing  such  lamps;  and  wisely  concludes  that  the 
thing  is  nevertheless  impossible. — Mundus  Subterranneus,  p.  72. 
Delrio  imputes  the  fabrication  of  such  lights  to  magical 
skill. — Disquisitwnes  Magical,  p.  58.  In  a  very  rare  romance, 
which  "  treateth  of  the  life  of  Virgilius,  and  of  his  deth,  and 
many  marvayles  that  he  dyd  in  his  lyfe-time,  by  wychecrafte 
and  nygramancye,  throughe  the  helpe  of  the  devyls  of  hell," 
mention  is  made  of  a  very  extraordinary  process,  in  which  one 
of  these  mystical  lamps  was  employed.  It  seems  that  Virgil, 
as  he  advanced  in  years,  became  desirous  of  renovating  his 
youth  by  magical  art.  For  this  purpose  he  constructed  a  soli- 
tary tower,  having  only  one  narrow  portal,  in  which  he  placed 
twenty-four  copper  figures,  armed  with  iron  flails,  twelve  on 
each  side  of  the  porch.  These  enchanted  statues  struck  with 
their  flails  incessantly,  and  rendered  all  entrance  impossible, 
unless  when  Virgil  touched  the  spring  which  stopped  their 
motion.  To  this  tower  he  repaired  privately,  attended  by  one 
trusty  servant,  to  whom  he  communicated  the  secret  of  the 
entrance,  and  hither  they  conveyed  all  the  magician's  trea- 
sure. "  Then  sayde  Virgilius,  my  dere  beloved  frende,  and 
he  that  I  above  alle  men  truste  and  knowe  mooste  of  my 
secret ;"  and  then  he  led  the  man  into  a  cellar,  where  he 
made  a  fayer  lamp  at  all  seasons  burnynge.  "  And  then  sayd 
Virgilius  to  the  man,  '  Se  you  the  barrel  that  standeth  here  ?' 
and  he  sayd,  yea :  '  Therein  must  thou  put  me :  fyrst  ye  must 
slee  me,  and  hewe  me  smalle  to  pieces,  and  cut  my  bed  in 
iiii  pieces,  and  salte  the  heed  under  in  the  bottom,  and  then 
the  pieces  there  after,  and  my  hertc  in  the  myddel,  and  then 
set  the  barrel  under  the  lampe,  that  nyghte  and  day  the  fat 
therein  may  droppe  and  leake ;  and  ye  shall  ix  dayes  long, 
ones  in  the  day,  fyll  the  lampe,  and  fayle  nat.  And  when  this 
is  all  done,  then  shall  I  be  reneued,  and  made  yonge  agen.' " 
At  this  extraordinary  proposal,  the  confidant  was  sore  abashed, 
and  made  some  scruple  of  obeying  his  master's  commands. 
At  length,  however,  he  complied,  and  Virgil  was  slain,  pickled, 
and  barrelled  up,  in  all  respects  according  to  his  own  direc- 
tion. The  servant  then  left  the  tower,  taking  care  to  put  the 
copper  thrashers  in  motion  at  his  departure.  He  continued 
daily  to  visit  the  tower  with  the  same  precaution.  Mean- 
while, the  emperor,  with  whom  Virgil  was  a  great  favorite, 
missed  him  from  the  court,  and  demanded  of  his  servant  where 
he  was.  The  domestic  pretended  ignorance,  till  the  emperor 
threatened  him  with  death,  when  at  length  he  conveyed  him 
to  the  enchanted  tower.  The  same  threat  extorted  a  discovery 
of  the  mode  of  stopping  the  statues  from  wielding  their  flails. 
"  And  then  the  emperour  entered  into  the  castle  with  all  his 
folke,  and  sought  all  aboute  in  every  corner  after  Virgilius ; 
and  at  the  laste  they  sought  so  longe,  that  they  came  into  the 
seller,  where  they  sawe  the  lampe  hang  over  the  barrell, 
where  Virgilius  lay  in  deed.  Then  asked  the  emperour  the 
man,  who  had  made  hym  so  herdy  to  put  his  mayster  Virgi- 
lius so  to  dethe ;  and  the  man  answered  no  worde  to  the  em- 
perour. And  then  the  emperour,  with  great  anger,  drewe  out 
his  sworde,  and  slewe  he  there  Virgilius'  man.  And  when  all 
this  was  done,  then  sawe  the  emperour,  and  all  his  foulke,  a 
naked  child  iii  tymes  rennyngo  about  the  barrell,  saynge  thes^ 
wordes,  'Cursed  be  the  tyme  that  ye  ever  came  here.'  And 
with  those  words  vanyshed  the  chylde  awaye,  and  was  never 
sene  ageyn ;  and  thus  abyd  Virgilius  in  the  barrell  deed." — 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF    THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


55 


Hrgilius,  bl.  let.,  printed  at  Antwerp  by  John  Doesborcke. 
This  curious  volume  is  in  the  valuable  library  of  Mr.  Douce ; 
and  is  supposed  to  be  a  translation  from  the  French,  printed 
in  Flanders  for  the  English  market.  See  Goujel  Biblioth. 
Franc,  ix.  225.  Catalogue  de  la  Bikliotheque  Nationale,  torn.  ii. 
p.  5.    De  Bure,  No.  3857. 


Note  2  H. 


Then  Deloraine,  in  terror,  took 
From  the  cold  hand  the  Mighty  Book, 

He  thought,  as  he  took  it,  the  dead  man  frown' d. — P.  16. 

William  of  Deloraine  might  be  strengthened  in  this  belief 
by  the  well-known  story  of  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz.  When  the 
body  of  that  famous  Christian  champion  was  sitting  in  state 
by  the  high  altar  of  the  cathedral  church  of  Toledo,  where  it 
remained  for  ten  years,  a  certain  malicious  Jew  attempted  to 
pull  him  by  the  beard;  but  he  had  no  sooner  touched  the 
formidable  whiskers,  than  the  corpse  started  up,  and  half  un- 
sheathed his  sword.  The  Israelite  fled ;  and  so  permanent 
was  the  effect  of  his  terror,  that  he  became  Christian. — Hey- 
wood's  Hierarchie,  p.  480,  quoted  from  Sebastian  Cobarruvias 
Crozee. 


Note  2  I. 


The  Baron's  Dwarf  his  courser  held. — P.  18. 

The  idea  of  Lord  Cranstoun's  Goblin  Page  is  taken  from  a 
being  called  Gilpin  Horner,  who  appeared,  and  made  some 
stay,  at  a  farm-house  among  the  Border-mountains.  A  gen- 
tleman of  that  country  has  noted  down  the  following  particu- 
lars concerning  his  appearance : — 

"The  only  certain,  at  least  most  probable  account,  that 
ever  I  heard  of  Gilpin  Horner,  was  from  an  old  man,  of  the 
name  of  Anderson,  who  was  born  and  lived  all  his  life  at  Tod- 
shaw-hill,  in  Eskedale-muir,  the  place  where  Gilpin  appeared 
and  staid  for  some  time.  He  said  there  were  two  men,  late 
in  the  evening,  when  it  was  growing  dark,  employed  in  fas- 
tening the  horses  upon  the  uttermost  part  of  their  ground 
(that  is,  tying  their  forefeet  together,  to  hinder  them  from 
travelling  far  in  the  night),  when  they  heard  a  voice,  at  some 
distance,  crying,  'Tint!  Tint!  Tint!'1  One  of  the  men, 
named  Moffat,  called  out,  'What  deil  has  tint  you?  Come 
here.'  Immediately  a  creature,  of  something  like  a  human 
form,  appeared.  It  was  surprisingly  little,  distorted  in  fea- 
tures, and  misshapen  in  limbs.  As  soon  as  the  two  men 
could  see  it  plainly,  they  ran  home  in  a  great  fright,  imagin- 
ing they  had  met  with  some  goblin.  By  the  way,  Moffat 
fell,  and  it  ran  over  him,  and  was  home  at  the  house  as  soon 
as  either  of  them,  and  staid  there  a  long  time ;  but  I  cannot 
say  how  long.  It  was  real  flesh  and  blood,  and  ate  and 
drank,  was  fond  of  cream,  and,  when  it  could  get  at  it,  would 
destroy  a  great  deal.  It  seemed  a  mischievous  creature ;  and 
any  of  the  children  whom  it  could  master,  it  would  beat  and 
scratch  without  mercy.  It  was  once  abusing  a  child  belong- 
ing to  the  same  Moffat,  who  had  been  so  frightened  by  its  first 
appearance ;  and  he,  in  a  passion,  struck  it  so  violent  a  blow 
upon  the  side  of  the  head,  that  it  tumbled  upon  the  ground ; 
but  it  was  not  stunned ;  for  it  set  up  its  head  directly,  and 
exclaimed,  'Ah,  hah,  Will  o'  Moffat,  you  strike  sair!'  (viz. 
sore).  After  it  had  staid  there  long,  one  evening,  when  the 
women  were  milking  the  cows  in  the  loan,  it  was  playing 
among  the  children  near  by  them,  when  suddenly  they  heard 
a  loud  shrill  voice  cry   three   times,  '  Gilpin  Horner ! '     It 

1  Tint  signifies  lost. 


started,  and  said,  '  That  is  me,  I  must  aicay,'  and  instantly 
disappeared,  and  was  never  heard  of  more.  Old  Anderson 
did  not  remember  it,  but  said,  be  had  often  heard  his  father, 
and  other  old  men  in  the  place,  who  were  there  at  the  time, 
speak  about  it ;  and  in  my  younger  years  I  have  often  heard 
it  mentioned,  and  never  met  with  any  who  had  the  remotest 
doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  the  story ;  although,  I  must  own,  I 
cannot  help  thinking  there  must  be  some  misrepresentation 
in  it." — To  this  account,  I  have  to  add  the  following  particu- 
lars from  the  most  respectable  authority.  Besides  constantly 
repeating  the  word  tint !  lint !  Gilpin  Horner  was  often  heard 
to  call  upon  Peter  Bertram,  or  Be-te-ram,  as  he  pronounced 
the  word;  and  when  the  shrill  voice  called  Gilpin  Horner, 
he  immediately  acknowledged  it  was  the  summons  of  the 
said  Peter  Bertram :  who  seems  therefore  to  have  been  the 
devil  who  had  tint,  or  lost,  the  little  imp.  As  much  has  been 
objected  to  Gilpin  Horner,  on  account  of  his  being  supposed 
rather  a  device  of  the  author  than  a  popular  superstition,  I 
can  only  say,  that  no  legend  which  I  ever  heard  seemed  to  be 
more  universally  credited ;  and  that  many  persons  of  very 
good  rank,  and  considerable  information,  are  well  known  to 
repose  absolute  faith  in  the  tradition. 


Note  2  K. 


But  the  Ladye  of  Branksome  gather' d  a  band 

Of  the  best  that  would  ride  at  her  command. — P.  18. 

"  Upon  25th  June,  1557,  Dame  Janet  Beatoune,  Lady  Buc- 
cleuch,  and  a  great  number  of  the  name  of  Scott,  delaitit 
(accused)  for  coming  to  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  to 
the  number  of  two  hundred  persons  bodin  in  feire  of  weire 
(arrayed  in  armor),  and  breaking  open  the  door  of  the  said 
kirk,  in  order  to  apprehend  the  Laird  of  Cranstoune  for  his 
destruction."  On  the  20th  July,  a  warrant  from  the  Queen 
is  presented,  discharging  the  justice  to  proceed  against  the 
Lady  Buccleuch  while  new  calling. — Abridgment  of  Books  of 
Adjournal,  in  Advocates'  Library.  The  following  proceedings 
upon  this  case  appear  on  the  record  of  the  Court  of  Justiciary : 
On  the  25th  of  June,  1557,  Robert  Scott,  in  Bowhill  parish, 
priest  of  the  kirk  of  St.  Mary's,  accused  of  the  convocation  of 
the  Queen's  lieges,  to  the  number  of  two  hundred  persons,  in 
warlike  array,  with  jacks,  helmets,  and  other  weapons,  and 
marching  to  the  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes,  for  the 
slaughter  of  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  out  of  ancient  feud  and 
malice  prepense,  and  of  breaking  the  doors  of  the  said  kirk, 
is  repledged  by  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow.  The  bail  given 
by  Robert  Scott  of  Allanhaugh,  Adam  Scott  of  Burnfute, 
Robert  Scott  in  Howfurde,  Walter  Scott  in  Todshawhaugh, 
Walter  Scott  younger  of  Synton,  Thomas  Scott  of  Hayniug, 
Robert  Scott,  William  Scott,  and  James  Scott,  brothers  of  the 
said  Walter  Scott,  Walter  Scott  in  the  Woll,  and  Walter  Scott, 
son  of  William  Scott  of  Harden,  and  James  Wemyss  in  Eck- 
ford,  all  accused  of  the  same  crime,  is  declared  to  be  forfeited. 
On  the  same  day,  Walter  Scott  of  Synton,  and  Walter  Chis- 
holme  of  Chisholme,  and  William  Scott  of  Harden,  became 
bound,  jointly  and  severally,  that  Sir  Peter  Cranstoun,  and 
his  kindred  and  servants,  should  receive  no  injury  from  them 
in  future.  At  the  same  time,  Patrick  Murray  of  Fallohill, 
Alexander  Stuart,  uncle  to  the  Laird  of  Trakwhare,  John 
Murray  of  Newhall,  John  Fairlye,  residing  in  Selkirk,  George 
Tait,  younger  of  Pirn,  John  Pennycuke  of  Pennycuke, 
James  Ramsay  of  Cokpen,  the  Laird  of  Fassyde,  and  the 
Laird  of  Henderstoune,  were  all  severally  fined  for  not  at- 
tending as  jurors ;  being  probably  either  in  alliance  with  the 
accused  parties,  or  dreading  their  vengeance.  Upon  the  20th 
of  July  following,  Scott  of  Synton,  Chisholme  of  Chisholme, 
Scott  of  Harden,  Scott  of  Howpaslie,  Scott  of  Burnfute,  with 
many  others,  are  ordered  to  appear  at  next  calling,  under  the 
pains  of  treason.     But  no  farther  procedure  seems  to  have 


56 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


taken  place.    It  is  said  that,  upon  this  rising,  the  kirk  of  St. 
Mary  was  burnt  by  the  Scotts. 


Note  2  L. 


Like  a  book-bosom'd  priest. — P.  19. 

"At  Unthank,  two  miles  N.  E.  from  the  church  (of  Ewes), 
there  are  the  ruins  of  a  chapel  for  divine  service,  in  time  of 
Popery.  There  is  a  tradition,  that  friars  were  wont  to  come 
from  Melrose  or  Jedburgh,  to  baptize  and  marry  in  this 
parish  ;  and  from  being  in  use  to  carry  the  mass-book  in  their 
bosoms,  they  were  called  by  the  inhabitants,  Book-a-bosomes. 
There  is  a  man  yet  alive  who  knew  old  men  who  had  been 
baptized  by  these  Book-a-bosomcs,  and  who  says  one  of  them, 
called  Hair,  used  this  parish  for  a  very  long  time." — Account 
of  Parish  of  Ewes,  apud  Macfarlane's  MSS. 


Note  2  M. 


All  was  delusion,  nought  was  truth. — P.  20. 

Glamour,  in  the  legends  of  Scottish  superstition,  means  the 
magic  power  of  imposing  on  the  eyesight  of  the  spectators,  so 
that  the  appearance  of  an  object  shall  be  totally  different 
from  the  reality.  The  transformation  of  Michael  Scott  by  the 
Witch  of  Falsehope,  already  mentioned,  was  a  genuine  opera- 
tion of  glamour.  To  a  similar  charm  the  ballad  of  Johnny 
Fa'  imputes  the  fascination  of  the  lovely  Countess,  who  eloped 
with  that  gypsy  leader : — 

"  Sae  soon  as  they  saw  her  weel-far'd  face, 
They  cast  the  glamour  o'er  her." 

It  was  formerly  used  even  in  war.  In  1381,  when  the  Duke 
of  Anjou  lay  before  a  strong  castle,  upon  the  coast  of  Naples, 
a  necromancer  offered  to  "  make  the  ayre  so  thycke,  that 
they  within  shall  thynke  that  there  is  a  great  bridge  on  the 
see  (by  which  the  castle  was  surrounded)  for  ten  men  to  go  a 
front;  and  whan  they  within  the  castle  se  this  bridge,  they 
will  be  so  afrayde,  that  they  shall  yelde  them  to  your  mercy. 
The  Duke  demanded, — '  Fayre  Master,  on  this  bridge  that  ye 
speke  of,  may  our  people  assuredly  go  thereon  to  the  castell, 
to  assayle  it?' — 'Syr,'  quod  the  enchantour,  'I  dare  not  as- 
sure you  that ;  for  if  any  that  passeth  on  the  bridge  make  the 
signe  of  the  crossc  on  hym,  all  shall  go  to  noughte,  and  they 
that  be  on  the  bridge  shall  fall  into  the  see.'  Then  the  Duke 
began  to  laugh ;  and  a  certain  of  young  knightes,  that  were 
there  present,  said,  '  Syr,  for  godsake,  let  the  mayster  assey 
his  cunning:  we  shall  leve  making  of  any  signe  of  the  crosse 
on  us  for  that  tyme.'"  The  Earl  of  Savoy,  shortly  after,  entered 
the  tent,  and  recognized  in  the  enchanter  the  same  person 
who  had  put  the  castle  into  the  power  of  Sir  Charles  de  la 
Payx,  who  then  held  it,  by  persuading  the  garrison  of  the 
Queen  of  Naples,  through  magical  deception,  that  the  sea  was 
coming  over  the  walls.  The  sage  avowed  the  feat,  and  added, 
that  he  was  the  man  in  the  world  most  dreaded  bySirCharles 
de  la  Payx.  "'By  my  fayth,'  quod  the  Earl  of  Savoy,  'ye 
say  well;  and  I  will  that  Syr  Charles  de  la  Payx  shall  know 
that  he  hath  gret  wronge  to  fear  yon.  But  I  shall  assure  hym 
of  you;  for  ye  shall  never  do  enchantment  to  deceyve  hym, 
nor  yet  none  other.  I  wolde  nat  that  in  tyme  to  come  we 
shulde  be  reproached  that  in  so  high  an  enterprise  as  we  be 
in,  wherein  there  be  so  many  noble  knyghtes  and  squyres 
assembled,  that  we  shulde  do  any  thyng  be  enchantment,  nor 
that  we  shulde  wyn  our  enemys  be  suche  crafte.'    Then  he 


called  to  him  a  servaunt,  and  said,  'Go,  and  get  a  hangman, 
and  let  him  stryke  off  this  mayster's  heed  without  delay  ;'  and 
as  soone  as  the  Erie  had  commanded  it,  incontynent  it  was 
done,  for  his  heed  was  stryken  of  before  the  Erie's  tent."— 
Fkoissart,  vol.  i.  eh.  391,  392. 

The  art  of  glamour,  or  other  fascination,  was  anciently  a 
principal  part  of  the  skill  of  the  jongleur,  or  juggler,  whoM 
tricks  formed  much  of  the  amusement  of  a  Gothic  cast]  . 
Some  instances  of  this  art  may  be  found  in  the  Minstrelsy  t/ 
the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  iv.  p.  1U0.  In  a  strange  allegorical 
poem,  called  the  Houlat,  written  by  a  dependent  of  the  house 
of  Douglas,  about  1452-3,  the  jay,  in  an  assembly  of  birds, 
plays  the  part  of  the  juggler.  His  feats  of  glamour  are  thus 
described : — 

"  He  gart  them  see,  as  it  semyt  in  samyn  houre, 

Hunting  at  herdis  in  holtis  so  hair; 
Some  sailand  on  the  see  schippis  of  toure, 
Bernis  battalland  on  burd  brim  as  a  bare ; 
He  coulde  carye  the  coup  of  the  kingis  des, 
Syne  leve  in  the  stede, 
Bot  a  black  bunwede ; 
He  could  of  a  henis  hede 
Make  a  man  mes. 

"  He  gart  the  Emproure  trow,  and  trewlye  behald, 

That  the  corncraik,  the  pundere  at  hand, 
Had  poyndit  all  his  pris  hors  in  a  poynd  fald, 

Because  thai  ete  of  the  corn  in  the  kirkland. 
He  could  wirk  windaris,  quhat  way  that  he  wald, 

Mak  a  gray  gus  a  gold  garland, 
A  lang  spere  of  a  bittile,  for  a  berne  bald, 

Nobilis  of  nutschelles,  and  silver  of  sand. 
Thus  joukit  with  juxters  the  janglane  ja, 

Fair  ladyes  in  ringis, 

Knychtis  in  caralyngis, 

Bayth  dansis  and  singis, 
It  semyt  as  sa." 


Note  2  N. 


Now,  if  you  ask  who  gave  the  stroke, 

I  cannot  tell,  so  mot  I  thrive; 

It  was  not  given  by  man  alive. — P.  20. 

Dr.  Henry  More,  in  a  letter  prefixed  to  Glanville's  Sadu- 
cismus  Triumphalus,  mentions  a  similar  phenomenon. 

"  I  remember  an  old  gentleman  in  the  country,  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, an  excellent  justice  of  the  peace,  and  a  piece  of  a 
mathematician  ;  but  what  kind  of  a  philosopher  he  was,  you 
may  understand  from  a  rhyme  of  his  own  making,  which  he 
commended  to  me  at  my  taking  horse  in  his  yard,  which  rhyme 
is  this: — 

'  Ens  is  nothing  till  sense  finds  out : 

Sense  ends  in  nothing,  so  naught  goes  about.' 

Which  rhyme  of  his  was  so  rapturous  to  himself,  that,  on  the 
reciting  of  the  second  verse,  the  old  man  turned  himself  about 
npon  his  toe  as  nimbly  as  one  may  observe  a  dry  leaf  whisked 
round  the  corner  of  an  orchard  walk  by  some  little  whirl- 
wind. With  this  philosopher  I  have  had  many  discourses 
concerning  the  Immortality  of  the  soul  and  its  distinction; 
when  I  have  run  him  quite  down  by  reason,  he  would  but 
laugh  at  me,  and  say  this  is  logic,  H.  (calling  mc  by  my  Chris- 
tian name),  to  which  I  replied,  this  is  reason,  father  L.  (for 
so  I  used  and  some  others  to  call  him);  but  it  seems  you  are 
for  the  new  lights,  and  immediate  inspiration,  which  I  con- 
fess he  was  as  little  for  as  for  the  other;  but  I  said  so  only 
in  the  way  of  drollery  to  him  in  those  times,  but  truth  is. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


nothing  but  palpable  experience  would  move  him ;  and  being 
a  bold  man,  and  fearing  nothing,  he  told  me  he  had  used  all 
the  magical  ceremonies  of  conjuration  he  could,  to  raise  the 
devil  or  a  spirit,  and  had  a  most  earnest  desire  to  meet  with 
one,  but  never  could  do  it.  But  this  he  told  me,  when  he  did 
not  so  much  as  think  of  it,  while  his  servant  was  pulling  oif 
his  boots  in  the  hall,  some  invisible  hand  gave  him  such  a 
clap  upon  the  back,  that  it  made  all  ring  again  ;  '  so,'  thought 
he  now,  '  I  am  invited  to  the  converse  of  my  spirit,'  and 
therefore,  so  soon  as  his  boots  were  off,  and  his  shoes  on,  out 
he  goes  into  the  yard  and  next  field,  to  find  out  the  spirit  that 
had  given  him  this  familiar  clap  on  the  back,  but  found  none 
neither  in  the  yard  nor  field  next  to  it. 

"  But  though  he  did  not  feel  this  stroke,  albeit  he  thought 
it  afterwards  (finding  nothing  came  of  it)  a  mere  delusion; 
yet  not  long  before  his  death,  it  had  more  force  with  him  than 
all  the  philosophical  arguments  I  could  use  to  him,  though  I 
could  wind  him  and  nonplus  him  as  I  pleased ;  but  yet  all  my 
arguments,  how  solid  soever,  made  no  impression  upon  him  ; 
wherefore,  after  several  reasonings  of  this  nature,  whereby  I 
would  prove  to  him  the  soul's  distinction  from  the  body,  and 
its  immortality,  when  nothing  of  such  subtile  consideration 
did  any  more  execution  on  his  mind  than  some  lightning  is 
said  to  do,  though  it  melts  the  sword,  on  the  fuzzy  consist- 
ency of  the  scabbard, — 'Well,'  said  I,  'father  L.,  though 
none  of  these  things  move  you,  I  have  something  still  behind, 
and  what  yourself  has  acknowledged  to  be  true,  that  may  do 
the  business : — Do  you  remember  the  clap  on  your  back  when 
your  servant  was  pulling  off  your  boots  in  the  hall?  Assure 
yourself,'  says  I, '  father  L.,  that  goblin  will  be  the  first  to  bid 
you  welcome  into  the  other  world.'  Upon  that  his  counte- 
nance changed  most  sensibly,  and  he  was  more  confounded 
with  this  rubbing  up  his  memory,  than  with  all  the  rational 
or  philosophical  argumentations  that  I  could  produce." 


Note  2  O. 


The  running  stream  dissolved  the  spell. — P.  20. 

It  is  a  firm  article  of  popular  faith,  that  no  enchantment 
can  subsist  in  a  living  stream.  Nay,  if  you  can  interpose  a 
brook  betwixt  you  and  witches,  spectres,  or  even  fiends,  you 
are  in  perfect  safety.  Burns's  inimitable  Tarn  o'  Shanter 
turns  entirely  upon  such  a  circumstance.  The  belief  seems 
to  be  of  antiquity.  Brompton  informs  us,  that  certain  Irish 
wizards  could,  by  spells,  convert  earthen  clods,  or  stones,  into 
fat  pigs,  which  they  sold  in  the  market,  but  which  always 
reassumed  their  proper  form  when  driven  by  the  deceived 
purchaser  across  a  running  stream.  But  Brompton  is  severe 
on  the  Irish  for  a  very  good  reason.  "  Gens  ista  spurcissima 
non  solvunt  decimas." — Chronicon  Johannis  Brompton  apud 
decern,  Scriptores,  p.  1076. 


Note  2  P. 

He  never  counted  him  a  man, 

Would  strike  below  the  knee. — P.  21. 

Imitated  from  Drayton's  account  of  Robin  Hood  and  his 
followers : — 

"  A  hundred  valiant  men  had  this  brave  Robin  Hood, 
Still  ready  at  bis  call,  that  bowmen  were  right  good; 
All  clad  in  Lincoln  green,  with  caps  of  red  and  blue, 
His  fellow's  winded  horn  not  one  of  them  but  knew. 


When  setting  to  their  lips  their  bugles  shrill, 

The  warbling  echoes  waked  from  every  dale  and  hill ; 

Their  baldrics  set  with  studs  athwart  their  shoulders  cast, 

To  which  under  their  arms  their  sheafs  were  buckled  fast, 

A  short  sword  at  their  belt,  a  buckler  scarce  a  span, 

Who  struck  below  the  knee  not  counted  then  a  man. 

All  made  of  Spanish  yew,  their  bows  were  wondrous  strong, 

They  not  an  arrow  drew  but  was  a  cloth-yard  long. 

Of  archery  they  had  the  very  perfect  craft, 

With  broad  arrow,  or  but,  or  prick,  or  roving  shaft." 

Poly-Albion,  song  26. 

To  wound  an  antagonist  in  the  thigh,  or  leg,  was  reckoned 
contrary  to  the  law  of  anus.  In  a  tilt  betwixt  Gawain  Mi- 
chael, an  English  squire,  and  Joachim  Cathore,  a  Frenchman. 
"  they  met  at  the  speare  poyntes  rudely ;  the  French  squyer 
justed  right  pleasantly  ;  the  Englishman  ran  too  lowe,  for  he 
strak  the  Frenchman  depe  into  the  thigh.  Wherewith  the 
Erie  of  Buckingham  was  right  sore  displeased,  and  so  were  all 
the  other  lords,  and  sayde  how  it  was  shamefully  done." — 
Froissaet,  vol.  i.  chap.  366.  Upon  a  similar  occasion,  "  the 
two  knyghts  came  a  fote  eche  against  other  rudely,  with  their 
speares  low  couched,  to  stryke  eche  other  within  the  foure 
quarters.  Johan  of  Castell-Morant  strake  the  English  squyer 
on  the  brest  in  such  wyse,  that  Syr  Wyllyam  Ferrnetone 
stombled  and  bowed,  for  his  fote  a  lyttel  fayled  him.  He 
helde  his  speare  lowe  with  both  his  handes,  and  coude  nat 
amende  it,  and  strake  Syr  Johan  of  the  Castell-Morant  in  the 
thighe,  so  that  the  speare  went  clene  throughe,  that  the  heed 
was  sene  a  handfull  on  the  other  syde.  And  Syr  Johan  with 
the  stroke  reled,  but  he  fell  nat.  Than  the  Englyshe  knyghtes 
and  squyers  were  ryghte  sore  displeased,  and  sayde  how  it 
was  a  foule  stroke.  Syr  Wyllyam  Ferrnetone  excused  him- 
selfe,  and  sayde  how  he  was  sorie  of  that  adventure,  and  howe 
that  yf  he  had  knowen  that  it  shulde  have  bene  so,  he  wolde 
never  have  begon  it;  sayenge  how  he  could  nat  amende  it, 
by  cause  of  glaunsing  of  his  fote  by  constraynt  of  the  great 
stroke  that  Syr  Johan  of  the  Castell-Morant  had  given  him." 
— Fkoissaet,  vol.  i.  chap.  373. 


Note  2  Q. 

She  drew  the  splinter  from  the  icound, 
And  with  a  charm  she  stanch'd  the  blood. — P.  21. 

See  several  charms  for  this  purpose  in  Reginald  Scot'; 
Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  p.  273. 

"  Tom  Potts  was  but  a  serving  man, 
But  yet  he  was  a  doctor  good  ; 
He  bound  his  handkerchief  on  the  wound, 
And  with  some  kinds  of  words  he  stanched  the  blood." 
Pieces  of  Ancient  Popular  Poetry,  Lond.  1791,  p.  131. 


Note  2  R. 


Bui  she  has  ta'en  the  broken  lance, 
And  wash'd  it  from  the  clotted  gore, 
And  salved  the  splinter  o'er  and  o'er. — P.  22. 

Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  in  a  discourse  upon  the  cure  by  sympa- 
thy, pronounced  at  Montpellier  before  an  assembly  of  nobles 
and  learned  men,  translated  into  English  by  R.  White,  gen- 
tleman, and  published  in  1658,  gives  us  the  following  curious 
surgical  case : — 

"  Mr.  James  Howel   (well  known  in  France  for  his  public 


•VS 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


works,  and  particularly  for  his  Dendrologie,  translated  into 
French  by  Mods.  Haudouin)  coming  by  chance,  as  two  of  his 
best  blends  were  fighting  in  duel,  he  did  his  endeavor  to 
part  them;  and,  patting  bdmselfe  between  them,  seized,  with 
his  left  hand,  upon  the  hilt  of  the  sword  of  one  of  the  com- 
batants, while  witli  his  right  hand,  he  laid  hold  of  the  blade 
of  the  other.  They,  being  transported  with  fury  one  against 
the  other,  struggled  to  rid  themselves  of  the  hindrance  their 
friend  made,  that  they  should  not  kill  one  another ;  and  one 
of  them  roughly  drawing  the  blade  of  his  sword,  cuts  to  the 
very  hone  the  nerves  and  muscles  of  Mr.  Howel's  hand*  and 
then  the  other  disengaged  his  hilts,  and  gave  a  crosse  blow  on 
hi.-,  adversaries  head,  which  glanced  towards  his  Mend,  who 
heaving  up  his  sore  hand  to  save  the  blow,  he  was  wounded  on 
the  back  of  his  hand  as  he  had  been  before  within.  It  seems 
some  strange  constellation  reigned  then  against  him,  that  he 
should  lose  so  much  bloud  by  parting  two  such  dear  friends, 
who,  had  they  been  themselves,  would  have  hazarded  both 
their  lives  to  have  preserved  his;  but  this  involuntary  effusion 
of  bloud  by  them,  prevented  that  which  they  sholde  have 
drawn  one  from  the  other.  For  they,  seeing  Mr.  Howel's  face 
besmeared  with  bloud,  by  heaving  up  his  wounded  hand,  they 
both  ran  to  embrace  him ;  and,  having  searched  his  hurts, 
they  bound  up  his  hand  with  one  of  his  garters,  to  close  the 
veins  which  were  cut,  and  bled  abundantly.  They  brought 
him  home,  and  sent  for  a  surgeon.  But  this  being  heard  at 
court,  the  King  sent  one  of  his  own  surgeons ;  for  his  Majesty 
much  affected  the  said  Mr.  Howel. 

•'  It  was  my  chance  to  be  lodged  hard  by  him ;  and  four  or 
five  days  after,  as  I  was  making  myself  ready,  he  came  to  my 
house,  and  prayed  me  to  view  his  wounds ;  '  for  I  understand,' 
said  he,  '  that  you  have  extraordinary  remedies  on  such  occa- 
sions, and  my  surgeons  apprehend  some  fear  that  it  may  grow 
to  a  gangrene,  and  so  the  hand  must  be  cut  off.'  In  effect,  his 
countenance  discovered  that  he  was  in  much  pain,  which  he- 
said  was  insupportable,  in  regard  of  the  extreme  inflamma- 
tion. I  told  him  I  would  willingly  serve  him ;  but  if  haply  he 
knew  the  manner  how  I  would  cure  him,  without  touching  or 
seeing  him,  it  may  be  he  would  not  expose  himself  to  my  man- 
ner of  curing,  because  he  would  think  it,  peradventure,  either 
ineffectual  or  superstitious.  He  replied,  'the  wonderful 
things  which  many  have  related  unto  me  of  your  way  of 
medicament,  makes  me  nothing  doubt  at  all  of  its  efficacy; 
and  all  that  I  have  to  say  unto  you  is  comprehended  in  the 
Spanish  proverb,  Haga-se  el  milagro  y  hagalo  Mahoma — Let  the 
miracle  be  done,  though  Mahomet  do  it.' 

"  I  asked  him  then  for  any  thing  that  had  the  blood  upon  it ; 
so  he  presently  sent  for  his  garter,  wherewith  his  hand  was 
first  bound  ;  and  as  I  called  for  a  bason  of  water,  as  if  I  would 
wa-h  my  hands,  I  took  a  handful  of  powder  of  vitriol,  which 
I  had  in  my  study,  and  presently  dissolved  it.  As  soon  as  the 
bloudy  garter  was  brought  me,  I  put  it  within  the  bason,  ob- 
serving, in  the  interim,  what  Mr.  Howel  did,  who  stood  talking 
with  a  gentleman  in  a  corner  of  my  chamber,  not  regarding 
at  all  what  I  was  doing;  but  he  started  suddenly,  as  if  lie  had 
found  some  strange  alteration  in  himself  I  asked  him  what 
he  ailed?  '  I  know  not  what  ailes  me ;  but  I  finde  that  I  feel 
no  more  pain.  Methiuks  that  a  pleasing  kinde  of  freshnesse, 
a-  it  were  a  wet  cold  napkin,  did  spread  over  my  hand,  which 
hath  taken  away  the  inflammation  that  tormented  me  before.' 
—I  replied,  'Since  then  that  you  feel  already  so  good  effect  of 
my  medicament,  I  advise  you  to  cast  away  all  your  playsters; 
only  keep  the  wound  clean,  and  in  a  moderate  temper  betwixt 
bent  and  cold.'  This  was  presently  reported  to  the  Duke  of 
Buckingham,  and  a  little  after  to  the  King,  who  were  both 
very  curious  to  know  the  circumstance  of  the  buslnesse,  which 
was,  that  after  dinner  I  took  the  garter  out  of  the  water,  and 
put  it  to  dry  before  a  great  fire.  It  was  scarce  dry,  but  Mr. 
Howel's  servant  came  running,  that  his  master  felt  as  much 
burning  as  ever  he  had  done,  if  not  more;  for  the  heat  was 
such  as  if  his  hand  were  'twixt  coles  of  fire.  I  answered,  al- 
though that  had  happened  at  present,  yet  he  should  find  ease 


in  a  short  time ;  for  I  knew  the  reason  of  this  new  accident, 
and  would  provide  accordingly;  for  his  master  should  be  free 
from  that  inflammation,  it  may  be  before  he  could  possibly 
return  to  him ;  but  in  case  he  found  no  ease,  I  wished  hint  to 
come  presently  back  again;  if  not,  he  might  forbear  coming. 
Thereupon  he  went;  and  at  the  instant  I  did  put  again  the 
garter  into  the  water,  thereupon  he  found  his  master  without 
any  pain  at  all.  To  be  brief,  there  was  no  sense  of  pain  after- 
ward; but  within  five  or  six  dayes  the  wounds  were  cicatrized, 
and  entirely  healed." — Page  6. 

The  King  (James  VI.)  obtained  from  Sir  Kenelm  the  dis- 
covery of  his  secret,  which  he  pretended  had  been  taught 
him  by  a  Carmelite  friar,  who  had  learned  it  in  Armenia  or 
Persia.  Let  not  the  age  of  animal  magnetism  and  metallic 
tractors  smile  at  the  sympathetic  powder  of  Sir  Kenelm 
Digby.    Reginald  Scot    mentions  the  same  mode  of  cure  in 

these  terms : — "  And  that  which  is  more  strange 

they  can  remedie  anie  stranger  with  that  verie  sword  where- 
with they  are  wounded.  Yea,  and  that  which  is  beyond  all 
admiration,  if  they  stroke  the  sword  upward  with  their 
fingers,  the  partie  shall  feele  no  pain  ;  whereas,  if  they  draw 
their  fingers  downwards,  thereupon  the  partie  wounded  shall 
feele  intolerable  pain."  I  presume  that  the  success  ascribed 
to  the  sympathetic  mode  of  treatment  might  arise  from  the 
pains  bestowed  in  washing  the  wound,  and  excluding  the  air, 
thus  bringing  on  a  cure  by  the  first  intention.  It  is  intro- 
duced by  Dryden  in  the  Enchanted  Island,  a  (very  unneces- 
sary) alteration  of  the  Tempest: — 

"Ariel.  Anoint  the  sword  which  pierced  him  with  this 
Weapon-salve,  and  wrap  it  close  from  air, 
Till  I  have  time  to  visit  him  again." — Act  v.  sc.  2. 

Again,  in  scene  4th,  Miranda  enters  with  Hippolito'a  sword 
wrapt  up : — 

"  Hip.  O  my  wound  pains  me ! 

Mir.  I  am  come  to  ease  you.    [She  unwraps  the  Sword.] 

Hip.  Alas,  I  feel  the  cold  air  come  to  me ; 
My  wound  shoots  worse  than  ever. 

Mir.  Does  it  still  grieve  you?    [She  wipes  and  anoints  the 
Sword.] 

Hip.  Now,  methinks,  there's  something  laid  just  upon  it. 

Mir.  Do  you  find  no  ease? 

Hip.  Yes,  yes ;  upon  the  sudden  all  this  pain 
Is  leaving  me.    Sweet  heaven,  how  I  am  eased!" 


Note  2  S. 


On  Penchryst  glows  a  bale  of  fire. — P.  22. 

Bale,  beacon-fagot.  The  Border  beacons,  from  their  num- 
ber and  position,  formed  a  sort  of  telegraphic  communication 
with  Edinburgh. — The  act  of  Parliament  1455,  c.  48,  directs, 
that  one  bale  or  fagot  shall  be  warning  of  the  approach  of 
the  English  in  any  manner;  two  bales  that  they  are  coming 
indeed;  four  bales,  blazing  beside  each  other,  that  the 
enemy  are  in  great  force.  "The  same  taikenings  to  he 
watched  and  maid  at  Eggerhope  (Eggerstand)  Castell,  fra 
they  se  the  fire  of  Hume,  thai  they  fire  right  swa.  And  in 
like  manner  on  Sowtra  Edge,  sail  se  the  fire  of  Eggerhope 
Castell,  and  mak  taikening  in  like  manner:  And  then  may 
all  Louth aine  be  warned,  and  in  special  the  Castell  of  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  their  four  fires  to  be  made  in  like  manner,  that 
they  in  Fife,  and  fra  Striveling  east,  and  the  east  part  of 
Louthaine,  and  to  Dunbar,  all  may  se  them,  and  come  to  the 
defence  of  the  realme."  These  beacons  (at  least  in  latter 
times)  were  a  "  long  and  strong  tree  set  up,  with  a  long  iron 


APPENDIX    TO   THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST   MINSTREL. 


59 


pole  across  the  head  of  it,  and  an  iron  brander  fixed  on  a  stalk 
in  the  middle  of  it,  for  holding  a  tar-barrel." — Stevenson's 
History,  vol.  ii.  p.  701. 


Note  2  T. 


Our  kin,  and  clan,  and  friends  to  raise. — P.  22. 

The  speed  with  which  the  Borderers  collected  great  bodies 
of  horse  may  be  judged  of  from  the  following  extract,  when 
the  subject  of  the  rising  was  much  less  important  than  that 
supposed  in  the  romance.  It  is  taken  from  Carey's  Me- 
moirs:— 

•'Upon  the  death  of  the  old  Lord  Scroop,  the  Queen  gave 
the  west  wardenry  to  his  son,  that  had  married  my  sister. 
Ha  having  received  that  office,  came  to  me  with  great  earnest- 
ness, and  desired  me  to  be  his  deputy,  offering  me  that  I 
should  live  with  him  in  his  house ;  that  he  would  allow  me 
half  a  dozen  men,  and  as  many  horses,  to  be  kept  at  his 
charge ;  and  his  fee  being  1000  merks  yearly,  he  would  part  it 
with  me,  and  I  should  have  the  half.  This  his  noble  offer  I 
accepted  of,  and  went  with  him  to  Carlisle ;  where  I  was  no 
sooner  come,  but  I  entered  into  my  office.  We  had  a  stir- 
ring time  of  it ;  and  few  days  passed  over  my  head  but  I  was  on 
horseback,  either  to  prevent  mischief,  or  take  malefactors, 
and  to  bring  the  Border  in  better  quiet  than  it  had  been  in 
times  past.  One  memorable  thing  of  God's  mercy  shewed 
unto  me,  was  such  as  I  have  good  cause  still  to  remember  it. 

"  I  had  private  intelligence  given  me,  that  there  were  two 
Scottishmen  that  had  killed  a  churchman  in  Scotland,  and 
were  by  one  of  the  Grammes  relieved.  This  Graeme  dwelt 
within  five  miles  of  Carlisle.  He  had  a  pretty  house,  and 
close  by  it  a  strong  tower,  for  his  own  defence  in  time  of 
need. — About  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  took  horse  in 
Carlisle,  and  not  above  twenty-five  in  my  company,  thinking 
to  surprise  the  house  on  a  sudden.  Before  I  could  surround 
the  house,  the  two  Scots  were  gotten  in  the  strong  tower,  and 
I  could  see  a  boy  riding  from  the  house  as  fast  as  his  horse 
could  carry  him ;  I  little  suspected  what  it  meant.  But 
Thomas  Carleton  came  to  me  presently,  and  told  me,  that  if 
I  did  not  presently  prevent  it,  both  myself  and  all  my  com- 
pany would  be  either  slain  or  taken  prisoners.  It  was  strange 
to  me  to  hear  this  language.  He  then  said  to  me,  '  Do  you 
see  that  boy  that  rideth  away  so  fast?  He  will  be  in  Scot- 
laud  within  this  half  hour;  and  he  is  gone  to  let  them  know 
that  you  are  here,  and  to  what  end  you  are  come,  and  the 
small  number  you  have  with  you  ;  and  that  if  they  will  make 
haste,  on  a  sudden  they  may  surprise  us,  and  do  with  us  what 
they  please.'  Hereupon  we  took  advice  what  was  best  to  be 
done.  We  sent  notice  presently  to  all  parts  to  raise  the 
country,  and  to  come  to  us  with  all  the  speed  they  could; 
and  withall  we  sent  to  Carlisle  to  raise  the  townsmen ;  for 
without  foot  we  could  do  no  good  against  the  tower.  There 
we  staid  some  hours,  expecting  more  company:  and  within 
short  time  after  the  country  came  in  on  all  sides,  so  that  we 
were  quickjy  between  three  and  four  hundred  horse ;  and, 
after  some  longer  stay,  the  foot  of  Carlisle  came  to  us,  to  the 
number  of  three  or  four  hundred  men;  whom  we  presently 
set  to  work,  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  uncover  the 
roof;  and  then  some  twenty  of  them  to  fall  down  together, 
and  by  that  means  to  win  the  tower. — The  Scots,  seeing  their 
present  danger,  offered  to  parley,  and  yielded  themselves  to 
my  mercy.  They  had  no  sooner  opened  the  iron  gate,  and 
yielded  themselves  my  prisoners,  but  we  might  see  400  horse 
within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  coming  to  their  rescue,  and  to 
surprise  me  and  my  small  company ;  but  of  a  sudden  they 
stayed,  and  stood  at  gaze.  Then  had  I  more  to  do  than  ever; 
for  all  our  Borderers  came  crying,  with  full  mouths,  'Sir, 
give  us  leave  to  set  upon  them ;  for  these  are  they  that  have 


killed  our  fathers,  our  Mothers,  and  uncles,  and  our  cousins ; 
and  they  are  coming,  thinking  to  surprise  you,  upon  weak 
grass  nags,  such  as  they  could  get  on  a  sudden ;  and  God 
hath  put  them  into  your  hands,  that  we  may  take  revenge 
of  them  for  much  blood  that  they  have  spilt  of  ours.'  I 
desired  they  would  be  patient  a  while,  and  bethought  myself, 
if  I  should  give  them  their  will,  there  would  be  few  or  none 
of  the  Scots  that  would  escape  unkilled  (there  was  so  many 
deadly  feuds  among  them) ;  and  therefore  I  resolved  with 
myself  to  give  them  a  fair  answer,  but  not  to  give  them 
their  desire.  So  I  told  them,  that  if  I  were  not  there  myself, 
they  might  then  do  what  they  pleased  themselves ;  but  being 
present,  if  I  should  give  them  leave,  the  blood  that  should  be 
spilt  that  day  would  lie  very  hard  upon  my  conscience.  And 
therefore  I  desired  them,  for  my  sake,  to  forbear ;  and,  if  the 
Scots  did  not  presently  make  away  with  all  the  speed  they 
could,  upon  my  sending  to  them,  they  should  then  have  their 
wills  to  do  what  they  pleased.  They  were  ill  satisfied  with 
my  answer,  but  durst  not  disobey.  I  sent  with  speed  to  the 
Scots,  and  bade  them  pack  away  with  all  the  speed  they 
could ;  for  if  they  stayed  the  messenger's  return,  they  should 
few  of  them  return  to  their  own  home.  They  made  no  stay ; 
but  they  were  returned  homewards  before  the  messenger  had 
made  an  end  of  his  message.  Thus,  by  God's  mercy,  I  escaped 
a  great  danger ;  and,  by  my  means,  there  was  a  great  many 
men's  lives  saved  that  day." 


Note  2  U. 


On  many  a  cairn's  gray  pyramid, 

Where  urns  of  mighty  chiefs  lie  hid, — P.  22. 

The  cairns,  or  piles  of  loose  stones,  which  crown  the  sum- 
mit of  most  of  our  Scottish  hills,  and  are  found  in  other 
remarkable  situations,  seem  usually,  though  not  universally, 
to  have  been  sepulchral  monuments.  Six  flat  stones  are 
commonly  found  in  the  centre,  forming  a  cavity  of  greater  or 
smaller  dimensions,  in  which  an  urn  is  often  placed.  The 
author  is  possessed  of  one,  discovered  beneath  an  immense 
cairn  at  Roughlee,  in  Liddesdale.  It  is  of  the  most  barbar- 
ous construction ;  the  middle  of  the  substance  alone  having 
been  subjected  to  the  fire,  over  which,  when  hardened,  the 
artist  had  laid  an  inner  and  outer  coat  of  unbaked  clay, 
etched  with  some  very  rude  ornaments;  his  skill  apparently 
being  inadequate  to  baking  the  vase,  when  completely  finished. 
The  contents  were  bones  and  ashes,  and  a  quantity  of  beads 
made  of  coal.  This  seems  to  have  been  a  barbarous  imitation 
of  the  Soman  fashion  of  sepulture. 


Note  2  V. 

For  pathless  marsh,  and  mountain  cell, 
The  peasant  left  his  lowly  shed. — P.  23. 

The  morasses  were  the  usual  refuge  of  the  Border  herds- 
men, on  the  approach  of  an  English  army. — Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  393.  Caves,  hewed  in  the  most 
dangerous  and  inaccessible  places,  also  afforded  an  occasional 
retreat.  Such  caverns  may  be  seen  in  the  precipitous  banks 
of  the  Teviot  at  Sunlaws,  upon  the  Ale  at  Ancram,  upon  the 
Jed  at  Hundalee,  and  in  many  other  places  upon  the  Border. 
The  banks  of  the  Eske,  at  Gorton  and  Hawthornden,  are 
hollowed  into  similar  recesses.  But  even  these  dreary  dens 
were  not  always  secure  places  of  concealment.  "  In  the  way 
as  we  came,  not  far  from  this  place  (Long  Niddry),  George 
Ferres,  a  gentleman  of  my  Lord  Protector's 


60 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


happened  upon  a  cave  in  the  groundp,  the  mouth  whereof 
was  so  worne  with  the  fresh  prill te  Of  steps,  that  he  seemed 
to  be  certayne  thear  wear  some  folke  within  ;  and  gone  doune 
to  trie,  he  was  readily  receyved  with  a  hakebut  or  two.  He 
left  them  not  yet,  till  he  had  known  wheyther  thei  wolde  be 
content  to  yield  and  come  out;  which  they  fondly  refusing, 
he  went  to  my  lord's  grace,  and  upon  utterance  of  the  thyuge, 
gat  licence  to  deale  with  them  as  he  coulde;  and  so  returned 
to  them,  with  a  skore  or  two  of  pioners.  Three  ventes  had 
their  cave,  that  we  wear  ware  of,  whereof  he  first  stopt  up 
on ;  anoother  he  fill'd  full  of  strawe,  and  set  it  a  fyer,  whereat 
they  within  cast  water  apace ;  but  it  was  so  wel  maynteyned 
without,  that  the  fyer  prevayled,  and  thei  within  fayn  to  get 
them  belyke  into  anoother  parler.  Then  devysed  we  (for  I 
hapt  to  be  with  him)  to  stop  the  same  up,  whereby  we  should 
eyther  smoother  them,  or  fynd  out  their  ventes,  if  thei  hadde 
any  moe ;  as  this  was  done  at  another  issue,  about  xii  score 
of,  we  moughte  see  the  fume  of  their  smoke  to  come  out :  the 
which  continued  with  so  great  a  force,  and  so  long  a  while, 
that  we  could  not  but  thinke  they  must  needs  get  them  out, 
or  smoother  within :  and  forasmuch  as  we  found  not  that 
they  dyd  the  tone,  we  thought  it  for  certain  thei  wear  sure  of 
the  toother." — Patten's  Account  of  Somerset's  Expedition  into 
Scotland,  apud  Dalyell's  Fragments. 


Note  2  W. 


Show'd  southern  ravage  was  begun. — P.  24. 

From  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  from  the  Earl  of 
Northumberland  to  King  Henry  VIII.,  preserved  among  the 
Cotton  MSS.  Calig.  B.  vii.  179,  the  reader  may  estimate  the 
nature  of  the  dreadful  war  which  was  occasionally  waged 
upon  the  Borders,  sharpened  by  mutual  cruelties,  and  the 
personal  hatred  of  the  wardens,  or  leaders. 

Some  Scottish  Barons,  says  the  Earl,  had  threatened  to 
come  within  "  three  miles  of  my  pore  house  of  Werkworth, 
where  I  lye,  and  gif  me  light  to  put  on  my  clothes  at  niyd- 
night ;  and  alsoo  the  said  Marke  Carr  said  there  opynly,  that, 
seyng  they  had  a  governor  on  the  Marches  of  Scotland,  as 
well  as  they  had  in  Ingland,  he  shulde  kepe  your  highness 
instructions,  gyflfyn  unto  your  garyson,  for  making  of  any  day- 
forrey ;  for  he  and  his  friends  wolde  burne  enough  on  the 
nyght,  lettyng  your  counsaill  here  defyne  a  notable  acte  at 
theyre  pleasures.  Upon  whiche,  in  your  highnes  name,  I 
comaundet  dewe  watche  to  be  kepte  on  your  Marchies,  for 
comyng  in  of  any  Scotts. — Neuertheles,  upon  Thursday  at 
night  last,  came  thyrty  light  horsemen  into  a  litil  village  of 
myne,  called  Whitell,  having  not  past  sex  houses,  lying  to- 
wards Ityddisdaill,  upon  Shilbotell  More,  and  there  wold 
have  fyred  the  said  howses,  but  ther  was  no  fyre  to  get  there, 
and  they  forgate  to  bryngc  any  withe  theyme ;  and  took  a  wyf 
being  great  with  chylde,  in  the  said  towne,  and  said  to  hyr, 
Wher  we  can  not  gyve  the  lard  lyght,  yet  we  shall  doo  t  lis  in 
spyte  of  hym  ;  and  gyve  her  iii  mortall  wounds  upon  the  heid, 
and  another  in  the  right  side,  with  a  dagger:  whereupon  the 
said  wyf  is  deede,  and  the  childe  in  her  bely  is  loste.  Be- 
seeching your  most  gracious  highness  to  reduce  unto  your 
gracious  memory  this  wylful  and  shamefull  murder,  done 
within  this  your  highnes  realme,  notwithstanding  all  the 
inhabitants  thereabout  rose  unto  the  said  fray,  and  gave 
warnynge  by  becons  into  the  countrey  afore  theyme,  and  yet 
the  Scottsmen  dyde  escape.  And  uppon  certeyne  knowledge 
to  my  brother  Clyfforthe,  and  me,  had  by  credible  persons  of 
Scotland,  tins  abomynable  act  not  only  to  be  done  by  dyverse 
of  the  Mershe,  but  also  the  afore  named  persons  of  Tyvidaill, 


1  Risp,  creak.— Rive,  tear. 


and  consented  to,  as  by  appearance,  by  the  Erie  of  Murey, 
upon  Friday  at  night  last,  let  slyp  C  of  the  best  horsemen  of 
(ilendaill,  with  a  parte  of  your  highnes  subjects  of  Berwyke, 
together  with  George  Dowglas,  whoo  came  into  Ingland 
agayne,  in  the  dawning  of  the  day ;  but  afore  theyre  retorne, 
they  dyd  mar  the  Earl  of  Murreis  provisions  at  Coldingham  ; 
for  they  did  not  only  burne  the  said  town  of  Coldingham,  with 
all  the  corne  thereunto  belonging,  which  is  esteemed  worthe 
cii  marke  sterling ;  but  alsoo  burned  twa  townes  nye  adjoin- 
ing thereunto,  called  Braneidergest  and  the  Black  Hill,  and 
toke  xxiii  persons,  lx  horse,  with  cc  hed  of  cat  ail],  which,  nowe, 
as  I  am  informed,  bathe  not  only  been  a  staye  of  the  said 
Erie  of  Murreis  not  coming  to  the  Bordure  as  yet,  but  alsoo, 
that  none  inlande  man  will  adventure  theyr  self  uppon  the 
Marches.  And  as  for  the  tax  that  shulde  have  been  grauntyd 
for  finding  of  the  said  iii  hundred  men,  is  utterly  denyed. 
Upon  which  the  King  of  Scotland  departed  from  Edynburgh 
to  Stirling,  and  as  yet  there  doth  remayn.  And  also  I,  by  the 
advice  of  my  brother  Clyfforth,  have  devysed,  that  within 
this  iii  nyghts,  Godde  willing,  Kelsey,  in  like  case,  shall  be 
brent,  with  all  the  corn  in  the  said  town ;  and  then  they  shall 
have  noo  place  to  lye  any  garyson  in  nygh  unto  the  Borders. 
And  as  I  shall  atteigne  further  knowledge,  I  shall  not  faill 
to  satisfye  your  highnes,  according  to  my  most  bounden  dutie. 
And  for  this  burnyng  of  Kelsey  is  devysed  to  be  done  secretly, 
by  Tyndaill  and  Ryddisdale.  And  thus  the  holy  Trynite  and 
*  *  *  your  most  royal  estate,  with  long  lyf,  and  as  much  in- 
crease of  honour  as  your  most  noble  heart  can  desire.  At 
Werkworth  the  xxiid  day  of  October."    (1522.) 


Note  2  X. 

Watt  Tinlinn.— P.  24. 

This  person  was,  in  my  younger  days,  the  theme  of  many 
a  fireside  tale.  He  was  a  retainer  of  the  Buccleuch  family, 
and  held  for  his  Border  service  a  small  tower  on  the  frontiers 
of  Liddesdale.  Watt  was,  by  profession,  a  stttor,  but,  by  in- 
clination and  practice,  an  archer  and  warrior.  Upon  one 
occasion,  the  captain  of  Bewcastle,  military  governor  of  that 
wild  district  of  Cumberland,  is  said  to  have  made  an  incur- 
sion into  Scotland,  in  which  he  was  defeated,  and  forced  to 
fly.  Watt  Tinlinn  pursued  him  closely  througli  a  dangerous 
morass ;  the  captain,  however,  gained  the  firm  ground ;  and 
seeing  Tinlinn  dismounted,  and  floundering  in  the  bog,  used 
these  words  of  insult: — "  Sutor  Watt,  ye  cannot  sew  your 
boots;  the  heels  risp,  and  the  seams  rive.,n — "If  I  cannot 
sew,"  retorted  Tinlinn,  discharging  a  shaft,  which  nailed  the 
captain's  thigh  to  his  saddle, — "  If  I  cannot  sew,  I  can  yerk."2 


Note  2  Y. 

Billhope  stag.—V.  24. 

There  is  an  old  rhyme  which  thus  celebrates  the  places  in 
Liddesdale  remarkable  for  game : 

"  Billhope  braes  for  bucks  and  raes, 

And  Carit  haugh  for  swine, 
And  Tarras  for  the  good  bull-trout, 

If  he  be  ta'en  in  time." 

The  bucks  and  roes,  as  well  as  the  old  swine,  are  now  ex- 
tinct ;  but  the  good  bull-trout  is  still  famous. 


2  Ycrk,  to  twitch,  as  shoemakers  do,  in  securing  the  stitches 
of  their  work. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY   OF    THE    LAST    MINSTEEL. 


61 


Note  2  Z. 

Belled  Will  Howard— P.  24. 

Lord  William  Howard,  third  son  of  Thomas,  Duke  of  Nor- 
folk, succeeded  to  Naworth  Castle,  and  a  large  domain  an- 
nexed to  it,  in  right  of  his  wife  Elizabeth,  sister  of  George 
Lord  Dacre,  who  died  without  heirs  male,  in  the  11th  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  By  a  poetical  anachronism,  he  is  intro- 
duced into  the  romance  a  few  years  earlier  than  he  actually 
flourished.  He  was  warden  of  the  Western  Marches;  and, 
from  the  rigor  with  which  he  repressed  the  Border  excesses, 
the  name  of  Belted  Will  Howard  is  still  famous  in  our  tradi- 
tions. In  the  castle  of  Naworth,  his  apartments,  containing 
a  bedroom,  oratory,  and  library,  are  still  shown.  They  im- 
press us  with  an  unpleasing  idea  of  the  life  of  a  lord  warden 
of  the  Marches.  Three  or  four  strong  doors,  separating  these 
rooms  from  the  rest  of  the  castle,  indicate  the  apprehensions 
of  treachery  from  his  garrison ;  and  the  secret  winding  pas- 
sages, through  which  he  could  privately  descend  into  the 
guardroom,  or  even  into  the  dungeons,  imply  the  necessity  of 
no  small  degree  of  secret  superintendence  on  the  part  of  the 
governor.  As  the  ancient  books  and  furniture  have  remained 
undisturbed,  the  venerable  appearance  of  these  apartments, 
and  the  armor  scattered  around  the  chamber,  almost  lead 
as  to  expect  the  arrival  of  the  warden  in  person.  Naworth 
Castle  is  situated  near  Brampton,  in  Cumberland.  Lord 
William  Howard  is  ancestor  of  the  Earls  of  Carlisle. 


Note  3  A. 

Lord  Dacre.— P.  24. 

The  well-known  name  of  Dacre  is  derived  from  the  exploits 
of  one  of  their  ancestors  at  the  siege  of  Acre,  or  Ptolemais, 
under  Richard  Cceur  de  Lion.  There  were  two  powerful 
branches  of  that  name.  The  first  family,  called  Lord  Dacres 
of  the  South,  held  the  castle  of  the  same  name,  and  are  an- 
cestors to  the  present  Lord  Dacre.  The  other  family,  descend- 
ed from  the  same  stock,  were  called  Lord  Dacres  of  the 
North,  and  were  barons  of  Gilsland  and  Graystock.  A  chief- 
tain of  the  latter  branch  was  warden  of  the  West  Marches 
during  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  He  was  a  man  of  a  hot  and 
obstinate  character,  as  appears  from  some  particulars  of 
Lord  Surrey's  letter  to  Henry  VIII.,  giving  an  account  of  his 
behavior  at  the  siege  and  storm  of  Jedburgh.  It  is  printed 
in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  Appendix  to  the  Intro- 
duction. 


Note  3  B. 


the  German  hackbul^men. — P.  24. 

In  the  wars  with  Scotland,  Henry  VHI.  and  his  successors 
employed  numerous  bands  of  mercenary  troops.  At  the 
battle  of  Pinky,  there  were  in  the  English  army  six  hundred 
hackbutters  on  foot,  and  two  hundred  on  horseback,  com- 
posed chiefly  of  foreigners.  On  the  27th  of  September,  1549, 
the  Duke  of  Somerset,  Lord  Protector,  writes  to  the  Lord 
Dacre,  warden  of  the  West  Marches : — "  The  Almains,  in 
number  two  thousand,  very  valiant  soldiers,  shall  be  sent  to 
you  shortly  from  Newcastle,  together  with  Sir  Thomas  Hol- 
croft,  and  with  the  force  of  your  wardenry  (which  we  would 
were  advanced  to  the  most  strength  of  horsemen  that  might 
be)  shall  make  the  attempt  to  Loughmaben,  being  of  no  such 
strength  but  that  it  may  be  skailed  with  ladders,  whereof, 


beforehand,  we  would  you  caused  secretly  some  number  to 
be  provided ;  or  else  undermined  with  the  pyke-axe,  and  so 
taken:  either  to  be  kept  for  the  King's  Majesty,  or  othsr- 
wise  to  be  defaced,  and  taken  from  the  profits  of  the  enemy. 
And  in  like  manner  the  house  of  Carlaverock  to  be  used." 
Repeated  mention  occurs  of  the  Almains,  in  the  subsequent 
correspondence;  and  the  enterprise  seems  finally  to  have 
been  abandoned,  from  the  difficulty  of  providing  these  stran- 
gers with  the  necessary  "  victuals  and  carriages  in  so  poor  a 
country  as  Dumfries-shire." — History  of  Cumberland,  vol.  i. 
Introd.  p.  lxi.  From  the  battle-pieces  of  the  ancient  Flemish 
painters,  we  learn  that  the  Low  Country  and  German  sol- 
diers marched  to  an  assault  with  their  right  knees  bared. 
And  we  may  also  observe,  in  such  pictures,  the  extravagance 
to  which  they  carried  the  fashion  of  ornamenting  their  dress 
with  knots  of  ribbon.  This  custom  of  the  Germans  is  alluded 
to  in  the  Mirrourfor  Magistrates,  p.  121. 

"  Their  pleited  garments  therewith  well  accord, 
All  jagde  and  frounst,  with  divers  colours  deckt." 


Note  3  C. 


"Ready,  aye  ready,"  for  the  field. — P.  25. 

Sir  John  Scott  of  Thirlestane  flourished  in  the  reign  of  James 
V.,  and  possessed  the  estates  of  Thirlestane,  Gamescleuch, 
Ac,  lying  upon  the  river  of  Ettrick,  and  extending  to  St. 
Mary's  Loch,  at  the  head  of  Yarrow.  It  appears  that  when 
James  had  assembled  his  nobility  and  their  feudal  followers 
at  Falla,  with  the  purpose  of  invading  England,  and  was,  as  is 
well  known,  disappointed  by  the  obstinate  refusal  of  his  peers, 
this  baron  alone  declared  himself  ready  to  follow  the  King 
wherever  he  should  lead.  In  memory  of  his  fidelity,  James 
granted  to  his  family  a  charter  of  arms,  entitling  them  to 
bear  a  border  of  fleurs-de-luce,  similar  to  the  tressure  in  the 
royal  amis,  with  a  bundle  of  spears  for  the  crest;  motto, 
Ready,  aye  ready.  The  charter  itself  is  printed  by  Nisbet ; 
but  his  work  being  scarce,  I  insert  the  following  accurate 
transcript  from  the  original,  in  the  possession  of  the  Right 
Honorable  Lord  Napier,  the  representative  of  John  of  Thirle- 
stane. 

"James  Rex. 

"  We  James,  by  the  grace  of  God,  King  of  Scottis,  consider- 
and  the  ffaith  and  guid  servis  of  of  of1  right  traist  friend  John 
Scott  of  Thirlestane,  quha  cummand  to  our  hoste  at  Soutra- 
edge,  with  three  score  and  ten  launcieres  on  horseback  of  his 
friends  and  followers,  and  beand  willing  to  gang  with  ws  into 
England,  when  all  our  nobles  and  others  refused,  he  was 
ready  to  stake  at  all  our  bidding ;  ffor  the  quhilk  cause,  it  is 
our  will,  and  we  doe  straitlie  command  and  charg  our  lion 
herauld  and  his  deputies  for  the  time  beand,  to  give  and  to 
graunt  to  the  said  John  Scott,  ane  Border  of  fHeure  de  Uses 
about  fus  coatte  of  armes,  sik  as  is  on  our  royal  banner,  and 
alsua  ane  bundell  of  launces  above  his  helmet,  with  thir  words, 
Readdy,  ay  Readdy,  that  he  and  all  his  aftercummers  may 
bruik  the  samine  as  a  pledge  and  taiken  of  our  guid  Vill  and 
kyndnes  for  his  true  worthines;  and  thir  our  letters  seen,  ye 
nae  waes  failzie  to  doe.  Given  at  Ffalla  Muire,  under  our 
hand  and  privy  cashet,  the  xxvii  day  of  July,  m  c  and  xxxii 
zeires.    By  the  King's  graces  speciall  ordinance. 

"  Jo.  Aeskine." 

On  the  back  of  the  charter  is  written, 

"  Edin.  14  January,  1713.  Registred,  conform  to  the  act  of 
parliament  made  anent  probative  writs,  per  M'Kaile,  pror. 
and  produced  by  Alexander  Borthwick,  servant  to  Sir  Wil- 
liam Scott  of  Thirlestane.    M.  L.  J." 

1  Sic.  in  orig. 


62 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Note  3  D. 

An  aged  Knight,  to  danger  steeTd, 

With  many  a  moss-trooper  came  on  ; 
And  azure  in  a  golden  field, 
The  stars  and  crescent  graced  his  shield, 
Without  t/te  bend  of  Murdieslon.—F.  25. 

The  family  of  Harden  are  descended  from  a  younger  son  of 
the  Laird  of  Buccleuch,  who  flourished  before  the  estate  of 
Murdieston  was  acquired  by  the  marriage  of  one  of  those 
chieftains  with  the  heiress,  in  1296.  Hence  they  bear  the 
cognizance  of  the  Scotts  upon  the  field ;  whereas  those  of  the 
Buccleuch  are  disposed  upon  a  bend  dexter,  assumed  in  con- 
sequence of  that  marriage. — See  Gladstaine  of  IVhiielawe's 
MSS.,  and  Scott  of  Stokoe's  Pedigree,  Newcastle,  1783. 

Walter  Scott  of  Harden,  who  flourished  during  the  reign  of 
Queen  Mary,  was  a  renowned  Border  freebooter,  concerning 
whom  tradition  has  preserved  a  variety  of  anecdotes,  some  of 
which  have  been  published  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border;  others  in  Leyden's  Scenes  of  Infancy;  and  others, 
more  lately,  in  The  Mountain  Bard,  a  collection  of  Border 
ballads  by  Mr.  James  Hogg.  The  bugle-horn,  said  to  have 
been  used  by  this  formidable  leader,  is  preserved  by  his  de- 
scendant, the  present  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden.  His  castle  was 
situated  upon  the  very  brink  of  a  dark  and  precipitous  dell, 
through  which  a  scanty  rivulet  steals  to  meet  the  Borthwick. 
In  the  recess  of  this  glen  he  is  said  to  have  kept  his  spoil, 
which  served  for  the  daily  maintenance  of  his  retainers,  until 
the  production  of  a  pair  of  clean  spurs,  in  a  covered  dish,  an- 
nounced to  the  hungry  band  that  they  must  ride  for  a  supply 
of  provisions.  He  was  married  to  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of 
Philip  Scott  of  Dryhope,  and  called  iu  song  the  Flower  of 
Yarrow.  He  possessed  a  very  extensive  estate,  which  was 
divided  among  his  five  sons.  There  are  numerous  descend- 
ants of  this  old  marauding  Baron.  The  following  beautiful 
passage  of  Leyden's  Scenes  of  Infancy  is  founded  on  a  tradi- 
tion respecting  an  infant  captive,  whom  Walter  of  Harden 
carried  off  in  a  predatory  incursion,  and  who  is  said  to  have 
become  the  author  of  some  of  our  most  beautiful  pastoral 
songs : — 

"  Where  Bortha  hoarse,  that  loads  the  meads  with  sand, 
Rolls  her  red  tide  to  Teviot's  western  strand, 
Through  slaty  hills,  whose  sides  are  shagg'd  with  thorn, 
AVhere  springs,  in  scatter'd  tufts,  the  dark-green  corn, 
Towers  wood-girt  Harden,  far  above  the  vale, 
And  clouds  of  ravens  o'er  the  turrets  sail. 
A  hardy  race,  who  never  shrunk  from  war, 
The  Scott,  to  rival  realms  a  mighty  bar,  • 

Here  fix'd  his  mountain  home  ; — a  wide  domain, 
And  rich  the  soil,  had  purple  heath  been  grain ; 
But  what  the  niggard  ground  of  wealth  denied, 
From  fields  more  bless'd  his  fearless  arm  supplied. 

"  The  waning  harvest-moon  shone  cold  and  bright ; 
The  warder's  horn  was  heard  at  dead  of  night ; 
And  as  the  massy  portals  wide  were  flung, 
With  stamping  hoofs  the  rocky  pavement  rung. 
What  fair,  half  veil'd,  leans  from  her  latticed  ball, 
Where  red  the  wavering  gleams  of  torchlight  fall? 
'Tis  Yarrow's  fairest  flower,  who,  through  the  gloom, 
Looks,  wistful,  for  her  lover's  dancing  plume. 
Amid  the  piles  of  spoil,  that  sin  wM  the  ground, 
Her  ear,  all  anxious,  caught  a  vailing  sound  ; 
With  trembling  haste  the  youthful  matron  flew, 
And  from  the  hurried  heaps  an  infant  drew. 

"Scared  at  the  light,  his  little  hands  he  flung 
Around  her  neck,  and  to  her  bosom  clung; 
While  beauteous  Mary  soothed,  in  accents  mild, 
His  fluttering  soul,  and  ciasp'd  her  Outer  child. 


Of  milder  mood  the  gentle  captive  grew, 
Nor  loved  the  scenes  that  seared  bis  infant  view: 
In  vales  remote,  from  camps  and  castles  far, 
He  shunn'd  the  fearful  shuddering  joy  of  war; 
Content  the  loves  of  simple  swains  to  sing, 
Or  wake  to  fame  the  harp's  heroic  string. 

"  His  are  the  strains,  whose  wandering  echoes  thrill 
The  shepherd,  lingering  on  the  twilight  hill, 
When  evening  brings  the  merry  folding  hours, 
And  sun-eyed  daisies  close  their  winking  flowers. 
He  lived  o'er  Yarrow's  Flower  to  shed  the  tear, 
To  strew  the  holly  leaves  o'er  Harden's  bier: 
But  none  was  found  above  the  minstrel's  tomb, 
Emblem  of  peace,  to  bid  the  daisy  bloom : 
He,  nameless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung, 
Saved  other  names,  and  left  his  own  unsung." 


Note  3  E. 


Scotls  of  Eskdale,  a  stalwart  band. — P.  25. 

In  this,  and  the  following  stanzas,  some  account  is  given  of 
the  mode  in  which  the  property  in  the  valley  of  Eske  was  trans- 
ferred from  the  Beattisons,  its  ancient  possessors,  to  the  name 
of  Scott.  It  is  needless  to  repeat  the  circumstances,  which 
are  given  in  the  poem,  literally  as  they  have  been  preserved 
by  tradition.  Lord  Maxwell,  in  the  latter  part  of  the  six- 
teenth century,  took  upon  himself  the  title  of  Earl  of  Morton. 
The  descendants  of  Beattison  of  Woodkerrick,  who  aided  the 
Earl  to  escape  from  his  disobedient  vassals,  continued  to  hold 
these  lands  within  the  memory  of  man,  and  were  the  only 
Beattisons  who  had  property  in  the  dale.  The  old  people  give 
locality  to  the  story,  by  showing  the  Galliard's-Haugh,  the 
place  where  Buccleuch's  men  were  concealed,  &c. 


Note  3  F. 

Their  gathering  word  was  Bellenden. — P.  26. 

Bellenden  is  situated  near  the  head  of  Borthwick  water, 
and  being  in  the  centre  of  the  possessions  of  the  Scotts,  was 
frequently  used  as  their  place  of  rendezvous  and  gathering 
word. — Survey  of  Selkirkshire,  in  Maefarlane's  MSS.,  Advocates' 
Library.  Hence  Satehells  calls  one  part  of  his  genealogical 
account  of  the  families  of  that  clan,  his  Bellenden. 


Note  3  G. 


The  camp  their  home,  their  law  the  sword, 
They  foiew  no  country,  ow-n'd  no  lord. — P.  27. 

The  mercenary  adventurers,  whom,  in  13S0,  the  Earl  of 
Cambridge  carried  to  the  assistance  of  the  King  of  Portugal 
against  the  Spaniards,  mutinied  for  want  of  regular  pay.  At 
an  assembly  of  their  leaders,  Sir  John  Soltier,  a  natural  son 
of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  thus  addressed  them  :  " '  I  coun- 
sayle,  let  us  be  alle  of  one  alliance,  and  of  one  accorde,  and 
let  us  among  ourselves  reyse  up  the  banner  of  St.  George,  and 
let  us  be  frendes  to  God,  and  enemyes  to  alle  the  worlde;  for 
without  we  make  ourselfe  to  be  feared,  we  gete  nothynge.' 

'"By  my  fayth,'  quod  Sir  William  Helmon,  'ye  saye  right 
well,  and  so  let  us  do.'    They  all  agreed  with  one  voyce,  and 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY    OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


63 


so  regarded  among  them  who  shulde  be  their  eapitayne.  Then 
they  advysed  in  the  case  how  they  coude  nat  have  a  better 
eapitayne  than  Sir  John  Soltier.  For  they  sulde  then  have 
good  leyser  to  do  yvel,  and  they  thought  he  was  more  metel- 
yer  thereto  than  any  other.  Then  they  raised  up  the  penon 
of  St.  George,  and  cried, '  A  Soltier !  a  Soltier !  the  valyaunt 
bastarde !  frendes  to  God,  and  enemies  to  all  the  worlde !' " — 
Froissart,  vol.  i.  ch.  393. 


Note  3  H. 


Thai  he  may  suffer  march-treasoji  pain. — P.  28. 

Several  species  of  offences,  peculiar  to  the  Border,  consti- 
tuted what  was  called  march-treason.  Among  others,  was 
the  crime  of  riding,  or  causing  to  ride,  against  the  opposite 
country  during  the  time  of  truce.  Thus,  in  an  indenture  made 
at  the  water  of  Eske,  beside  Salom,  on  the  25th  day  of  March, 
1334,  betwixt  noble  lords  and  mighty,  Sirs  Henry  Percy,  Earl 
of  Northumberland,  aad  Archibald  Douglas,  Lord  of  Gallo- 
way, a  truce  is  agreed  upon  until  the  1st  day  of  July ;  and  it 
is  expressly  accorded,  "  Gif  ony  stellis  authir  on  the  ta  part, 
or  on  the  tothyr,  that  he  shall  be  hanget  or  heofdit;  and  gif 
ony  company  stellis  any  gudes  within  the  trieux  beforesayd, 
ane  of  that  company  sail  be  hanget  or  heofdit,  and  the  rem- 
nant sail  restore  the  gudys  stolen  in  the  dubble." — History  of 
Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxxix. 


Note  3  I. 


Deloraine 

Will  cleanse  him,  by  oath,  of  march-treason  slain. — P.  28. 

In  dubious  cases,  the  innocence  of  Border  criminals  was 
occasionally  referred  to  their  own  oath.  The  form  of  excus- 
ing bills,  or  indictments,  by  Border-oath,  ran  thus:  "You 
shall  swear  by  heaven  above  you,  hell  beneath  you,  by  your 
part  of  Paradise,  by  all  that  God  made  in  six  days  and  seven 
nights,  and  by  God  himself,  you  are  whart  out  sackless  of  art, 
part,  way,  witting,  ridd,  kenning,  having,  or  recetting  of  any 
of  the  goods  and  cattels  named  in  this  bill.  So  help  you  God." 
— History  of  Cumberland,  Introd.  p.  xxv. 


Note  3  K. 

Knighthood  he  took  of  Douglas'  sword. — P.  28. 

The  dignity  of  knighthood,  according  to  the  original  insti- 
tution, had  this  peculiarity,  that  it  did  not  flow  from  the 
monarch,  but  could  be  conferred  by  one  who  himself  possessed 
it,  upon  any  squire  who,  after  due  probation,  was  found  to 
merit  the  honor  of  chivalry.  Latterly,  this  power  was  confined 
to  generals,  who  were  wont  to  create  knights  bannerets  after 
or  before  an  engagement.  Even  so  late  as  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  Essex  highly  offended  his  jealous  sovereign  by  the 
indiscriminate  exertion  of  this  privilege.  Among  others,  he 
knighted  the  witty  Sir  John  Harrington,  whose  favor  at  court 
was  by  no  means  enhanced  by  his  new  honors. — See  the 
Nugw  Anliqum,  edited  by  Mr.  Park.  But  probably  the  latest 
instance  of  knighthood,  conferred  by  a  subject,  was  in  the 
case  of  Thomas  Ker,  knighted  by  the  Earl  of  Huntly,  after 
the  defeat  of  the  Earl  of  Argyle  in  the  battle  of  Belrinnes. 
The  fact  is  attested,  both  by  a  poetical  and  prose  account  of  the 


engagement,  contained  in  an  ancient  MS.  in  the  Advocates' 
Library,  and  edited  by  Mr.  Dalyell,  in  Godly  Sangs  and  Bal- 
lets, Edin.  1802. 


Note  3  L. 


Wlien  English  blood  swelVd  Ancram'sford. — P.  28. 

The  battle  of  Ancram  Moor,  or  Penielheuch,  was  fought 
A.  D.  1545.  The  English,  commanded  by  Sir  Ralph  Evers 
and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  were  totally  routed,  and  both  their 
leaders  slain  in  the  action.  The  Scottish  army  was  com- 
manded by  Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  assisted  by  the 
Laird  of  Buccleuch  and  Norman  Lesley. 


Note  3  M. 


For  who,  infield  or  foray  slack, 

Saw  the  blanche  lion  e'er  fall  back? — P.  29. 

This  was  the  cognizance  of  the  noble  house  of  Howard  in 
all  its  branches.  The  crest,  or  bearing,  of  a  warrior,  was  often 
used  as  a  nom  de  guerre.  Thus  Richard  III.  acquired  his 
well-known  epithet,  The  Boar  of  York.  In  the  violent  satire 
on  Cardinal  Wolsey,  written  by  Roy,  commonly,  but  erro- 
neously, imputed  to  Dr.  Bull,  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  is 
called  the  Beautiful  Swan,  and  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  or  Earl 
of  Surrey,  the  White  Lion.  As  the  book  is  extremely  rare, 
and  the  whole  passage  relates  to  the  emblematical  interpreta- 
tion of  heraldry,  it  shall  be  here  given  at  length. 

"  The  Description  of  the  Armes. 
"Of  the  proud  Cardinal  this  is  the  shelde, 
Borne  up  betweene  two  angels  of  Sathan  ; 
The  six  bloudy  axes  in  a  bare  felde, 
Sheweth  the  cruelte  of  the  red  man, 
Which  hath  devoured  the  Beautiful  Swan, 
Mortal  enemy  unto  the  Whyte  Lion, 
Carter  of  Yorke,  the  vyle  butcher's  sonne, 
The  six  bulles  heddes  in  a  felde  blacke, 
Betokeneth  his  stordy  furiousness, 
Wherefore,  the  godly  lyght  to  put  abacke, 
He  bryngeth  in  his  dyvlish  darcness ; 
The  bandog  in  the  middes  doth  expresse 
The  mastitf  curre  bred  in  Ypswich  towne, 
Gnawynge  with  his  teth  a  kinges  crowne. 
The  cloubbe  signifieth  playne  his  tiranny, 
Covered  over  with  a  Cardinall's  hatt, 
Wherein  shall  be  fulfilled  the  prophecy, 
Aryse  up,  Jacke,  and  put  on  thy  salatt, 
For  the  tyme  is  come  of  bagge  and  walatt. 
The  temporall  chevalry  thus  thrown  doune, 
Wherefor,  prest,  take  hede,  and  beware  thy  crowne." 

There  were  two  copies  of  this  very  scarce  satire  in  the 
library  of  the  late  John,  Duke  of  Roxburghe.  See  an  account 
of  it  also  in  Sir  Egerton  Brydges'  curious  miscellany,  the 
Censura  Literaria. 


Note  3  N. 


Let  Musgrave  meet  fierce  Deloraine 
In  single  fight. P.  29. 

It  may  easily  be  supposed  that  trial  by  single  combat,  so 


64 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


peculiar  to  the  feudal  system,  was  common  on  the  Borders. 
In  155S,  the  well-known  Kirkaldy  of  Grange  fought  a  duel 
with  Ralph  Evre,  brother  to  the  then  Lord  Evre,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  about  a  prisoner  said  to  have  been  ill 
treated  by  the  Lord  Evre.  Pitscottie  gives  the  following  ac- 
count of  the  affair : — "  The  Lord  of  Ivers  his  brother  provoked 
William  Kircaldy  of  Grange  to  fight  with  him,  in  singular 
combat,  on  horseback,  with  spears ;  who,  keeping  the  appoint- 
ment, accompanied  with  Monsieur  d'Ossel,  lieutenant  to  the 
French  King,  and  the  garrison  of  Haymouth,  and  Mr.  Ivers, 
accompanied  with  the  governor  and  garrison  of  Berwick,  it 
was  discharged,  under  the  pain  of  treason,  that  any  man 
should  come  near  the  champions  within  a  flight-shot,  except 
one  man  for  either  of  them,  to  bear  their  spears,  two  trum- 
pets, and  two  lords  to  be  judges.  When  they  were  in  readi- 
ness, the  trumpets  sounded,  the  heraulds  cried,  and  the  judges 
let  them  go.  They  then  encountered  very  fiercely;  but 
Grange  struck  his  spear  through  his  adversary's  shoulder, 
and  bare  him  off  his  horse,  being  sore  wounded :  But  whether 
he  died,  or  not,  it  is  uncertain." — P.  202. 

The  following  indenture  will  show  at  how  late  a  period  the 
trial  by  combat  was  resorted  to  on  the  Border,  as  a  proof  of 
guilt  or  innocence : — 

"  It  is  agreed  between  Thomas  Musgrave  and  Launcelot 
Carleton,  for  the  true  trial  of  such  controversies  as  are  be- 
twixt them,  to  have  it  openly  tried  by  way  of  combat,  before 
God  and  the  face  of  the  world,  to  try  it  in  Canonbyholme, 
before  England  and  Scotland,  upon  Thursday  in  Easter-week, 
being  the  eighth  day  of  April  next  ensuing,  A.  D.  1G02,  betwixt 
nine  of  the  clock,  and  one  of  the  same  day,  to  fight  on  foot,  to 
be  armed  with  jack,  steel  cap,  plaite  sleeves,  plaite  breaches, 
plaite  sockes,  two  basleard  swords,  the  blades  to  be  one  yard 
and  half  a  quarter  in  length,  two  Scotch  daggers,  or  dorks,  at 
their  girdles,  and  either  of  them  to  provide  armour  and  wea- 
pons for  themselves,  according  to  this  indenture.  Two  gen- 
tlemen to  be  appointed,  on  the  field,  to  view  both  the  parties, 
to  see  that  they  both  be  equal  in  arms  and  weapons,  accord- 
ing to  this  indenture ;  and  being  so  viewed  by  the  gentlemen, 
the  gentlemen  to  ride  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  and  to  leave 
them  but  two  boys,  viewed  by  the  gentlemen,  to  be  under 
sixteen  years  of  age,  to  hold  their  horses.  In  testimony  of 
this  our  agreement,  we  have  both  set  our  hands  to  this  inden- 
ture, of  intent  all  matters  shall  be  made  so  plain,  as  there 
shall  be  no  question  to  stick  upon  that  day.  Which  inden- 
ture, as  a  witness,  shall  be  delivered  to  two  gentlemen.  And 
for  that  it  is  convenient  the  world  should  be  privy  to  every 
particular  of  the  grounds  of  the  quarrel,  we  have  agreed  to 
set  it  down  in  this  indenture  betwixt  us,  that,  knowing  the 
quarrel,  their  eyes  may  be  witness  of  the  trial. 

THE  GROUNDS  OF  THE  QUARREL. 

"  1.  Lancelot  Carleton  did  charge  Thomas  Musgrave  before 
the  Lords  of  her  Majesty's  Privy  Council,  that  Lancelot 
Carleton  was  told  by  a  gentleman,  one'of  her  Majesty's  sworn 
servants,  that  Thomas  Musgrave  had  offered  to  deliver  her 
Majesty's  Castle  of  Bewcastle  to  the  King  of  Scots;  and  to 
witness  the  same,  Lancelot  Carleton  had  a  letter  under  the 
gentleman's  own  hand  for  his  discharge. 

"  2.  He  chargeth  him,  that  whereas  her  Majesty  doth  yearly 
bestow  a  great  fee  upon  him,  as  captain  of  Bewcastle,  to  aid 
and  defend  her  Majesty's  subjects  therein  :  Thomas  Musgrave 
hath  neglected  his  duty,  for  that  her  Majesty's  Castle  of  Bew- 
castle was  by  him  made  a  den  of  thieves,  and  an  harbour  and 
receipt  for  murderers,  felons,  and  all  sorts  of  misdemeanors. 
The  precedent  was  Quintin  Whitehead  and  Runion  Black- 
burne. 

"  3.  He  chargeth  him,  that  his  office  of  Bewcastle  is  open 


1  The  day  of  the  Rood-fair  at  Jedburgh. 

*  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot  of  Stobs,  and  Scott  of  Falnash. 


for  the  Scotch  to  ride  in  and  through,  and  small  resistance 
made  by  him  to  the  contrary. 

"Thomas  Musgrave  doth  deny  all  this  charge;  and  saith, 
that  he  will  prove  that  Lancelot  Carleton  doth  falsely  bely 
him,  and  will  prove  the  same  by  way  of  combat,  according 
to  this  indenture.  Lancelot  Carleton  hath  entertained  the 
challenge;  and  so,  by  God's  permission,  will  prove  it  true  as 
before,  and  hath  set  his  hand  to  the  same. 

(.Signed)  "Thomas  Musgrave. 

"  Lancelot  Carleton." 


Note  3  O. 


he,  the  jovial  Harper. — P.  29. 

The  person  here  alluded  to  is  one  of  our  ancient  Border 
minstrels,  called  Rattling  Roaring  Willie.  This  soubriquet 
was  probably  derived  from  his  bullying  disposition  ;  being,  it 
would  seem,  such  a  roaring  boy,  as  is  frequently  mentioned 
in  old  plays.  While  drinking  at  Newmill,  upon  Teviot,  about 
five  miles  above  Hawick,  Willie  chanced  to  quarrel  with  one 
of  his  own  profession,  who  was  usually  distinguished  by  the 
odd  name  of  Sweet  Milk,  from  a  place  on  Rule  Water  so 
called.  They  retired  to  a  meadow  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Teviot,  to  decide  the  contest  with  their  swords,  and  Sweet 
Milk  was  killed  on  the  spot.  A  thorn-tree  marks  the  scene 
of  the  murder,  which  is  still  called  Sweet  Milk  Thorn.  Willie 
was  taken  and  executed  at  Jedburgh,  bequeathing  his  name 
to  the  beautiful  Scotch  air,  called  "  Rattling  Roaring  Willie." 
Ramsay,  who  set  no  value  on  traditionary  lore,  published  a 
few  verses  of  this  song  in  the  Tea-Table  Miscellany,  carefully 
suppressing  all  which  had  any  connection  with  the  history 
of  the  author  and  origin  of  the  piece.  In  this  case,  however, 
honest  Allan  is  in  some  degree  justified,  by  the  extreme 
worthlessness  of  the  poetry.  A  verse  or  two  may  be  taken, 
as  illustrative  of  the  history  of  Roaring  Willie,  alluded  to  in 
the  text : — 

"  Now  Willie's  gane  to  Jeddart, 

And  he's  for  the  rood-day  ;J 
But  Stobs  and  young  Falnash2 

They  follow'd  him  a'  the  way  ; 
They  follow'd  him  a'  the  way, 

They  sought  him  up  and  down, 
In  the  links  of  Ousenam  water 

They  fand  him  sleeping  sound. 

"  Stobs  light  aff  his  horse, 

And  never  a  word  he  spak, 
Till  he  tied  Willie's  hands 

Fu'  fast  behind  his  back ; 
Fu'  fast  behind  his  back, 

And  down  beneath  his  knee, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk3  gars  him  die. 

"Ah  wae  light  on  ye,  Stobs ! 

An  ill  death  mot  ye  die  ; 
Ye're  the  first  and  foremost  man 

That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me  ; 
That  e'er  laid  hands  on  me, 

And  took  my  mare  me  frae : 
Wae  to  you,  Sir  Gilbert  Elliot ! 

Ye  are  my  mortal  fae ! 


3  A  wretched  pun  on  his  antagonist's  name. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY    OF    THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


65 


"  The  lasses  of  Ousenam  water 

Are  rugging  and  riving  their  hair, 
And  a'  for  the  sake  of  Willie, 

His  beauty  was  so  fair : 
His  beauty  was  so  fair, 

And  comely  for  to  see, 
And  drink  will  be  dear  to  Willie, 

When  sweet  milk  gars  him  die." 


Note  3  P. 


He  knew  each  ordinance  and  clause 
Of  Black  Lord  Archibald's  battle-laws, 
In  the  old  Douglas1  day. — P.  29. 

The  title  to  the  most  ancient  collection  of  Border  regula- 
tions runs  thus : — "  Be  it  remembered,  that,  on  the  18th  day 
of  December,  1468,  Earl  William  Douglas  assembled  the  whole 
lords,  freeholders,  and  eldest  Borderers,  that  best  knowledge 
had,  at  the  college  of  Linclouden;  and  there  he  caused  these 
lords  and  Borderers  bodily  to  be  sworn,  the  Holy  Gospel 
touched,  that  they,  justly  and  truly,  after  their  cunning,  should 
decrete,  decern,  deliver,  and  put  in  order  and  writing,  the 
statutes,  ordinances,  and  uses  of  marehe,  that  were  ordained 
in  Black  Archibald  of  Douglas's  days,  and  Archibald  his  son's 
days,  in  time  of  warfare ;  and  they  came  again  to  him  advis- 
edly with  these  statutes  and  ordinances,  which  were  in  time 
of  warfare  before.  The  said  Earl  William,  seeing  the  statutes  in 
writing  decreed  and  delivered  by  the  said  lords  and  Borderers, 
thought  them  right  speedful  and  profitable  to  the  Borders ; 
the  which  statutes,  ordinances,  and  points  of  warfare,  he  took, 
and  the  whole  lords  and  Borderers  he  caused  bodily  to  be 
sworn,  that  they  should  maintain  and  supply  him  at  their 
goodly  power,  to  do  the  law  upon  those  that  should  break  the 
statutes  underwritten.  Also,  the  said  Earl  William,  and  lords, 
and  eldest  Borderers,  made  certain  points  to  be  treason  in 
time  of  warfare  to  be  used,  which  were  no  treason  before  his 
time,  but  to  be  treason  in  his  time,  and  in  all  time  coming." 


Note  3  Q. 

The  Bloody  Heart  blazed  in  the  van, 
Announcing  Douglas,  dreaded  name. — P.  30. 

The  chief  of  this  potent  race  of  heroes,  about  the  date  of  the 
poem,  was  Archibald  Douglas,  seventh  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man 
of  great  courage  and  activity.  The  Bloody  Heart  was  the  well- 
known  cognizance  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  assumed  from  the 
time  of  good  Lord  James,  to  whose  care  Robert  Bruce  com- 
mitted his  heart,  to  be  carried  to  the  Holy  Land. 


Note  3  R. 


And  Swinton  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 
That  lamed  of  yore  the  sparkling  crest 
Of  Clarence's  Plantagenet. — P.  30. 

At  the  battle  of  Beauge,  in  France,  Thomas,  Duke  of  Clar- 
ence, brother  to  Henry  V.,  was  unhorsed  by  Sir  John  Swinton 
of  Swinton,  who  distinguished  him  by  a  coronet  set  with  pre- 
cious stones,  which  he  wore  around  his  helmet.  The  family 
of  Swinton  is  one  of  the  most  ancient  in  Scotland,  and  pro- 
duced many  celebrated  warriors.1 

i  See  the  Battle  of  Halidon  Hill.  Sir  W.  Scott,  was  descended 
from  Sir  John  Swinton. — Ed. 


Note  3  S. 

And  shouting  still,  "  A  Home  1  a  Home  /" — P.  31. 

The  Earls  of  Home,  as  descendants  of  the  Dunbars,  ancient 
Earls  of  March,  carried  a  lion  rampant,  argent ;  but,  as  a  dif- 
ference, changed  the  color  of  the  shield  from  gules  to  vert,  in 
allusion  to  Greenlaw,  their  ancient  possession.  The  slogan, 
or  war-cry,  of  this  powerful  family  was,  "A  Home !  a  Home !" 
It  was  anciently  placed  in  an  escrol  above  the  crest.  The 
helmet  is  armed  with  a  lion's  head  erased  gules,  with  a  cap  of 
state  gules,  turned  up  ermine. 

The  Hepburns,  a  powerful  family  in  East  Lothian,  were 
usually  in  close  alliance  with  the  Homes.  The  chief  of  this 
clan  was  Hepburn,  Lord  of  Hailes ;  a  family  which  terminated 
in  the  too  famous  Earl  of  Bothwell. 


Note  3  T. 


And  some,  with  many  a  merry  shout, 
In  riot,  revelry,  and  rout, 
Pursued  the  foot-ball  play. — P.  31. 

The  foot-ball  was  anciently  a  very  favorite  sport  all  through 
Scotland,  but  especially  upon  the  Borders.  Sir  John  Carmi- 
chael  of  Carmiehael,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches,  was 
killed  in  1600  by  a  band  of  the  Armstrongs,  returning  from  a 
foot-ball  match.  Sir  Robert  Carey,  in  his  Memoirs,  mentions 
a  great  meeting,  appointed  by  the  Scotch  riders  to  be  held  at 
Kelso  for  the  purpose  of  playing  at  foot-ball,  but  which  ter- 
minated in  an  incursion  upon  England.  At  present,  the  foot- 
ball is  often  played  by  the  inhabitants  of  adjacent  parishes, 
or  of  the  opposite  banks  of  a  stream.  The  victory  is  contested 
with  the  utmost  fury,  and  very  serious  accidents  have  souia- 
tinies  taken  place  in  the  struggle. 


Note  3  U. 


'Twiil  truce  and  war,  such  sudden  change 
Was  not  infrequent,  nor  held  strange, 
In  the  old  Border-day. — P.  31. 

Notwithstanding  the  constant  ware  upon  the  Borders,  and 
the  occasional  cruelties  which  marked  the  mutual  inroads, 
the  inhabitants  on  either  side  do  not  appear  to  have  regarded 
each  other  with  that  violent  and  personal  animosity  whicli 
might  have  been  expected.  On  the  contrary,  like  the  out- 
posts of  hostile  armies,  they  often  carried  on  something  re- 
sembling friendly  intercourse,  even  in  the  middle  of  hostili- 
ties ;  and  it  is  evident,  from  various  ordinances  against  trade 
and  intermarriages,  between  English  and  Scottish  Borderers, 
that  the  governments  of  both  countries  were  jealous  of  their 
cherishing  too  intimate  a  connection.  Froissart  says  of  both 
nations,  that  "  Englyshmen  on  the  one  party,  and  Scottes  on 
the  other  party,  are  good  men  of  warre ;  for  when  they  meet, 
there  is  a  harde  fight  without  sparynge.  There  is  no  hoo 
[truce]  between  them,  as  long  as  spears,  swords,  axes,  or  dag- 
gers, will  endure,  but  lay  on  eche  upon  uther;  and  whan 
they  be  well  beaten,  and  that  the  one  party  hath  obtained  the 
victory,  they  then  glorifye  so  in  theyre  dedes  of  armies,  and 
are  so  joyfull,  that  such  as  be  taken  they  shall  be  ransomed, 
or  that  they  go  out  of  the  felde ;  so  that  shortly  eche  of  them 
is  so  content  with  other,  that,  at  their  departynge,  curtyslye 
they  will  say,  God  thank  you."— Berners's  Froissart,  vol.  ii. 
p.  153.  The  Border  meetings,  of  truce,  which  although  places 
of  merchandise  and  merriment,  often  witnessed  the  mo*t 


M 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Woody  scenes,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  description  in  the 
text.  They  are  vividly  portrayed  in  the  old  ballad  of  the 
Reidsquair.  [See  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  15.]  Both  parties 
came  armed  to  a  meeting  of  the  wardens,  yet  they  inter- 
mixed fearlessly  and  peaceably  with  each  other  in  mutual 
sports  and  familiar  intercourse,  until  a  casual  fray  arose: — 

"  Then  was  there  nought  but  bow  and  spear, 
And  every  man  pulled  out  a  brand." 

In  the  29th  stanza  of  this  canto,  there  is  an  attempt  to  ex- 
meof  the  mixed  feelings  with  which  the  Borderers 
on  each  side  were  led  to  regard  their  neighbors. 


Note  3  V. 


on  the  darkening  plain, 

Loud  hollo,  whoop,  or  whistle  ran, 
As  bawk,  their  stragglers  to  regain, 

Give  the  shrill  watchword  of  their  clan. — P.  31. 

Patten  remarks,  with  bitter  censure,  the  disorderly  conduct 
cf  the  English  Borderers  who  attended  the  Protector  Somer- 
set on  his  expedition  against  Scotland.  "As  we  wear  then  a 
setling,  and  the  tents  a  setting  up,  among  all  things  els  coni- 
tni  adable  in  our  hole  journey,  one  thing  seemed  to  me  an  in- 
toll  r.il ile  disorder  and  abuse:  that  whereas  always,  both  in 
all  tounes  of  war,  and  in  all  campes  of  armies,  quietness  and 
stilnes,  without  nois,  is,  principally  in  the  night,  after  the 
watch  is  set,  observed,  (I  need  not  reason  why,)  our  northern 
prikers,  the  Borderers,  notwithstandyng,  with  great  enormi- 
tie,  (as  thought  me,)  and  not  unlike  (to  be  playn)  unto  a  mas- 
teries hounde  howlyng  in  a  hie  way  when  he  hath  lost  him  he 
waited  upon,  sum  hoopynge,  sum  whistlyng,  and  most  with 
crying,  A  Berwyke,  a  Berwyke !  A  Fenwyke,  a  Fenwyke !  A 
Bulmer,  a  Bulmer !  or  so  ootherwise  as  theyr  captains  names 
wear,  never  lin'de  these  troublous  and  dangerous  noyses  all 
the  nyghte  longe.  They  said,  they  did  it  to  find  their  captain 
and  fellows  ;  but  if  the  souldiers  of  our  oother  countreys  and 

i  es  had  used  the  same  maner,  in  that  case  we  should  have 
oft  times  had  the  state  of  our  campe  more  like  the  outrage  of 
a  dissolute  huntyng,  than  the  quiet  of  a  well  ordered  armye. 
It  is  a  feat  of  war,  in  mine  opinion,  that  might  right  well  be 
left.  I  could  reherse  causes  (but  yf  I  take  it,  they  are  better 
unspoken  than  uttred,  unless  the  faut  wear  sure  to  be  amend- 
ed i  that  might  shew  thei  move  alweis  more  peral  to  our 
;;  r  i  ii  it  -,  hut  in  their  one  nyght's  so  doynge,  than  they  shew 
good  service  (as  some  sey)  in  a  hoole  vyage." — Apud  Dalzell's 
fragments,  p.  75. 


Note  3  W. 


To  see  how  thou  the  chase  couldst  wind, 
Cheer  the  dark  blood-lwund  on  his  way, 
And  with  tfie  bugle  rouse  the  fray. — P.  35. 

The  pursuit  of  Border  marauders  was  followed  by  the  in- 
jured party  and  his  friends  with  blood-hounds  and  bugle- 
horn,  and  was  called  the  hoUrod.  He  was  entitled,  if  his  dog 
could  trace  the  scent,  to  follow  the  invaders  into  the  opposite 
kingdom;  a  privilege  which  often  occasioned  bloodshed.  In 
addition  to  what  has  been  said  of  the  blood-hound,  I  may 
add,  that  the  breed  was  kept  up  by  the  Buccleuch  family  on 
their  Border  estates  till  within  the  18tb  century.  A  person 
was  alive  in  the  memory  of  man,  who  remembered  a  blood- 
hound being  kept  at  Eldinhope,  in   Kttriek   Forest,  for  whose 

maintenance  the  tenant  had  an  allowance  of  meal.    At  that 


time  the  sheep  were  always  watched  at  night.  Upon  one 
occasion,  when  the  duty  had  fallen  on  the  narrator,  then  a 
lad.  he  became  exhausted  with  fatigue,  and  fell  asleep  upon  a 
bank,  near  sun-rising.  Suddenly  he  was  awakened  by  the 
tread  of  horses,  and  saw  live  nun,  well  mounted  and  armed, 
ride  briskly  over  the  edge  of  the  hill.  They  stopped  and 
looked  at  the  flock;  but  the  day  was  too  tar  broken  to  admit 
the  chance  of  their  carrying  any  of  them  oft'.  One  of  them, 
in  spite,  leaped  from  his  horse,  and  coming  to  the  shepherd, 
seized  him  by  the  belt  he  wore  round  his  waist ;  and,  setting 
his  foot  upon  his  body,  pulled  it  till  it  broke,  and  carried  it 
away  with  him.  They  rode  off  at  the  gallop;  and,  the  shep- 
herd giving  the  alarm,  the  blood-hound  was  turned  loose,  and 
the  people  in  the  neighborhood  alarmed.  The  marauders, 
however,  escaped,  notwithstanding  a  sharp  pursuit.  This 
circumstance  serves  to  show  how  very  long  the  license  of  the 
Borderers  continued  in  some  degree  to  manifest  itself. 


Note  3  X. 


She  wrought  not  by  forbidden  spell. — P.  36. 

Popular  belief,  though  contrary  to  the  doctrines  of  the 
Church,  made  a  favorable  distinction  betwixt  magicians  and 
necromancers,  or  wizards ;  the  former  were  supposed  to  com- 
mand the  evil  spirits,  and  the  latter  to  serve,  or  at  least  to  be 
in  league  and  compact  with,  those  enemies  of  mankind.  The 
arts  of  subjecting  the  demons  were  manifold;  sometimes  the 
fiends  were  actually  swindled  by  the  magicians,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  bargain  betwixt  one  of  their  number  and  the  poet 
Virgil.  The  classical  reader  will  doubtless  be  curious  to  pe- 
ruse this  anecdote : — 

"  Virgilius  was  at  scole  at  Tolenton,  where  he  stodyed  dyly- 
gently,  for  he  was  of  great  understandynge.  Upon  a  tyme. 
the  scolers  bad  lycense  to  go  to  play  and  sprote  them  in  the 
fyldes,  after  the  usance  of  the  old  tyme.  And  there  was  also 
Virgilius  therbye,  also  walkynge  among  the  hylles  alle  about. 
It  fortuned  he  spyed  a  great  hole  in  the  syde  of  a  great  hyll, 
wherein  he  went  so  depe,  that  he  culd  not  see  no  more  lyght ; 
and  than  he  went  a  lytell  farther  therein,  and  than  he  saw 
some  lyght  egayne,  and  than  he  went  fourth  streyghte,  and 
within  a  lytell  wyle  after  he  harde  a  voyce  that  called  '  Vir- 
gilius! Virgilius!'  and  looked  aboute,  and  he  colde  nat  see 
no  body.  Than  sayd  he,  (i.  e.  the  voice,)  'Virgilius,  see  ye 
not  the  lytyll  borde  lying  besyde  you  there  marked  with  that 
word?'  Than  answered  Virgilius,  'I  see  that  borde  well 
anough.'  The  voice  said,  'Doo  awaye  that  borde,  and  lctte 
me  out  there  atte.'  Than  answered  Virgilius  to  the  voice  that 
was  under  the  lytell  borde,  and  sayd,  '  Who  art  thou  that 
callest  me  so  V  Than  answered  the  devyll,  '  I  am  a  devyll 
conjured  out  of  the  bodye  of  a  certeyne  man,  and  banysshed 
here  tyll  the  day  of  judgmend,  without  that  I  be  delyvered 
by  the  handes  of  men.  Thus,  Virgilius,  I  pray  the,  delyver 
me  out  of  this  payn,  and  I  shall  shewe  unto  the  many  bokes 
of  negromancye,  and  how  thou  shalt  come  by  it  lyghtly,  and 
know  the  practyse  therein,  that  no  man  in  the  scyence  of  ne- 
gromancye shall  passe  the.  And  moreover,  I  shall  shewe  and 
enforme  the  so,  that  thou  shalt  have  alle  thy  desyre,  whereby 
methinke  it  is  a  great  gyfte  for  so  lytyll  a  doyng.  For  ye  may 
also  thus  all  your  power  frendys  helpe,  and  make  ryche  your 
enemyes.'  Thorough  that  great  promyse  was  Virgilius  tempt- 
ed ;  he  badde  the  fynd  show  the  bokes  to  hym,  that  he  might 
have  and  occupy  them  at  his  wyll ;  and  so  the  fynde  shewed 
him.  And  than  Virgilius  pulled  open  a  borde,  and  there  was 
a  lytell  hole,  and  thereat  wrang  the  devyll  out  like  a  yell,  and 
cam  and  stode  before  Virgilius  lyke  a  bygge  man;  whereof 
Virgilius  was  astonied  and  marvcyled  greatly  thereof,  that  so 
great  a  man  myght  come  out  at  so  lytyll  a  hole.  Than  sayd 
Virgilius, '  Shulde  ye  well  passe  into  the  hole  that  ye  cam  out 
of?'— 'Yea,  I  shall  well,'  said  the  devyl. — 'I  holde  the  best 


APPENDIX   TO    THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST   MINSTREL. 


67 


plegge  that  I  have,  that  ye  shall  not  do  it.' — 'Well,'  sayd  the 
devyll,  'thereto  I  consent.'  And  than  the  devyll  wrange 
himselfe  into  the  lytyll  hole  agene;  and  as  he  was  therein, 
Virgilius  kyvered  the  hole  ageyne  with  the  borde  close,  and 
so  was  the  devyll  begyled,  and  myght  nat  there  come  out 
agen,  but  abydeth  shytte  styll  therein.  Than  called  the 
devyll  dredefully  to  Virgilius,  and  said, '  What  have  ye  done, 
Virgilius?' — Virgilius  answered,  'Abyde  there  styll  to  your 
day  appoynted ;'  and  fro  thens  forth  abydeth  he  there.  And 
so  Virgilius  became  very  connynge  in  the  practyse  of  the 
black  scyence." 

This  story  may  remind  the  reader  of  the  Arabian  tale  of  the 
Fisherman  and  the  imprisoned  Genie ;  and  it  is  more  than 
probable  that  many  of  the  marvels  narrated  in  the  life  of 
Virgil  are  of  Oriental  extraction.  Among  such  I  am  disposed 
to  reckon  the  following  whimsical  account  of  the  foundation 
of  Naples,  containing  a  curious  theory  concerning  the  origin 
of  the  earthquakes  with  which  it  is  afflicted.  Virgil,  who  was 
a  person  of  gallantry,  had,  it  seems,  carried  off  the  daughter 
of  a  certain  Soldan,  and  was  anxious  to  secure  his  prize. 

"  Than  he  thought  in  his  mynde  how  he  myghte  marye  hyr, 
and  thought  in  his  mynde  to  founde  in  the  middes  of  the  see 
a  fayer  towne,  with  great  landes  belongynge  to  it ;  and  so  he 
did  by  his  cunnynge,  and  called  it  Napells.  And  the  fanda- 
cyon  of  it  was  of  egges,  and  in  that  town  of  Napells  he  made 
a  tower  with  iiii  corners,  and  in  the  toppe  he  set  an  apell  upon 
an  yron  yarde,  and  no  man  culde  pull  away  that  apell  without 
he  brake  it ;  and  thoroughe  that  yren  set  he  a  bolte,  and  in 
that  bolte  set  he  a  egge.  And  he  henge  the  apell  by  the  stauke 
upon  a  cheyne,  and  so  hangeth  it  still.  And  when  the  egge 
Btyrreth,  so  shulde  the  towne  of  Napells  quake ;  and  whan  the 
egge  brake,  then  shulde  the  towne  sinke.  Whan  he  had  made 
an  ende,  he  lette  call  it  Napells."  This  appears  to  have  been 
an  article  of  current  belief  during  the  middle  ages,  as  appears 
from  the  statutes  of  the  order  Bit  Saint  Esprit  au  droit  desir, 
instituted  in  1352.  A  chapter  of  the  knights  is  appointed  to 
be  held  annually  at  the  Castle  of  the  Enchanted  Egg,  near  the 
grotto  of  Virgil.— Montfaucon,  vol.  ii.  p.  329. 


Note  3  Y. 


A  merlin  sat  upon  her  wrist, 

Held  by  a  leash  of  silken  heist. — P.  36. 

A  merlin,  or  sparrow-hawk,  was  actually  carried  by  ladies 
of  rank,  as  a  falcon  was,  in  time  of  peace,  the  constant  atten- 
dant of  a  knight  or  baron.  See  Latham  on  Falconry. — Gods- 
croft  relates  that  when  Mary  of  Lorraine  was  regent,  she 
pressed  the  Earl  of  Angus  to  admit  a  royal  garrison  into  his 
Castle  of  Tantallon.  To  this  he  returned  no  direct  answer ; 
but,  as  if  apostrophizing  a  goss-hawk,  which  sat  on  his  wrist, 
and  which  he  was  feeding  during  the  Queen's  speech,  he  ex- 
claimed, "The  devil's  in  this  greedy  glebe,  she  will  never  be 
full." — Hume's  History  of  the  Home  of  Douglas,  1743,  vol.  ii. 
p.  131.  Barclay  complains  of  the  common  and  indecent  prac- 
tice of  bringing  hawks  and  hounds  into  churches. 


Note  3  Z. 


And  princely  peacock's  gilded  train, 

And  o'er  the  boar-head  garnish'  d  brave. — P.  36. 

The  peacock,  it  is  well  known,  was  considered,  during  the 
times  of  chivalry,  not  merely  as  an  exquisite  delicacy,  but  as  a 
dish  of  peculiar  solemnity.    After  being  roasted,  it  was  again 


decorated  with  its  plumage,  and  a  sponge,  dipped  in  lighted 
spirits  of  wine,  was  placed  in  its  bill.  When  it  was  intro- 
duced on  days  of  grand  festival,  it  was  the  signal  for  the 
adventurous  knights  to  take  upon  them  vows  to  do  some  deed 
of  chivalry,  "  before  the  peacock  and  the  ladies." 

The  boar's  head  was  also  a  usual  dish  of  feudal  splendor. 
In  Scotland  it  was  sometimes  surrounded  with  little  banners, 
displaying  the  colors  and  achievements  of  the  baron  at  whose 
board  it  waS  served.— Pinkerton's  History,  vol.  i.  p.  432. 


Note  4  A. 


Smote,  with  his  gauntlet,  stout  Hunthill. — P.  37. 

The  Rutherfords  of  Hunthill  were  an  ancient  race  of  Border 
Lairds,  whose  names  occur  in  history,  sometimes  as  defending 
the  frontier  against  the  English,  sometimes  as  disturbing  the 
peace  of  their  own  country.  Dickon  Draw-the-sword  was 
son  to  the  ancient  warrior,  called  in  tradition  the  Cock  of 
Hunthill,  remarkable  for  leading  into  battle  nine  sons,  gallant 
warriors,  all  sons  of  the  aged  champion.  Mr.  Rutherford, 
late  of  New  York,  in  a  letter  to  the  editor,  soon  after  these 
songs  were  first  published,  quoted,  when  upwards  of  eighty 
years  old,  a  ballad  apparently  the  same  with  the  Raid  of  the 
Rcidsquare,  but  which  apparently  is  lost,  except  the  following 
lines : — 

"  Bauld  Rutherford  he  was  fu'  stout, 
With  all  his  nine  sons  him  about, 
He  brought  the  lads  of  Jedbrught  out, 
And  bauldly  fought  that  day." 


Note  4  B. 


bit  his  glove.— P.  37. 

To  bite  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  seems  not  to  have  been 
considered,  upon  the  Border,  as  a  gesture  of  contempt,  though 
so  used  by  Shakspeare,  but  as  a  pledge  of  mortal  revenge.  It 
is  yet  remembered  that  a  young  gentleman  of  Teviotdale,  on 
the  morning  after  a  hard  drinking-bout,  observed  that  he  had 
bitten  his  glove.  He  instantly  demanded  of  his  companion, 
with  whom  he  had  quarrelled.  And,  learning  that  he  had 
had  words  with  one  of  the  party,  insisted  on  instant  satisfac- 
tion, asserting  that,  though  he  remembered  nothing  of  the 
dispute,  yet  he  was  sure  he  never  would  have  bit  his  glove 
unless  he  had  received  some  unpardonable  insult.  He  fell  in 
the  duel,  which  was  fought  near  Selkirk,  in  1721. 


Note  4  C. 


Since  old  Buecleuch  the  name  did  gain, 
When  in  the  clench  the  buck  was  ta'en. — P.  37. 

A  tradition  preserved  by  Scott  of  Satchells,  who  published, 
in  1688,  A  True  History  of  the  Right  Honorable  Name  of  Scott, 
gives  the  following  romantic  origin  of  that  name :  Two  breth- 
ren, natives  of  Galloway,  having  been  banished  from  that 
country  for  a  riot,  or  insurrection,  came  to  Rankleburn,  in 
Ettrick  Forest,  where  the  keeper,  whose  name  was  Brydone. 
received  them  joyfully,  on  account  of  their  skill  in  winding 
the  horn,  and  in  the  other  mysteries  of  the  chase.  Kenneth 
MacAlpin,  then  King  of  Scotland,  came  soon  after  to  hunt  in 
the  royal  forest,  and  pursued  a  buck  from  Ettrick-beugh  to 
the  glen  now  called  Buckcleuch,  about  two  miles  above  the 


'iS 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


junction  of  Rankleburn  with  the  river  Ettrick.  Here  the  stag 
stood  at  bay;  and  the  King  and  his  attendants,  who  followed 
on  horseback,  were  thrown  out  by  the  steepness  of  the  hill 
and  the  morass.  John,  one  of  the  brethren  from  Galloway, 
had  followed  the  chase  OB  foot;  and,  now  coming  in,  seized 
the  buck  by  the  horns,  and.  being  a  man  of  great  strength  and 
activity,  threw  him  on  his  back,  and  ran  with  his  burden 
about  a  mile  up  the  steep  hill,  to  a  place  called  Cracra-Cross, 
where  Kenneth  had  halted,  and  laid  the  buck  at  the  sove- 
reign's feet.1 

"The  deer  being  eureed  in  that  place, 

At  his  Majesty's  demand, 
Then  John  of  Galloway  ran  apace, 

And  fetched  water  to  bis  hand. 
The  King  did  wash  into  a  dish, 

And  Galloway  John  he  wot ; 
He  said,  'Thy  name  now  after  this 

Shall  ever  be  called  John  Scott. 

" '  The  forest  and  the  deer  therein, 

We  commit  to  thy  hand; 
For  thou  shalt  sure  the  ranger  be, 

If  thou  obey  command  ; 
And  for  the  buck  thou  stoutly  brought 

To  us  up  that  steep  bench, 
Thy  designation  ever  shall 

Be  John  Scott  in  Buckscleuch.' 


"In  Scotland  no  Buckcleuch  was  then, 
Before  the  buck  in  the  cleuch  was  slain ; 
Night's  men2  at  first  they  did  appear, 
Because  moon  and  stars  to  their  arms  they  bear. 
Their  crest,  supporters,  and  hunting-horn, 
Show  their  beginning  from  hunting  came; 
Their  name,  and  style,  the  book  doth  say, 
John  gained  them  both  into  one  day." 

Watt's  Bellenden. 


The  Buccleuch  arms  have  been  altered,  and  now  allude 
less  pointedly  to  this  hunting,  whether  real  or  fabulous.  The 
family  now  bear  Or,  upon  a  bend  azure,  a  mullet  betwixt 
two  crescents  of  the  field ;  in  addition  to  which,  they  formerly 
bore  in  the  field  a  hunting-horn.  The  supporters,  now  two 
ladies,  were  formerly  a  hound  and  buck,  or,  according  to  the 
old  terms,  a  hart  of  leash  and  a  hart  of  greece.  The  family  of 
Scott  of  Howpasley  and  Thirlestaine  long  retained  the  bugle- 
horn  ;  they  also  carried  a  bent  bow  and  arrow  in  the  sinister 
cantle,  perhaps  as  a  difference.  It  is  said  the  motto  was — 
riding  by  moonlight,  in  allusion  to  the  crescents  on 
the  shield,  and  perhaps  to  the  habits  of  those  who  bore  it. 


1  Froissart  relates  that  a  knight  of  the  household  of  the 
Comte  de  Foix  exhibited  a  similar  feat  of  strength.  The  hall- 
fire  had  waxed  low,  and  wood  was  wanted  to  mend  it.  The 
knight  went  down  to  the  court-yard,  where  stood  an  ass  laden 
with  fagots,  seized  on  the  animal  and  burden,  and,  carrying 
him  up  to  the  hall  on  his  shoulders,  tumbled  him  into  the 
chimney  with  his  heels  uppermost:  a  humane  pleasantry, 
much  applauded  by  the  Count  and  all  the  spectators. 

2  "  Minions  of  the  moon,"  a-  Falstaff  would  have  said.  The 
vocation  pursued  by  our  ancient  Borderers  may  be  justified 
on  the  authority  of  the  most  polished  of  the  ancient  nations: 
•'  For  the  Grecians  in  old  time,  and  such  barbarians  as  in  the 
continent  lived  neere  unto  the  sea,  or  else  inhabited  the 
islands,  after  once  they  began  to  crosse  over  on,,  to  another 
in  ships,  became  theeves,  and  went  abroad  under  the  conduct 
oi  their  more  puissent  men,  both  to  enrieh  themselves,  and 
to  f'teh  in  maintenance  for  the  weak  :  and  (ailing  upon  towns 


The  motto  now  given  is  Amo,  applying  to  the  female  sup- 
porters. 


Note  4  D. 


•  old  Albert  Granite, 


The  Minstrel  of  that  ancient  name. — P.  37. 

"John  Graeme,  second  son  of  Malice,  Earl  of  Monteith, 
commonly  suruamed  John  with  the  Bright  Sword,  upon  some 
displeasure  risen  against  him  at  court,  retired  with  many  of 
his  elan  and  kindred  into  the  English  Borders,  in  the  reign  of 
King  Henry  the  Fourth,  where  they  seated  themselves;  and 
many  of  their  posterity  have  continued  there  ever  since.  Mr. 
Sandford,  speaking  of  them,  says  (which  indeed  was  appli- 
cable to  most  of  the  Borderers  on  both  sides),  'They  were  all 
stark  moss-troopers,  and  arrant  thieves :  Both  to  England 
and  Scotland  outlawed ;  yet  sometimes  connived  at,  because 
they  gave  intelligence  forth  of  Scotland,  and  would  raise  400 
horse  at  any  time  upon  a  raid  of  the  English  into  Scotland. 
A  saying  is  recorded  of  a  mother  to  her  son  (which  is  now 
become  proverbial),  Bide,  Bouiey,  hough's  i  the  pot:  that  is, 
the  last  piece  of  beef  was  in  the  pot,  and  therefore  it  was 
high  time  for  him  to  go  and  fetch  more.'" — Introduction  to  the 
History  of  Cumberland. 

The  residence  of  the  Graemes  being  chiefly  in  the  Debat- 
able Land,  so  called  because  it  was  claimed  by  both  kingdoms, 
their  depredations  extended  both  to  England  and  Scotland, 
with  impunity ;  for  as  both  wardens  accounted  them  the 
proper  subjects  of  their  own  prince,  neither  inclined  to  de- 
mand reparation  for  their  excesses  from  the  opposite  officer, 
which  would  have  been  an  acknowledgment  of  his  jurisdic- 
tion over  them. — See  a  long  correspondence  on  this  subject 
betwixt  Lord  Daere  and  the  English  Privy  Council,  in  Intro- 
duction to  History  of  Cumberland.  The  Debatable  Land  was 
finally  divided  betwixt  England  and  Scotland,  by  commis- 
sioners appointed  by  both  nations.3 


Note  4  E. 


The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wall. — P.  37. 

This  burden  is  adopted,  with  some  alteration,  from  an  old 
Scottish  song,  beginning  thus:— 

"She  lean'd  her  back  against  a  thorn, 
The  sun  shines  fair  on  Carlisle  wa' : 

And  there  she  has  her  young  babe  born, 
And  the  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  a'." 


unfortified,  or  scatteringly  inhabited,  rifled  them,  and  made 
this  tin'  best  means  of  thear  living;  being  a  matter  at  that 
time  no  where  in  disgrace,  but  rather  carrying  with  it  some- 
thing of  glory.  This  is  manifest  by  some  that  dwell  upon  the 
continent,  amongst  whom,  so  it  be  performed  nobly,  it  is  still 
esteemed  as  an  ornament.  The  same  is  also  proved  by  some 
of  the  ancient  poets,  who  introduced  men  questioning  of  such 
as  sail  by,  on  all  coasts  alike,  whether  they  be  theeves  or  not ; 
as  a  thyng  neyther  scorned  by  such  as  were  asked,  nor  up- 
braided by  those  that,  were  desirous  to  know.  They  also 
robbed  one  another,  within  the  main  land;  and  much  of 
Greece  useth  that  old  custome,  as  the  Locruins,  the  Acairna- 
niniis,  and  those  of  the  continent  in  that  quarter,  unto  this 
day.  Moreover,  the  fashion  of  wearing  iron  remaineth  yet 
with  the  people  of  that  continent,  from  their  old  trade  of 
thieving."— Hobbes1  Thiuyd&des,  p.  4.  Lond. 
8  See  various  notes  in  the  Minstrelsy. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LAY   OF   THE    LAST    MINSTREL. 


69 


Note  4  F. 

Who  has  not  heard  of  Surrey's  fame? — P.  38. 

The  gallant  and  unfortunate  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  Surrey, 
was  unquestionably  the  most  accomplished  cavalier  of  his 
time;  and  his  sonnets  displayed  beauties  which  would  do 
honor  to  a  more  polished  age.  He  was  beheaded  on  Tower- 
hill  in  1546 ;  a  victim  to  the  mean  jealousy  of  Henry  VIII., 
who  could  not  bear  so  brilliant  a  character  near  his  throne. 

The  song  of  the  supposed  bard  is  founded  on  an  incident 
said  to  have  happened  to  the  Earl  in  his  travels.  Cornelius 
Agrippa,  the  celebrated  alchemist,  showed  him,  in  a  looking- 
glass,  the  lovely  Geraldine,  to  whose  service  he  had  devoted 
his  pen  and  his  sword.  The  vision  represented  her  as  indis- 
posed, and  reclining  upon  a  couch,  reading  her  lover's  verses 
by  the  light  of  a  waxen  taper. 


Note  4  G. 


■  Hie  storm-swept  Orcades ; 


Where  erst  St.  Clalrs  held  princely  sway 
O'er  isle  and  islet,  strait  and  bay. — P.  39. 

The  St.  Clairs  are  of  Norman  extraction,  being  descended 
from  William  de  St.  Clair,  second  son  of  Walderne,  Compte 
de  St.  Clair,  and  Margaret,  daughter  to  Richard,  Duke  of  Nor- 
mandy. He  was  called,  for  his  fair  deportment,  the  Seemly 
St.  Clair;  and,  settling  in  Scotland  during  the  reign  of  Mal- 
colm Caenmore,  obtained  large  grants  of  land  in  Mid-Lothian. 
These  domains  were  increased  by  the  liberality  of  succeeding 
monarchs  to  the  descendants  of  the  family,  and  comprehended 
the  baronies  of  Rosline,  Pentland,  Cowsland,  Cardaine,  and 
several  others.  It  is  said  a  large  addition  was  obtained  from 
Robert  Bruce,  on  the  following  occasion  : — "  The  King,  in 
following  the  chase  upon  Peutlaud-hills,  had  often  started  a 
'white  faunch  deer,'  which  had  always  escaped  from  his 
hounds;  and  he  asked  the  nobles,  who  were  assembled  around 
him,  whether  any  of  them  had  dogs  which  they  thought 
might  be  more  successful.  No  courtier  would  affirm  that  his 
hounds  were  fleeter  than  those  of  the  King,  until  Sir  William 
St.  Clair  of  Rosline  unceremoniously  said,  he  would  wager 
his  head  that  his  two  favorite  dogs,  Help  and  Hold,  would 
kill  the  deer  before  she  could  cross  the  March-burn.  The 
King  instantly  caught  at  his  unwary  offer,  and  betted  the 
forest  of  Pentland-moor  against  the  life  of  Sir  William  St. 
Clair.  All  the  hounds  were  tied  up,  except  a  few  ratches,  or 
slow-hounds,  to  put  up  the  deer ;  while  Sir  William  St.  Clair, 
posting  himself  in  the  best  situation  for  slipping  his  dogs, 
prayed  devoutly  to  Christ,  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  St.  Kathe- 
rine.  The  deer  was  shortly  after  roused,  and  the  hounds 
slipped ;  Sir  William  following  on  a  gallant  steed,  to  cheer  his 
dogs.  The  hind,  however,  reached  the  middle  of  the  brook  ; 
upon  which  the  hunter  threw  himself  from  his  horse  in  de- 
spair. At  this  critical  moment,  however,  Hold  stopped  her 
in  the  brook ;  and  Help,  coming  up,  turned  her  back,  and 
killed  her  on  Sir  William's  side.  The  King  descended  from 
the  hill,  embraced  Sir  William,  and  bestowed  on  him  the 
lands  of  Kirkton,  Logan-house,  Earncraig,  &c,  in  free  fo- 


1  The  tomb  of  Sir  William  St.  Clair,  on  which  he  appears 
sculptured  in  armor,  with  a  greyhound  at  his  feet,  is  still  to 
be  seen  in  Roslin  chapel.  The  person  who  shows  it  always 
tells  the  story  of  his  hunting-match,  with  some  addition  to 
Mr.  Hay's  account;  as  that  the  Knight  of  Rosline's  fright 
made  him  poetical,  and  that  in  the  last  emergency,  he  shouted, 
"  Help,  Haud,  an  ye  may, 
Or  Roslin  will  lose  his  head  this  day." 


restrie.  Sir  William,  in  acknowledgment  of  St.  Katherine's 
intercession,  built  the  castle  of  St.  Katherine  in  the  Hopes, 
the  churchyard  of  which  is  still  to  be  seen.  The  hill  from 
which  Robert  Bruce  beheld  this  memorable  chase  is  still 
called  the  King's  Hill ;  and  the  place  where  Sir  William 
hunted  is  called  the  Knight's  Field."1 — MS.  History  of  the 
Family  of  St.  Clair,  by  Richard  Augustin  Hay,  Canon  of  St. 
Genevieve. 

This  adventurous  huntsman  married  Elizabeth,  daughter 
of  Malice  Spar,  Earl  of  Orkney  and  Stratherne,  in  whose  right 
their  son  Henry  was,  in  1379,  created  Earl  of  Orkney,  by 
Haco,  King  of  Norway.  This  title  was  recognized  by  the 
Kings  of  Scotland,  and  remained  with  his  successors  until  it 
was  annexed  to  the  crown,  in  1471,  by  act  of  Parliament.  In 
exchange  for  this  earldom,  the  castle  and  domains  of  Ravens- 
craig,  or  Ravensheuch,  were  conferred  on  William  Saintclair, 
Earl  of  Caithness. 


Note  4  H. 


Still  nods  their  palace  to  Us  fall, 

Thy  pride  and  sorrow,  fair  Kirkwall. — P.  39. 

The  Castle  of  Kirkwall  was  built  by  the  St.  Clairs,  while 
Earls  of  Orkney.  It  was  dismantled  by  the  Earl  of  Caithness 
about  1615,  having  been  garrisoned  against  the  government 
by  Robert  Stewart,  natural  son  to  the  Earl  of  Orkney. 

Its  ruins  afforded  a  sad  subject  of  contemplation  to  John, 
Master  of  St.  Clair,  who,  flying  from  his  native  country,  on 
account  of  his  share  in  the  insurrection  1715,  made  some  stay 
at  Kirkwall. 

"  I  had  occasion  to  entertain  myself  at  Kirkwall  with  the 
melancholy  prospect  of  the  ruin's  of  an  old  castle,  the  seat  of 
the  old  Earls  of  Orkney,  my  ancestors ;  and  of  a  more  melan- 
choly reflection,  of  so  great  and  noble  an  estate  as  the  Orkney 
and  Shetland  Isles  being  taken  from  one  of  them  by  James 
the  Third,  for  faultrie,  after  his  brother  Alexander,  Duke  of 
Albany,  had  married  a  daughter  of  my  family,  and  for  pro- 
tecting and  defending  the  said  Alexander  against  the  King, 
who  wished  to  kill  him,  as  he  had  done  his  youngest  brother, 
the  Earl  of  Mar ;  and  for  which,  after  the  forfaultrie,  he  grate- 
fully  divorced  my  forfaulted  ancestor's  sister;  though  I  can- 
not persuade  myself  that  he  had  any  misalliance  to  plead 
against  a  familie  in  whose  veins  the  blood  of  Robert  Bruce 
ran  as  fresh  as  in  his  own  ;  for  their  title  to  the  crowne  was 
by  a  daughter  of  David  Bruce,  son  to  Robert;  and  our  alli- 
ance was  by  marrying  a  grandchild  of  the  same  Robert  Bruce, 
and  daughter  to  the  sister  of  the  same  David,  out  of  the 
familie  of  Douglass,  which  at  that  time  did  not  much  sullie 
the  blood,  more  than  my  ancestor's  having  not  long  before  had 
the  honour  of  marrying  a  daughter  of  the  King  of  Denmark's, 
who  was  named  Florentine,  and  has  left  in  the  town  of  Kirk- 
wall a  noble  monument  of  the  grandeur  of  the  times,  the 
finest  church  ever  I  saw  entire  in  Scotland.  I  then  had  no 
small  reason  to  think,  in  that  unhappy  state,  on  the  many  not 
inconsiderable  services  rendered  since  to  the  royal  familie,  for 
these  many  years  bygone,  on  all  occasions,  when  they  stood 
most  in  need  of  friends,  which  they  have  thought  themselves 
very  often  obliged  to  acknowledge  by  letters  yet  extant,  and 

If  this  couplet  does  him  no  great  honor  as  a  poet,  the  con- 
clusion of  the  story  does  him  still  less  credit.  He  set  his  foot 
on  the  dog,  says  the  narrator,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot, 
saying,  he  would  never  again  put  his  neck  in  such  a  risk. 
As  Mr.  Hay  does  not  mention  this  circumstance,  I  hope  it  is 
only  founded  on  the  couchant  posture  of  the  hound  on  the 
monument. 


70 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


iu  a  style  more  like  friends  than  souveraigns ;  our  attachment 
to  them,  without  any  other  thanks,  having  brought  upon  us 
considerable  losses,  and  among  others,  that  of  our  all  in 
Cromwell's  time;  and  left  in  that  condition  without  the  least 
relief  except  what  we  found  in  our  own  virtue.  My  father 
was  the  only  man  of  the  Scots  nation  who  had  courage  enough 
to  protest  iu  Parliament  against  King  William's  title  to  the 
throne,  which  was  lost,  God  knows  how;  and  this  at  a  time 
when  the  losses  in  the  cause  of  the  royall  familie,  and  their 
usual  gratitude,  had  scarce  left  him  bread  to  maintain  a  nu- 
merous familie  of  eleven  children,  who  had  soon  after  sprung 
up  on  him,  in  spite  of  all  which,  he  had  honourably  persisted 
in  his  principle.  I  say,  these  things  considered,  and  after 
being  treated  as  I  was,  and  in  that  unlucky  state,  when  objects 
appear  to  men  in  their  true  light,  as  at  the  hour  of  death, 
could  I  be  blamed  for  making  some  bitter  reflections  to  my- 
self, and  laughing  at  the  extravagance  and  unaccountable 
humour  of  men,  and  the  singularit  ie  of  my  own  case  (an  exile 
for  the  cause  of  the  Stuart  family),  when  I  ought  to  have 
known,  that  the  greatest  crime  I,  or  my  family,  could  have 
committed,  was  persevering,  to  my  own  destruction,  in  serving 
the  royal  family  faithfully,  though  obstinately,  after  so  great 
a  share  of  depression,  and  after  they  had  been  pleased  todoom 
me  and  my  familie  to  starve." — MS.  Memoirs  of  John,  Master  of 
St.  Clair. 


Note  4  I. 


Of  that  Sea-Snake,  tremendous  curVd, 

Whose  monstrous  circle  girds  the  world. — P.  39. 

The  jormungandr,  or  Snake  of  the  Ocean,  whose  folds  sur- 
round the  earth,  is  one  of  the  wildest  fictions  of  the  Edda.  It 
was  very  nearly  caught  by  the  god  Thor,  who  went  to  fish 
for  it  with  a  hook  baited  with  a  bull's  head.  In  the  battle 
betwixt  the  evil  demons  and  the  divinities  of  Odin,  which  is 
to  precede  the  Ragnarockr,  or  Twilight  of  the  Gods,  this  Snake 
is  to  act  a  conspicuous  part. 


Note  4  K. 

Of  those  dread  Maids,  whose  hideous  yell. — P.  39. 

These  were  the  Valcyritir,  or  Selectors  of  the  Slain,  des- 
patched by  Odin  from  Valhalla,  to  choose  those  who  were  to 
die,  and  to  distribute  the  contest.  They  were  well  known  to 
the  English  reader  as  Gray's  Fatal  Sisters. 


Note  4  L. 


Of  Chiefs,  who,  guided  through  the,  gloom 

By  the  pale  death-liglits  of  the  tomb, 

Ransack'd  the  graves  of  warriors  old, 

Their  falchions  wrench' d  from  corjises'  hold. — P.  39. 

"The  northern  warriors  were  usually  entombed  with  their 
arms,  and  their  other  treasures.  Thus,  Angantyr,  before 
commencing  the  duel  in  which  he  was  slain,  stipulated  that, 
if  he  f>il,  his  sword  Tyrfing  should  be  buried  with  him.  His 
daughter,  Hervor,  afterwards  took  it  from  his  tomb.  The 
dialogue  which  passed  betwixt,  her  and  Angantyr's  spirit  on 
this  occasion  has  been  often  translated.  The  whole  history 
may  be  found  in  the  IIervarar-Sat;a.  Indeed,  the  ghosts  of 
the  northern  warriors  were  not  wont  tamely  to  suffer  their 


tombs  to  be  plundered ;  and  hence  the  mortal  heroes  had  an 
additional  temptation  to  attempt  such  adventures;  for  they 
held  nothing  more  worthy  of  their  valor  than  to  encounter 
supernatural  beings." — Bartholixus,  De  causis  contemptw  a 
JJnii in  mijiiis,  lib.  i.  cap.  2,  9,  10, 13. 


Note  4  M. 


-  Castle  Barensheuch. — P.  39. 


A  large  and  strong  castle,  now  ruinous,  situated  betwixt 
Kirkaldy  and  Dysart,  on  a  steep  crag,  washed  by  the  Frith  of 
Forth.  It  was  conferred  on  Sir  William  St.  Clair  as  a  slight 
compensation  for  the  earldom  of  Orkney,  by  a  charter  of  King 
James  III.  dated  in  1471,  and  is  now  the  property  of  Sir  James 
St.  Clair  Erskine  (now  Earl  of  Rosslyn),  representative  of  the 
family.  It  was  long  a  principal  residence  of  the  Barons  of 
Koslin. 


Note  4  N. 


Seem'd  all  on  fire  within,  around, 

Deep  sacristy  and  altar's  pale : 
Slione  every  pillar  foliage-bound, 

And  glimmer'd  all  the  dead  men's  mail. — P.  40. 

The  beautiful  chapel  of  Roslin  is  still  in  tolerable  preser- 
vation. It  was  founded  in  1446,  by  William  St.  Clair,  Prince 
of  Orkney,  Duke  of  Oldenburgh,  Earl  of  Caithness  and  Strath- 
erne,  Lord  St.  Clair,  Lord  Niddesdale,  Lord  Admiral  of  the 
Scottish  Seas,  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  Scotland,  Lord  Warden 
of  the  three  Marches,  Baron  of  Roslin,  Pentland,  Pentland- 
uioor,  &c.,  Knight  of  the  Cockle,  and  of  the  Garter  (as  is 
affirmed),  High  Chancellor,  Chamberlain,  and  Lieutenant  of 
Scotland.  This  lofty  person,  whose  titles,  says  Godscroft, 
might  weary  a  Spaniard,  built  the  castle  of  Roslin,  where  he 
resided  in  princely  splendor,  and  founded  the  chapel,  which 
is  in  the  most  rich  and  florid  style  of  Gothic  architecture. 
Among  the  profuse  carving  on  the  pillars  and  buttresses,  the 
rose  is  frequently  introduced,  in  allusion  to  the  name,  with 
which,  however,  the  flower  has  no  connection  ;  the  etymology 
being  Rosslinnhe,  the  promontory  of  the  linn,  or  water-fall. 
The  chapel  is  said  to  appear  on  fire  previous  to  the  death  of 
any  of  his  descendants.  This  superstition,  noticed  by  Slezer, 
in  his  Theatrum  Scotice,  and  alluded  to  in  the  text,  is  probably 
of  Norwegian  derivation,  and  may  have  been  imported  by  the 
Earls  of  Orkney  into  their  Lothian  dominions.  The  tomb-fires 
of  the  north  are  mentioned  in  most  of  the  Sagas. 

The  Barons  of  Roslin  were  buried  in  a  vault  beneath  the 
chapel  floor.  The  manner  of  their  interment  is  thus  described 
by  Father  Hay,  in  the  MS.  history  already  quoted  :— 

"Sir  William  Sinclair,  the  father,  was  a  lewd  man.  He 
kept  a  miller's  daughter,  with  whom,  it  is  alleged,  he  went  to 
Ireland ;  yet  I  think  the  cause  of  his  retreat  was  rather  occa- 
sioned by  the  Presbyterians,  who  vexed  him  sadly,  because 
of  his  religion  being  Roman  Catholic.  His  son,  Sir  Wrilliam, 
died  during  the  troubles,  and  was  interred  in  the  chapel  of 
Roslin  the  very  same  day  that  the  battle  of  Dunbar  was  fought. 
When  my  good-father  was  buried,  his  {i.  e.  Sir  William's) 
corpse  seemed  to  be  entire  at  the  opening  of  the  cave ;  but 
when  they  came  to  touch  his  body,  it  fell  into  dust.  He  was 
laying  in  his  armor,  with  a  red  velvet  cap  on  his  head,  on  a 
flat  stone;  nothing  was  spoiled  except  a  piece  of  the  white 
furring  that  went  round  the  cap,  and  answered  to  the  hinder 
part  of  the  head.  All  his  predecessors  were  buried  after  the 
same  manner,  in  their  armor:  late  Rosline,  my  good-father, 
was  the  first  that  was  buried  in  a  coffin,  against  the  sentiments 
of  King  James  the  Seventh,  who  was  then  in  Scotland,  and 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL. 


71 


several  other  persons  well  versed  in  antiquity,  to  whom  my 
mother  would  not  hearken,  thinking  it  beggarly  to  be  buried 
after  that  manner.  The  great  expenses  she  was  at  in  burying 
her  husband,  occasioned  the  sumptuary  acts  which  were  made 
in  the  following  parliament." 


Note  4  O. 


For  he  was  speechless,  ghastly,  wan, 

Like  him  of  whom  the  story  ran, 

Who  spoke  the  spectre-hound  in  Man. — P.  41. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Peel-town,  in  the  Isle  of  Man,  is  sur- 
rounded by  four  churches,  now  ruinous.  Through  one  of 
these  chapels  there  was  formerly  a  passage  from  the  guard- 
room of  the  garrison.  This  was  closed,  it  is  said,  upon  the 
following  occasion : — "  They  say,  that  an  apparition,  called, 
in  the  Mankish  language,  the  Mauthe  Doog,  in  the  shape  of  a 
large  black  spaniel,  with  curled  shaggy  hair,  was  used  to  haunt 
Peel-castle ;  and  has  been  frequently  seen  in  every  room,  but 
particularly  in  the  guard-chamber,  where,  as  soon  as  candles 
were  lighted,  it  came  and  lay  down  before  the  fire,  in  presence 
of  all  the  soldiers,  who,  at  length,  by  being  so  much  accustomed 
to  the  sight  of  it,  lost  great  part  of  the  terror  they  were  seized 
with  at  its  first  appearance.  They  still,  however,  retained  a 
certain  awe,  as  believing  it  was  an  evil  spirit,  which  only 
waited  permission  to  do  them  hurt;  and,  for  that  reason, 
forbore  swearing  and  all  profane  discourse,  while  in  its 
company.  But  though  they  endured  the  shock  of  such  a 
guest  when  altogether  in  a  body,  none  cared  to  be  left  alone 
with  it.  It  being  the  custom,  therefore,  for  one  of  the  soldiers 
to  lock  the  gates  of  the  castle  at  a  certain  hour,  and  carry  the 
keys  to  the  captain,  to  whose  apartment,  as  I  said  before,  the 
way  led  through  the  church,  they  agreed  among  themselves, 
that  whoever  was  to  succeed  the  ensuing  night  his  fellow  in 
this  errand,  should  accompany  him  that  went  first,  and  by 
this  means  no  man  would  be  exposed  singly  to  the  danger ; 
for  I  forgot  to  mention,  that  the  Maxdhe  Doog  was  always  seen 
to  come  out  from  that  passage  at  the  close  of  the  day,  and 
return  to  it  again  as  soon  as  the  morning  dawned ;  which 
made  them  look  on  this  place  as  its  peculiar  residence. 

"One  night  a  fellow  being  drunk,  and  by  the  strength  of 
his  liquor  rendered  more  daring  than  ordinarily,  laughed  at 
the  simplicity  of  his  companions,  and,  though  it  was  not  his 
turn  to  go  with  the  keys,  would  needs  take  that  office  upon 


him,  to  testify  his  courage.  All  the  soldiers  endeavored  to 
dissuade  him ;  but  the  more  they  said,  the  more  resolute  he 
seemed,  and  swore  that  he  desired  nothing  more  than  that 
the  Mauthe  Doog  would  follow  him,  as  it  had  done  the  others  ; 
for  he  would  try  if  it  were  dog  or  devil.  After  having  talked 
in  a  very  reprobate  manner  for  some  time,  he  snatched  up  the 
keys,  and  went  out  of  the  guard-room.  In  some  time  after  his 
departure,  a  great  noise  was  heard,  but  nobody  had  the  bold- 
ness to  see  what  occasioned  it,  till  the  adventurer  returning, 
they  demanded  the  knowledge  of  him ;  but  as  loud  and  noisy 
as  he  had  been  at  leaving  them,  he  was  now  become  sober  and 
silent  enough ;  for  he  was  never  heard  to  speak  more ;  and 
though  all  the  time  he  lived,  which  was  three  days,  he  was 
entreated  by  all  who  came  near  him,  either  to  speak,  or,  if  he 
could  not  do  that,  to  make  some  signs,  by  which  they  might 
understand  what  had  happened  to  him,  yet  nothing  intelli- 
gible could  be  got  from  him,  only  that,  by  the  distortion  of  his 
limbs  and  features,  it  might  be  guessed  that  he  died  in  agonies 
more  than  is  common  in  a  natural  death. 

"The  Mauthe  Doog  was,  however,  never  after  seen  in  the 
castle,  nor  would  any  one  attempt  to  go  through  that  passage ; 
for  which  reason  it  was  closed  up,  and  another  way  made. 
This  accident  happened  about  three  score  years  since ;  and  I 
heard  it  attested  by  several,  but  especially  by  an  old  soldier, 
who  assured  me  he  had  seen  it  oftener  than  he  had  then 
hairs  on  his  head." — Waldron's  Description  of  the  Isle  of 
Man,  p.  107. 


Note  4  P. 


•  St.  Bride  of  Douglas.— P.  41. 


This  was  a  favorite  saint  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  and  of 
the  Earl  of  Angus  in  particular,  as  we  learn  from  the  follow- 
ing passage: — "The  Queen-regent  had  proposed  to  raise  a 
rival  noble  to  the  ducal  dignity ;  and  discoursing  of  her  pur- 
pose with  Angus,  he  answered,  'Why  not,  madam?  we  are 
happy  that  have  such  a  princess,  that  can  know  and  will 
acknowledge  men's  services,  and  is  willing  to  recompense  it ; 
but,  by  the  might  of  God,'  (this  was  his  oath  when  he  was 
serious  and  in  anger ;  at  other  times,  it  was  by  St.  Bryde  of 
Douglas,) '  if  he  be  a  Duke,  I  will  be  a  Drake !' — So  she  desist- 
ed from  prosecuting  of  that  purpose." — Godscroft,  vol.  ii. 
p.  131. 


fflaxmion. 

A    TALE    OF    FLODDEN    FIELD.1 


IN   SIX   CANTOS. 


Alas !  that  Scottish  maid  should  sing 
The  combat  where  her  lover  fell ! 

That  Scottish  Bard  should  wake  the  string, 
The  triumph  of  our  foes  to  tell ! 

IiEYDElf. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

SOME  alterations  in  the  text  of  the  Introduction  to 
Marmion,  and  of  the  Poem  itself,  as  well  as  various 
additions  to  the  Author's  Notes,  will  he  observed  in 
this  Edition.  We  have  followed  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
interleaved  copy,  as  finally  revised  by  him  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1831. 

The  preservation  of  the  original  MS.  of  the  Poem 
has  enriched  this  volume  with  numerous  various  read- 
ings, which  will  be  found  curious  and  interesting. 


INTEODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

What  I  have  to  say  respecting  this  Poem  may  be 
briefly  told.  In  the  Introduction  to  the  "  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel,"  I  have  mentioned  the  circumstances, 
so  far  as  my  literary  life  is  concerned,  which  induced 
me  to  resign  the  active  pursuit  of  an  honorable  pro- 
fession, for  the  more  precarious  resources  of  literature. 
My  appointment  to  the  Sheriffdom  of  Selkirk  called 
for  a  change  of  residence.  I  left,  therefore,  the  pleas- 
ant cottage  I  had  upon  the  side  of  the  Esk,  for  the 
"  pleasanter  banks  of  the  Tweed,"  in  order  to  comply 
with  the  law,  which  requires  that  the  Sheriff  shall  be 
resident,  at  least  during  a  certain  number  of  months, 
within  his  jurisdiction.  We  found  a  delightful  retire- 
ment, by  my  becoming  the  tenant  of  my  intimate 
friend  and  cousin-german,  Colonel  Russell,2  in  his 
mansion  of  Ashestiel,  which  was  unoccupied,  during 
his  absence  on  military  service  in  India.  The  house 
was  adequate  to  our  accommodation,  and  the  exercise 

1  Published  in  quarto,  February,  1808. 


of  a  limited  hospitality.  The  situation  is  uncommonly 
beautiful,  by  the  side  of  a  fine  river,  whose  streams  are 
there  very  favorable  for  angling,  surrounded  by  the 
remains  of  natural  woods,  and  by  hills  abounding  in 
game.  In  point  of  society,  according  to  the  heartfelt 
phrase  of  Scripture,  we  dwelt  "  amongst  our  own 
people ;"  and  as  the  distance  from  the  metropolis  was 
only  thirty  miles,  we  were  not  out  of  reach  of  our 
Edinburgh  friends,  in  which  city  we  spent  the  terms 
of  the  summer  and  winter  Sessions  of  the  Court,  that 
is,  five  or  six  months  in  the  year. 

An  important  circumstance  had,  about  the  same 
time,  taken  place  in  my  life.  Ilojies  had  been  held 
out  to  me  from  an  influential  quarter,  of  a  nature  to 
relieve  me  from  the  anxiety  which  I  must  have  other- 
wise felt,  as  one  upon  the  precarious  tenure  of  whose 
own  life  rested  the  principal  prosj)ects  of  his  family, 
and  especially  as  one  who  had  necessarily  some  de- 
pendence upon  the  favor  of  the  public,  which  is  pro- 
verbially capricious ;  though  it  is  but  justice  to  add 
that,  in  my  own  case,  I  have  not  found  it  so.  Mr. 
Pitt  had  expressed  a  wish  to  my  personal  friend,  the 
Right  Honorable  William  Dundas,  now  Lord  Clerk 
Register  of  Scotland,  that  some  fitting  opportunity 
should  be  taken  to  be  of  service  to  me ;  and  as  my 
views  and  wishes  pointed  to  a  future  rather  than  an 
immediate  provision,  an  opportunity  of  accomplishing 
this  was  soon  found.  One  of  the  Principal  Clerks  of 
Session,  as  they  are  called  (official  persons  who  occupy 
an  important  and  responsible  situation,  and  enjoy  a 
considerable  income),  who  had  served  upwards  of 
thirty  years,  felt  himself,  from  age  and  the  infirmity 
of  deafness  with  which  it  was  accompanied,  desirous 
of  retiring  from  his  official  situation.  As  the  law  then 
stood,  such  official  persons  were  entitled  to  bargain 

2  Now  Major-General  Sir  James  Russell,  K.  C.  B. — See  Life 
of  Scolt,  vol.  viii.  pp.  133,  318. 

(73) 


74 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


with  their  successors,  either  for  a  sum  of  money,  which 
wa.s  usually  a  considerable  one,  or  for  an  interest  in 
the  emoluments  of  the  office  during  their  life.  My 
predecessor,  whose  services  had  been  unusually  mer- 
itorious, stipulated  for  the  emoluments  of  his  office 
during  his  life,  while  I  should  enjoy  the  survivorship, 
mi  the  condition  that  I  discharged  the  duties  of  the 
office  in  the  meantime.  Mr.  Pitt,  however,  having 
died  in  the  interval,  his  administration  was  dissolved, 
and  was  succeeded  by  that  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Fox  and  Grenville  Ministry.  My  affair  was  so  far 
completed,  that  my  commission  lay  in  the  office  sub- 
scribed by  his  Majesty;  but,  from  hurry  or  mistake, 
the  interest  of  my  predecessor  was  not  expressed  in 
it,  as  had  been  usual  in  such  cases.  Although,  there- 
fore, it  only  required  payment  of  the  fees,  I  could  not 
in  honor  take  out  the  commission  in  the  present 
state,  since,  in  the  event  of  my  dying  before  him,  the 
gentleman  whom  I  succeeded  must  have  lost  the 
vested  interest  which  he  had  stipulated  to  retain.  I 
had  the  honor  of  an  interview  with  Earl  Spencer  on 
the  subject,  and  he,  in  the  most  handsome  manner, 
gave  directions  that  the  commission  should  issue  as 
originally  intended ;  adding  that,  the  matter  having 
received  the  royal  assent,  he  regarded  only  as  a  claim 
of  justice  what  he  would  have  willingly  done  as  an 
act  of  favor.  I  never  saw  Mr.  Fox  on  this  or  on 
any  other  occasion,  and  never  made  any  application 
to  him,  conceiving  that  in  doing  so  I  might  have  been 
supposed  to  express  political  opinions  contrary  to  those 
which  I  had  always  professed.  In  his  private  capaci- 
ty, there  is  no  man  to  whom  I  would  have  been  more 
proud  to  owe  an  obligation,  had  I  been  so  distin- 
guished. 

By  this  arrangement  I  obtained  the  survivorship  of 
au  office,  the  emoluments  of  which  were  fully  adequate 
to  my  wishes ;  and  as  the  law  respecting  the  mode  of 
providing  for  superannuated  officers  was,  about  five 
or  six  years  after,  altered  from  that  which  admitted 
the  arrangement  of  assistant  and  successor,  my  col- 
league very  handsomely  took  the  opportunity  of  the 
alteration,  to  accept  of  the  retiring  annuity  provided 
in  such  cases,  and  admitted  me  to  the  full  benefit  of 
the  office. 

But  although  the  certainty  of  succeeding  to  a  con- 

1  See  Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  4. 

2  "Next  view  in  state,  proud  prancing  on  his  roan, 
The  golden-crested  haughty  Marmion, 

Now  forging  scrolls,  now  foremost  in  the  fight, 

Not  quite  a  felon,  yet  but  half  a  knight, 

The  gibbet  or  the  field  prepared  to  grace; 

A  mighty  mixture  of  the  great  and  base. 

And  think'st  thou,  Scott!  by  vain  conceit  perchance, 

On  public  taste  to  foist  thy  stale  romance, 

Though  Murray  with  his  Miller  may  combine 

To  yield  thy  muse  just  half-a-crown  per  line? 

No  !  when  the  sons  of  song  descend  to  trade, 

Their  bays  are  sear,  their  former  laurels  fade. 

Let  such  forego  the  poet's  sacred  name, 

Who  rack  their  brains  for  lucre,  not  for  fame ; 

Still  for  stern  Mammon  may  they  toil  in  vain, 

And  sadly  gaze  on  gold  they  cannot  gain  ! 


siderable  income,  at  the  time  I  obtained  it,  seemed  to 
assure  me  of  a  quiet  harbor  in  my  old  age,  I  did  not 
escape  my  share  of  inconvenience  from  the  contrary 
tides  and  currents  by  which  we  are  so  often  encoun- 
tered in  our  journey  through  life.  Indeed,  the  pub- 
lication of  my  next  poetical  attempt  was  prematurely 
accelerated,  from  one  of  those  unpleasant  accidents 
which  can  neither  be  foreseen  nor  avoided.    * 

I  had  formed  the  prudent  resolution  to  endeavor 
to  bestow  a  little  more  labor  than  I  had  yet  done  on 
my  productions,  and  to  be  in  no  hurry  again  to  an- 
nounce myself  as  a  candidate  for  literary  fame.  Ac- 
cordingly, particular  passages  of  a  poem,  which  was 
finally  called  "  Marmion,"  were  labored  with  a  good 
deal  of  care,  by  one  by  whom  much  care  was  seldom 
bestowed.  Whether  the  work  was  worth  the  labor 
or  not,  I  am  no  competent  judge;  but  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  say,  that  the  period  of  its  composition  was  a 
very  happy  one,  in  my  life ;  so  much  so,  that  I  remem- 
ber with  pleasure,  at  this  moment,  some  of  the  spots 
in  which  particular  passages  were  composed.  It  is 
probably  owing  to  this  that  the  Introductions  to  the 
several  Cantos  assumed  the  form  of  familiar  epistles 
to  my  intimate  friends,  in  which  I  alluded,  perhaps 
more  than  was  necessary  or  graceful,  to  my  domestic 
occupations  and  amusements — a  loquacity  which  may 
be  excused  by  those  who  remember  that  I  was  still 
young,  light-headed,  and  happy,  and  that  "  out  of  the 
abundance  of  the  heart  the  mouth  speaketh." 

The  misfortunes  of  a  near  relation  and  friend,  which 
happened  at  this  time,  led  me  to  alter  my  prudent  de- 
termination, which  had  been,  to  use  great  precaution 
in  sending  this  poem  into  the  world;  and  made  it 
convenient  at  least,  if  not  absolutely  necessary,  to 
hasten  its  publication.  The  publishers  of  "  The  Lay 
of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  emboldened  by  the  success  of 
that  poem,  willingly  offered  a  thousand  pounds  for 
"  Marmion."1  The  transaction,  being  no  secret,  af- 
forded Lord  Byron,  who  was  then  at  general  war  with 
all  who  blacked  paper,  an  apology  for  including  me 
in  his  satire  entitled  "English  Bards  and  Scotch  Re- 
viewers."2 I  never  could  conceive  how  an  arrange- 
ment between  an  author  and  his  publishers,  if  satis- 
factory to  the  persons  concerned,  could  afford  matter 
of  censure  to  any  third  party.     I  had  taken  no  unu- 

Such  be  their  meed,  such  still  the  just  reward 
Of  prostituted  muse  and  hireling  bard ! 
For  this  we  spurn  Apollo's  venal  son, 
And  bid  a  long  'Good-night  to  Marmion.'" 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  vii.  pp.  235-6. 

On  first  reading  this  satire,  1809,  Scott  says:  "It  is  funny 
enough  to  see  a  whelp  of  a  young  Lord  Byron  abusing  me. 
of  whose  circumstances  he  knows  nothing,  for  endeavoring 
to  scratch  out  a  living  with  my  pen.  God  help  the  bear,  if, 
having  little  else  to  eat,  he  must  not  even  suck  bis  own  paws. 
I  can  assure  the  noble  imp  of  fame  it  is  not  my  fault  that  I 
was  not  born  to  a  park  and  £5000  a  year,  as  it  is  not  his  lord- 
ship's merit,  although  it  may  be  his  great  good  fortune,  that 
he  was  not  born  to  live  by  his  literary  talents  or  success."— 
Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  195. — See  also  Correspondence  with  Lord 
Byron,  lb  id.  pp.  395,  398. 


MAKMION. 


75 


sual  or  ungenerous  means  of  enhancing  the  value  of 
my  merchandise — I  had  never  higgled  a  moment  about 
the  bargain,  but  accepted  at  once  what  I  considered 
the  handsome  offer  of  my  publishers.  These  gentle- 
men, at  least,  were  not. of  opinion  that  they  had  been 
taken  advantage  of  in  the  transaction,  which  indeed 
was  one  of  their  own  framing;  on  the  contrary,  the 
sale  of  4he  Poem  was  so  far  beyond  their  expectation 
as  to  induce  them  to  supply  the  Author's  cellars  with 
what  is  always  an  acceptable  present  to  a  young  Scot- 
tish housekeeper,  namely,  a  hogshead  of  excellent 
claret. 

The  Poem  was  finished  in  too  much  haste  to  allow 
me  an  opportunity  of  softening  down,  if  not  removing, 
some  of  its  most  prominent  defects.  The  nature  of 
Marmion's  guilt,  although  similar  instances  were 
found,  and  might  be  quoted  as  existing,  in  feudal 
times,  was  nevertheless  not  sufficiently  peculiar  to  be 
indicative  of  the  character  of  the  period,  forgery  being 
the  crime  of  a  commercial  rather  than  of  a  proud  and 
warlike  age.  This  gross  defect  ought  to  have  been 
remedied  or  palliated.  Yet  I  suffered  the  tree  to  lie 
as  it  had  fallen.  I  remember  my  friend,  Dr.  Leyden, 
then  in  the  East,  wrote  me  a  furious  remonstrance 
on  the  subject.    I  have,  nevertheless,  always  been  of 


1  "  Marmion  was  first  printed  in  a  splendid  quarto,  price 
one  guinea  and  a  half.  The  2000  copies  of  this  edition  were 
all  disposed  of  in  less  than  a  month,  when  a  second  of  3000 
copies,  in  8vo,  was  sent  to  press.  There  followed  a  third  and 
a  fourth  edition,  each  of  3000,  in  1809 ;  a  fifth  of  2000,  early 
in  1810 ;  and  a  sixth  of  3000,  in  two  volumes,  crown  8vo,  with 
twelve  designs  hy  Singleton,  before  the  end  of  that  year ;  a 
seventh  of  4000,  and  an  eighth  of  5000  copies  8vo,  in  1811 ;  a 
ninth  of  3000  in  1815;  a  tenth  of  500,  in  1820;  an  eleventh  of 
500,  and  a  twelfth  of  2000  copies,  in  foolscap,  both  in  1825. 
The  legitimate  sale  in  this  country,  therefore,  down  to  the 


opinion  that  corrections,  however  in  themselves  judi- 
cious, have  a  bad  effect — after  publication.  An  au- 
thor is  never  so  decidedly  condemned  as  on  his  own 
confession,  and  may  long  find  apologists  and  parti- 
sans, until  he  gives  up  his  own  cause.  I  was  not, 
therefore,  inclined  to  afford  matter  for  censure  out 
of  my  own  admissions ;  and,  by  good  fortune,  the  no- 
velty of  the  subject,  and,  if  I  may  say  so,  some  force 
and  vivacity  of  description,  were  allowed  to  atone  for 
many  imperfections.  Thus  the  second  experiment 
on  the  public  patience,  generally  the  most  perilous, — 
for  the  public  are  then  most  apt  to  judge  with  rigor 
what  in  the  first  instance  they  had  received,  perhaps, 
with  imprudent  generosity, — was  in  my  case  decidedly 
successful.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  pass  this  ordeal 
favorably,  and  the  return  of  sales  before  me  makes 
the  copies  amount  to  thirty-six  thousand  printed  be- 
tween 1808  and  1825,  besides  a  considerable  sale  since 
that  period.1  I  shall  here  pause  upon  the  subject  of 
"  Marmion,"  and,  in  a  few  prefatory  words  to  "  The 
Lady  of  the  Lake,"  the  last  poem  of  mine  which  ob- 
tained eminent  success,  I  will  continue  the  task  which 
I  have  imposed  on  myself  respecting  the  origin  of  my 
productions. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


time  of  its  being  included  in  the  first  collective  edition  of  his 
poetical  works,  amounted  to  31,000;  and  the  aggregate  of  that 
sale,  down  to  the  period  at  which  I  am  writing  (May,  1836), 
may  be  stated  at  50,000  copies.  I  presume  it  is  right  for  me 
to  facilitate  the  task  of  future  historians  of  our  literature  by 
preserving  these  details  as  often  as  I  can.  Such  particulars 
respecting  many  of  the  great  works  even  of  the  last  century 
are  already  sought  for  with  vain  regret ;  and  I  anticipate  no 
day  when  the  student  of  English  civilization  will  pass  without 
curiosity  the  contemporary  reception  of  the  Tale  of  Floddea 
Field."— Lockhart.    Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  66 


Ittarmton, 


TO   THE 
RIGHT    HONORABLE 

HENRY,   LORD   MONTAGU,1 
&c,  &c,  &c., 

THIS    ROMANCE    IS    INSCRIBED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

Jt  is  hardly  to  be  expected  that  an  Author  whom  the  Public  have  honored  with  some  degree  of  applause  should 
not  be  again  a  trespasser  on  their  kindness.  Yet  the  A  uthor  of  M armion  must  be  supposed  to  feel  some  anxiety 
concerning  its  success,  since  he  is  sensible  that  he  hazards,  by  this  second  intrusion,  any  reputation  which  his  first 
Poem  may  have  procured  him.  The  present  story  turns  upon  the  private  adventures  of  a  fictitious  character ;  but 
is  called  a  Tale  of  Flodden  Field,  because  the  hero's  fate  is  connected  with  that  memorable  defeat,  and  the  causes 
which  led  to  it.  The  design  of  the  Author  was,  if  possible,  to  apprise  his  readers,  at  the  outset,  of  the  date  of  his 
Story,  and  to  prepare  them  for  the  manners  of  the  Age  in  which  it  is  laid.  Any  Historical  Narrative,  far  more  a  n 
attempt  at  Epic  composition,  exceeded  his  plan  of  a  Romantic  Tale;  yet  he  may  be  permitted  to  hope,  from  the 
popularity  of  The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  that  an  attempt  to  paint  the  manners  of  the  feudal  times,  upon 
a  broader  scale  and  in  the  course  of  a  more  interesting  story,  will  not  be  unacceptable  to  the  Public. 

The  Poem  opens  about  the  commencement  of  August,  and  concludes  with  the  defeat  of  Flodden,  9th  September, 
1513. 

ASHESTIEL,  1808. 


JHatmton. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIRST. 


WILLIAM    STEWART    ROSE,  ESQ.2 

Ashesliel,  Etlrick  Ibresl. 
November's  sky  is  chill  and  drear, 
November's  leaf  is  red  and  sear : 
Late,  gazing  down  the  steepy  linn, 
That  hems  our  little  garden  in, 
Low  in  its  dark  and  narrow  glen, 
You  scarce  the  rivulet  might  ken, 
So  thick  the  tangled  greenwood  grew, 
So  feeble  trill'd  the  streamlet  through : 
Now  murmuring  hoarse,  and  frequent  seen 
Through  bush  and  brier,  no  longer  green, 
An  angry  brook,  it  sweeps  the  glade, 
Brawls  over  rock  and  wild  cascade, 
And,  foaming  brown  with  doubled  speed, 
Hurries  its  waters  to  the  Tweed. 


1  Lord  Montagu  was  the  second  son  of  Henry,  Duke  of  Buc- 
cleuch,  by  the  only  daughter  of  John,  last  Duke  of  Montagu. 

2  For  the  origin  and  progress  of  Scott's  acquaintance  with 
Mr.  Rose,  see  Life,  vols.  ii.  iii.  iv.  yi.    Part  of  Marmion  was 

(76)     ' 


No  longer  Autumn's  glowing  red 
Upon  our  Forest  hills  is  shed  ;3 
No  more,  beneath  the  evening  beam, 
Fair  Tweed  reflects  their  purple  gleam ; 
Away  hath  pass'd  the  heather-bell 
That  bloom'd  so  rich  on  Needpath  Fell ; 
Sallow  his  brow,  and  russet  bare 
Are  now  the  sister-heights  of  Yair. 
The  sheep,  before  the  pinching  heaven, 
To  shelter'd  dale  and  down  are  driven, 
Where  yet  some  faded  herbage  pines, 
And  yet  a  watery  sunbeam  shines : 
In  meek  despondency  they  eye 
The  wither'd  sward  and  wintry  sky, 
And  far  beneath  their  summer  hill, 
Stray  sadly  by  Glenkinnon's  rill : 
The  shepherd  shifts  his  mantle's  fold, 
And  wraps  him  closer  from  the  cold; 
His  dogs  no  merry  circles  wheel, 
But,  shivering,  follow  at  his  heel ; 
A  cowering  glance  they  often  cast, 
As  deeper  moans  the  gathering  blast. 


composed  at  Mr.  Rose's  seat  in  the  New  Forest,  Ibid.  vol.  iii. 
p.  10. 
3  MS. :  "  No  longer  now  in  glowing  red 

The  Ettericke-Forest  hills  are  clad." 


MAKMION. 


77 


My  imps,  though  hardy,  bold,  and  wild, 
As  best  befits  the  mountain  child, 
Feel  the  sad  influence  of  the  hour, 
And  wail  the  daisy's  vanished  flower ; 
Their  summer  gambols  tell,  and  mourn, 
And  anxious  ask, — Will  spring  return, 
And  birds  and  lambs  again  be  gay, 
And  blossoms  clothe  the  hawthorn  spray  ? 

Yes,  prattlers,  yes.    The  daisy's  flower 
Again  shall  paint  your  summer  bower ; 
Again  the  hawthorn  shall  supply 
The  garlands  you  delight  to  tie ; 
The  lambs  upon  the  lea  shall  bound, 
The  wild  birds  carol  to  the  round, 
And  while  you  frolic  light  as  they, 
Too  short  shall  seem  the  summer  day. 

To  mute  and  to  material  things 
New  life  revolving  summer  brings  ;l 
The  genial  call  dead  Nature  hears, 
And  in  her  glory  reappears. 
But  oh !  my  country's  wintry  state 
What  second  spring  shall  renovate  ?  „ 

What  powerful  call  shall  bid  arise 
The  buried  warlike  and  the  wise  ;2 
The  mind  that  thought  for  Britain's  weal, 
The  hand  that  grasp'd  the  victor  steel? 
The  vernal  sun  new  life  bestows 
Even  on  the  meanest  flower  that  blows ; 
But  vainly,  vainly  may  he  shine, 
Where  glory  weeps  o'er  Nelson's  shrine ; 
And  vainly  pierce  the  solemn  gloom 
That  shrouds,  O  Pitt,  thy  hallowed  tomb ! 

Deep  graved  in  every  British  heart, 
Oh  never  let  those  names  depart  !3 
Say  to  your  sons, — Lo,  here  his  grave, 
Who  victor  died  on  Gadite  wave  ;* 
To  him,  as  to  the  burning  levin, 
Short,  bright,  resistless  course  was  given. 
Where'er  his  country's  foes  were  found, 
Was  heard  the  fated  thunder's  sound, 


i  "The  'chance  and  change'  of  nature, — the  vicissitudes 
■which  are  observable  in  the  moral  as  well  as  the  physical  part 
of  the  creation, — have  given  occasion  to  more  exquisite  poetry 
than  any  other  general  subject.  The  author  had  before  made 
ample  use  of  the  sentiments  suggested  by  these  topics ;  yet  he 
is  not  satisfied,  but  begins  again  with  the  same  in  his  first 
introduction.  The  lines  are  certainly  pleasing ;  but  they  fall, 
in  our  estimation,  far  below  that  beautiful  simile  of  the 
Tweed  which  he  has  introduced  into  his  former  poem.  The 
At,  at,  Tot  fj.a\a.Kai  of  Moschus  is,  however,  worked  up  again 
to  some  advantage  in  the  following  passage : — '  To  mute,'  &c." 
—Monthly  Rev.,  May,  1808. 

3  MS. :  "  What  call  awakens  from  the  dead 
The  hero's  heart,  the  patriot's  head?" 

3  MS. :  "  Deep  in  each  British  bosom  wrote, 
Oh  never  be  those  names  forgot !" 

*  Nelson.  6  Copenhagen. 

6  MS.:  "Tugg'd  at  subjection's  cracking  rein." 

7  MS. :  "  Show'd  their  bold  zeal  a  worthier  cause." 


Till  burst  the  bolt  on  yonder  shore, 
Koll'd,  blazed,  destroy'd — and  was  no  more. 

Nor  mourn  ye  less  his  perish'd  worth, 
Who  bade  the  conqueror  go  forth, 
And  launch'd  that  thunderbolt  of  war 
On  Egypt,  Hafnia,5  Trafalgar ; 
Who,  born  to  guide  such  high  eniprise, 
For  Britain's  weal  was  early  wise ; 
Alas !  to  whom  the  Almighty  gave, 
For  Britain's  sins,  an  early  grave ! 
His  worth,  who,  in  his  mightiest  hour, 
A  bauble  held  the  pride  of  power, 
Spurn'd  at  the  sordid  lust  of  pelf, 
And  served  his  Albion  for  herself; 
Who,  when  the  frantic  crowd  amain 
Strain 'd  at  subjection's  bursting  rein,6 
O'er  their  wild  mood  full  conquest  gain'd, 
The  pride,  he  would  not  crush,  restrain'd, 
Show'd  their  fierce  zeal  a  worthier  cause,7 
And  brought  the  freeman's  arm  to  aid  the  free- 
man's laws. 

Hadst  thou  but  lived,  though  stripp'd  of 
power,8 
A  watchman  on  the  lonely  tower, 
Thy  thrilling  trump  had  roused  the  land, 
When  fraud  or  danger  were  at  hand ; 
By  thee,  as  by  the  beacon-light, 
Our  pilots  had  kept  course  aright ; 
As  some  proud  column,  though  alone, 
Thy  strength  had  propp'd  the  tottering  throne : 
Now  is  the  stately  column  broke, 
The  beacon-light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 
The  trumpet's  silver  sound  is  still, 
The  warder  silent  on  the  hill ! 

Oh  think,  how  to  his  latest  day,9 
When  Death,  just  hovering,  claim'd  his  prey, 
With  Palinure's  unalter'd  mood, 
Firm  at  his  dangerous  post  he  stood ; 
Each  call  for  needful  rest  repell'd, 
With  dying  hand  the  rudder  held, 

8  This  paragraph  was  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of  the 
MS.    We  insert  the  lines  as  they  appear  there : — 

"  Oh,  had  he  lived,  though  stripp'd  of  power, 
Like  a  lone  watchman  on  the  tower, 
His  thrilling  trumpet  through  the  land 
Had  warn'd  when  foemen  were  at  hand. 
As  by  some  beacon's  lonely  light, 
f  By  thee  our  course  had  steer'd  aright ; 
i  Our  steady  course  had  steer'd  aright ; 
(_  Our  pilots  kept  their  course  aright ; 
His  single  mind,  unbent  by  fate, 
Had  propp'd  his  country's  tottering  weight ; 

As  some  \       ,  I  column  left  alone, 
(.  vast  J 

f  Had  propp'd  our  tottering  state  and  throne, 

1  His  strength  had  propp'd  our  tottering  throne, 

The  beacon  light  is  quench'd  in  smoke, 

The  warder  fallen,  the  column  broke." 

»  MS. :  "  Yet  think  how  to  his  latest  day." 


78 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Till,  in  his  fall,  with  fateful  sway, 
The  steerage  of  the  realm  gave  way  ! 
Then,  while  on  Britain's  thousand  plains 
One  unpolluted  church  remains, 
Whose  peaceful  bells  ne'er  sent  around 
The  bloody  tocsin's  maddening  sound, 
Bui  still,  upon  the  hallow'd  day,1 
Convoke  the  swains  to  praise  and  pray  ; 
While  faith  and  civil  peace  are  dear, 
Grace  this  cold  marble  with  a  tear, — 
lie  who  preserved  them,  Pitt,  lies  here! 

Nor  yet  suppress  the  generous  sigh, 
Because  his  rival  slumbers  nigh ; 
Nor  be  thy  reqv/iescat  dumb, 
Lest  it  be  said  o'er  Fox's  tomb.2 
For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost 
When  best  employ'd,  and  wanted  most ; 
Mourn  genius  high  and  lore  profound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound ; 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  combine ; 
And  feelings  keen,  and  fancy's  glow, — 
They  sleep  with  him  who  sleeps  below : 
And,  if  thou  mourn'st  they  could  not  save 
From  error  him  who  owns  this  grave, 
Be  every  harsher  thought  suppress'd, 
And  sacred  be  the  last  long  rest. 
Here,  where  the  end  of  earthly  things 
Lays  heroes,  patriots,  bards,  and  kings ; 
Where  stiff  the  hand,  and  still  the  tongue, 
Of  those  who  fought,  and  spoke,  and 

sung ; 
Here,  where  the  fretted  aisles  prolong 
The  distant  notes  of  holy  song, 
As  if  some  angel  spoke  agen, 
"  All  peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men ;" 


1  MS. :  "  But  still  upon  the  holy  day." 

-  In  place  of  this  couplet,  and  the  ten  lines  which  follow  it, 
the  original  MS.  of  Marniion  has  only  the  following: — 

"  If  genius  high  and  judgment  sound, 
And  wit  that  loved  to  play,  not  wound, 
And  all  the  reasoning  powers  divine, 
To  penetrate,  resolve,  comhine, 
Could  save  one  mortal  of  the  herd 
From  error — Fox  had  never  err'd." 

"  While  Scott  was  correcting  a  second  proof  of  the  passage 
where  Pitt  and  Fox  are  mentioned  together,  at  Stanmore 
Priory,  in  April,  1807,  Lord  Abercorn  suggested  that  the 
compliment  to  the  Whig  statesman  ought  to  be  still  further 
heightened,  and  several  lines — 

'For  talents  mourn,  untimely  lost 

Wfien  best  employ'd,  and  wanted  most,'  &c. — 

were  added  accordingly.  I  have  beard,  indeed,  that  they 
came  from  the  Marquis's  own  pen.  Ballantyne,  however, 
from  some  inadvertence,  had  put  the  sheet  to  press  before  the 
revise,  as  it  is  called,  arrived  in  Edinburgh,  and  some  few 
copies  got  abroad  in  which  the  additional  couplets  were  omit- 
ted. A  London  journal  (the  Morning  Chronicle)  was  stupid 
and  malignant  enough  to  insinuate  that  the  author  bud  his 


if  ever  from  an  English  heart, 
Oh,  here  let  prejudice  depart, 
And,  partial  feeling  cast  aside,3 
Record,  that  Fox  a  Briton  died ! 
When  Europe  crouch'd  to  France's  yoke, 
And  Austria  bent,  and  Prussia  broke, 
And  the  firm  Russian's  purpose  brave 
Was  harter'd  by  a  timorous  slave, 
Even  then  dishonor's  peace  he  spurn'd, 
The  sullied  olive-branch  return'd, 
Stood  for  his  country's  glory  fast, 
And  nail'd  her  colors  to  the  mast ! 
Heaven,  to  reward  his  firmness,  gave 
A  portion  in  this  honor'd  grave, 
And  ne'er  held  marble  in  its  trust 
Of  two  such  wondrous  men  the  dust.4 

With  more  than  mortal  powers  endow'd, 
How  high  they  soar'd  above  the  crowd ! 
Theirs  was  no  common  party  race,5 
Jostling  by  dark  intrigue  for  place ; 
Like  fabled  gods,  their  mighty  war 
Shook  realms  and  nations  in  its  jar ; 
Beneath  each  banner  proud  to  stand, 
Look'd  up  the  noblest  of  the  land, 
Till  through  the  British  world  were  known 
The  names  of  Pitt  and  Fox  alone. 
Spells  of  such  force  no  wizard  grave 
E'er  framed  in  dark  Thessalian  cave, 
Though  his  could  drain  the  ocean  dry, 
And  force  the  planets  from  the  sky.6 
These  spells  are  spent,  and,  spent  with  these, 
The  wine  of  life  is  on  the  lees. 
Genius,  and  taste,  and  talent  gone, 
For  ever  tomb'd  beneath  the  stone, 
Where — taming  thought  to  human  pride ! — 
The  mighty  chiefs  sleep  side  by  side.7 


presentation  copies  struck  off  with  or  without  them,  accord- 
ing as  they  were  for  Whig  or  Tory  bands.    I  mention  the 
circumstance  now  only  because  I  see  by  a  letter  of  Hebe  is 
that  Scott  had  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  contradict  the 
absurd  charge  in  the  newspapers  of  the  day." — Lockhart. 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  61. 
s  MS. :  "  And  party  passion  doffd  aside." 
*  "  The  first  epistolary  effusion,  containing  a  threnody  on 
Nelson,  Pitt,  and  Fox,  exhibits  a  remarkable  failure.    We  arc 
unwilling  to  quarrel  with  a  poet  on  the  score  of  politics;  but 
the  manner  in  which  he  has  chosen  to  praise  the  last  of  these 
great  men  is  more  likely,  we  conceive,  to  give  offence  to  his 
admirers  than  the  most  direct  censure.    The  only  deed  foi 
which  he  is  praised  is  for  having  broken  off  the  negotiation 
for  peace ;  and  for  this  act  of  firmness,  it  is  added,  Heaven 
rewarded  him  with  a  share  in  the  honored  grave  of  Pitt!    It 
is  then  said  that  his  errors  should  be  forgotten,  and  that  he 
died  a  Briton — a  pretty  plain  insinuation  that,  in  the  author's 
opinion,  he  did  not  live  one ;  and  just  such  an  eneomium  as 
be1  himself  pronounces  over  the  grave  of  his  villain  hero, 
Marmion." — Jeffrey. 
6  MS. :  "Theirs  was  no  common  courtier  race." 
6  MS.:  "  And  force  the  pale  moon  from  the  sky." 
?  "  Reader!  remember  when  thou  wert  a  lad, 
Then  Pitt  was  all;  or,  if  not  all.  so  much. 
His  very  rival  almost  deem'd  him  such. 


MAKMION. 


79 


Drop  upon  Fox's  grave  the  tear, 

'Twill  trickle  to  his  rival's  bier; 

O'er  Pitt's  the  mournful  requiem  sound, 

And  Fox's  shall  the  notes  rebound. 

The  solemn  echo  seems  to  cry, — 

"  Here  let  their  discord  with  them  die. 

Speak  not  for  those  a  separate  doom, 

Whom  Fate  made  Brothers  in  the  tomb ; 

But  search  the  land  of  living  men, 

Where  wilt  thou  find  their  like  agen  ?" 

Rest,  ardent  Spirits !  till  the  cries 
Of  dying  Nature  bid  you  rise ; 
Not  even  your  Britain's  groans  can  pierce 
The  leaden  silence  of  your  hearse ; 
Then,  oh,  how  impotent  and  vain 
This  grateful  tributary  strain ! 
Though  not  unmark'd  from  northern  clime, 
Ye  heard  the  Border  Minstrel's  rhyme: 
His  Gothic  harp  has  o'er  you  rung ; 
The  Bard  you  deign'd  to  praise,  your  deathless 
names  has  sung. 

Stay  yet,  illusion,  stay  a  while, 
My  wilder'd  fancy  still  beguile! 
From  this  high  theme  how  can  I  part, 
Ere  half  unloaded  is  my  heart ! 
For  all  the  tears  e'er  sorrow  drew, 
And  all  the  raptures  fancy  knew, 
And  all  the  keener  rush  of  blood, 
That  throbs  through  bard  in  bard-like  mood, 
Were  here  a  tribute  mean  and  low, 
Though  all  their  mingled  streams  could  flow — 
Woe,  wonder,  and  sensation  high — 
In  one  spring-tide  of  ecstasy ! 
It  will  not  be — it  may  not  last — 
The  vision  of  enchantment's  past : 
Like  frostwork  in  the  morning  ray, 
The  fancied  fabric  melts  away  ;x 
Each  Gothic  arch,  memorial-stone, 
And  long,  dim,  lofty  aisle,  are  gone ; 
And,  lingering  last,  deception  dear, 
The  choir's  high  sounds  die  on  my  ear. 
Now  slow  return  the  lonely  down, 
The  silent  pastures  bleak  and  brown, 
The  farm  begirt  with  copsewood  wild, 
The  gambols  of  each  frolic  child, 
Mixing  their  shrill  cries  with  the  tone 
Of  Tweed's  dark  waters  rushing  on. 


We,  we  have  seen  the  intellectual  race 
Of  giants  stand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face ; 
Athos  and  Ida,  with  a  dashing  sea 
Of  eloquence  between,  which  flow'd  all  free, 
As  the  deep  billows  of  the  iEgean  roar 
Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Phrygian  shore. 
But  where  are  they — the  rivals ! — a  few  feet 
Of  sullen  earth  divide  each  winding-sheet. 
How  peaceful  and  how  powerful  is  the  grave 
Which  hushes  all !  a  calm  unstormy  wave 
Which  oversweeps  the  world.    The  theme  is  old 


Prompt  on  unequal  tasks  to  run, 
Thus  Nature  disciplines  her  son : 
Meeter,  she  says,  for  me  to  stray, 
And  waste  the  solitary  day 
In  plucking  from  yon  fen  the  reed, 
And  watch  it  floating  down  the  Tweed ; 
Or  idly  list  the  shrilling  lay 
With  which  the  milkmaid  cheers  her  way, 
Marking  its  cadence  rise  and  fail, 
As  from  the  field,  beneath  her  pail, 
She  trips  it  down  the  uneven  dale : 
Meeter  for  me,  by  yonder  cairn, 
The  ancient  shepherd's  tale  to  learn  ; 
Though  oft  he  stop  in  rustic  fear,2 
Lest  his  old  legends  tire  the  ear 
Of  one  who,  in  his  simple  mind, 
May  boast  of  book-learn'd  taste  refined. 

But  thou,  my  friend,  canst  fitly  tell 
(For  few  have  read  romance  so  well) 
How  still  the  legendary  lay 
O'er  poet's  bosom  holds  its  sway ; 
How  on  the  ancient  minstrel  strain 
Time  lays  his  palsied  hand  in  vain  ; 
And  how  our  hearts  at  doughty  deeds, 
By  warriors  wrought  in  steely  weeds, 
Still  throb  for  fear  and  pity's  sake ; 
As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 
Enters  Morgana's  fated  house, 
Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 
Despising  spells  and  demons'  force, 
Holds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse  ;s 
Or  when,  Dame  Ganore's  grace  to  move 
(Alas,  that  lawless  was  their  love !), 
He  sought  proud  Tarquin  in  his  den, 
And  freed  full  sixty  knights ;  or  when, 
A  sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd, 
He  took  the  Sangreal's  holy  quest, 
And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high 
He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye.* 

The  mightiest  chiefs  of  British  Song 
Scorn'd  not  such  legends  to  prolong : 
They  gleam  through  Spenser's  elfin  dream, 
And  mix  in  Milton's  heavenly  theme ; 
And  Dryden,  in  immortal  strain, 
Had  raised  the  Table  Round  again,5 
But  that  a  ribald  King  and  Court 
Bade  him  toil  on,  to  make  them  sport ; 


Of  '  dust  to  dust ;'  but  half  its  tale  untold ; 

Time  tempers  not  its  terrors." 

Byron's  Age  of  Bronze. 

1  "  If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, 

Lo !  Fancy's  fairy  frostwork  melts  away." 

Rogers'  Pleasures  of  Memory. 

2  MS. :  "  Though  oft  he  stops  to  wonder  still 

That  his  old  legends  have  the  skill 
To  win  so  well  the  attentive  ear, 
Perchance  to  draw  the  sigh  or  tear." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  A.      *  Ibid.  Note  B.      5  Ibid.  Nut-  <  . 


80 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Demanded  for  their  niggard  pay, 
Fit  for  their  souls,  a  looser  lay, 
Licentious  satire,  song,  and  play  ;l 
The  world  defrauded  of  the  high  design,2 
Profaned  the  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd  the 
lofty  line. 

Warm'd  by  such  names,  well  may  we  then, 
Though  dwindled  sons  of  little  men, 
Essay  to  break  a  feeble  lance 
In  the  fair  fields  of  old  romance ; 
Or  seek  the  moated  castle's  cell, 
Where  long  through  talisman  and  spell, 
While  tyrants  ruled,  and  damsels  wept, 
Thy  Genius,  Chivalry,  hath  slept : 
There  sound  the  harpings  of  the  North, 
Till  he  awake  and  sally  forth, 
On  venturous  quest  to  prick  again, 
In  all  his  arms,  with  all  his  train,3 
Shield,  lance,  and  brand,  and  plume,  and  scarf, 
Fay,  giant,  dragon,  squire,  and  dwarf, 
And  wizard  with  his  wand  of  might, 
And  errant  maid  on  palfrey  white. 
Around  the  Genius  weave  their  spells, 
Pure  Love,  who  scarce  his  passion  tells ; 
Mystery,  half  veil'd  and  half  reveal'd ; 
And  Honor,  with  his  spotless  shield ; 
Attention,  with  fix'd  eye ;  and  Fear, 
That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear ; 
And  gentle  Courtesy;  and  Faith, 
Unchanged  by  sufferings,  time,  or  death ; 
And  Valor,  lion-mettled  lord, 
Leaning  upon  his  own  good  sword. 

Well  has  thy  fair  achievement  shown, 
A  worthy  meed  may  thus  be  Avon  ; 
Ytene's4  oaks — beneath  whose  shade 
Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
Of  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold,5 
And  that  Red  King,6  who,  while  of  old 
Through  Boldrewood  the  chase  he  led, 
By  his  loved  huntsman's  arrow  bled — 
Ytene's  oaks  have  heard  again 
Renew'd  such  legendary  strain ; 
For  thou  hast  sung,  how  he  of  Gaul, 
That  Amadis  so  famed  in  hall, 
For  Oriana,  foil'd  in  fight 
The  Necromancer's  felon  might ; 

1  MS. :  "  Licentious  song,  lampoon,  and  play." 

*  MS.:  "The  world  defrauded  of  the  bold  design, 

And  quench'd  the  heroic  1  fire,  and  marr'd  the 
Profaned  the  heavenly     i     lofty  line." 

Attain, 

"  Profaned  hit  God-given  strength,  and  marr'd  his  lofty  line.' 

3  In  the  MS.  the  rest  of  the  passage  stands  as  follows : — 

.    f  charms, 

(spells, 

■^        -r  ,.,    (Virtue  only  wai  ma  ; 

Pure  Love  which  1  ,.  .       ... 

(scarce  his  passion  telle  ; 

Mystery,  half  seen  and  half  coneeal'd  ; 

And  Honor,  with  unspotted  shield; 


And  well  in  modern  verse  hast  wove 
Partenopex's  mystic  love  :7 
Hear,  then,  attentive  to  my  lay, 
A  knightly  tale  of  Albion's  elder  day. 


Around  him  wait  with  all  their 


iftatmum. 


CANTO  FIRST. 


fSkt  ©ajetU. 

I. 

Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  steep,8 
And  Tweed's  fair  river  broad  and  deep, 

And  Cheviot's  mountains  lone : 
The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep,9 
The  loophole  grates,  where  captives  weep, 
The  flanking  walls  that  round  it  sweep, 

In  yellow  lustre  shone.10 
The  warriors  on  the  turrets  high, 
Moving  athwart  the  evening  sky,11 

Seem'd  forms  of  giant  height : 
Their  armor,  as  it  caught  the  rays, 
Flash'd  back  again  the  western  blaze,12 

In  lines  of  dazzling  light. 

II. 

Saint  George's  banner,  broad  and  gay, 
Now  faded,  as  the  fading  ray 

Less  bright,  and  less,  was  flung; 
The  evening  gale  had  scarce  the  power 
To  wave  it  on  the  donjon  tower, 

So  heavily  it  hung. 
The  scouts  had  parted  on  their  search, 

The  Castle  gates  were  barr'd ; 
Above  the  gloomy  portal  arch, 
Timing  his  footsteps  to  a  march, 

The  warder  kept  his  guard ; 
Low  humming,  as  he  paced  along, 
Some  ancient  Border  gathering  song. 

III. 
A  distant  trampling  sound  he  hears ; 
He  looks  abroad,  and  soon  appears, 

Attention,  with  fix'd  eye;  and  Fear, 

That  loves  the  tale  she  shrinks  to  hear; 

And  gentle  Courtesy;  and  Faith, 

And  Valor  that  despises  death." 
*  The  New  Forest  in  Hampshire,  anciently  so  called. 
5  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 
c  William  Rufus. 

t  Parlenopex  de  Blois,  a  poem,  hy  W.  S.  Rose,  Esq.,  was  pub- 
lished in  1808.— Ed. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  E.  -  Ibid.  Note  F. 

10  In  the  MS.  the  first  line  has  "hoary  keep;"  the  fourth 
"  donjon  steep ;"  the  seventh  "  rtiddy  lustre." 

11  MS.:  " eastern  sky." 

18  MS.:  "evening  blaze." 


MARMION. 


81 


O'er  Horncliff-hillr  a  plump1  of  spears, 

Beneath  a  pennon  gay ; 
A  horseman,  darting  from  the  crowd, 
Like  lightning  from  a  summer  cloud, 
Spurs  on  his  mettled  courser  proud, 

Before  the  dark  array. 
Beneath  the  sable  palisade, 
That  closed  the  Castle  barricade, 

His  bugle  horn  he  blew ; 
The  warder  hasted  from  the  wall, 
And  warn'd  the  Captain  in  the  hall, 

For  well  the  blast  he  knew ; 
And  joyfully  that  knight  did  call 
To  sewer,  squire,  and  seneschal. 

IV. 

"  Now  broach  ye  a  pipe  of  Malvoisie, 

Bring  pasties  of  the  doe, 
And  quickly  make  the  entrance  free, 
And  bid  my  heralds  ready  be, 
And  every  minstrel  sound  his  glee, 

And  all  our  trumpets  blow ; 
And,  from  the  platform,  spare  ye  not 
To  fire  a  noble  salvo-shot  ;2 

Lord  Maemion  waits  below !" 
Then  to  the  Castle's  lower  ward 

Sped  forty  yeomen  tall, 
The  iron-studded  gates  unbarr'd, 
Raised  the  portcullis'  ponderous  guard, 
The  lofty  palisade  unsparr'd, 

And  let  the  drawbridge  fall. 

V. 

Along  the  bridge  Lord  Marmion  rode, 
Proudly  his  red-roan  charger  trode, 
His  helm  hung  at  the  saddlebow ; 
Well  by  his  visage  you  might  know 
He  was  a  stalworth  knight,  and  keen, 
And  had  in  many  a  battle  been ; 
The  scar  on  his  brown  cheek  reveal'd* 
A  token  true  of  Bosworth  field ; 
His  eyebrow  dark,  and  eye  of  fire, 
Show'd  spirit  proud,  and  prompt  to  ire ; 
Yet  lines  of  thought  upon  his  cheek 
Did  deep  design  and  counsel  speak. 
His  forehead,  by  his  casque  worn  bare, 
His  thick  mustache  and  curly  hair, 
Coal-black,  and  grizzled  here  and  there, 
But  more  through  toil  than  age ; 


1  This  word  properly  applies  to  a  flight  of  water-fowl ;  hut 
is  applied,  by  analogy,  to  a  body  of  horse. 

"  There  is  a  knight  of  the  North  Country, 
Which  leads  a  lusty  plump  of  spears." 

Flodden  Field. 

2  MS. :  "  A  welcome-shot." 

8  MS. :  "  On  his  brown  cheek  an  azure  scar 
Bore  token  true  of  Bosworth  war." 
4  "  Marmion  is  to  Deloraine  what  Tom  Jones  is  to  Joseph 
Andrews  ;  the  varnish  of  higher  breeding  nowhere  diminishes 
6 


His  square-turned  joints,  and  strength  of  limb, 
Show'd  him  no  carpet  knight  so  trim, 
But  in  close  fight  a  champion  grim, 
In  camps  a  leader  sage.* 

VI. 

Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel  ;5 
But  his  strong  helm,  of  mighty  cost, 
Was  all  with  burnish'd  gold  emboss'd ; 
Amid  the  plumage  of  the  crest, 
A  falcon  hover'd  on  her  nest, 
With  wings  outspread,  and  forward  breast ; 
E'en  such  a  falcon,  on  his  shield, 
Soar'd  sable  in  an  azure  field : 
The  golden  legend  bore  aright, 
S&fjo  ti)ftks  at  mt,  to  katf)  is  llujtt.6 
Blue  was  the  charger's  broider'd  rein ; 
Blue  ribbons  deck'd  his  arching  mane  ; 
The  knightly  housing's  ample  fold 
Was  velvet  blue,  and  trapp'd  with  gold. 

VII. 

Behind  him  rode  two  gallant  squires, 
Of  noble  name,  and  knightly  sires ; 
They  burn'd  the  gilded  spurs  to  claim  ; 
For  well  could  each  a  war-horse  tame, 
Could  draw  the  bow,  the  sword  could  sway, 
And  lightly  bear  the  ring  away  ; 
Nor  less  with  courteous  precepts  stored, 
Could  dance  in  hall,  and  carve  at  board, 
And  frame  love-ditties  passing  rare, 
And  sing  them  to  a  lady  fair. 

VIII. 

Four  men-at-arms  came  at  their  backs, 

With  halbert,  bill,  and  battle-axe : 

They  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong,7 

And  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 

And  ambling  palfrey,  when  at  need 

Him  listed  ease  his  battle-steed.  • 

The  last  and  trustiest  of  the  four 

On  high  his  forky  pennon  bore ; 

Like  swallow's  tail,  in  shape  and  hue, 

Flutter'd  the  streamer  glossy  blue, 

Where,  blazon'd  sable,  as  before, 

The  towering  falcon  seem'd  to  soar. 

Last,  twenty  yeomen,  two  and  two, 

In  hosen  black,  and  jerkins  blue, 


the  prominence  of  the  features ;  and  the  minion  of  a  king  is 
as  light  and  sinewy  a  cavalier  as  the  Borderer — rather  less 
ferocious — more  wicked,  not  less  fit  for  the  hero  of  a  ballad, 
and  much  more  so  for  the  hero  of  a  regular  poem." — George 
Ellis. 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 


6  Ibid.  Note  H. 


7  MS. :  "  One  bore  Lord  Marmion's  lance  so  strong, 
Two  led  his  sumpter-mules  along, 
The  third  his  palfrey,  when  at  need." 


82 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  falcons  broider'd  on  each  breast, 
Attended  on  their  lord's  behest. 
Each,  chosen  for  an  archer  good, 
Knew  hunting-craft  by  lake  or  wood; 
Each  one  a  six-foot  bow  could  bend, 
And  far  a  cloth-yard  shaft  could  send ; 
Each  held  a  boar-spear  tough  and  strong, 
And  at  their  belts  their  quivers  rung. 
Their  dusty  palfreys,  and  array, 
Show'd  they  had  march'd  a  weary  way. 

IX. 

'Tis  meet  that  I  should  tell  you  now, 
How  fairly  arm'd,  and  order'd  how, 

The  soldiers  of  the  guard, 
With  musket,  pike,  and  morion, 
To  welcome  noble  Marmion, 

Stood  in  the  Castle-yard ; 
Minstrels  and  trumpeters  were  there, 
The  gunner  held  his  linstock  yare, 

For  welcome-shot  prepared : 
Enter'd  the  train,  and  such  a  clang,1 
As  then  through  all  his  turrets  rang, 

Old  Norham  never  heard. 

X. 

The  gnards  their  morrice-pikes  advanced, 

The  trumpets  flourish'd  brave, 
The  cannon  from  the  ramparts  glanced, 

And  thundering  welcome  gave. 
A  blithe  salute,  in  martial  sort, 

The  minstrels  well  might  sound, 
For,  as  Lord  Marmion  cross'd  the  court, 

He  scatter'd  angels  round. 
"  Welcome  to  Norham,  Marmion! 

Stout  heart,  and  open  hand ! 
Well  dost  thou  brook  thy  gallant  roan, 

Thou  flower  of  English  land !" 

XI. 

Two  pursuivants,  whom  tabarts  deck, 
With  silver  scutcheon  round  their  neck, 

Stood  on  the  steps  of  stone, 
By  which  you  reach  the  donjon  gate, 
And  there,  with  herald  pomp  and  state 

They  hail'd  Lord  Marmion  :2 
They  hail'd  him  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town  ;$ 
And  he,  their  courtesy  to  requite, 
Gave  them  a  chain  of  twelve  marks  weight, 

All  as  he  lighted  down. 

1  MS.:  "And  when  he  enter'd,  such  a  clang, 

As  through  the  echoing  turrets  rang." 

2  "The  most  picturesque  of  all  poets,  Homer,  is  frequently 
minute,  to  the  utmost  degree,  in  the  descripl  Ion  of  the  dresses 
and  accoutrements  of  his  personages.  These  particulars,  often 
inconsiderahle  in  themselves,  have  the  effect  of  giving  truth 
and  identity  to  the  picture,  and  assist  the  mind  in  realizing 


"  Now,  largesse,  largesse,4  Lord  Marmion, 

Knight  of  the  crest  of  gold! 
A  blazon'd  shield,  in  battle  won, 

Ne'er  guarded  heart  so  bold." 

XII. 

They  marshall'd  him  to  the  Castle-hall, 

Where  the  guests  stood  all  aside,        ^ 
And  loudly  flourish'd  the  trumpet  call, 

And  the  heralds  loudly  cried, 
"Room,  lordlings,  room  for  Lord  Marmion, 

With  the  crest  and  helm  of  gold ! 
Full  well  we  know  the  trophies  won 

In  the  lists  at  Cottiswold : 
There,  vainly  Ralph  de  Wilton  strove 

'Gainst  Marmion's  force  to  stand ; 
To  him  he  lost  his  lady-love, 

And  to  the  King  his  land. 
Ourselves  beheld  the  listed  field, 

A  sight  both  sad  and  fair  ; 
We  saw  Lord  Marmion  pierce  his  shield,5 

And  saw  his  saddle  bare ; 
We  saw  the  victor  win  the  crest 

He  wears  with  worthy  pride ; 
And  on  the  gibbet-tree,  reversed, 

His  foeman's  scutcheon  tied. 
Place,  nobles,  for  the  Falcon-Knight ! 

Room,  room,  ye  gentles  gay, 
For  him  who  conquer'd  in  the  right, 

Marmion  of  Fontenaye  I" 

XIII. 
Then  stepp'd,  to  meet  that  noble  Lord, 

Sir  Hugh  the  Heron  bold, 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 

And  Captain  of  the  Hold.6 
He  led  Lord  Marmion  to  the  deas, 
Raised  o'er  the  pavement  high, 
And  placed  him  in  the  upper  place — 

They  feasted  full  and  high : 
The  whiles  a  northern  harper  rude 
Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 
"How  the  fierce  Thirwalls,  and  Ridley  s  all,'' 
Stout  Williniondsicuk, 
And  Hardriding  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  Hwwdon,  and  Will  o'  the  Wall, 
Have  set  on  Sir  Albany  Featherstonhaugh, 
And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadman's-shav'." 
Scantly  Lord  Marmion's  ear  could  brook 

The  harper's  barbarous  lay ; 
Yet  much  he  praised  the  pains  he  took, 
And  well  those  pains  did  pay : 


the  scenes,  in  a  degree  which'  no  general  description  could 
suggest;  nor  could  we  so  completely  enter  the  Castle  with 
Lord  Marmion,  were  any  circumstances  of  the  description 
omitted." — British  Critic. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  I.  *  Ibid.  Note  K. 

6  MS. :  "  Cleave  his  shield." 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  L.  7  Ibid.  Note  M. 


MAEMION. 


83 


For  lady's  suit,  and  minstrel's  strain, 
By  knight  should  ne'er  be  heard  in  vain. 

XIV. 

"  Now,  good  Lord  Marmion,"  Heron  says, 

"  Of  your  fair  courtesy, 
I  pray  you  bide  some  little  space 

In  this  poor  tower  with  me. 
Here  may  you  keep  your  arms  from  rust, 

May  breathe  your  war-horse  well ; 
Seldom  hath  pass'd  a  week  but  giust 

Or  feat  of  arms  befell : 
The  Scots  can  rein  a  mettled  steed, 

And  love  to  couch  a  spear ; — 
Saint  George !  a  stirring  life  they  lead, 

That  have  such  neighbors  near. 
Then  stay  with  us  a  little  space, 

Our  northern  wars  to  learn  ; 
I  pray  you  for  your  lady's  grace !" — 

Lord  Marmion's  brow  grew  stern. 

XV. 

The  Captain  mark'd  his  alter'd  look, 

And  gave  a  squire  the  sign ; 
A  mighty  wassail-bowl  he  took, 

And  crown'd  it  high  with  wine. 
"  Now  pledge  me  here,  Lord  Marmion : 

But  first  I  pray  thee  fair,1 
Where  hast  thou  left  that  page  of  thine, 
That  used  to  serve  thy  cup  of  wine, 

Whose  beauty  was  so  rare  ? 
When  last  in  Raby  towers  we  met, 

The  boy  I  closely  eyed, 
And  often  mark'd  his  cheeks  were  wet 

With  tears  he  fain  would  hide : 
His  was  no  rugged  horse-boy's  hand, 
To  burnish  shield  or  sharpen  brand,2 

Or  saddle  battle -steed ; 
But  meeter  seem'd  for  lady  fair, 
To  fan  her  cheek,  or  curl  her  hair, 
Or  through  embroidery,  rich  and  rare, 

The  .slender  silk  to  lead : 
His  skin  was  fair,  his  ringlets  gold, 
•  His  bosom — when  he  sigh'd, 
The  russet  doublet's  rugged  fold 

Could  scarce  repel  its  pride ! 
Say,  hast  thou  given  that  lovely  youth 

To  serve  in  lady's  bower  ? 
Or  was  the  gentle  page,  in  sooth, 

A  gentle  paramour  ?" 


1  MS. 

2  MS. 

a  MS. 


"  And  let  me  pray  thee  fair." 

"  To  rub  a  shield,  or  sharp  a  brand." 

"  Lord  Marmion  ill  such  jest  could  brook ; 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye, 
Fix'd  on  the  Knight  his  dark  haught  look, 

And  answer'd  stern  and  high : 
'  That  page  thou  didst  so  closely  eye, 

So  fair  of  hand  and  skin, 
Is  come,  I  ween,  of  lineage  high, 

And  of  thy  lady's  kin. 


XVI. 
Lord  Marmion  ill  could  brook  such  jest;3 

He  roll'd  his  kindling  eye, 
With  pain  his  rising  wrath  suppress'd, 

Yet  made  a  calm  reply : 
"  That  boy  thou  thought'st  so  goodly  fair, 

He  might  not  brook  the  northern  air. 
More  of  his  fate  if  thou  wouldst  learn, 

I  left  him  sick  in  Lindisfarn  :4 
Enough  of  him. — But,  Heron,  say, 
Why  does  thy  lovely  lady  gay 
Disdain  to  grace  the  hall  to-day  ? 
Or  has  that  dame,  so  fair  and  sage, 
Gone  on  some  pious  pilgrimage  ?" — 
He  spoke  in  covert  scorn,  for  fame 
Whisper'd  light  tales  of  Heron's  dame.5 

XVII. 

Unmark'd,  at  least  unreck'd,  the  taunt, 

Careless  the  Knight  replied,6 
"  No  bird  whose  feathers  gayly  flaunt, 

Delights  in  cage  to  bide : 
Norham  is  grim  and  grated  close, 
Hemm'd  in  by  battlement  and  fosse, 

And  many  a  darksome  tower ; 
And  better  loves  my  lady  bright 
To  sit  in  liberty  and  light, 

In  fair  Queen  Margaret's  bower. 
We  hold  our  greyhound  in  our  hand, 

Our  falcon  on  our  glove ; 
But  where  shall  we  find  leash  or  band, 

For  dame  that  loves  to  rove  ? 
Let  the  wild  falcon  soar  her  swing, 
She'll  stoop  when  she  has  tired  her  wing." — ' 

XVIII. 
"  Nay,  if  with  royal  James's  bride 
The  lovely  Lady  Heron  bide, 
Behold  me  here  a  messenger, 
Your  tender  greetings  prompt  to  bear ; 
For,  to  the  Scottish  court  address'd, 
I  journey  at  our  King's  behest, 
And  pray  you,  of  your  grace,  provide 
For  me  and  mine  a  trusty  guide. 
I  have  not  ridden  in  Scotland  since 
James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  tower." — 8 

That  youth,  so  like  a  paramour, 
Who  wept  for  shame  and  pride, 

Was  erst,  in  Wilton's  lordly  bower, 
Sir  Ralph  de  Wilton's  bride.' " 

4  See  Note  2  B,  canto  ii.  stanza  1. 

6  MS. :  "  Whisper'd  strange  things  of  Heron's  dame." 

6  MS. :  "  The  captain  gay  replied." 

7  MS. :  "  She'll  stoop  again  when  tired  her  wing." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 


84 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XIX. 
" For  such-like  need,  my  lord,  I  trow, 
Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow; 
For  here  be  some  have  prick'd  as  far, 
On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar; 
Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 
And  driven  the  beeves  of  Lauderdale; 
Barried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 
And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods." — 1 

XX. 

"Xow,  in  good  sooth,"  Lord  Marmion 

cried, 
"  Were  I  in  warlike  wise  to  ride, 
A  better  guard  I  would  not  lack, 
Than  your  stout  forayers  at  my  back; 
But,  as  in  form  of  peace  I  go, 
A  friendly  messenger,  to  know, 
Why  through  all  Scotland,  near  and  far, 
Their  King  is  mustering  troops  for  war, 
The  sight  of  plundering  Border  spears 
Might  justify  suspicious  fears, 
And  deadly  feud,  or  thirst  of  spoil, 
Break  out  in  some  unseemly  broil : 
A  herald  were  my  fitting  guide ; 
Or  friar,  sworn  in  peace  to  bide ; 
Or  pardoner,  or  travelling  priest, 
Or  strolling  pilgrim,  at  the  least." 

XXI. 

The  Captain  mused  a  little  space, 
And  pass'd  his  hand  across  his  face. — 
"  Fain  would  I  find  the  guide  you  want, 
But  ill  may  spare  a  jmrsuivant, 
The  only  men  that  safe  can  ride 
Mine  errands  on  the  Scottish  side : 
And  though  a  bishop  built  this  fort, 
Few  holy  brethren  here  resort; 
Even  our  good  chaplain,  as  I  ween, 
Since  our  last  siege,  we  have  not  seen : 
The  mass  he  might  not  sing  or  say, 
Upon  one  stinted  meal  a  day ; 
So,  safe  he  sat  in  Durham  aisle, 
And  pray'd  for  our  success  the  while. 
Our  Norham  vicar,  woe  betide, 
Is  all  too  well  in  case  to  ride ; 
The  priest  of  Shoreswood2 — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train ; 
But  then,  no  spearman  in  the  hall 
Will  sooner  swear,  or  stab,  or  brawl. 
Friar  John  of  Tillmouth  were  the  man : 
A  blithesome  brother  at  the  can, 
A  welcome  guest  in  hall  and  bower, 
lie  knows  each  castle,  town,  and  tower 
In  which  the  wine  and  ale  is  good, 
'Twixt  Newcastle  and  Holy-Rood. 
But  that  good  man,  as  ill  befalls, 
Hath  seldom  left  our  castle  walls, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  0.  2  Ibid.  Note  P. 

*  MS. :  "  Auil  of  the  olives'  shaded  cell." 


Since,  on  the  vigil  of  St.  Bede, 

In  evil  hour  he  cross'd  the  Tweed, 

To  teach  Dame  Alison  her  creed. 

Old  Bughtrig  found  him  with  his  wife ; 

And  John,  an  enemy  to  strife, 

Sans  frock  and  hood,  fled  for  his  life. 

The  jealous  churl  hath  deeply  swore, 

That,  if  again  he  venture  o'er, 

He  shall  shrieve  penitent  no  more. 

Little  he  loves  such  risks,  I  know  ; 

Yet,  in  your  guard,  perchance  will  go." 

XXII. 

Young  Selby,  at  the  fair  hall-board, 

Carved  to  his  uncle  and  that  Lord, 

And  reverently  took  up  the  word. — 

"  Kind  uncle,  woe  were  we  each  one, 

If  harm  should  hap  to  brother  John. 

He  is  a  man  of  mirthful  speech, 

Can  many  a  game  and  gambol  teach : 

Full  well  at  tables  can  he  play, 

And  sweep  at  bowls  the  stake  away. 

None  can  a  lustier  carol  bawl, 

The  needfullest  among  us  all, 

When  time  hangs  heavy  in  the  hall, 

And  snow  comes  thick  at  Christmas  tide, 

And  we  can  neither  hunt,  nor  ride 

A  foray  on  the  Scottish  side. 

The  vow'd  revenge  of  Bughtrig  rude 

May  end  in  worse  than  loss  of  hood. 

Let  Friar  John,  in  safety,  still 

In  chimney-corner  snore  his  fill, 

Roast  hissing  crabs,  or  flagons  swill : 

Last  night,  to  Norham  there  came  one 

Will  better  guide  Lord  Marmion." — 

"  Nephew,"  quoth  Heron,  "  by  my  fay, 

Well  hast  thou  spoke ;  say  forth  thy  say."- 

XXIII. 

"  Here  is  a  holy  Palmer  come, 

From  Salem  first,  and  last  from  Rome ; 

One  that  hath  kiss'd  the  blessed  tomb, 

And  visited  each  holy  shrine, 

In  Araby  and  Palestine ; 

On  hills  of  Armenie  hath  been, 

"Where  Noah's  ark  may  yet  be  seen ; 

By  that  Red  Sea,  too,  hath  he  trod, 

Which  parted  at  the  prophet's  rod ; 

In  Sinai's  wilderness  he  saw 

The  Mount,  where  Israel  heard  the  law, 

'Mid  thunder-dint,  and  flashing  levin, 

And  shadows,  mists,  and  darkness,  given. 

He  shows  Saint  James's  cockle-shell, 

Of  fair  Montserrat,  too,  can  tell ; 

And  of  that  Grot  where  olives  nod,3 
Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 

Saint  Rosalie*  retired  to  God.5 

*  MS. :  "  Retired  to  God  St.  Rosalie." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  Q. 


MAEMION. 


85 


XXIV. 

"  To  stout  Saint  George  of  Norwich  merry, 
Saint  Thomas,  too,  of  Canterbury, 
Cuthbert  of  Durham,  and  Saint  Bede, 
For  his  sins'  pardon  hath  he  pray'd. 
He  knows  the  passes  of  the  North, 
And  seeks  far  shrines  beyond  the  Forth  ; 
Little  he  eats,  and  long  will  wake, 
And  drinks  but  of  the  stream  or  lake. 
This  were  a  guide  o'er  moor  and  dale ; 
But,  when  our  John  hath  quaff'd  his  ale, 
As  little  as  the  wind  that  blows, 
And  warms  itself  against  his  nose,1 
Kens  he,  or  cares,  which  way  he  goes." — 2 

XXV. 

"Gramercy!"  quoth  Lord  Marmion, 
"  Full  loth  were  I,  that  Friar  John, 
That  venerable  man,  for  me 
Were  placed  in  fear  or  jeopardy. 
If  this  same  Palmer  will  me  lead 

From  hence  to  Holy-Rood, 
Like  his  good  saint,  I'll  pay  his  meed, 
Instead  of  cockle-shell,  or  bead, 

With  angels  fair  and  good. 
I  love  such  holy  ramblers ;  still 
They  know  to  charm  a  weary  hill, 

With  song,  romance,  or  lay : 
Some  jovial  tale,  or  glee,  or  jest, 
Some  lying  legend,  at  the  least, 

They  bring  to  cheer  the  way." — 

XXVI. 

"  Ah !  noble  sir,"  young  Selby  said, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

"  This  man  knows  much,  perchance  e'en  more 

Than  he  could  learn  by  holy  lore. 

Still  to  himself  he's  muttering, 

And  shrinks  as  at  some  unseen  thing. 

Last  night  we  listen'd  at  his  cell ; 

Strange  sounds  we  heard,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 

He  murmur'd  on  till  morn,  howe'er 

No  living  mortal  could  be  near. 

Sometimes  I  thought  I  heard  it  plain, 

As  other  voices  spoke  again. 

I  cannot  tell — I  like  it  not — 

Friar  John  hath  told  us  it  is  wrote, 

No  conscience  clear,  and  void  of  wrong, 

Can  rest  awake,  and  pray  so  long. 

1  MS. :  "  And  with  metheglin  warni'd  his  nose, 

As  little  as,"  &c. 

2  "  This  poem  has  faults  of  too  great  magnitude  to  be  passed 
■without  notice.  There  is  a  debasing  lowness  and  vulgarity 
in  some  passages,  which  we  think  must  be  offensive  to  every 
reader  of  delicacy,  and  which  are  not,  for  the  most  part,  re- 
deemed by  any  vigor  or  picturesque  effect.  The  venison 
pasties,  we  think,  are  of  this  description  ;  and  this  commemo- 
ration of  Sir  Hugh  Heron's  troopers,  who 

'  Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale,'  &e. 
The  long  account  of  Friar  John,  though  not  without  merit, 


Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 
Have  mark'd  ten  aves  and  two  creeds." — 3 

XXVII. 

"  Let  pass,"  quoth  Marmion ;   "  by  my 

hiy, 
This  man  shall  guide  me  on  my  way, 
Although  the  great  arch-fiend  and  he 
Had  sworn  themselves  of  company. 
So  please  you,  gentle  youth,  to  call 
This  Palmer4  to  the  Castle-hall." 
The  summon'd  Palmer  came  in  place ; 
His  sable  cowl  o'erhung  his  face ; 
In  his  black  mantle  was  he  clad, 
With  Peter's  keys  in  cloth  of  red, 

On  his  broad  shoulders  wrought ; 
The  scallop  shell  his  cap  did  deck ; 
The  crucifix  around  his  neck 

Was  from  Loretto  brought ; 
His  sandals  were  with  travel  tore ; 
Staff,  budget,  bottle,  scrip,  he  wore ; 
The  faded  palm-branch  in  his  hand 
Show'd  pilgrim  from  the  Holy  Land.5 

XXVIII. 

When  as  the  Palmer  came  in  hall, 

Nor  lord,  nor  knight,  was  there  more  tall, 

Or  had  a  statelier  step  withal, 

Or  look'd  more  high  and  keen; 
For  no  saluting  did  he  wait, 
But  strode  across  the  hall  of  state, 
And  fronted  Marmion  where  he  sate,6 

As  he  his  peer  had  been. 
But  his  gaunt  frame  was  worn  with  toil ; 
His  cheek  was  sunk,  alas  the  while ! 
And  when  he  struggled  at  a  smile, 

His  eye  look'd  haggard  wild : 
Poor  wretch !  the  mother  that  him  bare, 
If  she  had  been  in  presence  there, 
In  his  wan  face,  and  sunburn'd  hair, 

She  had  not  known  her  child. 
Danger,  long  travel,  Vant,  or  woe, 
Soon  change  the  form  that  best  we  know — 
For  deadly  fear  can  time  outgo, 

And  blanch  at  once  the  hair ; 
Hard  toil  can  roughen  form  and  face,7 
And  want  can  quench  the  eye's  bright  grace, 
Nor  does  old  age  a  wrinkle  trace 

More  deeply  than  despair. 

offends  in  the  same  sort,  nor  can  we  easily  conceive  how  any 
one  could  venture,  in  a  serious  poem,  to  speak  of 

'  the  wind  that  blows, 

And  warms  itself  against  his  nose.' " — Jeffrey. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  R.  4  Ibid.  Note  S. 

5  "  The  first  presentment  of  the  mysterious  Palmer  is  laud- 
able."— Jeffrey. 

6  MS. :  "  And  near  Lord  Marmion  took  his  seat." 

7  MS. :  "  Hard  toil  can  alter  form  and  face, 

r  roughen  youthful  grace, 

And  what  can  \  quench )  „ 

j  "j.  J-  the  eyes  of  grace." 


86 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Happy  whom  none  of  these  befall,1 
But  this  poor  Palmer  knew  them  all. 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  then  his  boon  did  ask ; 
The  Palmer  took  on  him  the  task, 
So  he  would  march  with  morning  tide,2 
To  Scottish  court  to  be  his  guide. 
"  But  I  have  solemn  vows  to  pay, 
And  may  not  linger  by  the  way, 

To  fair  St.  Andrews  bound, 
Within  the  ocean-cave  to  pray, 
Where  good  Saint  Rule  his  holy  lay, 
From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 

Sung  to  the  billows'  sound  ;3 
Thence  to  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 

And  the  crazed  brain  restore  :4 
Saint  Mary  grant,  that  cave  or  spring 
Could  back  to  peace  my  bosom  bring, 

Or  bid  it  throb  no  more !" 

XXX. 

And  now  the  midnight  draught  of  sleep, 
Where  wine  and  spices  richly  steep, 
In  massive  bowl  of  silver  deep, 

The  page  presents  on  knee. 
Lord  Marmion  drank  a  fair  good  rest, 
The  Captain  pledged  his  noble  guest, 
The  cup  went  through  among  the  rest,5 

Who  drain'd  it  merrily ; 
Alone  the  Palmer  pass'd  it  by, 
Though  Selby  press'd  him  courteously. 
This  was  a  sign  the  feast  was  o'er  ; 
It  hush'd  the  merry  wassail  roar,6 

The  minstrels  ceased  to  sound. 
Soon  in  the  castle  nought  was  heard, 
But  the  slow  footstep  of  the  guard, 

Pacing  his  sober  round. 

XXXI. 

With  early  dawn  Lord  Marmion  rose: 

And  first  the  chapel  doors  unclose; 

Then  after  morning  rites  were  done 

(A  hasty  mass  from  Friar  John7), 

And  knight  and  squire  had  broke  their  fast, 

On  rich  substantial  repast, 

1  MS. :  "  Happy  whom  none  such  woes  befall." 

2  MS. :  "  So  he  would  ride  with  morning  tide." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  T.  4  Ibid.  Note  U. 
5  MS. :  "  The  cup  pass'd  round  among  the  rest." 

*  MS. :  "  Soon  died  the  merry  wassail  roar." 

7  "  In  Catholic  countries,  in  order  to  reconcile  the  pleasures 
of  the  great  with  the  observances  of  religion,  it  was  common, 
when  a  party  was  bent  for  the  chase,  to  celebrate  mass, 
abridged  and  maimed  of  its  rites,  called  a  hunting-mass,  the 
brevity  of  which  was  designed  to  correspond  with  the  impa- 
tience of  the  audience." — Note  to  "  The  Abbot."    New  edit. 

8  MS. :  "  Slow  they  rolled  forth  upon  the  air." 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 


Lord  Marmion's  bugles  blew  to  horse ; 
Then  came  the  stirrup-cup  in  course : 
Between  the  Baron  and  his  host, 
No  point  of  courtesy  was  lost ; 
High  thanks  were  by  Lord  Marmion  paid, 
Solemn  excuse  the  Captain  made, 
Till,  filing  from  the  gate,  had  pass'd 
That  noble  train,  their  Lord  the  last. 
Then  loudly  rung  the  trumpet  call ; 
Thunder'd  the  cannon  from  the  wall, 

And  shook  the  Scottish  shore ; 
Around  the  castle  eddied  slow 
Volumes  of  smoke  as  white  as  snow, 

And  hid  its  turrets  hoar ; 
Till  they  roll'd  forth  upon  the  air,8 
And  met  the  river  breezes  there, 
Which  gave  again  the  prospect  fair. 


Jftarmum. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  SECOND. 


TO  THE 

REV.   JOHN  MARRIOTT,  A.  M. 

Ashestiel,  Etlrick  Forest. 
The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish'd  once  a  forest  fair,9 
When  these  waste  glens  with  copse  were  lined, 
And  peopled  with  the  hart  and  hind. 
Yon  Thorn — perchance  whose  prickly  spears 
Have  fenced  him  for  three  hundred  years, 
While  fell  around  his  green  compeers — 
Yon  lonely  Thorn,  would  he  could  tell 
The  changes  of  his  parent  dell,10 
Since  he,  so  gray  and  stubborn  now, 
Waved  in  each  breeze  a  sapling  bough ; 
Would  he  could  tell  how  deep  the  shade 
A  thousand  mingled  branches  made ; 
How  broad  the  shadows  of  the  oak, 
How  clung  the  rowan11  to  the  rock, 
And  through  the  foliage  show'd  his  head, 
With  narrow  leaves  and  berries  red ; 

to  "The  second  epistle  opens  again  with  'chance  and 
change ;'  but  it  cannot  be  denied  that  the  mode  in  which  it 
is  introduced  is  new  and  poetical.  The  comparison  of  Ettrick 
Forest,  now  open  and  naked,  with  the  state  in  which  it  once 
was— covered  with  wood,  the  favorite  resort  of  the  royal  hunt, 
and  the  refuge  of  daring  outlaws— leads  the  poet  to  imagine 
an  ancient  thorn  gifted  with  the  powers  of  reason,  and  relat- 
ing the  various  scenes  which  it  has  witnessed  during  a  period 
of  three  hundred  years.  A  melancholy  train  of  fancy  is 
naturally  encouraged  by  the  idea."— ■Mordhly  Review. 

H  Mountain-ash. 

MS. :  "  How  broad  the  ash  his  shadows  flung, 
How  to  the  rock  the  rowan  clung." 


MAEMION. 


87 


What  pines  on  every  mountain  sprung, 
O'er  every  dell  what  birches  hung, 
In  every  breeze  what  aspens  shook, 
What  alders  shaded  every  brook ! 

"  Hgre,  in  my  shade,"  methinks  he'd  say, 
"  The  mighty  stag  at  noontide  lay : 
The  wolf  I've  seen,  a  fiercer  game 
(The  neighboring  dingle  bears  his  name), 
With  lurching  step  around  me  prowl, 
And  stop,  against  the  moon  to  howl ; 
The  mountain-boar,  on  battle  set, 
His  tusks  upon  my  stem  would  whet ; 
While  doe,  and  roe,  and  red-deer  good, 
Have  bounded  by,  through  gay  green-wood. 
Then  oft,  from  Newark's1  riven  tower, 
Sallied  a  Scottish  monarch's  power : 
A  thousand  vassals  muster'd  round, 
With  horse,  and  hawk,  and  horn,  and  hound ; 
And  I  might  see  the  youth  intent, 
Guard  every  pass  with  crossbow  bent , 
And  through  the  brake  the  rangers  stalk, 
And  falc'ners  hold  the  ready  hawk ; 
And  foresters,  in  green-wood  trim, 
Lead  in  the  leash  the  gazehounds  grim, 
Attentive,  as  the  bratchet's2  bay 
From  the  dark  covert  drove  the  prey, 
To  slip  them  as  he  broke  away. 
The  startled  quarry  bounds  amain, 
As  fast  the  gallant  greyhounds  strain ; 
Whistles  the  arrow  from  the  bow, 
Answers  the  harquebuss  below ; 
While  all  the  rocking  hills  reply, 
To  hoof-clang,  hound,  and  hunters'  cry, 
And  bugles  ringing  lightsomely." 

Of  such  proud  huntings,  many  tales 
Yet  linger  in  our  lonely  dales, 
Up  pathless  Ettrick  and  on  Yarrow, 
Where  erst  the  outlaw  drew  his  arrow.3 
But  not  more  blithe  that  sylvan  court, 
Than  we  have  been  at  humbler  sport; 
Though  small  our  pomp,  and  mean  our 


Our  mirth,  dear  Marriott,  was  the  same. 
Remember'st  thou  my  greyhounds  true  ? 
O'er  holt  or  hill  there  never  flew, 
From  slip  or  leash  there  never  sprang, 
More  fleet  of  foot,  or  sure  of  fang. 


1  See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 

2  Slowhound. 

3  The  Tale  of  the  Outlaw  Murray,  who  held  out  Newark 
Castle  and  Ettrick  Forest  against  the  King,  may  be  found  in 
the  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  In  the  Macfarlane  MS.,  among 
other  causes  of  James  the  Fifth's  charter  to  the  burgh  of  Sel- 
kirk, is  mentioned,  that  the  citizens  assisted  him  to  suppress 
this  dangerous  outlaw. 

4  A  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch  on  the  Yarrow,  in  Ettrick 
Forest.    See  Notes  to  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel. 


Nor  dull,  between  each  merry  chase, 

Pass'd  by  the  intermitted  space ; 

For  we  had  fair  resource  in  store, 

In  Classic  and  in  Gothic  lore : 

We  mark'd  each  memorable  scene, 

And  held  poetic  talk  between ; 

Nor  hill,  nor  brook,  we  paced  along, 

But  had  its  legend  or  its  song. 

All  silent  now — for  now  are  still 

Thy  bowers,  untenanted  Bowhill  !* 

No  longer  from  thy  mountains  dun 

The  yeoman  hears  the  well-known  gun, 

And  while  his  honest  heart  glows  warm, 

At  thought  of  his  paternal  farm, 

Bound  to  his  mates  a  brimmer  fills, 

And  drinks,  "  The  Chieftain  of  the  Hills !" 

No  fairy  forms,  in  Yarrow's  bowers, 

Trip  o'er  the  walks,  or  tend  the  flowers, 

Fair  as  the  elves  whom  Janet  saw 

By  moonlight  dance  on  Carterhaugh ; 

No  youthful  Baron's  left  to  grace 

The  Forest-Sheriff's  lonely  chase, 

And  ape,  in  manly  step  and  tone, 

The  majesty  of  Oberon  :5 

And  she  is  gone  whose  lovely  face 

Is  but  her  least  and  lowest  grace  ;6 

Though  if  to  Sylphid  Queen  'twere  given 

To  show  our  earth  the  charms  of  Heaven, 

She  could  not  glide  along  the  air, 

With  form  more  light,  or  face  more  fair. 

No  more  the  widow's  deafen'd  ear 

Grows  quick  that  lady's  step  to  hear : 

At  noontide  she  expects  her  not, 

Nor  busies  her  to  trim  the  cot ; 

Pensive  she  turns  her  humming  wheel, 

Or  pensive  cooks  her  orphans'  meal ; 

Yet  blesses,  ere  she  deals  their  bread, 

The  gentle  hand  by  which  they're  fed. 

From  Yair, — which  hills  so  closely  bind, 
Scarce  can  the  Tweed  his  passage  find, 
Though  much  he  fret,  and  chafe,  and  toil, 
Till  all  his  eddying  currents  boil, — 
Her  long-descended  lord7  is  gone, 
And  left  us  by  the  stream  alone. 
And  much  I  miss  those  sportive  boys,8 
Companions  of  my  mountain  joys, 
Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth, 
When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 


6  Mr.  Marriott  was  governor  to  the  young  nobleman  here 
alluded  to,  George  Henry,  Lord  Scott,  son  to  Charles,  Earl  of 
Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch  and  Queensberry), 
and  who  died  early  in  1808.— See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  pp.  59-61. 

6  The  four  next  lines  on  Harriet,  Countess  of  Dalkeith,  after- 
wards Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  were  not  in  the  original  MS. 

7  The  late  Alexander  Pringle,  Esq.,  of  Whytbank — whose 
beautiful  seat  of  the  Yair  stands  on  the  Tweed,  about  two 
miles  below  Ashestiel,  the  then  residence  of  the  poet. 

8  The  sons  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Whytbank. 


88 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Close  to  my  side,  with  what  delight 
They  press'd  to  tear  of  Wallace  wight, 
When,  pointing  to  his  airy  mound, 
I  call'd  his  ramparts  holy  ground!1 
Kindled  their  brows  to  hear  me  speak  ; 
And  I  have  smiled,  to  feel  my  cheek, 
Despite  the  difference  of  our  years, 
Return  again  the  glow  of  theirs. 
Ah,  happy  boys !  such  feelings  pure, 
They  will  not,  cannot,  long  endure; 
Condemn'd  to  stem  the  world's  rude  tide, 
You  may  not  linger  by  the  side ; 
For  Fate  shall  thrust  you  from  the  shore, 
And  Passion  ply  the  sail  and  oar.2 
Yet  cherish  the  remembrance  still, 
Of  the  lone  mountain,  and  the  rill ; 
For  trust,  dear  boys,  the  time  will  come, 
When  fiercer  transport  shall  be  dumb, 
And  you  will  think  right  frequently, 
But,  well  I  hope,  without  a  sigh, 
On  the  free  hours  that  we  have  spent 
Together,  on  the  brown  hill's  bent. 

When,  musing  on  companions  gone, 
We  doubly  feel  ourselves  alone, 
Something,  my  friend,  we  yet  may  gain ; 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  this  pain  : 
It  soothes  the  love  of  lonely  rest, 
Deep  in  each  gentler  heart  impress'd. 
'Tis  silent  amid  worldly  toils, 
And  stifled  soon  by  mental  broils; 
But,  in  a  bosom  thus  prepared, 
Its  still  small  voice  is  often  heard, 
Whispering  a  mingled  sentiment, 
'Twixt  resignation  and  content. 
Oft  in  my  mind  such  thoughts  awake, 
By  lone  Saint  Mary's  silent  lake  ;3 
Thou  know'st  it  well, — nor  fen,  nor  sedge, 
Pollute  the  pure  lake's  crystal  edge ; 
Abrupt  and  sheer,  the  mountains  sink 
At  once  upon  the  level  brink ; 
And  just  a  trace  of  silver  sand4 
Marks  where  the  water  meets  the  land. 
Far  in  the  mirror,  bright  and  blue, 
Each  hill's  huge  outline  you  may  view  ;5 
Shaggy  with  heath,  but  lonely  bare, 
Nor  tree,  nor  bush,  nor  brake,  is  there, 
Save  where,  of  land,  yon  slender  line 
Bears  thwart  the  lake  the  scatter'd  pine. 

1  There  is,  on  a  high  mountainous  ridge  above  the  farm  of 
Ashestiel,  a  fosse  called  Wallace's  Trench. 

2  MS.:  "And  yovih  shall  ply  the  sail  and  oar." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

*  MS. :  "  At  once  upon  the  \    .,         brink  ; 

(sihi  r  i 

And  just  a  line  of  pebbly  sand." 
6  MS.:  "Far  traced  upon  the  lake  you  view 

The  hills'  ■! .     -    I  sides  and  sombre  hue." 
I  bare  J 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

'  "  A  few  of  the  lines  which  follow  breathe  as  true  a  spirit 


Yet  even  this  nakedness  has  power, 

And  aids  the  feeling  of  the  hour: 

Nor  thicket,  dell,  nor  copse  you  spy, 

Where  living  thing  conceal'd  might  lie  ; 

Nor  point,  retiring,  hides  a  dell, 

Where  swain,  or  woodman  lone,  might  dwell; 

There's  nothing  left  to  fancy's  guess, 

You  see  that  all  is  loneliness : 

And  silence  aids — though  the  steep  hills 

Send  to  the  lake  a  thousand  rills ; 

In  summer  tide,  so  soft  they  weep, 

The  sound  but  lulls  the  ear  asleep ; 

Your  horse's  hoof-tread  sounds  too  rude, 

So  stilly  is  the  solitude. 

Nought  living  meets  the  eye  or  ear, 
But  well  I  ween  the  dead  are  near ; 
For  though,  in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 
Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low,6 
Yet  still,  beneath  the  hallow'd  soil, 
The  peasant  rests  him  from  his  toil, 
And,  dying,  bids  his  bones  be  laid 
Where  erst  his  simple  fathers  pray'd. 

If  age  had  tamed  the  passions'  strife,7 
And  fate  had  cut  my  ties  to  life, 
Here,  have  I  thought,  'twere  sweet  to  dwell, 
And  rear  again  the  chaplain's  cell, 
Like  that  same  peaceful  hermitage 
Where  Milton  long'd  to  spend  his  age.8 
'Twere  sweet  to  mark  the  setting  day 
On  Bourhope's  lonely  top  decay  ; 
And,  as  it  faint  and  feeble  died 
On  the  broad  lake,  and  mountain's  side, 
To  say,  "  Thus  pleasures  fade  away ; 
Youth,  talents,  beauty,  thus  decay, 
And  leave  us  dark,  forlorn,  and  gray ;" 
Then  gaze  on  Dryhope's  ruin'd  tower, 
And  think  on  Yarrow's  faded  Flower : 
And  when  that  mountain-sound  I  heard, 
Which  bids  us  be  for  storm  prepared, 
The  distant  rustling  of  his  wings, 
As  up  his  force  the  Tempest  brings, 
'Twere  sweet,  ere  yet  his  terrors  rave, 
To  sit  upon  the  Wizard's  grave ; 
That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 
From  company  of  holy  dust  ;9 
On  which  no  sunbeam  ever  shines 
(So  superstition's  creed  divines) — 

of  peace  and  repose  as  even  the  simple  strains  of  our  vener- 
able Walton." — Monthly  Review. 

8  "  And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage, 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell, 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 

Of  every  star  that  heaven  doth  show, 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew; 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain." 

//  Penseroso. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 


MAKMION. 


89 


Thence  view  the  lake,  with  sullen  roar, 

Heave  her  broad  billows  to  the  shore ; 

And  mark  the  wild  swans  mount  the  gale, 

Spread  wide  through  mist  their  snowy  sail,1 

And  ever  stoop  again,  to  lave 

Their  bosoms  on  the  surging  wave : 

Then,  when  against  the  driving  hail 

No  longer  might  my  plaid  avail, 

Back  to  my  lonely  home  retire, 

And  light  my  lamp,  and  trim  my  fire ; 

There  ponder  o'er  some  mystic  lay, 

Till  the  wild  tale  had  all  its  sway,2 

And  in  the  bittern's  distant  shriek, 

I  heard  unearthly  voices  speak, 

And  thought  the  Wizard  Priest  was  come 

To  claim  again  his  ancient  home ! 

And  bade  my  busy  fancy  range, 

To  frame  him  fitting  shape  and  strange, 

Till  from  the  task  my  brow  I  clear'd,3 

And  smiled  to  think  that  I  had  fear'd. 

But  chief,  'twere  sweet  to  think  such  life 
(Though  but  escape  from  fortune's  strife) 
Something  most  matchless  good  and  wise, 
A  great  and  grateful  sacrifice ; 
And  deem  each  hour  to  musing  given, 
A  step  upon  the  road  to  heaven. 

Yet  him,  whose  heart  is  ill  at  ease, 
Such  peaceful  solitudes  displease : 
He  loves  to  drown  his  bosom's  jar 
Amid  the  elemental  war : 
And  my  black  Palmer's  choice  had  been 
Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 
Like  that  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch-skene.4 
There  eagles  scream  from  isle  to  shore ; 
Down  all  the  rocks  the  torrents  roar ; 
O'er  the  black  waves  incessant  driven, 
Dark  mists  infect  the  summer  heaven ; 
Through  the  rude  barriers  of  the  lake, 
Away  its  hurrying  waters  break, 
Faster  and  whiter  dash  and  curl, 
Till  down  yon  dark  abyss  they  hurl. 
Rises  the  fog-smoke  white  as  snow, 
Thunders  the  viewless  stream  below, 
Diving,  as  if  condemn'd  to  lave 
Some  demon's  subterranean  cave, 
"Who,  prison'd  by  enchanter's  spell, 
Shakes  the  dark  rock  with  groan  and  yell. 
And  well  that  Palmer's  form  and  mien 
Had  suited  with  the  stormy  scene, 
Just  on  the  edge,  straining  his  ken 
To  view  the  bottom  of  the  den, 
Where,  deep  deep  down,  and  far  within, 
Toils  with  the  rocks  the  roaring  linn ; 


1  MS. :  "  Spread  through  broad  mist  their  snowy  sail." 

2  MS. :  "  Till  fancy  wild  had  all  her  sway." 

3  MS. :.  "  Till  from  the  task  my  brain  I  clear'd." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 


Then,  issuing  forth  one  foamy  wave, 
And  wheeling  round  the  Giant's  Grave, 
White  as  the  snowy  charger's  tail, 
Drives  down  the  pass  of  Mofiatdale. 

Marriott,  thy  harp,  on  Isis  strung, 
To  many  a  Border  theme  has  rung  :5 
Then  list  to  me,  and  thou  shalt  know 
Of  this  mysterious  Man  of  Woe. 


JUanmott, 


CANTO  SECOND. 


®Ik  ©onbmt. 
I. 

The  breeze  which  swept  away  the  smoke, 

Round  Norharn  Castle  roll'd, 
When  all  the  loud  artillery  spoke, 
With  lightning-flash,  and  thunder-stroke, 

As  Marmion  left  the  Hold. 
It  curl'd  not  Tweed  alone,  that  breeze, 
For,  far  upon  Northumbrian  seas, 

It  freshly  blew,  and  strong, 
Where,  from  high  Whitby's  cloister'd  pile,6 
Bound  to  St.  Cuthbert's  Holy  Isle,7 

It  bore  a  bark  along. 
Upon  the  gale  she  stoop'd  her  side, 
And  bounded  o'er  the  swelling  tide, 

As  she  were  dancing  home ; 
The  merry  seamen  laugh'd,  to  see 
Their  gallant  ship  so  lustily 

Furrow  the  green  sea-foam. 
Much  joy'd  they  in  their  honor'd  freight ; 
For,  on  the  deck,  in  chair  of  state, 
The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda  placed, 
With  five  fair  nuns,  the  galley  graced. 

II. 

'Twas  sweet  to  see  these  holy  maids, 
Like  birds  escaped  to  green-wood  shades, 

Their  first  flight  from  the  cage, 
How  timid,  and  how  curious  too, 
For  all  to  them  was  strange  and  new, 
And  all  the  common  sights  they  view 

Their  wonderment  engage. 
One  eyed  the  shrouds  and  swelling  sail, 

With  many  a  benedicite ; 
One  at  the  rippling  surge  grew  pale, 

And  would  for  terror  pray ; 


5  See  various  ballads  by  Mr.  Marriott,  in  the  4fch  vol.  of  the 
Border  Minstrelsy. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 
J  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 


90 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Then  shriek'd,  because  the  sea-dog,  nigh, 
His  round  black  head,  and  sparkling  eye, 

Rear'd  o'er  the  foaming  spray ; 
And  one  would  still  adjust  her  veil, 
Disorder'd  by  the  summer  gale, 
Perchance  lest  some  more  worldly  eye 
Her  dedicated  charms  might  spy ; 
Perchance,  because  such  action  graced 
Her  fair-turn'd  arm  and  slender  waist. 
Light  was  each  simple  bosom  there, 
Save  two,  who  ill  might  pleasure  share, — 
The  Abbess,  and  the  Novice  Clare. 

III. 
The  Abbess  was  of  noble  blood, 
But  early  took  the  veil  and  hood, 
Ere  upon  life  she  cast  a  look, 
Or  knew  the  world  that  she  forsook. 
Fair  too  she  was,  and  kind  had  been 
As  she  was  fair,  but  ne'er  had  seen 
For  her  a  timid  lover  sigh, 
Nor  knew  the  influence  of  her  eye. 
Love,  to  her  ear,  was  but  a  name, 
Combined  with  vanity  and  shame ; 
Her  hopes,  her  fears,  her  joys,  were  all 
Bounded  within  the  cloister  wall : 
The  deadliest  sin  her  mind  could  reach 
Was  of  monastic  rule  the  breach ; 
And  her  ambition's  highest  aim 
To  emulate  Saint  Hilda's  fame. 
For  this  she  gave  her  ample  dower,1 
To  raise  the  convent's  eastern  tower ; 
For  this,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
She  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint, 
And  gave  the  relic-shrine  of  cost, 
With  ivory  and  gems  emboss'd. 
The  poor  her  convent's  bounty  blest, 
The  pilgrim  in  its  halls  found  rest. 

IV. 

Black  was  her  garb,  her  rigid  rule 
Reform'd  on  Benedictine  school ; 
Her  cheek  was  pale,  her  form  was  spare; 
Vigils,  and  penitence  austere, 
Had  early  quench'd  the  light  of  youth, 
But  gentle  was  the  dame,  in  sooth ; 
Though  vain  of  her  religious  sway, 
She  loved  to  see  her  maids  obey, 
Yet  nothing  stern  was  she  in  cell, 
And  the  nuns  loved  their  Abbess  well. 
Sad  was  this  voyage  to  the  dame ; 
Summon'd  to  Lindisfarne,  she  came, 
There,  with  Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  old, 
And  Tynemouth's  Prioress,  to  hold 
A  chapter  of  Saint  Benedict, 
For  inquisition  stern  and  strict, 
On  two  apostates  from  the  faith, 
And,  if  need  were,  to  doom  to  death. 


1  MS. :  "  'Twos  she  that  gave  her  ample  dower 


V. 

Nought  say  I  here  of  Sister  Clare, 
Save  this,  that  she  was  young  and  fair; 
As  yet  a  novice  unprofess'd, 
Lovely  and  gentle,  but  distress'd. 
She  was  betroth'd  to  one  now  dead, 
Or  worse,  who  had  dishonor'd  fled. 
Her  kinsmen  bade  her  give  her  hand 
To  one  who  loved  her  for  her  land : 
Herself,  almost  heart-broken  now, 
Was  bent  to  take  the  vestal  vow, 
And  shroud,  within  Saint  Hilda's  gloom, 
Her  blasted  hopes  and  wither'd  bloom. 

VI. 

She  sat  upon  the  galley's  prow, 

And  seem'd  to  mark  the  waves  below; 

Nay,  seem'd,  so  fix'd  her  look  and  eye, 

To  count  them  as  they  glided  by. 

She  saw  them  not — 'twas  seeming  all — 

Far  other  scene  her  thoughts  recall, — 

A  sun-scorch'd  desert,  waste  and  bare, 

Nor  waves,  nor  breezes,  murmur'd  there  ; 

There  saw  she,  where  some  careless  hand 

O'er  a  dead  corpse  had  heap'd  the  sand, 

To  hide  it  till  the  jackals  come, 

To  tear  it  from  the  scanty  tomb. — 

See  what  a  woeful  look  was  given, 

As  she  raised  up  her  eyes  to  heaven ! 

VII. 

Lovely,  and  gentle,  and  distress'd — 

These  charms  might  tame  the  fiercest  breast : 

Harpers  have  sung,  and  poets  told, 

That  he,  in  fury  uncontroll'd, 

The  shaggy  monarch  of  the  wood, 

Before  a  virgin,  fair  and  good, 

Hath  pacified  his  savage  mood. 

But  passions  in  the  human  frame 

Oft  put  the  lion's  rage  to  shame : 

And  jealousy,  by  dark  intrigue, 

With  sordid  avarice  in  league, 

Had  practiced  with  their  bowl  and  knife 

Against  the  mourner's  harmless  life. 

This  crime  was  charged  'gainst  those  who  lay 

Prison'd  in  Cuthbert's  islet  gray. 

VIII. 

And  now  the  vessel  skirts  the  strand 
Of  mountainous  Northumberland  ; 
Towns,  towers,  and  halls,  successive  rise, 
And  catch  the  nuns'  delighted  eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth  soon  behind  them  lay, 
And  Tynemouth's  priory  and  bay; 
They  mark'd,  amid  her  trees,  the  hall 
Of  lofty  Seaton-Delaval ; 
They  saw  the  Blythe  and  Wansbeck  floods 
Rush  to  the  sea  through  sounding  woods; 

'Twos  she,  with  carving  rare  and  quaint, 
Who  deck'd  the  chapel  of  the  saint." 


MAKMION. 


91 


They  pass'd  the  tower  of  Widderington,1 

Mother  of  many  a  valiant  son ; 

At  Coquet-isle  their  beads  they  tell 

To  the  good  Saint  who  own'd  the  cell ; 

Then  did  the  Alne  attention  claim, 

And  Warkworth,  proud  of  Percy's  name  ; 

And  next,  they  cross'd  themselves,  to  hear 

The  whitening  breakers  sound  so  near, 

Where,  boiling  through"  the  rocks,  they  roar 

On  Dunstanborough's  cavern'd  shore ; 

Thy  tower,  proud  Bamborough,  mark'd  they  there, 

King  Ida's  castle,  huge  and  square, 

From  its  tall  rock  look  grimly  down, 

And  on  the  swelling  ocean  frown ; 

Then  from  the  coast  they  bore  away, 

And  reach'd  the  Holy  Island's  bay. 

IX. 

The  tide  did  now  its  flood-mark  gain, 
And  girdled  in  the  Saint's  domain : 
For,  with  the  flow  and  ebb,  its  style 
Varies  from  continent  to  isle ; 
Dry-shod,  o'er  sands,  twice  every  day, 
The  pilgrims  to  the  shrine  find  way ; 
Twice  every  day,  the  waves  efface 
Of  staves  and  sandall'd  feet  the  trace. 
As  to  the  port  the  galley  flew, 
Higher  and  higher  rose  to  view 
The  Castle  with  its  battled  walls, 
The  ancient  Monastery's  halls, 
A  solemn,  huge,  and  dark-red  pile, 
Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  isle. 


In  Saxon  strength  that  Abbey  frown'd, 
With  massive  arches  broad  and  round, 

That  rose  alternate,  row  and  row, 

On  ponderous  columns,  short  and  low, 
Built  ere  the  art  was  known, 

By  pointed  aisle,  and  shafted  stalk, 

The  arcades  of  an  alley'd  walk 
To  emulate  in  stone. 
On  the  deep  walls,  the  heathen  Dane 
Had  pour'd  his  impious  rage  in  vain ; 
And  needful  was  such  strength  to  these, 
Exposed  to  the  tempestuous  seas, 
Scourged  by  the  winds'  eternal  sway, 
Open  to  rovers  fierce  as  they, 
Which  could  twelve  hundred  years  withstand 
Winds,  waves,  and  northern  pirates'  hand. 
Not  but  that  portions  of  the  pile, 
Bebuilded  in  a  later  style, 
Show'd  where  the  spoiler's  hand  had  been ; 
Not  but  the  wasting  sea-breeze  keen 
Had  worn  the  pillar's  carving  quaint, 
And  moulder'd  in  his  niche  the  saint, 
And  rounded,  with  consuming  power, 
The  pointed  angles  of  each  tower ; 

1  See  the  notes  on  Chevy  Chase.— Percy's  Eeliques. 


Yet  still  entire  the  Abbey  stood, 
Like  veteran,  worn,  but  unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon  as  they  near'd  his  turrets  strong, 
The  maidens  raised  Saint  Hilda's  song, 
And  with  the  sea-wave  and  the  wind, 
Their  voices,  sweetly  shrill,  combined, 

And  made  harmonious  close ; 
Then,  answering  from  the  sandy  shore, 
Half-drown'd  amid  the  breakers'  roar, 

According  chorus  rose : 
Down  to  the  haven  of  the  Isle, 
The  monks  and  nuns  in  order  file, 
From  Cuthbert's  cloisters  grim ; 
Banner,  and  cross,  and  relics  there, 
To  meet  Saint  Hilda's  maids,  they  bare ; 
And,  as  they  caught  the  sounds  on  air, 

They  echo'd  back  the  hymn. 
The  islanders,  in  joyous  mood, 
Rush'd  emulously  through  the  flood, 

To  hale  the  bark  to  land ; 
Conspicuous  by  her  veil  and  hood, 
Signing  the  cross,  the  Abbess  stood, 
And  bless'd  them  with  her  hand. 

XII. 

Suppose  we  now  the  welcome  said, 
Suppose  the  Convent  banquet  made : 

All  through  the  holy  dome, 
Through  cloister,  aisle,  and  gallery, 
Wherever  vestal  maid  might  pry, 
Nor  risk  to  meet  unhallow'd  eye, 

The  stranger  sisters  roam  : 
Till  fell  the  evening  damp  with  dew, 
And  the  sharp  sea-breeze  coldly  blew, 
For  there,  even  summer  night  is  chill. 
Then,  having  stray'd  and  gazed  their  fill, 

They  closed  around  the  fire ; 
And  all,  in  turn,  essay'd  to  paint 
The  rival  merits  of  their  saint, 

A  theme  that  ne'er  can  tire 
A  holy  maid ;  for,  be  it  known, 
That  their  saint's  honor  is  their  own. 

XIII. 

Then  Whitby's  nuns  exulting  told 
How  to  their  house  three  Barons  bold 

Must  menial  service  do  ;2 
While  horns  blow  out  a  note  of  shame, 
And  monks  cry  "  Fie  upon  your  name ! 
In  wrath,  for  loss  of  sylvan  game, 

Saint  Hilda's  priest  ye  slew." — 
"  This,  on  Ascension-day,  each  year, 
While  laboring  on  our  harbor-pier, 
Must  Herbert,  Bruce,  and  Percy  hear." — 
They  told  how  in  their  convent-cell 
A  Saxon  princess  once  did  dwell, 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


92 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  lovely  Edelfled  ;» 
And  how,  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 
Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

When  holy  Hilda  pray'd; 
Themselves,  within  their  holy  bound, 
Their  stony  folds  had  often  found. 
They  told  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail, 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail,2 
And,  sinking  down,  with  flutterings  faint, 
They  do  their  homage  to  the  saint. 

XIV. 

Nor  did  Saint  Cuthbert's  daughters  fail 

To  vie  with  these  in  holy  tale ; 

His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

How  oft  their  patron  changed,  they  told  ;s 

How,  when  the  rude  Dane  burn'd  their  pile, 

The  monks  fled  forth  from  Holy  Isle ; 

O'er  northern  mountain,  marsh,  and  moor, 

From  sea  to  sea,  from  shore  to  shore, 

Seven  years  Saint  Cuthbert's  corpse  they  bore. 

They  rested  them  in  fair  Melrose ; 
But  though,  alive,  he  loved  it  well, 

Not  there  his  relics  might  repose ; 
For,  wondrous  tale  to  tell ! 

In  his  stone  coffin  forth  he  rides, 

A  ponderous  bark  for  river  tides, 

Yet  light  as  gossamer  it  glides 
Downward  to  Tilmouth  cell. 
Nor  long  was  his  abiding  there, 
For  southward  did  the  saint  repair ; 
Chester-le-Street,  and  Eippon,  saw 
His  holy  corpse,  ere  Wardilaw 

Hail'd  him  with  joy  and  fear ; 
And,  after  many  wanderings  past, 
He  chose  his  lordly  seat  at  last, 
Where  his  cathedral,  huge  and  vast, 

Looks  down  upon  the  Wear : 
There,  deep  in  Durham's  Gothic  shade, 
His  relics  are  in  secret  laid ; 

But  none  may  know  the  place, 
Save  of  his  holiest  servants  three, 
Deep  sworn  to  solemn  secrecy, 
•    Who  share  that  wondrous  grace. 

XV. 

Who  may  his  miracles  declare! 

Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir 

(Although  with  them  they  led 
Galwegians,  wild  as  ocean's  gale, 
And  Lodon's  knights,  all  sheathed  in  mail, 
And  the  bold  men  of  Teviotdale), 

Before  his  standard  fled.4 
'Twas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 
Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 
And  turn'd  the  Conqueror  back  again,5 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 


-  [bid.  Note2K 
*  Ibid.  Note  2  G. 


When,  with  his  Norman  bowyer  band, 
He  came  to  waste  Northumberland. 

XVI. 

But  fain  Saint  Hilda's  nuns  would  learn 
If,  on  a  rock,  by  Lindisfarne, 
Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 
The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name:6 
Such  tales  had  Whitby's  fishers  told, 
And  said  they  might  his  shape  behold, 

And  hear  his  anvil  sound ; 
A  deaden'd  clang, — a  huge  dim  form, 
Seen  but,  and  heard,  when  gathering 
storm7 

And  night  were  closing  round. 
But  this,  as  tale  of  idle  fame, 
The  nuns  of  Lindisfarne  disclaim. 

XVII. 

While  round  the  fire  such  legends  go, 
Far  different  was  the  scene  of  woe, 
Where,  in  a  secret  aisle  beneath, 
Council  was  held  of  life  and  death. 

It  was  more  dark  and  lone,  that  vault, 
Than  the  worst  dungeon  cell : 

Old  Colwulf8  built  it,  for  his  fault, 
In  penitence  to  dwell, 
When  he,  for  cowl  and  beads,  laid  down 
The  Saxon  battle-axe  and  crown. 
This  den,  which,  chilling  every  sense 

Of  feeling,  hearing,  sight, 
Was  call'd  the  Vault  of  Penitence, 

Excluding  air  and  light, 
Was,  by  the  prelate  Sexhelm,  made 
A  place  of  burial  for  such  dead 
As,  having  died  in  mortal  sin, 
Might  not  be  laid  the  church  within. 
'Twas  now  a  place  of  punishment ; 
Whence  if  so  loud  a  shriek  were  sent, 

As  reach'd  the  upper  air, 
The  hearers  bless'd  themselves,  and  said, 
The  spirits  of  the  sinful  dead 

Bemoan'd  their  torments  there. 

XVIII. 

But  though,  in  the  monastic  pile, 
Did  of  this  penitential  aisle 

Some  vague  tradition  go, 
Few  only,  save  the  Abbot,  knew 
Where  the  place  lay ;  and  still  more  few 
Were  those  who  had  from  him  the  clew 

To  that  dread  vault  to  go. 
Victim  and  executioner 
Were  blindfold  when  transported  there. 
In  low  dark  rounds  the  arches  hung, 
From  the  rude  rock  the  side  walls  sprung; 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

i  MS. :  "  Seen  only  when  the  gathering  storm.' 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 


MARMION. 


93 


The  grave-stones,  rudely  sculptured  o'er, 
Half  suuk  in  earth,  by  time  half  wore, 
Were  all  the  pavement  of  the  floor ; 
The  mildew-drops  fell  one  by  one, 
With  tinkling  plash,  upon  the  stone. 
A  cresset,1  in  an  iron  chain,2 
Which  served  to  light  this  drear  domain, 
With  damp  and  darkness  seern'd  to  strive, 
As  if  it  scarce  might  keep  alive  ; 
And  yet  it  dimly  served  to  show 
The  awful  conclave  met  below. 

XIX. 

There,  met  to  doom  in  secrecy, 

Were  placed  the  heads  of  convents  three : 

All  servants  of  Saint  Benedict, 

The  statutes  of  whose  order  strict 

On  iron  table  lay  ;3 
In  long  black  dress,  on  seats  of  stone, 
Behind  were  these  three  judges  shown 

By  the  pale  cresset's  ray  : 
The  Abbess  of  Saint  Hilda's,  there, 
Sat  for  a  space  with  visage  bare, 
Until,  to  hide  her  bosom's  swell, 
And  tear-drops  that  for  pity  fell, 

She  closely  drew  her  veil : 
Yon  shrouded  figure,  as  I  guess, 
By  her  proud  mien  and  flowing  dress, 
Is  Tynemouth's  haughty  Prioress,* 

And  she  with  awe  looks  pale : 
And  he,  that  Ancient  Man,  whose  sight 
Has  long  been  quench'd  by  age's  night, 
Upon  whose  wrinkled  brow  alone 
Nor  ruth,  nor  mercy's  trace,  is  shown, 

Whose  look  is  hard  and  stern, — 
Saint  Cuthbert's  Abbot  is  his  style ; 
For  sanctity  call'd,  through  the  isle, 

The  Saint  of  Lindisfarne. 

XX. 

Before  them  stood  a  guilty  pair ; 
But,  though  an  equal  fate  they  share, 

1  Antique  chandelier. 

8  MS. :  "  Suspended  by  an  iron  chain, 

A  cresset  show'd  this  \  .         ]■  domain." 
(.  drear  J 

3  MS. :  "  On  stony  table  lay." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

6  "The  picture  of  Constance  before  her  judges,  though 
more  labored  than  that  of  the  voyage  of  the  Lady  Abbess,  is 
not,  to  our  taste,  so  pleasing;  though  it  has  beauty  of  a  kind 
fully  as  popular." — Jeffrey. 

"  I  sent  for  '  Marmion,'  because  it  occurred  to  me  there 
might  be  a  resemblance  between  part  of  '  Parisina'  and  a 
similar  scene  in  the  second  canto  of  '  Marmion.'  I  fear  there 
is,  though  I  never  thought  of  it  before,  and  could  hardly  wish 
to  imitate  that  which  is  inimitable.  I  wish  you  would  ask 
Mr.  Gifford  whether  I  ought  to  say  anything  upon  it.  I  had 
completed  the  story  on  the  passage  from  Gibbon,  which  indeed 
leads  to  a  like  scene  naturally,  without  a  thought  of  the  kind ; 
but  it  comes  upon  me  not  very  comfortably." — Lord  Byron  to 
Mr.  Murray,  Feb.  3, 1816.— Compare : 


Yet  one  alone  deserves  our  care. 
Her  sex  a  page's  dress  belied  ; 
The  cloak  and  doublet,  loosely  tied, 
Obscured  her  charms,  but  could  not  hide. 

Her  cap  down  o'er  her  face  she  drew ; 
And,  on  her  doublet  breast, 

She  tried  to  hide  the  badge  of  blue, 
Lord  Marmion's  falcon  crest. 
But,  at  the  Prioress'  command, 
A  monk  undid  the  silken  band, 

That  tied  her  tresses  fair, 
And  raised  the  bonnet  from  her  head, 
And  down  her  slender  form  they  spread, 

In  ringlets  rich  and  rare. 
Constance  de  Beverley  they  know, 
Sister  profess'd  of  Fontevraud, 
Whom  the  church  number'd  with  the 

dead, 
For  broken  vows,  and  convent  fled. 

XXI. 

When  thus  her  face  was  given  to  view 
(Although  so  pallid  was  her  hue, 
It  did  a  ghastly  contrast  bear 
To  those  bright  ringlets  glistering  fair), 
Her  look  composed,  and  steady  eye, 
Bespoke  a  matchless  constancy ; 
And  there  she  stood  so  calm  and  pale, 
That,  but  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 
And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head, 
And  of  her  bosom,  warranted 
That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks, 
You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax, 
Wrought  to  the  very  life,  was  there  ; 
So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair.5 

XXII. 

Her  comrade  was  a  sordid  soul, 

Such  as  does  murder  for  a  meed ; 
Who,  but  of  fear,  knows  no  control, 
Because  his  conscience,  sear'd  and  foul, 
Feels  not  the  import  of  his  deed ; 


"...    Parisina's  fatal  charms 
Again  attracted  every  eye — 
Would  she  thus  hear  him  doom'd  to  die ! 
She  stood,  I  said,  all  pale  and  still, 
The  living  cause  of  Hugo's  ill ; 
Her  eyes  unmoved,  but  full  and  wide, 
Not  once  had  turn'd  to  either  side — 
Nor  once  did  those  sweet  eyelids  close, 
Or  shade  the  glance  o'er  which  they  rose, 
But  round  their  orbs  of  deepest  blue 
The  circling  white  dilated  grew — 
And  there  with  glassy  gaze  she  stood 
As  ice  were  in  her  curdled  blood ; 
But  every  now  and  then  a  tear 
So  large  and  slowly  gather'd  slid 
From  the  long  dark  fringe  of  that  fair 
lid, 
It  was  a  thing  to  see,  not  hear ! 
And  those  who  saw,  it  did  surprise, 
Such  drops  could  fall  from  human  eyes. 


94 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


One  whose  brute  feeling  ne'er  aspires1 
Beyond  his  own  more  brute  desires. 
Such  tools  the  Tempter  ever  needs, 
To  do  the  savagest  of  deeds ; 
For  them  no  vision'd  terrors  daunt, 
Their  nights  no  fancied  spectres  haunt: 
One  fear  with  them,  of  all  most  base, — 
The  fear  of  death, — alone  finds  place. 
This  wretch  was  clad  in  frock  and  cowl, 
And  shamed  not  loud  to  moan  and  howl, 
His  body  on  the  floor  to  dash, 
And  crouch,  like  hound  beneath  the  lash ; 
While  his  mute  partner,  standing  near, 
Waited  her  doom  without  a  tear. 

XXIII. 

Yet  well  the  luckless  wretch  might  shriek, 
Well  might  her  paleness  terror  speak ! 
For  there  were  seen  in  that  dark  wall 
Two  niches,  narrow,  deep,  and  tall ; — 
Who  enters  at  such  grisly  door, 
Shall  ne'er,  I  ween,  find  exit  more. 
In  each  a  slender  meal  was  laid, 
Of  roots,  of  water,  and  of  bread : 
By  each,  in  Benedictine  dress, 
Two  haggard  monks  stood  motionless ; 
Who,  holding  high  a  blazing  torch, 
Show'd  the  grim  entrance  of  the  porch : 
Beflecting  back  the  smoky  beam, 
The  dark-red  walls  and  arches  gleam. 
Hewn  stones  and  cement  were  display'd, 
And  building  tools  in  order  laid. 

XXIV. 

These  executioners  were  chose 
As  men  who  were  with  mankind  foes, 
And  with  despite  and  envy  fired, 
Into  the  cloister  had  retired ; 

Or  who,  in  desperate  doubt  of  grace, 

Strove,  by  deep  penance,  to  efface 
Of  some  foul  crime  the  stain ; 

For,  as  the  vassals  of  her  will, 

Such  men  the  Church  selected  still, 

As  either  joy'd  in  doing  ill, 

To  speak  she  thought— the  imperfect  note 
Was  choked  within  her  swelling  throat, 
Yet  seem'd  in  that  low  hollow  groan 
Her  whole  heart  gushing  in  the  tone." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  x.  p.  171. 
1  In  some  recent  editions  this  word  had  been  erroneously 
printed  "inspires."    The  MS.  lias  the  correct  line: 
"  One  whose  brute  feeling  ne'er  aspires." 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 
8  MS.:  "A  feeble  and  a  flutter'd  streak, 

Like  that  with  which  the  mornings  break 
In  Autumn's  sober  sky." 

*  "Mr.  S.  has  judiciously  combined  the  horrors  of  the 
punishment  with  a  very  beautiful  picture  of  the  offender,  so  aa 
to  heighten  the  interest  which  the  situation  itself  must  neces- 
sarily excite ;  and  the  struggle  of  Constance  to  speak,  before 
the  fatal  sentence,  is  finely  painted."— Monthly  Review. 


Or  thought  more  grace  to  gain, 
If,  in  her  cause,  they  wrestled  down 
Feelings  their  nature  strove  to  own. 
By  strange  device  were  they  brought  there, 
They  knew  not  how,  nor  knew  not  where. 

XXV. 

And  now  that  blind  old  Abbot  rose, 
To  speak  the  Chapter's  doom 

On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 
Alive,  within  the  tomb  ;2 

But  stopp'd,  because  that  woeful  Maid, 

Gathering  her  j>owers,  to  speak  essay'd. 

Twice  she  essay'd,  and  twice  in  vain ; 

Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain ; 

Nought  but  imperfect  murmurs  slip 

From  her  convulsed  and  quivering  lip ; 
'Twixt  each  attempt  all  was  so  still, 
You  seem'd  to  hear  a  distant  rill — 

'Twas  ocean's  swells  and  falls ; 
For  though  this  vault  of  sin  and  fear 
Was  to  the  sounding  surge  so  near, 
A  tempest  there  you  scarce  could  hear, 
So  massive  were  the  walls. 

XXVI. 

At  length,  an  effort  sent  apart 

The  blood  that  curdled  to  her  heart, 

And  light  came  to  her  eye, 
And  color  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 
A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak,3 
Like  that  left  on  the  Cheviot  peak 

By  Autumn's  stormy  sky ; 
And  when  her  silence  broke  at  length, 
Still  as  she  spoke  she  gather'd  strength, 

And  arm'd  herself  to  bear.* 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair.6 

XXVII. 
"  I  speak  not  to  implore  your  grace  ;6 
Well  know  I,  for  one  minute's  space 
Successless  might  I  sue : 

5  MS. :  "  And  mann'd  herself  to  bear. 

It  was  a  fearful  thing  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy, 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair ; 
Like  Summer's  dew  her  accents  fell, 
But  dreadful  was  her  tale  to  tell." 

6  MS. :  "  I  speak  not  now  to  sue  for  grace, 

For  well  I  know  one  minute's  space 
Your  mercy  scarce  would  grant: 

Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain ; 

For  if  my  penance  be  in  vain, 
Your  prayers  I  cannot  want. 

Full  well  I  knew  the  church's  doom, 

What  time  I  left  a  convent's  gloom, 
To  fly  with  him  I  loved ; 

And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave— 

I  forfeited,  to  be  a  slave, 

AH  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave, 


MARMION. 


95 


Nor  do  I  speak  your  prayers  to  gain ; 
For  if  a  death  of  lingering  pain, 
To  cleanse  my  sins,  be  penance  vain, 

Vain  are  your  masses  too. — 
I  listen'd  to  a  traitor's  tale, 
I  left  the  convent  and  the  veil  ; 
For  three  long  years  I  bow'd  my  pride, 
A  horse-boy  in  his  train  to  ride ; 
And  well  my  folly's  meed  he  gave, 
Who  forfeited,  to  be  his  slave, 
All  here,  and  all  beyond  the  grave. — 
He  saw  young  Clara's  face  more  fair, 
He  knew  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 
Forgot  his  vows,  his  faith  forswore, 
And  Constance  was  beloved  no  more. — 

'Tis  an  old  tale,  and  often  told ; 
But  did  my  fate  and  wish  agree, 

Ne'er  had  been  read,  in  story  old, 

Of  maiden  true  betray'd  for  gold, 
That  loved,  or  was  avenged,  like  me ! 

XXVIII. 

"  The  King  approved  his  favorite's  aim ; 
In  vain  a  rival  barr'd  his  claim, 

Whose  fate  with  Clare's  was  plight, 
For  he  attaints  that  rival's  fame 
With  treason's  charge — and  on  they  came, 

In  mortal  lists  to  fight. 
Their  oaths  are  said, 
Their  prayers  are  pray'd, 
Their  lances  in  the  rest  are  laid, 

They  meet  in  mortal  shock  ; 
And,  hark !  the  throng,  with  thundering  cry, 
Shout '  Marmion !  Marmion  I  to  the  sky, 

De  Wilton  to  the  block !' 
Say  ye,  who  preach  Heaven  shall  decide1 
When  in  the  lists  two  champions  ride, 

Say,  was  Heaven's  justice  here  ? 
When,  loyal  in  his  love  and  faith, 
Wilton  found  overthrow  or  death, 

Beneath  a  traitor's  spear  ? 
How  false  the  charge,  how  true  he  fell, 
This  guilty  packet  best  can  tell." — 
Then  drew  a  packet  from  her  breast, 
Paused,  gather'd  voice,  and  spoke  the  rest. 

XXIX. 

"  Still  was  false  Marmion's  bridal  staid  ; 
To  Whitby's  convent  fled  the  maid, 

The  hated  match  to  shun. 
'  Ho !  shifts  she  thus  ?'  King  Henry  cried ; 
'  Sir  Marmion,  she  shall  be  thy  bride, 

If  she  were  sworn  a  nun.' 


And  faithless  hath  he  proved ; 
He  saw  another's  face  more  fair, 
He  saw  her  of  broad  lands  the  heir, 

And  Constance  loved  no  more — 
Loved  her  no  more,  who,  once  Heaven's  bride, 
Now  a  scorn'd  menial  by  his  side, 

Had  wander'd  Europe  o'er." 


One  way  remain'd — the  King's  command 
Sent  Marmion  to  the  Scottish  land : 
I  linger'd  here,  and  rescue  plann'd 

For  Clara  and  for  me : 
This  caitiff  Monk,  for  gold,  did  swear 
He  would  to  Whitby's  shrine  repair, 
And,  by  his  drugs,  my  rival  fair 

A  saint  in  heaven  should  be. 
But  ill  the  dastard  kept  his  oath, 
Whose  cowardice  has  undone  us  both. 

XXX. 

"  And  now  my  tongue  the  secret  tells, 
Not  that  remorse  my  bosom  swells, 
But  to  assure  my  soul  that  none 
Shall  ever  wed  with  Marmion.2 
Had  fortune  my  last  hope  betray'd, 
This  packet,  to  the  King  convey'd, 
Had  given  him  to  the  headsman's  stroke, 
Although  my  heart  that  instant  broke. — 
Now,  men  of  death,  work  forth  your  will, 
For  I  can  suffer,  and  be  still ; 
And  come  he  slow,  or  come  he  fast, 
It  is  but  Death  who  comes  at  last. 

XXXI. 

"  Yet  dread  me,  from  my  living  tomb, 

Ye  vassal  slaves  of  bloody  Rome ! 

If  Marmion's  late  remorse  should  wake, 

Full  soon  such  vengeance  will  he  take, 

That  you  shall  wish  the  fiery  Dane 

Had  rather  been  your  guest  again. 

Behind,  a  darker  hour  ascends ! 

The  altars  quake,  the  crosier  bends, 

The  ire  of  a  despotic  King 

Rides  forth  upon  destruction's  wing ; 

Then  shall  these  vaults,  so  strong  and 

deep, 
Burst  open  to  the  sea-winds'  sweep ; 
Some  traveller  then  shall  find  my  bones 
Whitening  amid  disjointed  stones, 
And,  ignorant  of  priests'  cruelty,3 
Marvel  such  relics  here  should  be." 

XXXII. 

Fix'd  was  her  look,  and  stern  her  air : 
Back  from  her  shoulders  stream'd  her 

hair; 
The  locks,  that  wont  her  brow  to  shade, 
Stared  up  erectly  from  her  head  ;* 
Her  figure  seem'd  to  rise  more  high ; 
Her  voice,  despair's  wild  energy 
Had  given  a  tone  of  prophecy. 


1  MS. :  "  Say,  ye  who  preach  the  heavens  decide 

When  in  the  lists  the  warriors  ride." 

2  The  MS.  adds :  "  His  schemes  reveal'd,  his  honor  gone." 

3  MS. :  "  And,  witless  of  priests'  cruelty." 

*  MS. :  "  Stared  up  {  ^^j^   }  from  her  head." 


96 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


AppallM  the  astonish'd  conclave  sate; 
With  Btupid  eyes,  the  men  of  fate 
Gazed  on  the  light  inspired  form, 
And  listen'd  for  the  avenging  storm; 
The  judges  felt  the  victim's  dread ; 
No  hand  was  moved,  no  word  was  said, 
Till  thus  the  Abbot's  doom  was  given, 
Raising  his  sightless  balls  to  heaven : — 
"  Sister,  let  thy  sorrows  cease ; 
Sinful  brother,  part  in  peace  I"1 
From  that  dire  dungeon,  place  of  doom, 
Of  execution  too,  and  tomb, 

Paced  forth  the  judges  three ; 
Sorrow  it  were,  and  shame,  to  tell 
The  butcher-work  that  there  befell, 
When  they  had  glided  from  the  cell 
Of  siu  and  misery. 

XXXIII. 

An  hundred  winding  steps  convey 
That  conclave  to  the  upper  day  ;2 
But,  ere  they  breathed  the  fresher  air, 
They  heard  the  shriekings  of  despair, 

And  many  a  stifled  groan : 
With  speed  their  upward  way  they  take 
(Such  speed  as  age  and  fear  can  make), 
And  cross'd  themselves  for  terror's  sake, 

As  hurrying,  tottering  on : 
Even  in  the  vesper's  heavenly  tone3 
They  seem'd  to  hear  a  dying  groan, 
And  bade  the  passing  knell  to  toll 
For  welfare  of  a  parting  soul. 
Slow  o'er  the  midnight  wave  it  swung, 
Northumbrian  rocks  in  answer  rung; 
To  Warkworth  cell  the  echoes  rollVl, 
His  beads  the  wakeful  hermit  told, 
The  Bamborough  peasant  raised  his  head, 
But  slept  ere  half  a  prayer  he  said ; 
So  far  was  heard  the  mighty  knell, 
The  stag  sprung  up  on  Cheviot  Fell, 
Spread  his  broad  nostril  to  the  wind, 
Listed  before,  aside,  behind, 
Then  couch'd  him  down  beside  the  hind, 
And  quaked  among  the  mountain  fern, 
To  hear  that  sound  so  dull  and  stern.* 


1  See  Note  2  M  on  stanza  xxv.  ante,  p.  94. 

2  MS. :  "  From  that  dark  penanco  vault  to  day." 

8  MS.:  "That  night,  amid  the  vesper's  swell, 

Tiny  thought  they  heard  Constantia's  yell, 
And  hade  the  mighty  hell  to  toll,  , 
For  welfare  of  a  passing  soul." 

*  "The  sound  of  the  hell  that  was  rung  for  the  partin.,'  soul 
'of  this  victim  of  seduction  is  described  with  great  force  and 
solemnity." — Jeffkey. 

"The  whole  of  this  trial  and  doom  presents  a  high-wrought 
scene  of  horror,  which,  at  the  close,  rises  almost  to  too  great 
a  pitch."— Scots  Mag.  March,  1808. 


ifiarmfon. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  THIRD. 


WILLIAM   ERSKINE,  Esq.6 

Ashestiel,  Ettrick  Forest. 
Like  April  morning  clouds,  that  pass, 
With  varying  shadow,  o'er  the  grass, 
And  imitate,  on  field  and  furrow, 
Life's  chequer'd  scene  of  joy  and  sorrow ; 
Like  streamlet  of  the  mountain  north, 
Now  in  a  torrent  racing  forth, 
Now  winding  slow  its  silver  train, 
And  almost  slumbering  on  the  plain ; 
Like  breezes  of  the  Autumn  day, 
Whose  voice  inconstant  dies  away, 
And  ever  swells  again  as  fast, 
When  the  ear  deems  its  murmur  past; . 
Thus  various,  my  romantic  theme 
Flits,  winds,  or  sinks,  a  morning  dream. 
Yet  pleased,  our  eye  pursues  the  trace 
Of  Light  and  Shade's  inconstant  race ; 
Pleased,  views  the  rivulet  afar, 
Weaving  its  maze  irregular ; 
And  pleased,  we  listen  as  the  breeze 
Heaves  its  wild  sigh  through  Autumn  trees : 
Then,  wild  as  cloud,  or  stream,  or  gale, 
Flow  on,  flow  unconfined,  my  Tale ! 

Need  I  to  thee,  dear  Erskine,  tell 
I  love  the  license  all  too  well, 
In  sounds  now  lowly,  and  now  strong, 
To  raise  the  desultory  song  ? — 6 
Oft,  when  'mid  such  capricious  chime, 
Some  transient  fit  of  lofty  rhyme 
To  thy  kind  judgment  seem'd  excuse 
For  many  an  error  of  the  muse, 
Oft  hast  thou  said,  "  If,  still  misspent, 
Thine  hours  to  poetry  are  lent,7 


6  William  Erskine,  Esq.,  advocate,  Sheriff-depute  of  the 
Orkneys,  became  a  judge  of  the  Court  of  Session  by  the  title 
of  Lord  Kinnedder,  and  died  at  Edinburgh  iu  August,  1S22. 
lie  had  been  from  early  youth  the  most  intimate  of  the  Poet's 
friends,  and  his  chief  confidant  and  adviser  as  to  all  literary 
matters.  See  anotice  of  his  life  and  character  by  the  late  Mr. 
Hay  Donaldson,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  contributed  sev- 
eral paragraphs. — Ed. 


6  MS. :  "  With  sound  now  lowly,  and  now  higher, 
Irregular  to  wake  the  lyre." 


7  MS. :  "  Thine  hours  to  thriftless  rhyme  are  lent." 


MARMION. 


97 


Go,  and  to  tame  thy  wandering  course, 
Quaff  from  the  fountain  at  the  source; 
Approach  those  masters,  o'er  whose  tomb 
Immortal  laurels  ever  bloom : 
Instructive  of  the  feebler  bard, 
Still  from  the  grave  their  voice  is  heard; 
From  them,  and  from  the  paths  they  show'd, 
Choose  honor'd  guide  and  practiced  road ; 
Nor  ramble  on  through  brake  and  maze, 
With  harpers  rude  of  barbarous  days. 

"  Or  deem'st  thou  not  our  later  time1 
Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  rhyme  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  verse 
For  Brunswick's  venerable  hearse  ? 
What !  not  a  line,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  ? —   , 
Oh !  hero  of  that  glorious  time, 
When,  with  unrivall'd  light  sublime, — 
Though  martial  Austria,  and  though  all 
The  might  of  Russia,  and  the  Gaul, 
Though  banded  Europe  stood  her  foes, — 
The  star  of  Brandenburgh  arose ! 
Thou  couldst  not  live  to  see  her  beam 
For  ever  quench'd  in  Jena's  stream. 
Lamented  Chief! — it  was  not  given 
To  thee  to  change  the  doom  of  Heaven, 
And  crush  that  dragon  in  its  birth, 
Predestined  scourge  of  guilty  earth. 
Lamented  Chief! — not  thine  the  power 
To  save  in  that  presumptuous  hour, 
When  Prussia  hurried  to  the  field, 
And  snatch'd  the  spear,  but  left  the  shield ! 
Valor  and  skill  'twas  thine  to  try, 
And,  tried  in  vain,  'twas  thine  to  die. 
Ill  had  it  seem'd  thy  silver  hair 
The  last,  the  bitterest  pang  to  share, 
For  princedoms  reft,  and  scutcheons  riven, 
And  birthrights  to  usurpers  given ; 
Thy  land's,  thy  children's  wrongs  to  feel, 
And  witness  woes  thou  couldst  not  heal ! 


1  MS. :  "  Dost  thou  not  deem  our  later  day 

Yields  topic  meet  for  classic  lay  ? 
Hast  thou  no  elegiac  tone 
To  join  that  universal  moan, 
Which  mingled  with  the  battle's  yell, 
Where  venerable  Brunswick  fell? — 
What !  not  a  verse,  a  tear,  a  sigh, 
When  valor  bleeds  for  liberty  ?" 

2  MS. :  "  For  honor'd  life  an  honor'd  close — 

The  boon  which  falling  heroes  crave, 
A  soldier's  death,  a  warrior's  grave. 
Or  if,  with  more  exulting  swell, 
Of  conquering  chiefs  thou  lov'st  to  tell, 
Give  to  the  harp  an  unheard  strain, 
And  sing  the  triumphs  of  the  main — 
Of  him  the  Red-Cross  hero  teach, 
Dauntless  on  Acre's  bloody  breach, 
And,  scorner  of  tyrannic  power, 
As  dauntless  in  the  Temple's  tower : 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar, 
7 


On  thee  relenting  Heaven  bestows 

For  honor'd  life  an  honor'd  close  ;2 

And  when  revolves,  in  time's  sure  change, 

The  hour  of  Germany's  revenge, 

When,  breathing  fury  for  her  sake, 

Some  new  Arminius  shall  awake, 

Her  champion,  ere  he  strike,  shall  come 

To  whet  his  sword  on  Brunswick's  tomb.3 

"  Or  of  the  Red-Cross  hero4  teach, 
Dauntless  in  dungeon  as  on  breach : 
Alike  to  him  the  sea,  the  shore, 
The  brand,  the  bridle,  or  the  oar : 
Alike  to  him  the  war  that  calls 
Its  votaries  to  the  shatter'd  walls, 
Which  the  grim  Turk,  besmear'd  with  blood, 
Against  the  Invincible  made  good ; 
Or  that,  whose  thundering  voice  could  wake 
The  silence  of  the  polar  lake, 
When  stubborn  Russ,  and  metall'd  Swede, 
On  the  warp'd  wave  their  death-game 

play'd ; 
Or  that,  where  "Vengeance  and  Affright 
Howl'd  round  the  father  of  the  fight, 
Who  snatch'd,  on  Alexandria's  sand, 
The  conqueror's  wreath  with  dying  hand.' 

"  Or,  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine, 
Restore  the  ancient  tragic  line, 
And  emulate  the  notes  that  rung 
From  the  wild  harp,  which  silent  hung 
By  silver  Avon's  holy  shore, 
Till  twice  an  hundred  years  roll'd  o'er ; 
When  she,  the  bold  Enchantress,6  came, 
With  fearless  hand  and  heart  on  flame ! 
From  the  pale  willow  snatch'd  the  treasure, 
And  swept  it  with  a  kindred  measure, 
Till  Avon's  swans,  while  rung  the  grove 
With  Montfort's  hate  and  Basil's  love, 
Awakening  at  the  inspired  strain, 
Deem'd  their  own  Shakspeare  lived  again." 


The  general's  eye,  the  pilot's  art, 
The  soldier's  arm,  the  sailor's  heart. 
Or  if  to  touch  such  chord  be  thine,"  &c. 

3  "Scott  seems  to  have  communicated  fragments  of  the 
poem  very  freely  during  the  whole  of  its  progress.  As  early  as 
the  22d  February,  1807, 1  find  Mrs.  Hayman  acknowledging, 
in  the  name  of  the  Princess  of  Wales,  the  receipt  of  a  copy 
of  the  Introduction  to  Canto  III.,  in  which  occurs  the  tribute 
to  her  royal  highness's  heroic  father,  mortally  wounded  the 
year  before  at  Jena— a  tribute  so  grateful  to  her  feelings  that 
she  herself  shortly  after  sent  the  poet  an  elegant  silver  vase 
as  a  memorial  of  her  thankfulness.  And  about  the  same  time 
the  Marchioness  of  Abercorn  expresses  the  delight  with  which 
both  she  and  her  lord  had  read  the  generous  verses  on  Pitt 
and  Fox  in  another  of  those  epistles."— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii. 
p.  9. 

*  Sir  Sidney  Smith. 

5  Sir  Ralph  Abercromby. 

6  Joanna  Baillie. 


98 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Thy  friendship  thus  thy  judgment  wronging, 
With  praises  not  to  me  belonging, 
In  task  more  meet  for  mightiest  powers 
Wouldst  thou  engage  my  thriftless  hours. 
I'.ut  say,  my  Erskine,  hast  thou  weigh'd 
That  secret  power  by  all  obey'd, 
Which  warps  not  less  the  passive  mind, 
Its  source  conceal'd  or  undefined; 
Whether  an  impulse,  that  has  birth 
Soon  as  the  infant  wakes  on  earth, 
One  with  our  feelings  and  our  powers, 
And  rather  part  of  us  than  ours; 
Or  whether  fitlier  term'd  the  sway 
Of  habit,  form'd  in  early  day? 
Howe'er  derived,  its  force  confest 
Rules  with  despotic  sway  the  breast, 
And  dra.us  us  on  by  viewless  chain, 
While  taste  and  reason  plead  in  vain.1 
Look  east,  and  ask  the  Belgian  why, 
Beneath  Batavia's  sultry  sky, 
He  seeks  not  eager  to  inhale 
The  freshness  of  the  mountain  gale, 
Content  to  rear  his  whiten'd  wall 
Beside  the  dank  and  dull  canal  ? 
He'll  say,  from  youth  he  loved  to  see 
The  white  sail  gliding  by  the  tree, 
Or  see  yon  weatherbeaten  hind, 
Whose  sluggish  herds  before  him  wind, 
Whose  tatter'd  plaid  and  rugged  cheek 
His  northern  clime  and  kindred  speak; 
Through  England's  laughing  meads  he  goes, 
And  England's  wealth  around  him  flows; 
Ask,  if  it  would  content  him  well 
At  ease  in  those  gay  plains  to  dwell, 
Where  hedge-rows  spread  a  verdant  screen, 
And  spires  and  forests  intervene, 
And  the  neat  cottage  peeps  between? 
No !  not  for  these  would  he  exchange 
His  dark  Lochaber's  boundless  range: 
Not  for  fair  Devon's  meads  forsake 
Bennevis  gray,  and  Garry's  lake. 

Thus  while  I  ape  the  measure  wild 
Of  tales  that  charm'd  me  yet  a  child, 
Rude  though  they  be,  still  with  the  chime 
Return  the  thoughts  of  early  time; 
And  feelings,  roused  in  life's  first  day, 
Glow  in  the  line,  and  prompt  the  lay. 

1  "As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his  breath, 
Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death ; 
The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at  length, 
Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens  with  hisstrength: 
So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  Mind's  disease,  its  Ruling  Passion  came; 
Each  vital  humor  which  should  feed  the  whole, 
Soon  flows  to  this,  in  body  and  in  soul ; 
Whatever  warms  the  heart,  or  fills  the  head, 
As  the  mind  opens,  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 
And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part.    ♦ 
"Nature  its  mother,  Habit  is  its  nurse; 
Wit,  Spirit,  Faculties,  but  make  it  worse; 


Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 

Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour ? 

Though  no  broad  river  swept  along, 

To  claim,  perchance,  heroic  song ; 

Though  sigh'd  no  groves  in  summer  gale, 

To  prompt  of  love  a  softer  tale ; 

Though  scarce  a  puny  streamlet's  speed 

Claim'd  homage  from  a  shepherd's  reed; 

Yet  was  poetic  impulse  given, 

By  the  green  hill  and  clear  blue  heaven. 

It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 

Where  naked  cliffs  were  rudely  piled ; 

But  ever  and  anon  between 

Lay  velvet  tufts  of  loveliest  green ; 

And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 

Recesses  where  the  wall-flower  grew,3 

And  honeysuckle  loved  to  crawl 

Up  the  low  crag  and  ruin'd  wall. 

1  deem'd  such  nooks  the  sweetest  shade 
The  sun  in  all  its  round  survey'd ; 

And  still  I  thought  that  shatter'd  tower*  ' 

The  mightiest  work  of  human  power; 

And  marvell'd  as  the  aged  hind 

With  some  strange  tale  bewitch'd  my  mind, 

Of  forayers,  who,  with  headlong  force, 

Down  from  that  strength  had  spurr'd  their  horse, 

Their  southern  rapine  to  renew, 

Far  in  the  distant  Cheviot's  blue, 

And,  home  returning,  fill'd  the  hall 

With  revel,  wassail-rout,  and  brawl.5 

Methought  that  still  with  trump  and  clang 

The  gateway's  broken  arches  rang ; 

Methought  grim  features,  seam'd  with  scars, 

Glared  through  the  window's  rusty  bars, 

And  ever,  by  the  winter  hearth, 

Old  tales  I  heard  of  woe  or  mirth, 

Of  lovers'  slights,  of  ladies'  charms, 

Of  witches'  spells,  of  warriors'  arms; 

Of  patriot  battles,  won  of  old 

By  Wallace  wight  and  Bruce  the  bold ; 

Of  later  fields  of  feud  and  fight, 

When,  pouring  from  their  Highland  height, 

The  Scottish  clans,  in  headlong  sway, 

Had  swept  the  scarlet  ranks  away. 

While  stretch'd  at  length  upon  the  floor,' 

Again  I  fought  each  combat  o'er, 

Pebbles  and  shells,  in  order  laid, 

The  mimic  ranks  of  war  display'd ; 

Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power ; 
As  Heaven's  blest  beam  turns  vinegar  more  sour,"  San. 
Pope's  Essay  on  Man. — Ed. 

2  MS.:  "The  lonely  hill,  the  rocky  tower, 

That  caught  attention's  wakening  hour." 

3  MS. :  "  Recesses  where  the  woodbine  grew." 

*  Smailholin    Tower,   in   Berwickshire,   the    scene  of   the 
Author's  infancy,  is  situated  about  two  miles  from  Dryburgh 
Abbey. 
6  The  two  next  couplets  are  not  in  the  MS. 
6  MS.:  "While  still  with  mimic  busts  of  shells, 
Again  my  sport  the  combat  tells — 
Onward  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
The  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before." 


MARMION. 


99 


And  onward  still  the  Scottish  Lion  bore, 
And  still  the  scatter'd  Southron  fled  before.1 

Still,  with  vain  fondness,  could  I  trace, 
Anew,  each  kind  familiar  face, 
That  brighten'd  at  our  evening  fire ! 
From  the  thatch'd  mansion's  gray-hair'd  Sire,2 
Wise  without  learning,  plain  and  good, 
And  sprung  of  Scotland's  gentler  blood  ; 
Whose  eye,  in  age,  quick,  clear,  and  keen, 
Show'd  what  in  youth  its  glance  had  been ; 
Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought  ;3 
To  him  the  venerable  Priest, 
Our  frequent  and  familiar  guest, 
Whose  life  and  manners  well  could  paint 
Alike  the  student  and  the  saint  ;4 
Alas !  whose  speech  too  oft  I  broke 
With  gambol  rude  and  timeless  joke : 
For  I  was  wayward,  bold,  and  wild, 
A  self-will'd  imp,  a  grandame's  child ; 
But  half  a  plague,  and  half  a  jest, 
Was  still  endured,  beloved,  caress'd. 

For  me,  thus  nurtured,  dost  thou  ask 
The  classic  poet's  well-conn'd  task  ? 
Nay,  Erskine,  nay — On  the  wild  hill 
Let  the  wild  heath-bell  flourish  still ; 
Cherish  the  tulip,  prune  the  vine, 
But  freely  let  the  woodbine  twine, 
And  leave  untrimm'd  the  eglantine : 
Nay,  my  friend,  nay — Since  oft  thy  praise 
Hath  given  fresh  vigor  to  my  lays ; 
Since  oft  thy  judgment  could  refine 
My  flatten'd  thought,  or  cumbrous  line ; 
Still  kind,  as  is  thy  wont,  attend, 
And  in  the  minstrel  spare  the  friend. 
Though  wild  as  cloud,  as  stream,  as  gale, 
Flow  forth,  flow  unrestrain'd,  my  Tale  I 


iHarmfon. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


©f)£  J^osttl,  or  Inn. 
I. 
The  livelong  day  Lord  Marmion  rode : 
The  mountain  path  the  Palmer  show'd, 

1  See  notes  on  The  Eve  of  St.  John. 

2  Robert  Scott  of  Sandyknowe,  the  grandfather  of  the  Poet. 

3  Upon  revising  the  Poem,  it  seems  proper  to  mention  that 
the  lines, 

"  Whose  doom  discording  neighbors  sought, 
Content  with  equity  unbought," 

have  been  unconsciously  borrowed  from  a  passage  in  Dryden's 
beautiful  epistle  to  John  Driden  of  Chesterton. — 1808.    Note 
to  Second  Edit. 
*  MS. :  "  The  student,  gentleman,  and  saint." 
The  reverend  gentleman  alluded  to  was  Mr.  John  Martin, 


By  glen  and  streamlet  winded  still, 
Where  stunted  birches  hid  the  rill. 
They  might  not  choose  the  lowland  road,5 
For  the  Merse  forayers  were  abroad, 
Who,  fired  with  hate  and  thirst  of  prey, 
Had  scarcely  fail'd  to  bar  their  way. 
Oft  on  the  trampling  band,  from  crown 
Of  some  tall  cliff,  the  deer  look'd  down ; 
On  wing  of  jet,  from  his  repose 
In  the  deep  heath,  the  black-cock  rose ; 
Sprung  from  the  gorse  the  timid  roe, 
Nor  waited  for  the  bending  bow ; 
And  when  the  stony  path  began, 
By  which  the  naked  ]>eak  they  wan, 
Up  flew  the  snowy  ptarmigan. 
The  noon  had  long  been  pass'd  before 
They  gain'd  the  height  of  Lammermoor  ;6 
Thence  winding  down  the  northern  way, 
Before  them,  at  the  close  of  day, 
Old  Giflbrd's  towers  and  hamlet  lay.T 

II. 

No  summons  calls  them  to  the  tower, 

To  spend  the  hospitable  hour. 

To  Scotland's  camp  the  Lord  was  gone  ; 

His  cautious  dame,  in  bower  alone, 

Dreaded  her  castle  to  unclose, 

So  late,  to  unknown  friends  or  foes. 
On  through  the  hamlet  as  they  paced, 
Before  a  porch,  whose  front  was  graced 
With  bush  and  flagon  trimly  placed, 

Lord  Marmion  drew  his  rein  : 
The  village  inn  seem'd  large,  though  rude  ;8 
Its  cheerful  fire  and  hearty  food 
Might  well  relieve  his  train. 

Down  from  their  seats  the  horsemen  sprung, 

With  jingling  spurs  the  court-yard  rung; 

They  bind  their  horses  to  the  stall, 

For  forage,  food,  and  firing  call, 

And  various  clamor  fills  the  hall : 

Weighing  the  labor  with  the  cost, 

Toils  everywhere  the  bustling  host. 

III. 

Soon,  by  the  chimney's  merry  blaze, 
Through  the  rude  hostel  might  you  gaze ; 
Might  see  where,  in  dark  nook  aloof, 
The  rafters  of  the  sooty  roof 
Bore  wealth  of  winter  cheer ; 

minister  of  Mertoun,  in  which  parish  Smailholm  Tower  is 
situated. 

6  MS. :  "  They  might  not  choose  the  easier  road, 
For  many  a  forayer  was  abroad." 

6  See  Notes  to  "The  Bride  of  Lammermoor."  Waverley 
Novels,  vols.  xiii.  and  xiv. 

i  The  village  of  Gifford  lies  about  four  miles  from  Hadding- 
ton :  close  to  it  is  Yester  House,  the  seat  of  the  Marquis  of 
Tweeddale,  and  a  little  farther  up  the  stream,  which  descends 
from  the  hills  of  Lammermoor,  are  the  remains  of  the  old 
castle  of  the  family. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 


100 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Of  sea-fowl  dried,  and  solands  store, 
And  gammons  of  the  tusky  boar, 

And  savory  haunch  of  deer. 
The  chimney  arch  projected  wide ; 
Above,  around  it,  and  beside, 

Were  tools  for  housewives'  hand ; 
Nor  wanted,  in  that  martial  day, 
The  implements  of  Scottish  fray, 

The  buckler,  lance,  and  brand. 
Beneath  its  shade,  the  place  of  state, 
On  oaken  settle  Marmion  sate, 
And  view'd  around  the  blazing  hearth 
His  followers  mix  in  noisy  mirth ; 
Whom  with  brown  ale,  in  jolly  tide, 
From  ancient  vessels  ranged  aside, 
Full  actively  their  host  supplied. 

IV. 

Theirs  was  the  glee  of  martial  breast^ 
And  laughter  theirs  at  little  jest; 
And  oft  Lord  Marmion  deigu'd  to  aid, 
And  mingle  in  the  mirth  they  made ; 
For  though,  with  men  of  high  degree, 
The  proudest  of  the  proud  was  he, 
Yet,  train'd  in  camps,  he  knew  the  art 
To  win  the  soldier's  hardy  heart. 
They  love  a  captain  to  obey, 
Boisterous  as  March,  yet  fresh  as  May ; 
With  open  hand,  and  brow  as  free, 
Lover  of  wine  and  minstrelsy ; 
Ever  the  first  to  scale  a  tower, 
As  venturous  in  a  lady's  bower : — 
Such  buxom  chief  shall  lead  his  host 
From  India's  fires  to  Zembla's  frost. 


Besting  upon  his  pilgrim  staff, 

Bight  opposite  the  Palmer  stood ; 
His  thin  dark  visage  seen  but  half, 

Half  hidden  by  his  hood. 
Still  fix'd  on  Marmion  was  his  look, 
Which  he,  who  ill  such  gaze  could  brook, 

Strove  by  a  frown  to  quell ; 
But  not  for  that,  though  more  than  once 
Full  met  their  stern  encountering  glance,1 

The  Palmer's  visage  fell. 

VI. 

By  fits  less  frequent  from  the  crowd 
Was  heard  the  burst  of  laughter  loud ; 
For  still,  as  squire  and  archer  stared 
On  that  dark  face  and  matted  beard, 

Their  glee  and  game  declined. 
All  gazed  at  length  in  silence  drear, 
Unbroke,  save  when  in  comrade's  ear 
Some  yeoman,  wondering  in  his  fear, 

Thus  whisper'd  forth  his  mind : — 
"  Saint  Mary !  saw'st  thou  e'er  such  sight? 

1  MS. :  "  Full  met  their  eye?  encountering  glance." 


How  pale  his  cheek,  his  eye  how  bright, 
Whene'er  the  firebrand's  fickle  light 

Glances  beneath  his  cowl ! 
Full  on  our  Lord  he  sets  his  eye ; 
For  his  best  palfrey,  would  not  I 

Endure  that  sullen  scowl." 

VII. 

But  Marmion,  as  to  chase  the  awe 

Which  thus  had  quell'd  their  hearts,  who  saw 

The  ever-varying  fire-light  show 

That  figure  stern  and  face  of  woe, 

Now  call'd  upon  a  squire : — 
"  Fitz-Eustace,  know'st  thou  not  some  lay 
To  speed  the  lingering  night  away  ? 

We  slumber  by  the  fire." — 

VIII. 

"  So  please  you,"  thus  the  youth  rejoin'd, 
"  Our  choicest  minstrel's  left  behind. 
Ill  may  we  hope  to  please  your  ear, 
Accustom'd  Constant's  strains  to  hear. 
The  harp  full  deftly  can  he  strike, 
And  wake  the  lover's  lute  alike ; 
To  dear  Saint  Valentine,  no  thrush 
Sings  livelier  from  a  spring-tide  bush, 
No  nightingale  her  love-lorn  tune 
More  sweetly  warbles  to  the  moon. 
Woe  to  the  cause,  whate'er  it  be, 
Detains  from  us  his  melody, 
Lavish'd  on  rocks,  and  billows  stern, 
Or  duller  monks  of  Lindisfarne. 
Now  must  I  venture,  as  I  may, 
To  sing  his  favorite  roundelay." 

IX. 

A  mellow  voice  Fitz-Eustace  had, 
The  air  he  chose  was  wild  and  sad  ; 
Such  have  I  heard,  in  Scottish  land, 
Bise  from  the  busy  harvest  band, 
When  falls  before  the  mountaineer, 
On  Lowland  plains,  the  ripen'd  ear. 
Now  one  shrill  voice  the  notes  prolong, 
Now  a  wild  chorus  swells  the  song : 
Oft  have  I  listen'd,  and  stood  still, 
As  it  came  soften'd  up  the  hill, 
And  deem'd  it  the  lament  of  men 
Who  languish'd  for  their  native  glen  ; 
And  thought  how  sad  would  be  such  sound 
On  Susquehanna's  swampy  ground, 
Kentucky's  wood-encumber'd  brake, 
Or  wild  Ontario's  boundless  lake, 
Where  heart-sick  exiles,  in  the  strain, 
Recall'd  fair  Scotland's  hills  again ! 

X. 

Song. 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest, 
Whom  the  fates  sever 


MAKMION. 


101 


From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Parted  for  ever  ? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 
Where  early  violets  die, 

Under  the  willow. 


Eleu  loro,  &c. 


CHORUS. 

Soft  shall  be  his  pillow. 


There,  through  the  summer  day, 

Cool  streams  are  laving ; 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving ; 
There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take, 

Parted  for  ever, 
Never  again  to  wake, 

Never,  oh  never ! 


Eleu  loro,  &c. 


CHORUS. 
Never,  oh  never ! 


XI. 
Where  shall  the  traitor  rest, 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast, 

Ruin,  and  leave  her? 
In  the  lost  battle, 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 

CHORUS. 
Eleu  loro,  &c.    There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  fla]3 

O'er  the  false-hearted ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lap, 

Ere  life  be  parted. 
Shame  and  dishonor  sit 

By  his  grave  ever ; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it, — 

Never,  oh  never ! 


Eleu  loro,  &c. 


CHORUS. 
Never,  oh  never ! 


XII. 
It  ceased,  the  melancholy  sound ; 
And  silence  sunk  on  all  around. 
The  air  was  sad ;  but  sadder  still 

It  fell  on  Marmion's  ear, 
And  plain'd  as  if  disgrace  and  ill, 

And  shameful  death,  were  near. 
He  drew  his  mantle  past  his  face, 

Between  it  and  the  band, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  O. 

2  MS.:  "Marmion,  whose  pride)        .,  ,       , 

■nru       u       n  i      }•  could  never  brook, 

Whose  haughty  soul     ) 


And  rested  with  his  head  a  space 

Reclining  on  his  hand. 
His  thoughts  I  scan  not ;  but  I  ween 
That,  could  their  import  have  been  seen, 
The  meanest  groom  in  all  the  hall, 
That  e'er  tied  courser  to  a  stall, 
Would  scarce  have  wish'd  to  be  their  prey, 
For  Lutterward  and  Fontenaye. 

XIII. 
High  minds,  of  native  pride  and  force, 
Most  deeply  feel  thy  pangs,  Remorse ! 
Fear,  for  their  scourge,  mean  villains  have, 
Thou  art  the  torturer  of  the  brave ! 
Yet  fatal  strength  they  boast  to  steel 
Their  minds  to  bear  the  wounds  they  feel, 
Even  while  they  writhe  beneath  the  smart 
Of  civil  conflict  in  the  heart. 
For  soon  Lord  Marmion  raised  his  head, 
And,  smiling,  to  Fitz-Eustace  said, — 
"  Is  it  not  strange,  that,  as  ye  sung, 
Seem'd  in  mine  ear  a  death-peal  rung, 
Such  as  in  nunneries  they  toll 
For  some  departing  sister's  soul  ? 

Say,  what  may  this  portend?" — 
Then  first  the  Palmer  silence  broke 
(The  livelong  day  he  had  not  spoke), 

"  The  death  of  a  dear  friend."1 

XIV. 

Marmion,  whose  steady  heart  and  eye 
Ne'er  changed  in  worst  extremity ; 
Marmion,  whose  soul  could  scantly  brook, 
Even  from  his  King,  a  haughty  look  ;2 
Whose  accent  of  command  controll'd, 
In  camps,  the  boldest  of  the  bold — 
Thought,  look,  and  utterance  fail'd  him  now, 
Fall'n  was  his  glance,  and  flush'd  his  brow : 

For  either  in  the  tone, 
Or  something  in  the  Palmer's  look, 
So  full  upon  his  conscience  strook, 

That  answer  he  found  none. 
Thus  oft  it  haps,  that  when  within 
They  shrink  at  sense  of  secret  sin, 

A  feather  daunts  the  brave ; 
A  fool's  wild  speech  confounds  the  wise, 
And  proudest  princes  veil  their  eyes 

Before  their  meanest  slave. 

XV. 

Well  might  he  falter !— By  his  aid 
Was  Constance  Beverley  betray'd. 
Not  that  he  augur'd  of  the  doom 
Which  on  the  living  closed  the  tomb : 
But,  tired  to  hear  the  desperate  maid3 
Threaten  by  turns,  beseech,  upbraid ; 


Even  from  his  King,  a  scornful  look.: 
3  MS.:  "But  tired  to  hear  the  furious  maid." 


102 


SCOUT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Aud  wroth,  because  in  wild  despair1 

She  practiced  on  the  life  of  Clare ; 

Its  fugitive  the  church  he  gave, 

Though  not  a  victim,  but  a  slave ; 

And  deem'd  restraint  in  convent  strange 

Would  hide  her  wrongs,  and  her  revenge.      < 

Himself,  proud  Henry's  favorite  peer, 

Held  Romish  thunders  idle  fear, 

Secure  his  pardon  he  might  hold, 

For  some  slight  mulct  of  penance-gold. 

Thus  judging,  he  gave  secret  way, 

When  the  stern  priests  surprised  their  prey. 

His  train  but  deem'd  the  favorite  page 

Was  left  behind  to  spare  his  age ; 

Or  other  if  they  deem'd,  none  dared 

To  mutter  what  he  thought  and  heard : 

Woe  to  the  vassal  who  durst  pry 

Into  Lord  Marmion's  privacy ! 

XVI. 

His  conscience  slept — he  deem'd  her  well, 
And  safe  secured  in  distant  cell ; 
But,  waken'd  by  her  favorite  lay, 
And  that  strange  Palmer's  boding  say, 
That  fell  so  ominous  and  drear, 
Full  on  the  object  of  his  fear, 
To  aid  remorse's  venom'd  throes, 
Dark  tales  of  Convent-vengeance  rose ; 
And  Constance,  late  betray'd  and  scorn'd, 
All  lovely  on  his  soul  return'd ; 
Lovely  as  when,  at  treacherous  call, 
She  left  her  convent's  peaceful  wall, 
Crimson'd  with  shame,  with  terror  mute, 
Dreading  alike  escape,  pursuit, 
Till  love,  victorious  o'er  alarms, 
Hid  fears  and  blushes  in  his  arms. 

XVII. 

"Alas!"  he  thought,  "how  changed  that  mien! 

How  changed  these  timid  looks  have  been,2 

Since  years  of  guilt,  and  of  disguise, 

Have  steel'd  her  brow,  and  arm'd  her  eyes ! 

No  more  of  virgin  terror  speaks 

The  blood  that  mantles  in  her  cheeks; 

Fierce  and  unfeminine,  are  there 

Frenzy  for  joy,  for  grief  despair; 

And  I  the  cause — for  whom  were  given 

Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven! — 

Would,"  thought  he,  a<  the  pi  (lure  grows, 

"  I  on  its  stalk  had  left  the  rose ! 

Oh,  why  should  man's  success  remove 

The  very  charms  that  wake  his  love! — 

Her  convent's  peaceful  solitude 

Is  now  a  prison  harsh  and  rude; 

1  MS.:  "Incensed,  because  in  wild  despair." 

»  The  MS.  reads: 

"Since  Bercer  passions  wild  and  high, 
Have  flush'd  herch    ';  with  deeper  dye, 
And  years  of  guilt     11  I  of  disguise, 
Have  steel'd  hi  rl>i      .  and  arm'd  her  eyes, 


And,  pent  within  the  narrow  cell, 
How  will  her  spirit  chafe  and  swell ! 
How  brook  the  stern  monastic  laws ! 
The  penance  how — and  I  the  cause ! — 
Vigil  and  scourge — perchance  even  worse  !"— 
And  twice  he  rose  to  cry,  "  To  horse !" — 
And  twice  his  Sovereign's  mandate  came, 
Like  damp  upon  a  kindling  flame ; 
And  twice  he  thought,  "  Gave  I  not  charge 
She  should  be  safe,  though  not  at  large  ? 
They  durst  not,  for  their  island,  shred 
One  golden  ringlet  from  her  head." 

XVIII. 

While  thus  in  Marmion's  bosom  strove 
Repentance  and  reviving  love, 
Like  whirlwinds  whose  contending  sway 
I've  seen  Loch  Vennachar  obey, 
Their  host  the  Palmer's  speech  had 

heard, 
And,  talkative,  took  up  the  word : 
"  Ay,  reverend  Pilgrim,  you  who  stray 
From  Scotland's  simple  land  away,3 

To  visit  realms  afar, 
Full  often  learn  the  art  to  know 
Of  future  weal,  or  future  woe, 

By  word,  or  sign,  or  star ; 
Yet  might  a  knight  his  fortune  hear, 
If,  knight-like,  he  despises  fear, 
Not  far  from  hence ; — if  fathers  old 
Aright  our  hamlet  legend  told." — 
These  broken  words  the  menials  move 
(For  marvels  still  the  vulgar  love), 
And,  Marmion  giving  license  cold, 
His  tale  the  host  thus  gladly  told : — 

XIX. 

®J)t  post's  ®ale. 
"  A  Clerk  could  tell  what  years  have  flown 
Since  Alexander  fill'd  our  throne 
(Third  monarch  of  that  warlike  name), 
And  eke  the  time  when  here  he  came 
To  seek  Sir  Hugo,  then  our  lord : 
A  braver  never  drew  a  sword ; 
A  wiser  never,  at  the  hour 
Of  midnight,  spoke  the  word  of  power : 
The  same,  whom  ancient  records  call 
The  founder  of  the  Goblin  Hall.4 
I  would,  Sir  Knight,  your  longer  stay 
Gave  you  that  cavern  to  survey. 
Of  lofty  roof,  and  ample  size, 
Beneath  the  castle  deep  it  lies : 
To  hew  the  living  rock  profound, 
The  floor  to  pave,  the  arch  to  round, 

And  I  the  cause— for  whom  were  given 
Her  peace  on  earth,  her  hopes  in  heaven ! — 
How  will  her  ardent  spirit  swell, 
And  chafe  within  the  narrow  cell !" 

8  MS. :  "  From  this  plain  simple  land  away." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 


MARMION. 


103 


There  never  toil'd  a  mortal  arm, 
It  all  was  wrought  by  word  and  charm ; 
And  I  have  heard  my  grandsire  say, 
That  the  wild  clamor  and  affray 
Of  those  dread  artisans  of  hell, 
Who  labor'd  under  Hugo's  spell, 
Sounded  as  loud  as  ocean's  war, 
Among  the  caverns  of  Dunbar. 

XX. 

"  The  King  Lord  Gifford's  castle  sought, 
Deep  laboring  with  uncertain  thought ; 
Even  then  he  muster'd  all  his  host, 
To  meet  upon  the  western  coast : 
For  Norse  and  Danish  galleys  plied 
Their  oars  within  the  frith  of  Clyde. 
There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim,1 
Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim,2 
Savage  of  heart,  and  large  of  limb ; 
Threatening  both  continent  and  isle, 
Bute,  Arran,  Cunninghame,  and  Kyle. 
Lord  Gifford,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 
Heard  Alexander's  bugle  sound, 
And  tarried  not  his  garb  to  change, 
But,  in  his  wizard  habit  strange,3 
Came  forth, — a  quaint  and  fearful  sight ; 
His  mantle  lined  with  fox-skins  white ; 
His  high  and  wrinkled  forehead  bore 
A  pointed  cap,  such  as  of  yore 
Clerks  say  that  Pharaoh's  Magi  wore : 
His  shoes  were  mark'd  with  cross  and  spell, 
Upon  his  breast  a  pentacle  ;4 
His  zone,  of  virgin  parchment  thin, 
Or,  as  some  tell,  of  dead  man's  skin, 
Bore  many  a  planetary  sign, 
Combust,  and  retrograde,  and  trine  ;5 
And  in  his  hand  he  held  prepared 
A  naked  sword  without  a  guard. 

XXI. 

"  Dire  dealings  with  the  fiendish  race 
Had  mark'd  strange  lines  upon  his  face ; 
Vigil  and  fast  had  worn  him  grim, 
His  eyesight  dazzled  seem'd  and  dim, 
As  one  unused  to  upper  day ; 
Even  his  own  menials  with  dismay 
Beheld,  Sir  Knight,  the  grisly  Sire, 
In  his  unwonted  wild  attire ; 
Unwonted,  for  traditions  run, 
He  seldom  thus  beheld  the  sun. — 
'  I  know,'  he  said, — his  voice  was  hoarse, 
And  broken  seem'd  its  hollow  force, — 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 

2  MS. :  "  There  floated  Haco's  banner  grim 

O'er  fierce  of  heart  and  large  of  limb." 
a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.  *  Ibid.  Note  2  S. 

*  MS. :  "  Bare  many  a  character  and  sign, 

Of  planets  retrograde  and  trine." 


'  I  know  the  cause,  although  untold, 
Why  the  King  seeks  his  vassal's  hold : 
Vainly  from  me  my  liege  would  know 
His  kingdom's  future  weal  or  woe ; 
But  yet,  if  strong  his  arm  and  heart, 
His  courage  may  do  more  than  art. 

XXII. 

"  '  Of  middle  air  the  demons  proud, 

Who  ride  upon  the  racking  cloud, 

Can  read,  in  fix'd  or  wandering  star, 

The  issue  of  events  afar ; 

But  still  their  sullen  aid  withhold, 

Save  when  by  mightier  force  controll'd. 

Such  late  I  summon'd  to  my  hall ; 

And  though  so  potent  was  the  call, 

That  scarce  the  deepest  nook  of  hell 

I  deem'd  a  refuge  from  the  spell, 

Yet,  obstinate  in  silence  still, 

The  haughty  demon  mocks  my  skill. 

But  thou, — who  little  know'st  thy  might, 

As  born  upon  that  blessed  night? 

When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 

Proclaim'd  hell's  empire  overthrown, — 

With  untaught  valor  shalt  compel 

Response  denied  to  magic  spell.' — 7 

'  Gramercy,'  quoth  our  Monarch  free, 

1  Place  him  but  front  to  front  with  me, 

And,  by  this  good  and  honor'd  brand, 

The  gift  of  Coeur-de-Lion's  hand, 

Soothly  I  swear  that,  tide  what  tide, 

The  demon  shall  a  buffet  bide.' — 8 

His  bearing  bold  the  wizard  view'd, 

And  thus,  well  pleased,  his  speech  renew'd  :- 

'  There  spoke  the  blood  of  Malcolm ! — mark : 

Forth  pacing  hence,  at  midnight  dark, 

The  rampart  seek,  whose  circling  crown9 

Crests  the  ascent  of  yonder  down : 

A  southern  entrance  shalt  thou  find ; 

There  halt,  and  there  thy  bugle  wind, 

And  trust  thine  elfin  foe  to  see, 

In  guise  of  thy  worst  enemy : 

Couch  then  thy  lance,  and  spur  thy  steed — 

Upon  him !  and  Saint  George  to  speed ! 

If  he  go  down,  thou  soon  shalt  know 

Whate'er  these  airy  sprites  can  show ; — 

If  thy  heart  fail  thee  in  the  strife, 

I  am  no  warrant  for  thy  life.' 

XXIII. 

"  Soon  as  the  midnight  bell  did  ring, 
Alone,  and  arm'd,  forth  rode  the  King 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

7  MS. :  "  With  untaught  valor  mayst  compel 

What,  is  denied  to  magic  spell." 

8  MS. :  "  Bicker  and  buffet  he  shall  bide." 
rthat|old|campwhich| 
.yon  J  (.trench  that  j 


»  MS.:  "Seek •[ V" 


as  a  crown. 


104 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


To  that  old  camp's  deserted  round  :* 

Sir  Knight,  you  well  might  mark  the  mound. 

Left  hand  the  town, — the  Pictish  race 

The  trench,  long  since,  in  blood  did  trace ; 

The  moor  around  is  brown  and  bare, 

The  space  within  is  green  and  fair. 

The  spot  our  village  children  know, 

For  there  the  earliest  wild-flowers  grow; 

But  woe  betide  the  wandering  wight 

That  treads  its  circle  in  the  night ! 

The  breadth  across,  a  bowshot  clear, 

Gives  ample  space  for  full  career : 

Opposed  to  the  four  points  of  heaven, 

By  four  deep  gaps  are  entrance  given. 

The  southernmost  our  Monarch  past,2 

Halted,  and  blew  a  gallant  blast ; 

And  on  the  north,  within  the  ring, 

Appear'd  the  form  of  England's  King, 

Who  then,  a  thousand  leagues  afar, 

In  Palestine  waged  holy  war : 

Yet  arms  like  England's  did  he  wield, 

Alike  the  leopards  in  the  shield, 

Alike  his  Syrian  courser's  frame, 

The  rider's  length  of  limb  the  same : 

Long  afterwards  did  Scotland  know, 

Fell  Edward3  was  her  deadliest  foe. 

XXIV. 

"  The  vision  made  our  Monarch  start, 
But  soon  he  mann'd  his  noble  heart, 
And  in  the  first  career  they  ran, 
The  Elfin  Knight  fell,  horse  and  man ; 
Yet  did  a  splinter  of  his  lance 
Through  Alexander's  visor  glance, 
And  razed  the  skin — a  puny  wound. 
The  King,  tight  leaping  to  the  ground, 
With  naked  blade  his  phantom  foe 
Compell'd  the  future  war  to  show. 
Of  Largs  he  saw  the  glorious  plain, 
Where  still  gigantic  bones  remain, 

Memorial  of  the  Danish  war; 
Himself  he  saw,  amid  the  field, 
On  high  his  brandish'd  war-axe  wield, 

And  strike  proud  Haeo  from  his  car, 
"While  all  around  the  shadowy  Kings 
Denmark's  grim  ravens  cower'd  their  wings. 
'Tis  said  that,  in  thai  awful  night, 
Remoter  visions  met  bis  sight, 
Foreshowing  future  conquests  far,4 
When  our  sons'  sons  wagi;  northern  war; 


1  MS.:  "Alone,  and  arm'd,  rode  forth  the  King 
To  that  encampment's  haunted  round." 

8  MS.:  "The  southern  gate  our  Monarch  past." 

3  Edward  I.,  surnamed  Longshanks. 

*  MS.:  "To  be  fulfill'd  in  linns  afar, 

When  our  suns'  sons  wage  northern  war; 
A  myal  city's  towers  and  spires 
Bedden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fires, 
And  shouting  crew-,  her  naw  bore, 
Triumphant,  from  the  vanquished  shore." 


A  royal  city,  tower  and  spire, 
Redden'd  the  midnight  sky  with  fire, 
And  shouting  crews  her  navy  bore, 
Triumphant,  to  the  victor  shore.5 
Such  signs  may  learned  clerks  explain, 
They  pass  the  wit  of  simple  swaiu. 

XXV. 

"  The  joyful  King  turn'd  home  again, 
Headed  his  host,  and  quell'd  the  Dane ; 
But  yearly  when  return'd  the  night 
Of  his  strange  combat  with  the  sprite, 

His  wound  must  bleed  and  smart ; 
Lord  Gifford  then  would  gibing  say, 
'  Bold  as  ye  were,  my  liege,  ye  pay 

The  penance  of  your  start.' 
Long  since,  beneath  Dunfermline's  nave, 
King  Alexander  fills  his  grave, 

Our  Lady  give  him  rest ! 
Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield, 

Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast  ;6 
And  many  a  knight  hath  proved  his 

chance, 
In  the  charm'd  ring  to  break  a  lance, 

But  all  have  foully  sped ; 
Save  two,  as  legends  tell,  and  they 
Were  Wallace  wight,  and  Gilbert  Hay. — 

Gentles,  my  tale  is  said." 

XXVI. 
The  quaighs7  were  deep,  the  liquor  strong, 
And  on  the  tale  the  yeoman  throng 
Had  made  a  comment  sage  and  long, 

But  Marmion  gave  a  sign : 
And,  with  their  lord,  the  squires  retire ; 
The  rest,  around  the  hostel  fire, 

Their  drowsy  limbs  recline  ; 
For  pillow,  underneath  each  head, 
The  quiver  and  the  targe  were  laid. 
Deep  slumbering  on  the  hostel  floor,8 
Oppress'd  with  toil  and  ale,  they  snore : 
The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 
Threw  on  the  group  its  shadows  strange. 

XXVII. 

Apart,  and  nestling  in  the  hay 
Of  a  waste  loft,  Fitz-Eustace  lay; 
Scarce,  by  the  pale  moonlight,  were  seen 
The  foldings  of  his  mantle  green  : 

■•  For  an  account  of  the  expedition  to  Copenhagen  in  1801, 
see  Southey's  Life  of  Kelson,  chap.  vii. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

'  A  wooden  cup,  composed  of  staves  hooped  together. 

8  MS.:  "Deep  slumbering  on  tin-  door  of  clay, 
Oppress'd  with  toil  ami  ale,  they  lay; 
The  dying  flame,  in  fitful  change, 
Threw  on  them  lights  and  shadows  strange." 


MAEMION. 


105 


Lightly  he  dreamt,  as  youth  will  dream, 

Of  sport  by  thicket,  or  by  stream. 

Of  hawk  or  hound,  of  ring  or  glove, 

Or,  lighter  yet,  of  lady's  love. 

A  cautious  tread  his  slumber  broke, 

And,  close  beside  him,  when  he  woke, 

In  moonbeam  half,  and  half  in  gloom, 

Stood  a  tall  form,  with  nodding  plume ; 

But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 

His  master  Marmion's  voice  he  knew. — 1 

XXVIII. 

"Fitz-Eustace!  rise,  I  cannot  rest; 

Yon  churl's  wild  legend  haunts  my  breast, 

And  graver  thoughts  have  chafed  my  mood : 

The  air  must  cool  my  feverish  blood ; 

And  fain  would  I  ride  forth,  to  see 

The  scene  of  elfin  chivalry. 

Arise,  and  saddle  me  my  steed  ;2 

And,  gentle  Eustace,  take  good  heed 

Thou  dost  not  rouse  these  drowsy  slaves ; 

I  would  not  that  the  prating  knaves 

Had  cause  for  saying,  o'er  their  ale, 

That  I  could  credit  such  a  tale." — 

Then  softly  down  the  steps  they  slid, 

Eustace  the  stable  door  undid, 

And,  darkling,  Marmion's  steed  array'd, 

While,  whisperiug,  thus  the  Baron  said : — 

XXIX. 

"  Didst  never,  good  my  youth,  hear  tell, 

That  on  the  hour  when  I  was  born, 
Saint  George,  who  graced  my  sire's  chapelle, 
Down  from  his  steed  of  marble  fell, 

A  weary  wight  forlorn  ? 
The  flattering  chaplains  all  agree, 
The  champion  left  his  steed  to  me. 
I  would,  the  omen's  truth  to  show, 
That  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Foe  !3 
Blithe  would  I  battle,  for  the  right 
To  ask  one  question  at  the  sprite  : — 
Vain  thought !  for  elves,  if  elves  there  be, 
An  empty  race,  by  fount  or  sea, 
To  dashing  waters  dance  and  sing,4 
Or  round  the  green  oak  wheel  their  ring." 
Thus  speaking,  he  his  steed  bestrode, 
And  from  the  hostel  slowly  rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace  followed  him  abroad, 
And  mark'd  him  pace  the  village  road, 
And  listen'd  to  his  horse's  tramp, 

Till,  by  the  lessening  sound, 
He  judged  that  of  the  Pictish  camp 
Lord  Marmion  sought  the  round. 

1  MS. :  "  But,  ere  his  dagger  Eustace  drew, 

It  spoke — Lord  Marmion's  voice  he  knew." 

2  MS. :  "  Come  down  and  saddle  me  my  steed." 

3  MS. :  "  I  would,  to  prove  the  omen  right, 

That  I  could  meet  this  Elfin  Knight !" 


Wonder  it  seem'd,  in  the  squire's  eyes, 
That  one  so  wary  held,  and  wise, — 
Of  whom  'twas  said,  he  scarce  received 
For  gospel,  what  the  church  believed, — 

Should,  stirr'd  by  idle  tale, 
Ride  forth  in  silence  of  the  night, 
As  hoping  half  to  meet  a  sprite, 

Array'd  in  plate  and  mail. 
For  little  did  Fitz-Eustace  know 
That  passions,  in  contending  flow, 

Unfix  the  strongest  mind ; 
Wearied  from  doubt  to  doubt  to  flee, 
We  welcome  fond  credulity, 

Guide  confident,  though  blind. 

XXXI. 

Little  for  this  Fitz-Eustace  cared, 
But,  patient,  waited  till  he  heard, 
At  distance,  prick'd  to  utmost  sjieed, 
The  foot-tramp  of  a  flying  steed 

Come  town  ward  rushing  on ; 
First,  dead,  as  if  on  turf  it  trode, 
Then,  clattering  on  the  village  road, — 
In  other  pace  than  forth  he  yode,5 

Return'd  Lord  Marmion. 
Down  hastily  he  sprung  from  selle, 
And,  in  his  haste,  wellnigh  he  fell  ; 
To  the  squire's  hand  the  rein  he  threw, 
And  spoke  no  word  as  he  withdrew : 
But  yet  the  moonlight  did  betray, 
The  falcon-crest  was  soil'd  with  clay ; 
And  plainly  might  Fitz-Eustace  see, 
By  stains  upon  the  charger's  knee, 
And  his  left  side,  that  on  the  moor 
He  had  not  kej)t  his  footing  sure. 
Long  musing  on  these  wondrous  signs, 
At  length  to  rest  the  squire  reclines, 
Broken  and  short;  for  still,  between, 
Would  dreams  of  terror  intervene : 
Eustace  did  ne'er  so  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  morning  lark. 


JHarmfon. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FOURTH. 


JAMES    SKENE,    Esq.6 

Ashestiel,  Et  trick  Forest. 
An  ancient  Minstrel  sagely  said, 
"  Where  is  the  life  which  late  we  led '?" 
That  motley  clown  in  Arden  wood, 
Whom  humorous  Jaques  with  envy  view'd, 

4  MS.:  "Dance  to  the  wild  waves'  murmuring." 

6   Yode,  used  by  old  poets  for  went. 

6  James  Skene,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  Aberdeenshire,  was  Cor- 
net in  the  Royal  Edinburgh  Light  Horse  Volunteers;  and 
Sir  Walter  Scott  was  Quartermaster  of  the  same  corps. 


106 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Not  even  that  clown  could  amplify, 

On  this  trite  text,  so  long  as  I. 

Eleven  years  we  now  may  tell, 

Since  we  have  known  each  other  well ; 

Since,  riding  side  by  side,  our  hand 

First  drew  the  voluntary  brand;1 

And  sure  through  many  a  varied  scene, 

Unkindness  never  came  between. 

Away  these  winged  years  have  flown, 

To  join  the  mass  of  ages  gone ; 

A  ml  though  deep  mark'd,  like  all  below, 

With  chequer'd  shades  of  joy  and  woe; 

Though  thou  o'er  realms  and  seas  hast  ranged, 

Mark'd  cities  lost,  and  empires  changed, 

While  here,  at  home,  my  narrower  ken 

Somewhat  of  manners  saw,  and  men ; 

Though  varying  wishes,  hopes,  and  fears, 

Fever'd  the  progress  of  these  years, 

Yet  now,  days,  weeks,  and  months,  but  seem 

The  recollection  of  a  dream, 

So  still  we  glide  down  to  the  sea 

Of  fathomless  eternity. 

Even  now  it  scarcely  seems  a  day 
Since  first  I  tuned  this  idle  lay ; 
A  task  so  often  thrown  aside, 
When  leisure  graver  cares  denied, 
That  now,  November's  dreary  gale, 
Whose  voice  inspir'd  my  opening  tale, 
That  same  November  gale  once  more 
Whirls  the  dry  leaves  on  Yarrow  shore. 
Their  vex'd  boughs  streaming  to  the  sky, 
Once  more  our  naked  birches  sigh, 
And  Blackhouse  heights,  and  Ettrick  Pen, 
Have  donn'd  their  wintry  shrouds  again  : 
And  mountain  dark,  and  flooded  mead,2 
Bid  us  forsake  the  banks  of  Tweed. 
Earlier  than  wont  along  the  sky, 
Mix'd  with  the  rack,  the  snow  mists  fly; 
Tlif  shepherd,  who  in  summer  sun 
Had  something  of  our  envy  won, 
As  thou  with  pencil,  I  with  pen, 
The  features  traced  of  hill  and  glen; — 3 
He  who,  outstretch'd  the  livelong  day, 
At  ease  among  the  heath-flowers  lay, 
View'd  the  lighl  clouds  with  vacant  look, 
Or  slumber'd  o'er  his  tatter'd  book, 
Or  idly  busied  him  to  guide 
His  angle  o'er  the  lessen'd  tide; — 


1  MS.:  "  Unsheath'd  the  voluntary  brand." 

2  MS.:  "And  noontide,  mist,  and  flooded  mead." 

3  Various  illustrations  of  the  Poetry  and  Novels  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  from  designs  by  Mr.  Skene,  have  since  been 
published. 

*  MS.:  "When  red  hath  set  the  evening  sun, 

And  loud  winds  speak  the  storm  begun." 

5  MS.:  "Till  thickly  drives  tin'  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go, 
While,  with  dejected  look  and  whine,"  &C. 


At  midnight  now,  the  snowy  plain 
Finds  sterner  labor  for  the  swain. 

When  red  hath  set  the  beamless  sun,4 
Through  heavy  vapors  dark  and  dun; 
When  the  tired  ploughman,  dry  and  warm, 
Hears,  half  asleep,  the  rising  storm 
Hurling  the  hail,  and  sleeted  rain, 
Against  the  casement's  tinkling  pane ; 
The  sounds  that  drive  wild  deer,  and  fox, 
To  shelter  in  the  brake  and  rocks, 
Are  warnings  which  the  sherdierd  ask 
To  dismal  and  to  dangerous  task. 
Oft  he  looks  forth,  and  hopes,  in  vain, 
The  blast  may  sink  in  mellowing  rain ; 
Till,  dark  above,  and  white  below,5 
Decided  drives  the  flaky  snow, 
And  forth  the  hardy  swain  must  go. 
Long,  with  dejected  look  and  whine, 
To  leave  the  hearth  his  dogs  repine ; 
Whistling  and  cheering  them  to  aid, 
Around  his  back  he  wreathes  the  plaid : 
His  flock  he  gathers,  and  he  guides, 
To  open  downs,  and  mountain-sides, 
Where  fiercest  though  the  tempest  blow, 
Least  deeply  lies  the  drift  below. 
The  blast,  that  whistles  o'er  the  fells,6 
Stiffens  his  locks  to  icicles ; 
Oft  he  looks  back,  while  streaming  far, 
His  cottage  window  seems  a  star, — 7 
Loses  its  feeble  gleam,— and  then 
Turns  patient  to  the  blast  again, 
And,  facing  to  the  tempest's  sweep, 
Drives  through  the  gloom  his  lagging  sheep. 
If  fails  his  heart,  if  his  limbs  fail, 
Benumbing  death  is  in  the  gale  : 
His  paths,  his  landmarks,  all  unknown, 
Close  to  the  hut,  no  more  his  own, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
The  morn  may  find  the  stiffen'd  swain:8 
The  widow  sees,  at  dawning  pale, 
His  orphans  raise  their  feeble  wail ; 
And,  close  beside  him,  in  the  snow, 
Poor  Yarrow,  partner  of  their  woe, 
Couches  upon  his  master's  breast,9 
And  licks  his  cheek  to  break  his  rest. 

Who  envies  now  the  shepherd's  lot, 
His  healthy  fare,  his  rural  cot, 


6  MS..  "The  frozen  blast  that  sweeps  the  fells." 

7  MS. :  "  His  cottage  window  beams  a  star, — 

But  soon  he  loses  it,— and  then 
Turns  patient  t"  his  task  again." 

8  MS.:  "The  morn  shalffind  He'  stilli  n'd  swain: 

His  widow  sees,  at  morning  pale. 

His  children  rise,  and  raise  their  wail." 

Compare  the  celehrated  description  of  a  man  perishing  in 
the  snow,  in  Thomson's  Winter.— See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 

B  MS. :  "  Couches  upon  his  frozen  breast." 


MAKMION. 


107 


His  summer  couch  by  greenwood  tree, 
His  rustic  kirn's1  loud  revelry, 
His  native  hill-notes,  tuned  on  high, 
To  Marion  of  the  blithesome  eye  ;2 
His  crook,  his  scrip,  his  oaten  reed, 
And  all  Arcadia's  golden  creed  ? 

Changes  not  so  with  us,  my  Skene, 
Of  human  life  the  varying  scene? 
Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see* 
Dance  by  on  wings  of  game  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage 
Against  the  winter  of  our  age : 
As  he,  the  ancient  Chief  of  Troy, 
His  manhood  spent  in  peace  and  joy; 
But  Grecian  fires,  and  loud  alarms, 
Call'd  ancient  Priam  forth  to  arms.4 
Then  happy  those,  since  each  must  drain 
His  share  of  pleasure,  share  of  pain, — 
Then  happy  those,  beloved  of  Heaven, 
To  whom  the  mingled  cup  is  given ; 
Whose  lenient  sorrows  find  relief, 
Whose  joys  are  chasten'd  by  their  grief. 
And  such  a  lot,  my  Skene,  was  thine, 
When  thou  of  late  wert  doom'd  to  twine, — 
Just  when  thy  bridal  hour  was  by, — 
The  cypress  with  the  myrtle  tie. 
Just  on  thy  bride  her  Sire  had  smiled,5 
And  bless'd  the  union  of  his  child, 
When  love  must  change  its  joyous  cheer, 
And  wipe  affection's  filial  tear. 
Nor  did  the  actions  next  his  end6 
Speak  more  the  father  than  the  friend: 
Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes7  paid 
The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  shade  ; 
The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 
Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold — 
Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 
A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind ! 
But  not  around  his  honor'd  urn 
Shall  friends  alone  and  kindred  mourn ; 
The  thousand  eyes  his  care  had  dried 
Pour  at  his  name  a  bitter  tide ; 
And  frequent  falls  the  grateful  dew, 
For  benefits  the  world  ne'er  knew. 
If  mortal  charity  dare  claim 
The  Almighty's  attributed  name, 
Inscribe  above  his  mouldering  clay, 
"  The  widow's  shield,  the  orphan's  stay." 


1  The  Scottish  Harvest-home. 

2  MS. :  "  His  native  wild  notes'  melody, 

To  Marion's  blithely  blinking  eye." 

3  MS.:  "Our  youthful  summer  oft  we  see 

Dance  by  on  wings  of  mirth  and  glee, 
While  the  dark  storm  reserves  its  rage, 
To  crush  the  winter  of  our  age." 

4  MS.:  "Call'd  forth  his  feeble  age  to  arms." 

5  MS. :  "  Scarce  on  thy  bride  her  sire  had  smiled." 

6  MS.:  "But  even  the  actions  next  his  end 

Spoke  the  fond  sire  and  faithful  friend." 


Nor,  though  it  wake  thy  sorrow,  deem 
My  verse  intrudes  on  this  sad  theme ; 
For  sacred  was  the  pen  that  wrote, 
"  Thy  father's  friend  forget  thou  not :" 
And  grateful  title  may  I  plead,8 
For  many  a  kindly  word  and  deed, 
To  bring  my  tribute  to  his  grave : — 
'Tis  little— but  'tis  all  I  have. 

To  thee,  perchance,  this  rambling  strain 
Recalls  our  stimmer  walks  again : 
When,  doing  nought, — and,  to  sjjeak  true, 
Not  anxious  to  find  aught  to  do, — 
The  wild  unbounded  hills  we  ranged, 
While  oft  our  talk  its  topic  changed, 
And,  desultory  as  our  way, 
Ranged,  unconfined,  from  grave  to  gay. 
Even  when  it  flagg'd,  as  oft  will  chance, 
No  effort  made  to  break  its  trance, 
We  could  right  pleasantly  pursue 
Our  sports  in  social  silence  too  ;9 
Thou  gravely  laboring  to  portray 
The  blighted  oak's  fantastic  spray  ; 
I  spelling  o'er,  with  much  delight, 
The  legend  of  that  antique  knight, 
Tirante  by  name,  yclep'd  the  White. 
At  either's  feet  a  trusty  squire, 
Pandour  and  Camp,10  with  eyes  of  fire, 
Jealous,  each  other's  motions  view'd, 
And  scarce  suppress'd  their  ancient  feud.11 
The  laverock  whistled  from  the  cloud  ; 
The  stream  was  lively,  but  not  loud ; 
From  the  white  thorn  the  May-flower  shed 
Its  dewy  fragrance  round  our  head : 
Not  Ariel  lived  more  merrily 
Under  the  blossom'd  bough  than  we. 

And  blithesome  nights,  too,  have  been  ours, 
When  Winter  stript  the  summer's  bowers. 
Careless  we  heard,  what  now  I  hear,12 
The  wild  blast  sighing  deej>  and  drear, 
When  fires  were  bright,  and  lamps  beam'd 

gay, 

And  ladies  tuned  the  lovely  lay ; 

And  he  was  held  a  laggard  soul 

Who  shunn'd  to  quafl'  the  sparkling  bowl. 

Then  he,  whose  absence  we  deplore,13 

Who  breathes  the  gales  of  Devon's  shore, 

The  longer  miss'd,  bewail'd  the  more ; 


'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 

8  MS.:  "And  nearer  title  may  I  plead." 

9  MS. :  "  Our  thoughts  in  social  silence  too." 

10  Camp  was  a  favorite  dog  of  the  Poet's,  a  bull-terrier  of 
extraordinary  sagacity.  He  is  introduced  in  Raeburn's  por- 
trait of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  now  at  Dalkeith  Palace.— Ed. 

11  MS. :  "  Till  oft  our  voice  suppress'd  the  feud." 

12  MS. :  "  )Vhen  light  we  heard  what  now  I  hear." 

13  Colin  Mackenzie,  Esq.,  of  Portmore,  one  of  the  Principal 
Clerks  of  Session  at  Edinburgh,  and  through  life  an  intimate 
Mend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  on  10th  September,  1830.— Ed. 


108 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  thou,  and  I,  and  dear-loved  Rae,1 

And  one  whose  name  I  may  not  say, — * 

For  not  Mimosa's  tender  tree 

Shrinks  sooner  from  the  touch  than  he, — 

In  merry  chorus  well  combined, 

With  laughter  drown'd  the  whistling  wind. 

Mirth  was  within;  and  Care  without 

Might  gnaw  her  nails  to  hear  our  shout. 

Not  but  amid  the  buxom  scene 

Some  grave  discourse  might  intervene — 

Of  the  good  horse  that  bore  him  best, 

His  shoulder,  hoof,  and  arching  crest : 

For,  like  mad  Tom's,3  our  chiefest  care 

Was  horse  to  ride,  and  weapon  wear. 

Such  nights  we've  had ;  and,  though  the  game4 

Of  manhood  be  more  sober  tame, 

And  though  the  field-day,  or  the  drill, 

Seem  less  important  now — yet  still 

Such  may  we  hope  to  share  again. 

The  sprightly  thought  inspires  my  strain ! 

And  mark  how,  like  a  horseman  true, 

Lord  Marmion's  march  I  thus  renew. 


fHarmiort. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


${)£  Camp. 

I. 

EUSTACE,  I  said,  did  blithely  mark 
The  first  notes  of  the  merry  lark. 
The  lark  sang  shrill,  the  cock  he  crew, 
And  loudly  Marmion's  bugles  blew, 
And  with  their  light  and  lively  call 
Brought  groom  and  yeoman  to  the  stall. 

Whistling  they  came,  and  free  of  heart, 
But  soon  their  mood  was  changed ; 

Complaint  was  heard  on  every  part, 
Of  something  disarranged. 
Some  clamor'd  loud  for  armor  lost ; 
Some  brawl'd  and  wrangled  with  the  host; 
"  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  fear5 
That  some  false  Scot  has  stolen  my  spear!" — 
Young  Blount,  Lord  Marmion's  second  squire, 
Found  his  steed  wet  with  sweat  and  mire ; 
Although  the  rated  horse-boy  sware, 
Last  night  he  dress'd  him  sleek  and  fair. 

1  Sir  William  Rae  of  St.  Catharine's,  Hart.,  subsequently 
Lord  Advocate  of  Scotland,  was  a  distinguished  member  of 
the  volunteer  corps  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  belonged;  and 
be,  Che  Poet,  Mr.  Skene,  .Mr.  Mackenzie,  and  a  few  other 
friends,  had  formed  themselves  into  a  little  semi-military 
club,  the  meetings  of  which  were  held  at  their  family  supper- 
tabl  s  in  rotation. — Ed. 

2  The  gentleman  whose  name  the  Poet  "might  not  say" 
was  the  late  sir  William  Forbes  <>f  Pitsligo,  Hart.,  son  of  the 
author  of  the  life  of  Beattie,  and  brother-in-law  of  Mr.  Skene, 


"While  chafed  the  impatient  squire  like  thunder, 

Old  Hubert  shouts,  in  fear  and  wonder, — 

"  Help,  gentle  Blount !  help,  comrades  all ! 

Bevis  lies  dying  in  his  stall : 

To  Marmion  who  the  plight  dare  tell, 

Of  the  good  steed  he  loves  so  well  ?" 

Gaping  for  fear  and  ruth,  they  saw 

The  charger  panting  on  his  straw  ;8 

Till  one,  who  would  seem  wisest,  cried, — 

"  What  else  but  evil  could  betide, 

With  that  cursed  Palmer  for  our  guide  ? 

Better  we  had  through  mire  and  bush 

Been  lantern-led  by  Friar  Rush."7 

II. 

Fitz-Eustace,  who  the  cause  but  guess'd, 

Nor  wholly  understood, 
His  comrades'  clamorous  plaints  suppress'd  ; 

He  knew  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
Him,  ere  he  issued  forth,  he  sought, 
And  found  deep  plunged  in  gloomy  thought, 

And  did  his  tale  display 
Simply  as  if  he  knew  of  nought 
To  cause  such  disarray. 
Lord  Marmion  gave  attention  cold, 
Nor  marvell'd  at  the  wonders  told, — 
Pass'd  them  as  accidents  of  course, 
And  bade  his  clarions  sound  to  horse. 

III. 

Young  Henry  Blount,  meanwhile,  the  cost 
Had  reckon'd  with  their  Scottish  host ; 
And,  as  the  charge  he  cast  and  paid, 
"  111  thou  deserv'st  thy  hire,"  he  said ; 
"  Dost  see,  thou  knave,  my  horse's  plight  ? 
Fairies  have  ridden  him  all  the  night, 

And  left  him  in  a  foam ! 
I  trust  that  soon  a  conjuring  band, 
With  English  cross,  and  blazing  brand,8 
Shall  drive  the  devils  from  this  land, 

To  their  infernal  home : 
For  in  this  haunted  den,  I  trow, 
All  night  they  trample  to  and  fro." — 
The  laughing  host  look'd  on  the  hire,- 
"  Gramercy,  gentle  southern  squire, 
And  if  thou  comest  among  the  rest, 
With  Scottish  broadsword  to  be  blest, 
Sharp  be  the  brand,  and  sure  the  blow, 
And  short  the  pang  to  undergo." 
Here  stay'd  their  talk, — for  Marmion 
Gave  now  the  signal  to  set  on. 

through  life  an  intimate,  and  latterly  a  generous,  friend  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott ;  died  24th  October,  1828.— Ed. 

8  See  King  Lear. 

4  MS. :  "  Such  nights  we've  had ;  and  though  our  game 
Advance  of  years  may  something  tame." 

8  MS. :  "  By  Becket's  bones,"  cried  one,  "  I  swear." 

6  MS.:  "The  good  horse  panting  on  the  straw." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

8  MS. :  "  With  bloody  cross  and  fiery  brand." 


MAKMION. 


109 


The  Palmer  showing  forth  the  way, 
They  journey'd  all  the  morning  day.1 

IV. 

The  green-sward  way  was  smooth  and  good, 

Through  Humbie's  and  through  Saltoun's  wood  ; 

A  forest  glade,  which,  varying  still, 

Here  gave  a  view  of  dale  and  hill, 

There  narrower  closed,  till  over  head 

A  vaulted  screen  the  branches  made. 

"  A  pleasant  path,"  Fitz-Eustace  said ; 

"  Such  as  where  errant-knights  might  see 

Adventures  of  high  chivalry ; 

Might  meet  some  damsel  flying  fast, 

With  hair  unbound,  and  looks  aghast; 

And  smooth  and  level  course  were  here, 

In  her  defence  to  break  a  spear. 

Here,  too,  are  twilight  nooks  and  dells ; 

And  oft  in  such,  the  story  tells, 

The  damsel  kind,  from  danger  freed, 

Did  grateful  pay  her  champion's  meed." 

He  spoke  to  cheer  Lord  Marmion's  mind : 

Perchance  to  show  his  lore  design'd ; 

For  Eustace  much  had  pored 
Upon  a  huge  romantic  tome,3 
In  the  hall  window  of  his  home, 
Imprinted  at  the  antique  dome 

Of  Caxton,  or  De  Worde.3 
Therefore  he  spoke, — but  spoke  in  vain, 
For  Marmion  answered  nought  again. 

V. 

Now  sudden,  distant  trumpets  shrill, 
In  notes  prolong'd  by  wood  and  hill, 

Were  heard  to  echo  far ; 
Each  ready  archer  grasp'd  his  bow, 
But  by  the  flourish  soon  they  know, 

They  breathed  no  point  of  war. 
Yet  cautious,  as  in  foeman's  land, 
Lord  Marmion's  order  speeds  the  band, 

Some  opener  ground  to  gain ; 
And  scarce  a  furlong  had  they  rode, 
AVhen  thinner  trees,  receding,  show'd 

A  little  woodland  plain. 
Just  in  that  advantageous  glade, 
The  halting  troop  a  line  had  made, 
As  forth  from  the  opposing  shade 

Issued  a  gallant  train. 

VI. 

First  came  the  trumpets,  at  whose  clang 
So  late  the  forest  echoes  rang; 


1  MS. :  "  They  journey'd  till  the  middle  day." 

2  MS. :  "  Upon  a  black  and  ponderous  tome." 

3  William  Caxton,  the  earliest  English  printer,  was  born  in 
&ent,  A.  D.  1412,  and  died  1491.  Wynken  de  Worde  was  his 
iext  successor  in  the  production  of  those 

"  Rare  volumes,  dark  with  tarnish'd  gold," 
Which  are  now  the  delight  ol  bibliomaniacs. 
-  The  MS.  has  "Scotland's  royal  Lion"  here;  in  line  9th, 


On  prancing  steeds  they  forward  press'd, 
With  scarlet  mantle,  azure  vest ; 
Each  at  his  trump  a  banner  wore, 
Which  Scotland's  royal  scutcheon4  bore : 
Heralds  and  pursuivants,  by  name 
Bute,  Islay,  Marchmount,  Rothsay,  came, 
In  painted  tabards,  proudly  showing 
Gules,  Argent,  Or,  and  Azure  glowing, 

Attendant  on  a  King-at-arms, 
Whose  hand  the  armorial  truncheon  held, 
That  feudal  strife  had  often  quell'd, 

When  wildest  its  alarms. 

VII. 

He  was  a  man  of  middle  age ; 
In  aspect  manly,  grave,  and  sage, 

As  on  King's  errand  come ; 
But  in  the  glances  of  his  eye, 
A  penetrating,  keen,  and  sly 
Expression  found  its  home ; 
The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 
Which,  bursting  on  the  early  stage, 
Branded  the  vices  of  the  age, 

And  broke  the  keys  of  Rome.6 
On  milk-white  palfrey  forth  he  paced ; 
His  cap  of  maintenance  was  graced 

With  the  proud  heron-plume. 
From  his  steed's  shoulder,  loin,  and 
breast, 
Silk  housings  swept  the  ground, 
With  Scotland's  arms,  device,  and  crest, 

Embroider'd  round  and  round. 
The  double  tressure  might  you  see, 

First  by  Achaius  borne, 
The  thistle  and  the  fleur-de-lis, 
And  gallant  unicorn.6 
So  bright  the  King's  armorial  coat, 
That  scarce  the  dazzled  eye  could  note, 
In  living  colors,  blazon'd  brave, 
The  Lion,  which  his  title  gave ; 
A  train,  which  well  beseem'd  his  state, 
But  all  unarm'd,  around  him  wait. 
Still  is  thy  name  in  high  account, 
And  still  thy  verse  has  charms, 
Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 
Lord  Lion  King-at-arms  !7 

VIII. 

Down  from  his  horse  did  Marmion  spring, 
Soon  as  he  saw  the  Lion-King ; 
For  well  the  stately  Baron  knew 
To  him  such  courtesy  was  due, 

"  scarlet    tabards ; "    and    in    line    12th,    "  blazoned    trun- 
cheon." 
6  MS. :  "  The  flash  of  that  satiric  rage, 

Which,  bursting  from  the  early  stage, 
Lash'd  the  coarse  vices  of  the  age,"  &c. 
6  MS.:  "Silver  unicorn."    This,  and  the  seven  preceding 
lines,  are  interpolated  in  the  blank  page  of  the  MS. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 


110 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


Whom  royal  James  himself  had  crown'd, 
And  on  his  temples  placed  the  round 

Of  Scotland's  ancient  diadem : 
And  wet  his  brow  with  hallow'd  wine, 
And  on  his  finger  given  to  shine 

The  emblematic  gem. 
Their  mutual  greetings  duly  made, 
The  Lion  thus  his  message  said: — 

Though  Scotland's  King  hath  deeply  swore1 
Ne'er  to  knit  faith  with  Henry  more, 
And  strictly  hath  forbid  resort 
From  England  to  his  royal  court ; 
Yet,  for  he  knows  Lord  Marmion's  name, 
And  honors  much  his  warlike  fame, 
My  liege  hath  deem'd  it  shame,  and  lack 
Of  courtesy,  to  turn  him  back  ; 
And,  by  his  order,  I,  your  guide, 
Must  lodging  fit  and  fair  provide, 
Till  finds  King  James  meet  time  to  see 
The  flower  of  English  chivalry." 

IX. 

Though  inly  chafed  at  this  delay, 
Lord  Marmion  bears  it  as  he  may. 
The  Palmer,  his  mysterious  guide, 
Beholding  thus  his  place  supplied, 

Sought  to  take  leave  in  vain : 
Strict  was  the  Lion-King's  command 
That  none  who  rode  in  Marmion's  band 

Should  sever  from  the  train  : 
"  England  has  here  enow  of  spies 
In  Lady  Heron's  witching  eyes :" 
To  Marchmount  thus,  apart,  he  said, 
But  fair  pretext  to  Marmion  made. 
The  right  hand  path  they  now  decline, 
And  trace  against  the  stream  the  Tyne. 


At  length  up  that  wild  dale  they  wind, 

Where  Crichtoun  Castle2  crowns  the 
bank ; 
For  there  the  Lion's  care  assigned 

A  lodging  meet  for  Marmion's  rank. 
That  Castle  rises  on  the  steep 

Of  the  green  vale  of  Tyne  : 
And  far  beneath,  where  slow  they  creep, 
From  pool  to  eddy,  dark  and  deep, 
Where  alders  moist  and  willows  weep, 

You  hear  her  streams  repine.3 
The  towers  in  different  ages  rose ; 
Their  various  architecture  shows 

The  builders'  various  hands  ; 
A  mighty  mass,  that  could  oppose,4 


1  MS.:  "The  Lion-King  his  message  said:— 

'  My  Liege  hath  deep  and  deadly  swore,'"  &c. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z;  and,  for  a  fuller  description  of 
Crichton  Castle,  see  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  157. 

3  MS. :  "  Her  lazy  streams  repine." 


When  deadliest  hatred  fired  its  foes, 
The  vengeful  Douglas  bands. 

XL 

Crichtoun !  though  now  thy  miry  court 

But  pens  the  lazy  steer  and  sheep, 

Thy  turrets  rude,  and  totter'd  Keep, 
Have  been  the  minstrel's  loved  resort. 
Oft  have  I  traced,  within  thy  fort, 

Of  mouldering  shields  the  mystic  sense,5 

Scutcheons  of  honor  or  pretence, 
Quarter'd  in  old  armorial  sort, 

Remains  of  rude  magnificence. 
Nor  wholly  yet  had  time  defaced 

Thy  lordly  gallery  fair ; 
Nor  yet  the  stony  cord  unbraced, 
Whose  twisted  knots,  with  roses  laced, 

Adorn  thy  ruin'd  stair. 
Still  rises  unimpaired  below 
The  court-yard's  graceful  portico ; 
Above  its  cornice,  row  and  row 

Of  fair  hewn  facets  richly  show 
Their  pointed  diamond  form, 

Though  there  but  houseless  cattle  go, 
To  shield  them  from  the  storm. 

And,  shuddering,  still  may  we  explore, 
Where  oft  whilom  were  captives  pent, 

The  darkness  of  thy  Massy  More  ;6 
Or,  from  thy  grass-grown  battlement, 
May  trace,  in  undulating  line, 
The  sluggish  mazes  of  the  Tyne. 

XII. 

Another  aspect  Crichtoun  show'd, 

As  through  its  portal  Marmion  rode; 

But  yet  'twas  melancholy  state 

Received  him  at  the  outer  gate ; 

For  none  were  in  the  Castle  then, 

But  women,  boys,  or  aged  men. 

With  eyes  scarce  dried,  the  sorrowing  dame, 

To  welcome  noble  Marmion,  came ; 

Her  son,  a  stripling  twelve  years  old, 

Proffer'd  the  Baron's  rein  to  hold ; 

For  each  man  that  could  draw  a  sword 

Had  march'd  that  morning  with  their  lord, 

Earl  Adam  Hepburn, — he  who  died 

On  Flodden,  by  his  sovereign's  side.7 

Long  may  his  Lady  look  in  vain ! 

She  ne'er  shall  see  his  gallant  train8 

Come  sweeping  back  through  Crichtoun- 

Dean. 
'Twas  a  brave  race,  before  the  name 
Of  hated  Bothwell  stain'd  their  fame. 


4  MS. :  "  But  the  huge  mass  could  well  oppose." 

5  MS. :  "  Of  many  a  mouldering  shield  the  sense." 

6  The  pit,  or  prison  vault. — See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 

8  MS. :  "  Well  might  his  gentle  Lady  mourn, 

Doom'd  ne'er  to  see  her  Lord's  return." 


p 

o 

»! 

Cfc 

O 

>■ 

■f 

CO 

o 

H 

S 

~ 

P3 

MAKMION. 


Ill 


XIII. 

And  here  two  days  did  Marmion  rest, 
With  every  rite  that  honor  claims, 
Attended  as  the  King's  own  guest ; — 
Such  the  command  of  royal  James, 
Who  marshalFd  then  his  land's  array, 
Upon  the  Borough-moor  that  lay. 
Perchance  he  would  not  foeman's  eye 
Upon  his  gathering  host  should  pry, 
Till  full  prepared  was  every  band 
To  march  against  the  English  land. 
Here  while  they  dwelt,  did  Lindesay's 

wit 
Oft  cheer  the  Baron's  moodier  fit ; 
And,  in  his  turn,  he  knew  to  prize 
Lord  Marmion's  powerful  mind,  and  wise,- 
Train'd  in  the  lore  of  Borne  and  Greece, 
And  policies  of  war  and  peace.1 

XIV. 

It  chanced,  as  fell  the  second  night, 

That  on  the  battlements  they  walk'd, 
And,  by  the  slowly  fading  light, 

Of  varying  to2)ics  talk'd ; 
And,  unaware,  the  Herald-bard2 
Said,  Marmion  might  his  toil  have  spared, 

In  travelling  so  far ; 
For  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 

Against  the  English  war  :3 
And,  closer  question'd,  thus  he  told 
A  tale  which  chronicles  of  old 
In  Scottish  story  have  enroll'd : — 


1  MS. :  "  Nor  less  the  Herald  Monarch  knew 

The  Baron's  powers  to  value  true- 
Hence  confidence  between  them  grew." 

2  MS.:  "Then  fell  from  Lindesay,  unaware, 

That  Marmion  might )  ,  .    ,  ,  „ 

,,  ...       .,  [•  his  labor  spare." 

Marmion  might  well  J 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

4  "  In  some  places,  Mr.  Scott's  love  of  variety  has  betrayed 
him  into  strange  imitations.  This  is  evidently  formed  on  the 
school  of  Sternhold  and  Hopkins, — 

'  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,' "  &c. 

Jeffrey. 

5  In  Scotland  there  are  about  twenty  palaces,  castles,  and 
remains,  or  sites  of  such, 

"  Where  Scotia's  kings  of  other  years  " 
had  their  royal  home. 

"  Linlithgow,  distinguished  by  the  combined  strength  and 
beauty  of  its  situation,  must  have  been  early  selected  as  a 
royal  residence.  David,  who  bought  the  title  of  saint  by  his 
liberality  to  the  Church,  refers  several  of  his  charters  to  his 
town  of  Linlithgow ;  and  in  that  of  Holyrood  expressly  be- 
stows on  the  new  monastery  all  the  skins  of  the  rams,  ewes, 
and  lambs,  belonging  to  his  castle  of  Linlitcu,  which  shall 
die  during  the  year.  .  .  .  The  convenience  afforded  for  the 
sport  of  falconry,  which  was  so  great  a  favorite  during  the 
feudal  ages,  was  probably  one  cause  of  the  attachment  of  the 
ancient  Scottish  monarchs  to  Linlithgow  and  its  fine  lake. 


XV. 

S>ir  ©aiiij  1Lmhtsz$'8  ©alt. 

"  Of  all  the  palaces  so  fair,4 

Built  for  the  royal  dwelling, 
In  Scotland,  far  beyond  compare 

Linlithgow  is  excelling  ;5 
And  in  its  park  in  jovial  June, 
How  sweet  the  merry  linnet's  tune, 

How  blithe  the  blackbird's  lay ! 
The  wild-buck  bells6  from  ferny  brake, 
The  coot  dives  merry  on  the  lake ; 
The  saddest  heart  might  pleasure  take 

To  see  all  nature  gay. 
But  June  is  to  our  sovereign  dear 
The  heaviest  month  in  all  the  year : 
Too  well  his  cause  of  grief  you  know, — 
June  saw  his  father's  overthrow.7 
Woe  to  the  traitors,  who  could  bring 
The  princely  boy  against  his  King ! 
Still  in  his  conscience  burns  the  sting. 
In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 
King  James's  June  is  ever  spent.8 

XVI. 

"  When  last  this  ruthful  month  was  come, 
And  in  Linlithgow's  holy  dome 

The  King,  as  wont,  was  praying ; 
While,  for  his  royal  father's  soul, 
The  chanters  sung,  the  bells  did  toll, 

The  Bishop  mass  was  saying — 
For  now  the  year  brought  round  again9 
The  day  the  luckless  king  was  slain — 


The  sport  of  hunting  was  also  followed  with  success  in  the 
neighborhood,  from  which  circumstance  it  probably  arises 
that  the  ancient  arms  of  the  city  represent  a  black  greyhound 
bitch  tied  to  a  tree.  .  .  .  The  situation  of  Linlithgow  Palace 
is  eminently  beautiful.  It  stands  on  a  promontory  of  some 
elevation,  which  advances  almost  into  the  midst  of  the  lake. 
The  form  is  that  of  a  square  court,  composed  of  buildings  of 
four  stories  high,  with  towers  at  the  angles.  The  fronts  within 
the  square,  and  the  windows,  are  highly  ornamented,  and  the 
size  of  the  rooms,  as  well  as  the  width  and  character  of  the 
staircases,  are  upon  a  magnificent  scale.  One  banqueWoom 
is  ninety-four  feet  long,  thirty  feet  wide,  and  thirty-three  feet 
high,  with  a  gallery  for  music.  The  King's  wardrobe  or  dress- 
ing-room, looking  to  the  west,  projects  over  the  walls,  so  as  to 
have  a  delicious  prospect  on  three  sides,  and  is  one  of  the  most 
enviable  boudoirs  we  have  ever  seen." — Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Miscellaneous  Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  382,  &c. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

8  MS. :  "  In  offices  as  strict  as  Lent, 

And  penances,  his  Junes  are  spent." 

9  MS. :  "  For  now  the  year  brought  round  again 

The  very  day  that  he  |  .  .   

The  day  that  the  third  James  J 

In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  kneels, 

And  folded  hands  )    ,  ,    .  ,     .    ,   ,, 

,     ,  ,       ,  .         ,  }  show  what  he  feels." 

And  hands  sore  clasped) 


112 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


In  Katharine's  aisle  the  Monarch  knelt, 
With  sackcloth  shirt,  and  iron  belt, 
And  eyes  with  sorrow  streaming; 
Around  him  in  their  stalls  of  state, 
The  Thistle's  Knight-Companions  sate, 

Their  banners  o'er  them  beaming. 
I  too  was  there,  and,  sooth  to  tell, 
Iii'dcafi-ii'd  with  the  jangling  knell, 
Was  watching  where  the  sunbeams  fell, 

Through  the  stain'd  casement  gleaming; 
But,  while  1  marked  what  next  befell, 
It  seem'd  as  I  were  dreaming. 
Stepp'd  from  the  crowd  a  ghostly  wight, 
In  azure  gown,  with  cincture  white, 
Hi>  forehead  bald,  his  head  was  bare, 
Down  hung  at  length  his  yellow  hair. — 
Now,  mock  me  not,  when,  good  my  Lord, 
I  pledge  to  you  my  knightly  word, 
That,  when  I  saw  his  placid  grace, 
His  simple  majesty  of  face, 
His  solemn  bearing,  and  his  j>ace 

So  stately  gliding  on, — 
Seem'd  to  me  ne'er  did  limner  paint 
So  just  an  image  of  the  Saint, 
Who  propp'd  the  Virgin  in  her  faint, — 
The  loved  Apostle  John ! 

XVII. 

"  He  stepp'd  before  the  Monarch's  chair, 
And  stood  with  rustic  plainness  there, 

And  little  reverence  made ; 
Nor  head,  nor  body,  bow'd  nor  bent, 
But  on  the  desk  his  arm  he  leant, 
And  words  like  these  he  said, 
In  a  low  voice,  but  never  tone1 
So  thrill'd  through  vein,  and  nerve,  and  bone : 
'  My  mother  sent  me  from  afar, 
Sir  King,  to  warn  thee  not  to  war, — 

Woe  waits  on  thine  array ; 
If  war  thou  wilt,  of  woman  fair,2 
Her  witching  wiles  and  wanton  snare, 
James  Stuart,  doubly  warn'd,  beware : 

God  keep  thee  as  he  may !' — 
The  wondering  Monarch  seem'd  to  seek 

For  answer ,  and  found  none ; 
And  when  he  raised  his  head  to  speak, 
The  monitor  was  gone. 
The  Marshal  and  myself  had  cast 
To  stop  him  as  he  outward  pass'd ; 
But,  lighter  than  the  whirlwind's  blast, 

He  vanish'd  from  our  eyes, 
Like  sunbeam  on  the  billow  cast, 

That  glances  but,  and  dies." 

1  MS. :  "In  a  low  voice — but  every  tone 

Thrill'd  through  the  listener's  vein  and  bone.' 

J  MS. :  "  And  if  to  war  thou  needs  wilt  fare, 

Of  wanton  wiles  and  woman's  1 

-  snare 
Of  woman's  wiles  and  wanton  j 

3  MS. :  "  But  events,  since  I  cross'd  the  Tweed, 
Have  undermined  my  skeptic  creed." 


XVIII. 
While  Lindesay  told  his  marvel  strange, 

The  twilight  was  so  pale, 
He  niark'd  not  Mannion's  color  change, 

While  listening  to  the  tale; 
But,  after  a  suspended  pause, 
The  Baron  Bpoke: — "Of  Nature's  laws 

Si i  strong  I  held  the  force, 
That  never  superhuman  can  -■ 
Could  e'er  control  their  course. 
And,  three  days  since,  had  judged  your  aim 
Was  but  to  make  your  guest  your  game. 
But  I  have  seen,  since  past  the  Tweed,3 
What  much  has  changed  my  skeptic  creed, 
And  made  me  credit  aught." — He  staid, 
And  seem'd  to  wish  his  words  unsaid : 
But  by  that  strong  emotion  press'd, 
Which  prompts  us  to  unload  our  breast, 

Even  when  discovery's  pain, 
To  Lindesay  did  at  length  untold 
The  tale  his  village  host  had  told, 

At  Gilford,  to  his  train. 
Nought  of  the  Palmer  says  he  there, 
And  nought  of  Constance,  or  of  Clare  ; 
The  thoughts  which  broke  his  sleep  he 

seems 
To  mention  but  as  feverish  dreams. 

XIX. 

"  In  vain,"  said  he,  "  to  rest  I  spread 
My  burning  limbs,  and  couch'd  my  head : 

Fantastic  thoughts  return'd  ; 
And,  by  their  wild  dominion  led, 

My  heart  within  me  burn'd.4 
So  sore  was  the  delirious  goad, 
I  took  my  steed,  and  forth  I  rode, 
And,  as  the  moon  shone  bright  and  cold, 
Soon  reach'd  the  camp  upon  the  wold. 
The  southern  entrance  I  pass'd  through, 
And  halted,  and  my  bugle  blew. 
Methought  an  answer  met  my  ear, — 
Yet  was  the  blast  so  low  and  drear,5 
So  hollow,  and  so  faintly  blown, 
It  might  be  echo  of  my  own. 

XX. 

"  Thus  judging,  for  a  little  space 
I  listen'd,  ere  I  left  the  place ; 

But  scarce  could  trust  my  eyes, 
Nor  yet  can  think  they  served  me  true, 
When  sudden  in  the  ring  I  view, 
In  form  distinct  of  shape  and  hue, 

A  mounted  champion  rise. — 

4  MS.:  "In  vain,"  said  he,  "to  rest  I  laid 

My  burning  limbs,  and  throbbing  head — 
Fantastic  thoughts  return'd; 

(led, 
And  by  their  wild  dominion  <  sway'd, 


sped, 


My  heart  within  me  burn'd." 
5  MS. :  "  And  yet  it  was  so  low  and  drear." 


MAEMION. 


113 


I've  fought,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day,1 
In  single  fight,  and  mix'd  affray, 
And  ever,  I  myself  may  say, 

Have  borne  me  as  a  knight ; 
But  when  this  unexpected  foe 
Seem'd  starting  from  the  gulf  below, — 
I  care  not  though  the  truth  I  show, — 

I  trembled  with  affright; 
And  as  I  placed  in  rest  my  spear, 
My  hand  so  shook  for  very  fear, 

I  scarce  could  couch  it  right. 

XXL 

"  Why  need  my  tongue  the  issue  tell  ? 
We  ran  our  course, — my  charger  fell  ;-«■ 
What  could  he  'gainst  the  shock  of  hell  ? — 

I  roll'd  upon  the  plain. 
High  o'er  my  head,  with  threatening  hand, 
The  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — 2 

Yet  did  the  worst  remain : 
My  dazzled  eyes  I  upward  cast, — 
Not  opening  hell  itself  could  blast 

Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw ! 
Full  on  his  face  the  moonbeam  strook, — 
A  face  could  never  be  mistook ! 
I  knew  the  stern  vindictive  look, 

And  held  my  breath  for  awe. 
I  saw  the  face  of  one  who,  fled3 
To  foreign  climes,  has  long  been  dead, — 

I  well  believe  the  last ; 
For  ne'er,  from  visor  raised,  did  stare 
A  human  warrior,  with  a  glare 

So  grimly  and  so  ghast. 
Thrice  o'er  my  head  he  shook  the  blade ; 
But  when  to  good  Saint  George  I  pray'd 
(The  first  time  e'er  I  ask'd  his  aid), 

He  plunged  it  in  the  sheath ; 
And,  on  his  courser  mounting  light, 
He  seem'd  to  vanish  from  my  sight : 
The  moonbeam  droop'd,  and  deepest  night 

Sunk  down  upon  the  heath. — 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  cause  I  have 
To  know  his  face,  that  met  me  there, 

Call'd  by  his  hatred  from  the  grave, 
To  cumber  upper  air : 
Dead  or  alive,  good  cause  had  he 
To  be  my  mortal  enemy." 

XXII. 

Marvell'd  Sir  David  of  the  Mount ; 
Then,  learn'd  in  story,  'gan  recount 

1  MS. :  "I've  been,  Lord-Lion,  many  a  day 

In  combat  single,  or  melee." 

2  MS. :  "  Tbe  spectre  shook  his  naked  brand, — 

Yet  doth  the  worst  remain : 
My  reeling  eyes  I  upward  east, — 
But  opening  hell  could  never  blast 

Their  sight,  like  what  I  saw." 

3  MS. :  "  I  knew  the  face  of  one  long  dead, 

Or  who  to  foreign  climes  hath  fled  .  .  . 


Such  chance  had  happ'd  of  old, 
When  once,  near  Norham,  there  did  fight 
A  spectre  fell  of  fiendish  might, 
In  likeness  of  a  Scottish  knight, 

With  Brian  Bulmer  bold, 
And  train'd  him  nigh  to  disallow 
The  aid  of  his  baptismal  vow. 
"  And  such  a  phantom,  too,  'tis  said, 
With  Highland  broadsword,  targe,  and 
plaid, 

And  fingers  red  with  gore, 
Is  seen  in  Rothiemurcus  glade, 
Or  where  the  sable  pine-trees  shade 
Dark  Tomantoul,  and  Auchnaslaid, 

Dromouchty,  or  Glenmore.* 
And  yet,  whate'er  such  legends  say. 
Of  warlike  demon,  ghost,  or  fay, 

On  mountain,  moor,  or  plain, 
Spotless  in  faith,  in  bosom  bold,5 
True  son  of  chivalry  should  hold 

These  midnight  terrors  vain  ; 
For  seldom  have  such  spirits  power 
To  harm,  save  in  the  evil  hour 
When  guilt  we  meditate  within,6 
Or  harbor  unrepented  sin." 
Lord  Marmion  turn'd  him  half  aside, 
And  twice  to  clear  his  voice  he  tried, 

Then  press'd  Sir  David's  hand, — 
But  nought,  at  length,  in  answer  said ; 
And  here  their  farther  converse  staid, 

Each  ordering  that  his  band 
Should  bowne  them  with  the  rising  day, 
To  Scotland's  camp  to  take  their  way, — 

Such  was  the  King's  command. 

XXIII. 

Early  they  took  Dun-Edin's  road, 
And  I  could  trace  each  step  they  trode : 
Hill,  brook,  nor  dell,  nor  rock,  nor  stone, 
Lies  on  the  path  to  me  unknown. 
Much  might  it  boast  of  storied  lore ; 
But,  passing  such  digression  o'er, 
Suffice  it  that  the  route  was  laid 
Across  the  furzy  hills  of  Braid. 
They  pass'd  the  glen  and  scanty  rill, 
And  climb'd  the  opposing  bank,  until 
They  gain'd  the  top  of  Blackford  Hill. 

XXIV. 

Blackford !  on  whose  uncultured  breast, 
Among  the  broom,  and  thorn,  and  whin, 

I  knew  the  face  of  one  who,  fled 
To  foreign  climes,  or  long  since  dead — 
I  well  may  judge  the  last." 

*  See  the  traditions  concerning  Bulmer,  and  the  spectre 
called  Lham^learg,  or  Bloody-hand,  in  a  note  on  canto  iii. 
Appendix,  Note  2  U. 

6  MS. :  "  Of  spotless  faith,  and  bosom  bold." 

6  MS. :  "  When  mortals  meditate  within 
Fresh  guilt  or  unrepented  sin." 


114 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


A  truant  boy,  I  sought  the  nest, 
Or  listed,  as  I  lay  at  rest, 

While  rose,  on  breezes  thin, 
The  murmur  of  the  city  crowd, 
And,  from  his  Bteeple  jangling  loud, 

St.  Giles's  mingling  <liu. 
Now,  from  the  summit  ti>  the  plain, 
"Waves  all  the  hill  with  yellow  grain  ; 

And  o'er  tlie  landscape  as  I  look, 
Nought  do  I  see  unchanged  remain, 

Save  the  rude  cliffs  and  chiming  brook. 
To  me  they  make  a  heavy  moan, 
Of  early  friendships  past  and  gone. 

XXV. 
But  different  far  the  change  has  been,1 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 
Of  Blackford,  saw  that  martial  scene 

Upon  the  bent  so  brown: 
Thousand  pavilions,  white  as  snow, 
Spread  all  the  Borough-moor  below,* 

Upland,  and  dale,  and  down : — 
A  thousand,  did  I  say  ?    I  ween,3 
Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  chequer'd  all  the  heath  between 

The  streamlet  and  the  town ; 
In  crossing  ranks  extending  far, 
Forming  a  camp  irregular  ;4 
Oft  giving  way,  where  still  there  stood 
Some  relics  of  the  old  oak  wood, 
That  darkly  huge  did  intervene, 
And  tamed  the  glaring  white  with  green: 
In  these  extended  lines  there  lay 
A  martial  kingdom's  vast  array. 

XXVI. 

For  from  Hebudes,  dark  with  rain, 
To  eastern  Lodon's  fertile  plain, 
And  from  the  southern  Redswire  edge, 
To  farthest  Rosse's  rocky  ledge ; 
From  west  to  east,  from  south  to  north, 
Scotland  sent  all  her  warriors  forth. 
Marmion  might  hear  the  mingled  hum 
Of  myriads  up  the  mountain  come; 
The  horses'  tramp,  and  tingling  clank, 
Where  chiefs  rcview'd  their  vassal  rank, 

And  charter's  shrilling  neigh  ; 
And  see  the  shifting  lines  advance, 
While  freqnenl  Bash'd,  from  shield  and  lance, 

The  sun's  reilected  ray. 

1  MS.:  "But,  oh!  far  different  change  has  been, 

Since  Marmion,  from  the  crown 

Of  Blackford  Hill,  upon  the  scene 

of  Si-h|];iik1's  war  look'd  down." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

3  MS.:  "A  thousand,  said  the  verse?  I  ween, 

Thousands  on  thousands  there  were  seen, 
That  whiten'd  all  the  heath  between." 

*  Here  ends  tin-  stanza  in  the  M.S. 

*  Seven  culverins  so  called,  cast  by  one  Borthwick. 


XXVII. 

Thin  curling  in  the  morning  air, 

The  wreaths  of  failing  smoke  declare 

To  embers  now  the  brands  deeay'd, 

Where  the  night-watch  their  fires  had  made. 

They  saw,  slow  rolling  on  the  plain, 

Full  many  a  baggage-cart  and  wain, 

And  dire  artillery's  clumsy  car, 

By  sluggish  oxen  tugg'd  to  war ; 

And  there  were  Borthwick's  Sisters  Seven,5 

And  culverins  which  France  had  given. 

Ul-omen'd  gift !  the  guns  remain 

The  conqueror's  spoil  on  Flodden  plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor  mark'd  they  less,  where  in  the  air 
A  thousand  streamers  flaunted  fair; 

Various  in  shape,  device,  and  hue, 

Green,  sanguine,  purple,  red,  and  blue, 
Broad,  narrow,  swallow-tail'd,  and  square, 
Scroll,  pennon,  pensil,  bandrol,6  there 

O'er  the  pavilions  flew.7 
Highest  and  midmost,  was  descried 
The  royal  banner  floating  wide ; 

The  staff,  a  pine-tree,  strong  and  straight,8 
Pitch'd  deeply  in  a  massive  stone, 
Which  still  in  memoiy  is  shown, 

Yet  bent  beneath  the  standard's  weight 
Whene'er  the  western  wind  unroll'd, 
With  toil,  the  huge  and  cumbrous  fold, 
And  gave  to  view  the  dazzling  field, 
Where,  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 
The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold.9 

XXIX. 

Lord  Marmion  view'd  the  landscape  bright, — 10 
He  view'd  it  with  a  chief's  delight,— 

Until  within  him  burn'd  his  heart, 

And  lightning  from  his  eye  did  part, 
As  on  the  battle-day ; 

Such  glance  did  falcon  never  dart, 
When  stooping  on  his  prey. 
"  Oh !  well,  Lord-Lion,  hast  thou  said, 
Thy  King  from  warfare  to  dissuade 

Were  but  a  vain  essay : 
For,  by  St.  George,  were  that  host  mine, 
Not  power  infernal  nor  divine 
Should  once  to  peace  my  soul  incline, 
Till  I  had  dimm'd  their  armor's  shine 

In  glorious  battle-fray !" 

6  Each  of  these  feudal  ensigns  intimated  the  different  rank 
of  those  entitled  to  display  them. 
i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

8  MS. :  "  The  standard  staff,  a  mountain  pine, 

Pitch'd  in  a  huge  memorial  stone, 
That  still  in  monument  is  shown." 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 

1°  MS. :  "  Lord  Marmion's  large  dark  eye  flash'd  light, 
It  kindled  with  a  chiefs  delight, 
For  glow'd  with  martial  joy  his  heart, 
As  upon  battle-day." 


MAEMION. 


115 


Answer'd  the  Bard,  of  milder  mood : 
"  Fair  is  the  sight, — and  yet  'twere  good, 

That  kings  would  think  withal, 
When  peace  and  wealth  their  land  has  bless'd, 
'Tis  better  to  sit  still  at  rest,1 

Than  rise,  perchance  to  fall." 

XXX. 

Still  on  the  spot  Lord  Marmion  stay'd, 
For  fairer  scene  he  ne'er  survey'd. 

When  sated  with  the  martial  show 

That  peopled  all  the  plain  below, 

The  wandering  eye  could  o'er  it  go, 

And -mark  the  distant  city  glow 
With  gloomy  splendor  red ; 

For  on  the  smoke-wreaths,  huge  and  slow, 

That  round  her  sable  turrets  flow, 
The  morning  beams  were  shed, 

And  tinged  them  with  a  lustre  proud, 

Like  that  which  streaks  a  thunder-cloud. 
Such  dusky  grandeur  clothed  the  height 
Where  the  huge  Castle  holds  its  state, 

And  all  the  steep  slope  down, 
Whose  ridgy  back  heaves  to  the  sky, 
Piled  deep  and  massy,  close  and  high, 

Mine  own  romantic  town  !2 
But  northward  far,  with  pure*  blaze, 
On  Ochil  mountains  fell  the  rays. 
And  as  each  heathy  top  they  kissed, 
It  gleam'd  a  purple  amethyst. 
Yonder  the  shores  of  Fife  you  saw; 
Here  Preston-Bay  and  Berwick-Law : 

And,  broad  between  them  roll'd, 
The  gallant  Frith  the  eye  might  note, 
Whose  islands  on  its  bosom  float, 

Like  emeralds  chased  in  gold. 
Fitz-Eustace'  heart  felt  closely  pent ; 
As  if  to  give  his  rapture  vent, 
The  spur  he  to  his  charger  lent, 

And  raised  his  bridle  hand, 
And,  making  demi-volte  in  air, 
Cried,  "  Where's  the  coward  that  would  not  dare 

To  fight  for  such  a  land !" 
The  Lindesay  smiled  his  joy  to  see  ;3 
Nor  Marmion's  frown  repress'd  his  glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus  while  they  look'd,  a  flourish  proud, 
Where  mingled  trump,  and  clarion  loud, 

And  fife,  and  kettle-drum, 
And  sackbut  deep,  and  psaltery, 
And  war-pipe  with  discordant  cry, 

1  MS. :  "  'Tis  better  sitting  still  at  rest, 

Than  rising  but  to  fall ; 
And  while  these  words  they  did  exchange, 
They  reach'd  the  camp's  extremest  range." 
The  Poet  appears  to  have  struck  his  pen  through  the  two 

lines  in  italics,  on  conceiving  the  magnificent  picture  which 

replaces  them  in  the  text. 

2  MS.:  "Dun-Edin's  towers  and  town." 

3  MS. :  "  The  Lion  smiled  his  joy  to  see." 


And  cymbal  clattering  to  the  sky, 
Making  wild  music  bold  and  high, 

Did  up  the  mountain  come ; 
The  whilst  the  bells,  with  distant  chime, 
Merrily  toll'd  the  hour  of  prime, 

And  thus  the  Lindesay  spoke  :4 
"  Thus  clamor  still  the  war-notes  when 
The  King  to  mass  his  way  has  ta'en, 
Or  to  St.  Katharine's  of  Sienne,5 

Or  Chapel  of  Saint  Rocque. 
To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame  ;6 
But  me  remind  of  peaceful  game, 

When  blither  was  their  cheer, 
Thrilling  in  Falkland-woods  the  air, 
In  signal  none  his  steed  should  spare, 
But  strive  which  foremost  might  repair 

To  the  downfall  of  the  deer. 

XXXII. 

"  Nor  less,"  he  said, — "  when  looking  forth, 
I  view  yon  Empress  of  the  North 

Sit  on  her  hilly  throne ; 
Her  palace's  imperial  bowers, 
Her  castle,  proof  to  hostile  powers, 
Her  stately  halls  and  holy  towers, — 7 

Nor  less,"  he  said,  "  I  moan, 
To  think  what  woe  mischance  may  bring, 
And  how  these  merry  bells  may  ring 
The  death-dirge  of  our  gallant  King ; 

Or  with  the  larum  call 
The  burghers  forth  to  watch  and  ward, 
'Gainst  southern  sack  and  fires  to  guard 

Dun-Edin's  leaguer'd  wall. — 
But  not  for  my  presaging  thought, 
Dream  conquest  sure,  or  cheaply  bought  !8 

Lord  Marmion,  I  say  nay : 
God  is  the  guider  of  the  field, 
He  breaks  the  champion's  spear  and  shield,- 

But  thou  thyself  shalt  say, 
When  joins  yon  host  in  deadly  stowre, 
That  England's  dames  must  weep  in  bower, 

Her  monks  the  death-mass  sing  ;9 
For  never  saw'st  thou  such  a  power 

Led  on  by  such  a  King." — 
And  now,  down  winding  to  the  plain, 
The  barriers  of  the  camp  they  gain, 

And  there  they  made  a  stay. — 
There  stays  the  Minstrel,  till  he  fling 
His  hand  o'er  every  Border  string, 
And  fit  his  harp  the  pomp  to  sing 
Of  Scotland's  ancient  Court  and  King, 

In  the  succeeding  lay. 

4  MS. :  "  And  thus  the  Lion  spoke." 

5  MS. :  "  Or  to  our  Lady's  of  Sienne." 

6  MS. :  "  To  you  they  speak  of  martial  fame ; 

To  me,  of  mood  more  mild  and  tame, 
Blither  would  be  their  cheer." 

7  MS. :  "  Her  stately  fanes  and  holy  towers." 

8  MS.:  "Dream  of  a  conquest  cheaply  bought.' 
»  MS. :  "  Their  monks  dead-masses  sing." 


116 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


iHarmton. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  CANTO  FIFTH.i 


GEORGE    ELLIS,  Esq.2 

Edinburgh. 
When  dark  December  glooms  the  day, 
And  takes  our  autumn  joys  away ; 
When  short  and  scant  the  sunbeam  throws, 
Upon  the  weary  waste  of  snows, 
A  cold  and  profitless  regard, 
Like  patron  on  a  needy  bard  ; 
When  sylvan  occupation's  done, 
And  o'er  the  chimney  rests  the  gun, 
And  hang,  in  idle  trophy,  near, 
The  game-pouch,  fishing-rod,  and  spear ; 
When  wiry  terrier,  rough  and  grim, 
And  greyhound,  with  his  length  of  limb, 
And  pointer,  now  employ'd  no  more, 
Cumber  our  parlor's  narrow  floor ; 
When  in  his  stall  the  impatient  steed 
Is  long  condemn'd  to  rest  and  feed ; 
When  from  our  snow-encircled  home 
Scarce  cares  the  hardiest  step  to  roam, 
Since  path  is  none,  save  that  to  bring 
The  needful  water  from  the  spring ; 
When  wrinkled  news-page,  thrice  conn'd  o'er, 
Beguiles  the  dreary  hour  no  more, 
And  darkling  politician,  cross'd, 
Inveighs  against  the  lingering  post, 
And  answering  housewife  sore  complains 
Of  carriers'  snow-impeded  wains; 
When  such  the  country  cheer,  I  come, 
Well  pleased,  to  seek  our  city  home ; 
For  converse,  and  for  books,  to  change 
The  Forest's  melancholy  range, 
And  welcome,  with  renew'd  delight, 
The  busy  day  and  social  night. 

Not  here  need  my  desponding  rhyme 
Lament  the  ravages  of  time, 
As  erst  by  Newark's  riven  towers, 
And  Ettrick  stripp'd  of  forest  bowers.3 


1  "These  Introductory  Epistles,  though  excellent  In  them- 
selves, are  in  fact  only  interruptions  to  the  fable,  and,  accord- 
ingly, nine  readers  out  of  ten  have  perused  them  separately, 
either  before  or  after  the  poem.  In  short,  the  personal  ap- 
pearance of  the  Minstrel,  who,  though  the  Last,  is  the  most, 
charming  of  all  minstrels,  is  by  no  means  compensated  by  the 
idea  of  an  author  shorn  of  bis  picturesque  beard,  and  writing 
letters  to  his  intimate  friends." — Geobge  Ellis. 

-  This  accomplished  gentleman,  the  well-known  coadjutor 
of  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Krere  in  the  "Antrjacobin,"  and 
editor  of  "  Specimens  of  Ancient  English  Romances,"  &c^died 
10th  April,  1815,  aged  70  years;  being  sue©  edi  il  in  bis  estates 
by  bis  brother,  Charles  Ellis,  Esq.,  created,  in  1827,  Lord  Sea- 
ford.— Ed. 


True, — Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed,* 
Since  on  her  dusky  summit  ranged, 
Within  its  steepy  limits  pent, 
By  bulwark,  line,  and  battlement, 
And  flanking  towers,  and  laky  flood, 
Guarded  and  garrison'd  she  stood, 
Denying  entrance  or  resort, 
Save  at  each  tall  embattled  port ; 
Above  whose  arch,  suspended,  hung 
Portcullis  spiked  with  iron  prong. 
That  long  is  gone, — but  not  so  long, 
Since,  early  closed,  and  opening  late, 
Jealous  revolved  the  studded  gate, 
Whose  task,  from  eve  to  morning  tide, 
A  wicket  churlishly  supplied. 
Stern  then  and  steel-girt  was  thy  brow, 
Dun-Edin !  oh,  how  alter'd  now, 
When  safe  amid  thy  mountain  court 
Thou  sit'st,  like  Empress  at  her  sport, 
And  liberal,  unconfined,  and  free, 
Flinging  thy  white  arms  to  the  sea,5 
For  thy  dark  cloud,  with  umber'd  lower, 
That  hung  o'er  cliff,  and  lake,  and  tower, 
Thou  gleam'st  against  the  western  ray 
Ten  thousand  lines  of  brighter  day. 

Not  she,  the  Championess  of  old, 
In  Spenser's  magic  tale  enroll'd, — 
She  for  the  charmed  spear  renown'd, 
Which  forced  each  knight  to  kiss  the  ground, — 
Not  she  more  changed,  when,  placed  at  rest, 
What  time  she  was  Malbecco's  guest,6 
She  gave  to  flow  her  maiden  vest ; 
When  from  the  corselet's  grasp  relieved, 
Free  to  the  sight  her  bosom  heaved ; 
Sweet  was  her  blue  eye's  modest  smile, 
Erst  hidden  by  the  aventayle ; 
And  down  her  shoulders  graceful  roll'd 
Her  locks  profuse  of  paly  gold. 
They  who  whilom,  in  midnight  fight, 
Had  marvell'd  at  her  matchless  might, 
No  less  her  maiden  charms  approved, 
But  looking  liked,  and  liking  loved.7 
The  sight  could  jealous  pangs  beguile, 
And  charm  Malbecco's  cares  a  while ; 
And  he,  the  wandering  Squire  of  Dames, 
Forgot  his  Columbella's  claims, 

8  See  Introduction  to  canto  ii. 
4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 

6  Since  writing  this  line,  I  find  I  have  inadvertently  bor- 
rowed it  almost  verbatim,  though  with  somewhat  a  different 
meaning,  from  a  chorus  in  "  Caractacus :" — 

"Britain  heard  the  descant  bold, 
She  flung  her  white  arms  o'er  the  sea, 
Proud  in  her  leafy  bosom  to  enfold 
The  freight  of  harmony." 

«  See  "The  Fairy  Queen,"  book  iii.  canto  ix. 

7  "  For  every  one  her  liked,  and  every  one  her  loved." 

Spenser,  as  above. 


MAEMION. 


117 


And  passion,  erst  unknown,  could  gain 

The  breast  of  blunt  Sir  Satyrane ; 

Nor  durst  light  Paridel  advance, 

Bold  as  he  was,  a  looser  glance. 

She  charm'd,  at  once,  aud  tamed  the  heart, 

Incomparable  Britomarte ! 

So  thou,  fair  City !  disarray'd 
Of  battled  wall  and  rampart's  aid, 
As  stately  seem'st,  but  lovelier  far 
Than  in  that  panoply  of  war. 
Nor  deem  that  from  thy  fenceless  throne 
Strength  and  security  are  flown ; 
Still,  as  of  yore,  Queen  of  the  North ! 
Still  canst  thou  send  thy  children  forth. 
Ne'er  readier  at  alarm-bell's  call 
Thy  burghers  rose  to  man  thy  wall, 
Than  now,  in  danger,  shall  be  thine 
Thy  dauntless  voluntary  line  ; 
For  fosse  and  turret  proud  to  stand, 
Their  breasts  the  bulwarks  of  the  land. 
Thy  thousands,  train'd  to  martial  toil, 
Full  red  would  stain  their  native  soil, 
Ere  from  thy  mural  crown  there  fell 
The  slightest  knosp  or  pinnacle. 
And  if  it  come, — as  come  it  may, 
Dun-Edin !  that  eventful  day, — 
Renown'd  for  hospitable  deed, 
That  virtue  much  with  Heaven  may  plead, 
In  patriarchal  times  whose  care 
Descending  angels  deign'd  to  share ; 
That  claim  may  wrestle  blessings  down 
On  those  who  fight  for  The  Good  Town, 
Destined  in  every  age  to  be 
Refuge  of  injured  royalty; 
Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose,1 
Till  late,  with  wonder,  grief,  and  awe, 
Great  Bourbon's  relics  sad  she  saw.2 

Truce  to  these  thoughts ! — for  as  they  rise, 
How  gladly  I  avert  mine  eyes, 
Bodings,  or  true  or  false,  to  change, 
For  Fiction's  fair  romantic  range, 
Or  for  Tradition's  dubious  light, 
That  hovers  'twixt  the  day  and  night : 
Dazzling  alternately  and  dim, 
Her  wavering  lamp  I'd  rather  trim, 
Knights,  squires,  and  lovely  dames  to  see, 
Creation  of  my  fantasy, 
Than  gaze  abroad  on  reeky  fen,s 
And  make  of  mists  invading  men. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

2  In  January,  1796,  the  exiled  Count  d'Artois,  afterwards 
Charles  X.  of  France,  took  up  his  residence  in  Holyrood,  where 
he  remained  until  August,  1799.  When  again  driven  from  his 
country  by  the  Revolution  of  July,  1830,  the  same  unfortunate 
Prince,  with  all  the  immediate  members  of  his  family,  sought 
refuge  once  more  in  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Stuarts,  and 
remained  there  until  18th  September,  1832. 


Who  loves  not  more  the  night  of  June 
Than,  dull  December's  gloomy  noon  ? 
The  moonlight  than  the  fog  of  frost  ? 
And  can  we  say,  which  cheats  the  most  ? 

But  who  shall  teach  my  harp  to  gain 
A  sound  of  the  romantic  strain, 
Whose  Anglo-Norman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear,4 
Famed  Beauclerc  call'd,  for  that  he  loved 
The  minstrel,  and  his  lay  aj>proved  ? 
Who  shall  these  lingering  notes  redeem, 
Decaying  on  Oblivion's  stream ; 
Such  notes  as  from  the  Breton  tongue 
Marie  translated,  Blondel  sung? — 
Oh !  born  Time's  ravage  to  repair, 
And  make  the  dying  Muse  thy  care ; 
Who,  when  his  scythe  her  hoary  foe 
Was  poising  for  the  final  blow, 
The  weapon  from  his  hand  could  wring, 
And  break  his  glass,  and  shear  his  wing, 
And  bid,  reviving  in  his  strain, 
The  gentle  poet  live  again  ; 
Thou,  who  canst  give  to  lightest  lay 
An  unpedantic  moral  gay, 
Nor  less  the  dullest  theme  bid  flit 
On  wings  of  unexpected  wit ; 
In  letters  as  in  life  approved, 
Example  honor'd,  and  beloved, — 
Dear  Ellis  !  to  the  Bard  impart 
A  lesson  of  thy  magic  art, 
To  win  at  once  the  head  and  heart, — 
At  once  to  charm,  instruct,  and  mend, 
My  guide,  my  pattern,  and  my  friend  !5 

Such  minstrel  lesson  to  bestow 
Be  long  thy  pleasing  task, — but,  oh ! 
No  more  by  thy  example  teach, 
— What  few  can  practice,  all  can  preach, — 
With  even  patience  to  endure 
Lingering  disease,  and  painful  cure, 
And  boast  affliction's  pang  subdued 
By  mild  and  manly  fortitude. 
Enough,  the  lesson  has  been  given : 
Forbid  the  repetition,  Heaven ! 

Come  listen,  then !  for  thou  hast  known 
And  loved  the  Minstrel's  varying  tone, 
Who,  like  his  Border  sires  of  old, 
Waked  a  wild  measure  rude  and  bold, 
Till  Windsor's  oaks,  and  Ascot  plain, 
With  wonder  heard  the  northern  strain.6 


3  MS. :  "  Than  gaze  out  on  the  foggy  fen." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

6  "  Come  then,  my  friend,  my  genius,  come  along, 
O  master  of  the  poet  and  the  song !" 

Pope  to  Bolingbroke. 

6  At  Sunning-hill,  Mr.  Ellis's  seat,  near  Windsor,  part  of 
the  first  two  cantos  of  Marmion  were  written. 


118 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Come  listen !  bold  in  thy  applause, 
The  Bard  shall  scorn  pedantic  laws; 
And,  as  the  ancient  art  could  stain 
Achievements  on  the  storied  pane, 
Irregularly  traced  and  plaun'd, 
But  yet  so  glowing  and  so  grand, — 
So  shall  he  strive,  in  changeful  hue, 
Field,  feast,  and  combat,  to  renew, 
And  loves,  and  arms,  and  harpers'  glee, 
And  all  the  pomp  of  chivalry. 


iHarmfcm. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


W)t  &ourt. 

I. 

The  train  has  left  the  hills  of  Braid ; 
The  barrier  guard  have  open  made 
(So  Lindesay  bade)  the  palisade, 

That  closed  the  tented  ground  ; 
Their  men  the  warders  backward  drew, 
And  carried  pikes  as  they  rode  through 

Into  its  ample  bound.1 
Fast  ran  the  Scottish  warriors  there, 
Upon  the  Southern  band  to  stare, 
And  envy  with  their  wonder  rose, 
To  see  such  well-appointed  foes ; 
Such  length  of  shafts,  such  mighty  bows,2 
So  huge,  that  many  simply  thought, 
But  for  a  vaunt  such  weapons  wrought ; 
And  little  deem'd  their  force  to  feel, 
Through  links  of  mail,  and  plates  of  steel, 
"When,  rattling  upon  Flodden  vale, 
The  cloth-yard  arrows  flew  like  hail.3 

II. 

Nor  less  did  Marmion's  skillful  view 
Glance  every  line  and  squadron  through ; 
And  much  he  marvell'd  one  small  land 
Could  martial  forth  such  various  band : 

For  men-at-arms  were  here, 
Heavily  sheathed  in  mail  and  plate, 
Like  iron  towers  for  strength  and  weight, 
On  Flemish  steeds  of  bone  and  height, 

With  battle-axe  and  spear. 
Young  knights  and  squires,  a  lighter  train, 
Practiced  their  chargers  on  the  plain,1 
By  aid  of  leg,  of  hand,  and  rein, 

1  MS.:  "  The  barrier  guard  the  Lion  knew, 

Advanced  their  pikes,  and  soon  withdrew 
The  slender  palisades  and  few 

That  eloseel  I  he  tented  ground  ; 
And  Marmion  with  hi-  train  rode  through, 
Across  Its  ample  bound." 
a  MS. :  "  So  long  their  shafts,  so  large  their  bows." 


Each  warlike  feat  to  show: 
To  pass,  to  wheel,  the  croupe  to  gain, 
And  high  curvet,  that  not  in  vain 
The  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 

On  foeman's  casque  below.5 
He  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 
March  arm'd,  ou  foot,  with  faces  bare,8 

For  visor  they  wore  none, 
Nor  waving  plume,  nor  crest  of  knight; 
But  burnish'd  were  their  corselets  bright, 
Their  brigantines,  and  gorgets  light, 

Like  very  silver  shone. 
Long  pikes  they  had  for  standing  fight, 

Two-handed  swords  they  wore, 
And  many  wielded  mace  of  weight,7 

And  bucklers  bright  they  bore. 

III. 

On  foot  the  yeoman  too,  but  dress'd 
Iu  his  steel-jack,  a  swarthy  vest, 

With  iron  quilted  well ; 
Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 
His  forty  days'  provision  bore, 

As  feudal  statutes  tell. 
His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear,8 
A  crossbow  there,  a  hagbut  here, 

A  dagger-knife,  and  brand. 
Sober  he  seem'd,  and  sad  of  cheer, 
As  loth  to  leave  his  cottage  dear, 

And  march  to  foreign  strand ; 
Or  musing,  who  would  guide  his  steer, 

To  till  the  fallow  land. 
Yet  deem  not  in  his  thoughtful  eye 
Did  aught  of  dastard  terror  lie ; 

More  dreadful  far  his  ire 
Than  theirs  who,  scorning  danger's  name, 
In  eager  mood  to  battle  came, 
Their  valor  like  light  straw  on  flame, 

A  fierce  but  fading  fire. 

IV. 
Not  so  the  Borderer : — bred  to  war, 
He  knew  the  battle's  din  afar, 

And  joy'd  to  hear  it  swell. 
His  peaceful  day  was  slothful  ease ; 
Nor  harp  nor  pipe  his  ear  could  please 

Like  the  loud  slogan  yell. 
On  active  steed,  with  lance  and  blade, 
The  light-arm'd  pricker  plied  his  trade, — 

Let  nobles  fight  for  fame; 
Let  vassals  follow  where  they  lead, 
Burghers  to  guard  their  townships  bleed, 

But  war's  the  Borderer's  game. 


8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L. 

*  MS. :  "  There  urged  their  chargers  on  the  plain.' 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  M. 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N. 

1  MS.:  "And  mails  did  many  \  ,  t       [of  weight.' 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  0. 


MAEMJON. 


119 


Their  gain,  their  glory,  their  delight, 
To  sleep  the  day,  maraud  the  night, 

O'er  mountain,  moss,  and  moor  ; 
Joyful  to  fight  they  took  their  way, 
Scarce  caring  who  might  win  the  day, 

Their  booty  was  secure. 
These,  as  Lord  Marmion's  train  pass'd  by, 
Look'd  on  at  first  with  careless  eye, 
Nor  marvell'd  aught,  well  taught  to  know 
The  form  and  force  of  English  bow. 
But  when  they  saw  the  Lord  array'd 
In  splendid  arms  and  rich  brocade, 
Each  Borderer  to  his  kinsman  said, — 

"  Hist,  Ringan !  seest  thou  there ! 
Canst  guess  which  road  they'll  homeward 

ride?— 
Oh !  could  we  but  on  Border  side, 
By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Liddell's  tide, 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair ! 
That  fangless  Lion,  too,  their  guide, 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glistering  hide  j1 
Brown  Maudlin,  of  that  doublet  pied, 

Could  make  a  kirtle  rare." 


Next,  Marmion  mark'd  the  Celtic  race, 
Of  different  language,  form,  and  face, 

A  various  race  of  man ; 
Just  then  the  chiefs  their  tribes  array'd, 
And  wild  and  garish  semblance  made 
The  chequer'd  trews,  and  belted  plaid, 
And  varying  notes  the  war-pipes  bray'd, 

To  every  varying  clan  ; 
Wild  through  their  red  or  sable  hair 
Look'd  out  their  eyes  with  savage  stare2 

On  Marmion  as  he  pass'd ; 
Their  legs  above  the  knee  were  bare ; 
Their  frame  was  sinewy,  short,  and  spare, 

And  harden'd  to  the  blast; 
Of  taller  race,  the  chiefs  they  own 
Were  by  the  eagle's  plumage  known. 
The  hunted  red-deer's  undress'd  hide 
Their  hairy  buskins  well  supplied ; 
The  graceful  bonnet  deck'd  their  head  : 
Back  from  their  shoulders  hung  the  plaid ; 
A  broadsword  of  unwieldy  length, 
A  dagger  proved  for  edge  and  strength, 

A  studded  targe  they  wore, 
And  quivers,  bows,  and  shafts, — but,  oh ! 
Short  was  the  shaft,  and  weak  the  bow, 

To  that  which  England  bore. 
The  Isles-men  carried  at  their  backs 
The  ancient  Danish  battle-axe. 


1  MS. :      "  Hist,  Ringan  !  seest  thou  there ! 

Canst  guess  what  homeward  road  they  take — 
By  Eusedale  glen,  or  Yetholm  lake? 
Oh !  could  we  but  by  bush  or  brake 

Beset  a  prize  so  fair ! 
The  fangless  Lion,  too,  his  guide, 
Might  chance  to  lose  his  glittering  hide." 


They  raised  a  wild  and  wondering  cry, 
As  with  his  guide  rode  Marmion  by. 
Loud  were  their  clamoring  tongues,  as  when 
The  clanging  sea-fowl  leave  the  fen, 
And,  with  their  cries  discordant  mix'd, 
Grumbled  and  yell'd  the  pipes  betwixt. 

VI. 
Thus  through  the  Scottish  camp  they  pass'd, 
And  reach'd  the  City  gate  at  last, 
Where  all  around,  a  wakeful  guard, 
Arm'd  burghers  kept  their  watch  and  ward. 
Well  had  they  cause  of  jealous  fear, 
When  lay  encamp'd,  in  field  so  near, 
The  Borderer  and  the  Mountaineer. 
As  through  the  bustling  streets  they  go, 
All  was  alive  with  martial  show : 
At  every  turn,  with  dinning  clang, 
The  armorer's  anvil  clash'd  and  rang ; 
Or  toil'd  the  swarthy  smith,  to  wheel 
The  bar  that  arms  the  charger's  heel ; 
Or  axe,  or  falchion,  to  the  side 
Of  jarring  grindstone  was  applied. 
Page,  groom,  and  squire,  with  hurrying  pace, 
Through  street,  and  lane,  and  market-place, 

Bore  lance,  or  casque,  or  sword  ; 
While  burghers,  with  important  face, 

Described  each  new-come  lord, 
Discuss'd  his  lineage,  told  his  name, 
His  following,3  and  his  warlike  fame. 
The  Lion  led  to  lodging  meet, 
Which  high  o'erlook'd  the  crowded  street; 

There  must  the  Baron  rest, 
Till  past  the  hour  of  vesper  tide, 
And  then  to  Holy-Rood  must  ride, — 

Such  was  the  King's  behest. 
Meanwhile  the  Lion's  care  assigns 
A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines, 

To  Marmion  and  his  train  ;4 
And  when  the  appointed  hour  succeeds, 
The  Baron  dons  his  peaceful  weeds, 
And  following  Lindesay  as  he  leads, 

The  palace-halls  they  gain. 

VII. 

Old  Holy-Rood  rung  merrily, 
That  night,  with  wassail,  mirth,  and  glee : 
King  James  within  her  princely  bower 
Feasted  the  Chiefs  of  Scotland's  power, 
Summon'd  to  spend  the  parting  hour; 
For  he  had  charged  that  his  array 
Should  southward  march  by  break  of  day. 
Well  loved  that  splendid  monarch  aye 

2  MS. :  "  Wild  from  their  red  and  swarthy  hair 

Look'd  through  their  eyes  with  savage  stare." 

3  Following — Feudal  retainers. — This  word,  by  the  way,  has 
been,  since  the  Author  of  Marmion  used  it,  and  thought  it 
called  for  explanation,  completely  adopted  into  English,  and 
especially  into  Parliamentary  parlance. — Ed. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 


120 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


The  banquet  and  the  song, 
By  day  the  tourney,  and  by  night 
The  merry  dance,  traced  fast  and  light, 
The  maskers  quaint,  the  pageant  bright, 

The  revel  loud  and  long. 
This  feast  outshone  his  banquets  past, 
It  was  his  blithest — and  his  last. 
The  dazzling  lamps,  from  gallery  gay, 
Cast  on  the  Court  a  dancing  ray ; 
Here  to  the  harp  did  minstrels  sing; 
There  ladies  toueh'd  a  softer  string; 
With  long-ear'd  cap,  and  motley  vest, 
The  licensed  fool  retail'd  his  jest; 
His  magic  tricks  the  juggler  plied ; 
At  dice  and  draughts  the  gallants  vied; 
While  some,  in  close  recess  apart, 
Courted  the  ladies  of  their  heart, 

Nor  courted  them  in  vain  ; 
For  often,  in  the  parting  hour, 
Victorious  Love  asserts  his  power 

O'er  coldness  and  disdain ; 
And  flinty  is  her  heart,  can  view 
To  battle  march  a  lover  true, — 
Can  hear,  perchance,  his  last  adieu, — 

Nor  own  her  share  of  pain. 

VIII. 

Through  this  mix'd  crowd  of  glee  and  game, 
The  King  to  greet  Lord  Marmion  came, 

While,  reverent,  all  made  room. 
An  easy  task  it  was,  I  trow, 
King  James's  manly  form  to  know, 
Although,  his  courtesy  to  show, 
He  doflPd,  to  Marmion  bending  low, 

nis  broider'd  cap  and  plume. 
For  royal  was  his  garb  and  mien, 

His  cloak,  of  crimson  velvet  piled, 

Trimm'd  with  the  fur  of  martin  wild; 
His  vest,  of  changeful  satin  sheen, 

The  dazzled  eye  beguiled  ; 
His  gorgeous  collar  hung  adown, 
Wrought  with  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown,1 
The  thistle  brave,  of  old  renown : 
His  trusty  blade,  Toledo  right,' 
Descended  from  a  baldric  bright; 
White  were  his  buskins,  on  the  heel 
His  spurs  inlaid  of  gold  and  steel; 
His  bonnet,  all  of  crimson  fair, 
Was  button'd  with  a  ruby  rare: 
And  Marmion  deem'd  he  ne'er  had  seen 
A  prince  of  such  a  noble  mien. 

IX. 
The  Monarch's  form  was  middle  size; 
For  feat  of  strength,  or  exercise, 

1  MS.:  "Bearing  the  badge  of  Scotland's  crown." 
*  MS.:  "His  (rusty  blade,  Toledo  right, 

Descended  from  a  baldric  bright, 
And  dangled  at  his  knee: 

White  were  his  buskins;  from  their  heel 


Shaped  in  proportion  fair; 
And  hazel  was  his  eagle  eye, 
And  auburn  of  the  darkest  dye 

His  short  curl'd  beard  and  hair. 
Light  was  his  footstep  in  the  dance, 

And  firm  his  stirrup  in  the  lists ; 
And,  oh !  he  had  that  merry  glance 

That  seldom  lady's  heart  resists. 
Lightly  from  fair  to  fair  he  flew, 
And  loved  to  plead,  lament,  and  sue ; — 
Suit  lightly  won,  and  shortdived  pain, 
For  monarchs  seldom  sigh  in  vain. 

I  said  he  joy'd  in  banquet  bower ; 
But  'mid  his  mirth,  'twas  often  strange 
How  suddenly  his  cheer  would  change, 

His  look  o'ercast  and  lower, 
If,  in  a  sudden  turn,  he  felt 
The  pressure  of  his  iron  belt, 
That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain.3 
Even  so  'twas  strange  how,  evermore, 
Soon  as  the  passing  pang  was  o'er, 
Forward  he  rush'd  with  double  glee 
Into  the  stream  of  revelry : 
Thus,  dim-seen  object  of  affright 
Startles  the  courser  in  his  flight, 
And  half  he  halts,  half  springs  aside ; 
But  feels  the  quickening  spur  applied, 
And,  straining  on  the  tighten'd  rein,  , 
Scours  doubly  swift  o'er  hill  and  plain. 


O'er  James's  heart,  the  courtiers  say, 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife  held  sway  :* 

To  Scotland's  Court  she  came, 
To  be  a  hostage  for  her  lord, 
Who  Cessford's  gallant  heart  had  gored, 
And,  with  the  King  to  make  accord, 

Had  sent  his  lovely  dame. 
Nor  to  that  lady  free  alone 
Did  the  gay  King  allegiance  own ; 

For  the  fair  Queen  of  France 
Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance  ;5 
And  strike  three  strokes  with  Scottish  brand, 
And  march  three  miles  on  Southron  land, 
And  bid  the  banners  of  his  band 

In  English  breezes  dance. 
And  thus,  for  France's  Queen,  he  drest 
His  manly  limbs  in  mailed  vest  ; 
And  thus  admitted  English  fair 
I  lis  inmost  counsels  still  to  share; 
And  thus,  for  both,  he  madly  plann'd 
The  ruin  of  himself  and  land! 

His  spurs  inlaid   )     .      , ,        .    .     , 
TI.    ,    . .    ,  J-  of  gold  and  steel 

His  fretted  spurs! 

Were  jingling  merrily." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Q. 

<  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R.  E  Ibid.  Note  3  S. 


MAKMION. 


121 


And  yet,  the  sooth  to  tell, 
Nor  England's  fair,  nor  France's  Queen,1 
Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  bright  and  sheen, 
From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell, — 
His  own  Queen  Margaret,  who,  in  Lithgow's  bower, 
All  lonely  sat,  and  wept  the  weary  hour. 

XI. 

The  Queen  sits  lone  in  Lithgow  pile, 

And  weeps  the  weary  day, 
The  war  against  her  native  soil, 
Her  Monarch's  risk  in  battle  broil ; 
And  in  gay  Holy-Rood,  the  while, 
Dame  Heron  rises  with  a  smile 

Upon  the  harp  to  play. 
Fair  was  her  rounded  arm,  as  o'er 

The  strings  her  fingers  flew ; 
And  as  she  touch'd  and  tuned  them  all, 
Ever  her  bosom's  rise  and  fall 

Was  plainer  given  to  view ; 
For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimple,  and  her  hood  untied.2 
And  first  she  pitch'd  her  voice  to  sing, 
Then  glanced  her  dark  eye  on  the  King, 
And  then  around  the  silent  ring ; 
And  laugh'd,  and  blush'd,  and  oft  did  say 
Her  pretty  oath,  by  Yea,  and  Nay, 
She  could  not,  would  not,  durst  not  play ! 
At  length,  upon  the  harp,  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 
A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rung, 
While  thus  the  wily  lady  sung : 

XII. 

LOCHINVAR.3 

3U&B  itlcron's  Song. 
Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  come  out  of  the  west, 
Through  all  the  wide  Border  his  steed  was  the  best; 
And  save  his  good  broadsword  he  weapons  had  none, 
He  rode  all  unarm'd,  and  he  rode  all  alone. 
So  faithful  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
There  never  was  knight  like  the  young  Lochinvar. 

He  staid  not  for  brake,  and  he  stopp'd  not  for  stone, 
He  swam  the  Eske  river  where  ford  there  was  none ; 
But  ere  he  alighted  at  Netherby  gate, 
The  bride  had  consented,  the  gallant  came  late : 
For  a  laggard  in  love,  and  a  dastard  in  war, 
Was  to  wed  the  fair  Ellen  of  brave  Lochinvar. 

So  boldly  he  enter'd  the  Netherby  Hall, 
Among  bride's-men,  and  kinsmen,  and  brothers,  and 
all: 

1  MS.:  "Nor  France's  Queen,  nor  England's  fair, 

Were  worth  one  pearl-drop,  passing  rare, 
From  Margaret's  eyes  that  fell." 

2  The  MS.  has  only— 

"  For,  all  for  heat,  was  laid  aside 
Her  wimpled  hood  and  gorget's  pride; 
And  on  the  righted  harp  with  glee, 
Mingled  with  arch  simplicity, 


Then  spoke  the  bride's  father,  his  hand  on  his  sword 
(For  the  poor  craven  bridegroom  said  never  a  word), 
"  Oh,  come  ye  in  peace  here,  or  come  ye  in  war, 
Or  to  dance  at  our  bridal,  young  Lord  Lochinvar?" — 

"  I  long  woo'd  your  daughter,  my  suit  you  denied ; — 
Love  swells  like  the  Solway,  but  ebbs  like  its  tide — * 
And  now  I  am  come,  with  this  lost  love  of  mine, 
To  lead  but  one  measure,  drink  one  cup  of  wine. 
There  are  maidens  in  Scotland  more  lovely  by  far, 
That  would  gladly  be  bride  to  the  young  Lochinvar." 

The  bride  kiss'd  the  goblet :  the  knight  took  it  up, 
He  quaff' d  off  the  wine,  and  he  threw  down  the  cup. 
She  look'd  down  to  blush,  and  she  look'd  up  to  sigh, 
With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  a  tear  in  her  eye. 
He  took  her  soft  hand,  ere  her  mother  could  bar, — 
"  Now  tread  we  a  measure !"  said  young  Lochinvar. 

So  stately  his  form,  and  so  lovely  her  face, 
That  never  a  hall  such  a  galliard  did  grace ; 
While  her  mother  did  fret,  and  her  father  did  fume, 
And  the  bridegroom  stood  dangling  his  bonnet  and 

plume ; 
And  the  bride-maidens  whisper'd,  "  'Twere  better  by 

far 
To  have  match'd  our  fair  cousin  with  young  Lochinvar." 

One  touch  to  her  hand,  and  one  word  in  her  ear, 
When  they  reach'd  the  hall-door,  and  the  charger 

stood  near ; 
So  light  to  the  croupe  the  fair  lady  he  swung, 
So  light  to  the  saddle  before  her  he  sprung ! 
"  She  is  won !  we  are  gone,  over  bank,  bush,  and  scaur ; 
They'll  have  fleet  steeds  that  follow,"  quoth  young 

Lochinvar. 

There  was  mounting  'mong  Grremes  of  the  Netherby 

clan; 
Forsters,  Fenwicks,  and  Musgraves,  they  rode  and  they 

ran: 
There  was  racing  and  chasing,  on  Cannobie  Lee, 
But  the  lost  bride  of  Netherby  ne'er  did  they  see. 
So  daring  in  love,  and  so  dauntless  in  war, 
Have  ye  e'er  heard  of  gallant  like  young  Lochinvar? 

XIII. 
The  Monarch  o'er  the  siren  hung 
And  beat  the  measure  as  she  sung; 
And,  pressing  closer,  and  more  near, 
He  whisper'd  praises  in  her  ear. 
In  loud  applause  the  courtiers  vied ; 
And  ladies  wlnk'd,  and  spoke  aside. 

A  soft,  yet  lively,  air  she  rang, 
While  thus  her  voice  attendant  sang." 
3  The  ballad  of  Lochinvar  is  in  a  veiy  slight  degree  founded 
on  a  ballad  called  "  Katharine  Janfarie,"  which  may  be  found 
in  the  "  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  ill. 
.   4  See  the  novel  of  Redgauntlet  for  a  detailed  picture  of 
some  of  the  extraordinary  phenomena  of  the  spring-tides  in 
the  Solway  Frith. 


122 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  witching  dame  to  Marmion  threw 
A  glance,  where  seem'd  to  reign 

The  pride  that  claims  applauses  due, 

And  of  her  royal  conquest,  too, 
A  real  or  feign'd  disdain  : 
Familiar  was  the  look,  and  told 
Marmion  and  she  were  friends  of  old. 
The  King  observed  their  meeting  eyes, 
With  something  like  displeased  surprise; 
For  monarchs  ill  can  rivals  brook, 
Even  in  a  word,  or  smile,  or  look. 
Straight  took  he  forth  the  parchment  broad, 
Which  Marmion's  high  commission  show'd: 
"  Our  Borders  sack'd  by  many  a  raid, 
Our  peaceful  liege-men  robb'd,"  he  said : 
"  On  day  of  truce  our  Warden  slain, 
Stout  Barton  kill'd,  his  vassals  ta'en — 
Unworthy  were  we  here  to  reign, 
Should  these  for  vengeance  cry  in  vain ; 
Our  full  defiance,  hate,  and  scorn, 
Our  herald  has  to  Henry  borne." 

XIV. 

He  paused,  and  led  where  Douglas  stood, 
And  with  stern  eye  the  pageant  view'd : 
I  mean  that  Douglas,  sixth  of  yore, 
Who  coronet  of  Angus  bore, 
And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high,1 
Did  the  third  James  in  camp  defy, 
And  all  his  minions  led  to  die 

On  Lauder's  dreary  flat : 
Princes  and  favorites  long  grew  tame, 
And  trembled  at  the  homely  name 

Of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat  ;2 
The  same  who  left  the  dusky  vale 
Of  Hermitage  in  Liddisdale, 

Its  dungeons,  and  its  towers, 
Where  Bothwell's  turrets  brave  the  air, 
And  Bothwell  bank  is  blooming  fair, 

To  fix  his  princely  bowers. 
Though  now,  in  age,  he  had  laid  down 
His  armor  for  the  peaceful  gown, 

And  for  a  staff  his  brand, 
Yet  often  would  flash  forth  the  fire 
That  could,  in  youth,  a  monarch's  ire 

And  minion's  pride  withstand; 
And  even  that  day,  at  council  board, 

Unapt  to  soothe  his  sovereign's  mood, 

Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood, 
And  chafed  his  royal  lord.3 

XV. 

His  giant  form,  like  ruin'd  tower, 
Though  fall'n  its  muscles'  brawny  vaunt, 

1  MS.:  "And,  when  his  blood  and  heart  were  high, 
King  James's  millions  led  to  die, 
On  Lauder's  dreary  flat." 
I  /;,  ll-the-Cat,  see  Appendix,  Note  3  T. 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U.  *  Ibid.  Note  3  V. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  3  \V. 


Huge-boned,  and  tall,  and  grim,  and  gaunt, 

Seem'd  o'er  the  gaudy  scene  to  lower : 
His  locks  and  beard  in  silver  grew ; 
His  eyebrows  kept  their  sable  hue. 
Near  Douglas  when  the  monarch  stood, 
1 1  is  1  litter  speech  he  thus  pursued : 
"  Lord  Marmion,  since  these  letters  say 
That  in  the  North  you  needs  must  stay, 

While  slightest  hopes  of  peace  remain, 
Uncourteous  speech  it  were,  and  stern, 
To  say — Return  to  Lindisfarne, 

Until  my  herald  come  again. — 
Then  rest  you  in  Tantallon  Hold  ;4 
Your  host  shall  be  the  Douglas  bold, — 
A  chief  unlike  his  sires  of  old. 
He  wears  their  motto  on  his  blade,6 
Their  blazon  o'er  his  towers  display'd ; 
Yet  loves  his  sovereign  to  oppose, 
More  than  to  face  his  country's  foes. 
•    And,  I  bethink  me,  by  St.  Stephen, 

But  e'en  this  morn  to  me  was  given6 
A  prize,  the  first  fruits  of  the  war, 
Ta'en  by  a  galley  from  Dunbar, 

A  bevy  of  the  maids  of  Heaven. 
Under  your  guard,  these  holy  maids 
Shall  safe  return  to  cloister  shades, 
And,  while  they  at  Tantallon  stay, 
Requiem  for  Cochran's  soul  may  say." 
And,  with  the  slaughter'd  favorite's  name, 
Across  the  Monarch's  brow  there  came 
A  cloud  of  ire,  remorse,  and  shame. 

XVI. 
In  answer  nought  could  Angus  speak ; 
His  proud  heart  swell'd  wellnigh  to  break : 
He  turn'd  aside,  and  down  his  cheek 

A  burning  tear  there  stole. 
His  hand  the  Monarch  sudden  took, 
That  sight  his  kind  heart  could  not  brook : 

"  Now,  by  the  Bruce's  soul,7 
Angus,  my  hasty  speech  forgive ! 
For  sure  as  doth  his  spirit  live, 
As  he  said  of  the  Douglas  old,. 

I  well  may  say  of  you, — 
That  never  King  did  subject  hold, 
In  speech  more  free,  in  war  more  bold, 

More  tender  and  more  true  :8 
Forgive  me,  Douglas,  once  again." 
And,  while  the  King  his  hand  did  strain, 
The  old  man's  tears  fell  down  like  rain. 
To  seize  the  moment  Marmion  tried, 
And  whisper'd  to  the  King  aside  : 
"  Oh !  let  such  tears  unwonted  plead 
For  respite  short  from  dubious  deed ! 

6  MS. :  "  But  yester  morn  was  hither  driven." 

1  The  next  two  lines  are  not  in  the  original  MS. 

8  "O,  Dowglas!  Dowglasl 
Tendir  and  trew." 

The  Herniate. 


MARMION. 


123 


A  child  will  weep  a  bramble's  smart, 
A  maid  to  see  her  sparrow  part,1 
A  stripling  for  a  woman's  heart : 
But  woe  awaits  a  country,  when    " 
She  sees  the  tears  of  bearded  Haen. 
Then,  oh !  what  omen,  dark  and  high, 
When  Douglas  wets  his  manly  eye !" 

XVII. 

Displeased  was  James,  that  stranger  view'd 

And  tamper'd  with  his  changing  mood. 

"  Laugh  those  that  can,  weep  those  that  may," 

Thus  did  the  fiery  Monarch  say, 

"  Southward  I  march  by  break  of  day  ; 

And  if  within  Tantallon  strong 

The  good  Lord  Marmion  tarries  long, 

Perchance  our  meeting  next  may  fall 

At  Tamworth,  in  his  castle-hall." — 

The  haughty  Marmion  felt  the  taunt, 

And  answer'd,  grave,  the  royal  vaunt : 

"  Much  honor'd  were  my  humble  home, 

If  in  its  halls  King  James  should  come ; 

But  Nottingham  has  archers  good, 

And  Yorkshire  men  are  stern  of  mood ; 

Northumbrian  prickers  wild  and  rude. 

On  Derby  Hills  the  paths  are  steep ; 

In  Ouse  and  Tyne  the  fords  are  deep ; 

And  many  a  banner  will  be  torn, 

And  many  a  knight  to  earth  be  borne, 

And  many  a  sheaf  of  arrows  spent, 

Ere  Scotland's  King  shall  cross  the  Trent : 

Yet  pause,  brave  Prince,  while  yet  you  may  !"- 

The  Monarch  lightly  turn'd  away, 

And  to  his  nobles  loud  did  call, — 

"  Lords,  to  the  dance, — a  hall !  a  hall  !"2 

Himself  his  cloak  and  sword  flung  by, 

And  led  Dame  Heron  gallantly ; 

And  minstrels,  at  the  royal  order, 

Rung  out — "  Blue  Bonnets  o'er  the  Border." 

XVIII. 

Leave  we  these  revels  now,  to  tell 
What  to  Saint  Hilda's  maids  befell, 
Whose  galley,  as  they  sail'd  again 
To  Whitby,  by  a  Scot  was  ta'en. 
Now  at  Dun-Edin  did  they  bide, 
Till  James  should  of  their  fate  decide ; 

And  soon,  by  his  command, 
Were  gently  summon'd  to  prepare 
To  journey  under  Marmion's  care, 
As  escort  honor'd,  safe,  and  fair, 

Again  to  English  land. 
The  Abbess  told  her  chaplet  o'er, 
Nor  knew  which  saint  she  should  implore ; 
For,  when  she  thought  of  Constance,  sore 

She  fear'd  Lord  Marmion's  mood. 
And  judge  what  Clara  must  have  felt ! 
The  sword,  that  hung  in  Marmion's  belt, 

Had  drunk  De  Wilton's  blood. 

1  MS. :  "  A  maid  to  see  her  love  depart." 


Unwittingly,  King  James  had  given, 

As  guard  to  Whitby's  shades, 
The  man  most  dreaded  under  Heaven 

By  these  defenceless  maids : 
Yet  what  petition  could  avail, 
Or  who  would  listen  to  the  tale 
Of  woman,  prisoner,  and  nun, 
'Mid  bustle  of  a  war  begun  ? 
They  deem'd  it  hopeless  to  avoid 
The  convoy  of  their  dangerous  guide. 

XIX. 

Their  lodging,  so  the  King  assign'd, 
To  Marmion's,  as  their  guardian,  join'd; 
And  thus  it  fell  that,  passing  nigh, 
The  Palmer  caught  the  Abbess'  eye, 

Who  warn'd  him  by  a  scroll, 
She  had  a  secret  to  reveal, 
That  much  concern'd  the  Church's  weal, 

And  health  of  sinner's  soul ; 
And,  with  deep  charge  of  secrecy, 

She  named  a  place  to  meet, 
Within  an  open  balcony, 
That  hung  from  dizzy  pitch,  and  high, 

Above  the  stately  street ; 
To  which,  as  common  to  each  home, 
At  night  they  might  in  secret  come. 

XX. 

At  night,  in  secret,  there  they  came, 
The  Palmer  and  the  holy  Dame. 
The  moon  among  the  clouds  rose  high, 
And  all  the  city  hum  was  by. 
Upon  the  street,  where  late  before 
Did  din  of  war  and  warriors  roar, 

You  might  have  heard  a  pebble  fall, 
A  beetle  hum,  a  cricket  sing, 
An  owlet  flap  his  boding  wing 

On  Giles's  steeple  tall. 
The  antique  buildings,  climbing  high, 
Whose  Gothic  frontlets  sought  the  sky, 

Were  here  wrapt  deep  in  shade ; 
There  on  their  brows  the  moonbeam 

broke, 
Through  the  faint  wreaths  of  silvery  smoke, 

And  on  the  casements  play'd. 

And  other  light  was  none  to  see, 
Save  torches  gliding  far, 

Before  some  chieftain  of  degree, 

Who  left  the  royal  revelry 
To  bowne  him  for  the  war. — 
A  solemn  scene  the  Abbess  chose ; 
A  solemn  hour,  her  secret  to  disclose. 

XXI. 

"  Oh,  holy  Palmer !"  she  began, — 
"  For  sure  he  must  be  sainted  man, 
Whose  blessed  feet  have  trod  the  ground 
Where  the  Redeemer's  tomb  is  found, — 

2  The  ancient  cry  to  make  room  for  a  dance  or  pageant. 


124 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


For  his  dear  Church's  sake,  my  tale 
Attend,  nor  deem  of  li.u'ht  avail, 
Though  I  must  speak  of  worldly  love, — 
How  vain  to  those  who  wed  above  ! — 
De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd1 
Clara  de  Clare,  of  Gloster's  blood 
(Idle  it  were  of  Whitby's  dame 
To  say  of  that  same  blood  I  came) ; 
And  once,  when  jealous  rage  was  high, 
Lord  Marmion  said  despiteously, 
Wilton  was  traitor  in  his  heart, 
And  had  made  league  with  Martin  Swart,2 
When  he  came  here  on  SimnePs  part; 
And  only  cowardice  did  restrain 
His  rebel  aid  on  Stokefield's  plain, — 
And  down  he  threw  his  glove : — the 

thing 
Was  tried,  as  wont,  before  the  King  ; 
Where  frankly  did  De  Wilton  own, 
That  Swart  in  Gueldres  he  had  known ; 
And  that  between  them  then  there  went 
Some  scroll  of  courteous  compliment. 
For  this  he  to  his  castle  sent ; 
But  when  his  messenger  return'd, 
Judge  how  De  Wilton's  fury  burn'd ! 
For  in  his  packet  there  were  laid 
Letters  that  claim'd  disloyal  aid, 
And  proved  King  Henry's  cause  betray'd. 
His  fame,  thus  blighted,  in  the  field 
He  strove  to  clear,  by  spear  and  shield  ; 
To  clear  his  fame  in  vain  he  strove, 
For  wondrous  are  His  ways  above  ! 
Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved  ;s 
Else  how  could  guiltless  champion  quail, 
Or  how  the  blessed  ordeal  fail  ? 

XXII. 

"His  squire,  who  now  De  Wilton  saw 
As  recreant  doom'd  to  suffer  law, 

Repentant,  own'd  in  vain, 
That,  while  he  had  the  scrolls  in  care, 
A  stranger  maiden,  passing  fair, 
Had  drench'd  him  with  a  beverage  rare; 

His  words  no  faith  could  gain. 
With  Clare  alone  he  credence  won, 
Who,  rather  than  wed  Marmion, 
Did  to  Saint  Hilda's  shrine  repair, 
To  give  our  house  her  Livings  fair, 
And  die  a  vestal  vot'ress  there. 
The  impulse  from  the  earth  was  given, 
But  bent  her  to  the  paths  of  Heaven. 
A  purer  heart,  a  lovelier  maid, 
Ne'er  shelter'd  her  in  Whitby's  shade, 
No,  not  since  Saxon  Edelfled ; 

1  "There  are  passages  in  which  the  flatness  and  tediousness 
of  the  narrative  is  relieved  hy  no  sort  of  beauty  nor  elegance 
of  diction,  and  which  form  an  extraordinary  contrast  with 
the  more  animated  and  finished  portions  of  the  poem.  We 
shall  not  afflict  our  readers  with  more  than  one  specimen  of 


Only  one  trace  of  earthly  strain, 
That  for  her  lover's  loss 

She  cherishes  a  sorrow  vain, 
And  murmurs  at  the  cross. — 

And  then  her  heritage ; — it  goes 
Along  the  banks  of  Tame  ; 

Deep  fields  of  grain  the  reaper  mows, 

In  meadows  rich  the  heifer  lows, 

The  falconer  and  huntsman  knows 
Its  woodlands  for  the  game. 
Shame  were  it  to  Saint  Hilda  dear, 
And  I,  her  humble  vot'ress  here, 

Should  do  a  deadly  sin, 
Her  temple  spoil'd  before  mine  eyes, 
If  this  false  Marmion  such  a  prize 

By  my  consent  should  win ; 
Yet  hath  our  boisterous  monarch  sworn 
That  Clare  shall  from  our  house  be  torn ; 
And  grievous  cause  have  I  to  fear 
Such  mandate  doth  Lord  Marmion  bear. 

XXIII. 
"  Now,  prisoner,  helpless,  and  betray'd 
To  evil  power,  I  claim  thine  aid, 

By  every  step  that  thou  hast  trod 
To  holy  shrine  and  grotto  dim, 
By  every  martyr's  tortured  limb, 
By  angel,  saint,  and  seraphim, 

And  by  the  Church  of  God ! 
For  mark : — When  Wilton  was  betray'd, 
And  with  his  squire  forged  letters  laid, 
She  was,  alas !  that  sinful  maid 

By  whom  the  deed  was  done, — 
Oh  !  shame  and  horror  to  be  said  ! — 

She  was  a  perjured  nun ! 
No  clerk  in  all  the  land,  like  her, 
Traced  quaint  and  varying  character. 
Perchance  you  may  a  marvel  deem, 

That  Marmion's  paramour 
(For  such  vile  thing  she  was)  should  scheme 

Her  lover's  nuptial  hour ; 
But  o'er  him  thus  she  hoped  to  gain, 
As  privy  to  his  honor's  stain, 

Illimitable  power : 
For  this  she  secretly  retain'd 

Each  proof  that  might  the  plot  reveal, 

Instructions  with  his  hand  and  seal ; 
And  thus  Saint  Hilda  deign'd, 

Through  sinner's  perfidy  impure, 
Her  house's  glory  to  secure, 

And  Clare's  immortal  weal. 

XXIV. 

"  'Twere  long,  and  needless,  here  to  tell 
How  to  my  hand  these  papers  fell ; 

this  falling  off.  We  select  it  from  the  Abbess's  explanation 
to  De  Wilton:— 'De  Wilton  and  Lord  Marmion  woo'd,'  &c. 
(and  twenty-two  following  lines)." — JEFFREY. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 


MARMION. 


125 


With  roe  they  must  not  stay. 
Saint  Hilda  keep  her  Abbess  true ! 
Who  knows  what  outrage  he  might  do, 

While  journeying  by  the  way?— 
Oh,  blessed  Saint,  if  e'er  again 
I  venturous  leave  thy  calm  domain, 
To  travel  or  by  land  or  main, 

Deep  penance  may  I  pay  ! — 
Now,  saintly  Palmer,  mark  my  prayer : 
I  give  this  packet  to  thy  care, 
For  thee  to  stop  they  will  not  dare ; 

And,  oh !  with  cautious  speed, 
To  Wolsey's  hand  the  papers  bring, 
That  he  may  show  them  to  the  King : 

And,  for  thy  well-earn'd  meed, 
Thou  holy  man,  at  Whitby's  shrine 
A  weekly  mass  shall  still  be  thine, 

While  priests  can  sing  and  read. — 
What  ail'st  thou?— Speak!"— For  as  he 

took 
The  charge,  a  strong  emotion  shook 

His  frame  ;  and,  ere  reply, 
They  heard  a  faint  yet  shrilly  tone, 
Like  distant  clarion  feebly  blown, 

That  on  the  breeze  did  die ; 
And  loud  the  Abbess  shriek'd  in  fear, 
"  Saint  Withold,  save  us ! — What  is  here ! 

Look  at  yon  City  Cross ! 
See  on  its  battled  tower  appear 
Phantoms,  that  scutcheons  seem  to  rear, 

And  blazon'd  banners  toss !" — 

XXV. 

Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone,1 

Rose  on  a  turret  octagon  ; 

(But  now  is  razed  that  monument, 

Whence  royal  edict  rang, 
And  voice  of  Scotland's  law  was  sent 

In  glorious  trumpet-clang. 
Oh !  be  his  tomb  as  lead  to  lead, 
Upon  its  dull  destroyer's  head ! — 
A  minstrel's  malison2  is  said.3) — 
Then  on  its  battlements  they  saw 
A  vision,  passing  Nature's  law, 

Strange,  wild,  and  dimly  seen ; 
Figures  that  seem'd  to  rise  and  die, 
Gibber  and  sign,  advance  and  fly, 
While  nought  confirm'd  could  ear  or  eye 

Discern  of  sound  or  mien. 
Yet  darkly  did  it  seem,  as  there 
Heralds  and  pursuivants  prepare, 
With  trumpet  sound  and  blazon  fair, 

A  summons  to  proclaim ; 

1  MS. :  "  Dun-Edin's  Cross,  a  pillar'd  stone, 
Rose  on  a  turret  hexagon  : 
(Dust  unto  dust,  lead  unto  lead, 

On  its  destroyer's  drowsy },      ,  

Upon  its  base  destroyer's  J 
The  Minstrel's  malison  is  said.)" 

8  i.  e.,  Curse. 


But  indistinct  the  pageant  proud, 
As  fancy  forms  of  midnight  cloud, 
When  flings  the  moon  upon  her  shroud 

A  wavering  tinge  of  flame ; 
It  flits,  expands,  and  shifts,  till  loud, 
From  midmost  of  the  spectre  crowd, 

This  awful  summons  came : — 4 

XXVI. 

"  Prince,  prelate,  potentate,  and  peer, 

Whose  names  I  now  shall  call, 
Scottish,  or  foreigner,  give  ear ; 
Subjects  of  him  who  sent  me  here, 
At  his  tribunal  to  appear, 

I  summon  one  and  all : 
I  cite  you  by  each  deadly  sin 
That  e'er  hath  soil'd  your  hearts  within ; 
I  cite  you  by  each  brutal  lust 
That  e'er  defiled  your  earthly  dust, — 

By  wrath,  by  pride,  by  fear,5 
By  each  o'er-mastering  passion's  tone, 
By  the  dark  grave,  and  dying  groan ! 
When  forty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone,6 
I  cite  you,  at  your  Monarch's  throne, 

To  answer  and  appear." 
Then  thunder'd  forth  a  roll  of  names : 
The  first  was  thine,  unhappy  James ! 

Then  all  thy  nobles  came ; 
Crawford,  Glencairn,  Montrose,  Argyle, 
Ross,  Bothwell,  Forbes,  Lennox,  Lyle, — 
Why  should  I  tell  their  separate  style  ? 

Each  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 
Of  Lowland,  Highland,  Border,  Isle, 
Fore-doom'd  to  Flodden's  carnage  pile, 

Was  cited  there  by  name ; 
And  Marmion,  Lord  of  Fontenaye, 
Of  Lutterward,  and  Scrivelbaye ; 
De  Wilton,  erst  of  Aberley, 
The  self-same  thundering  voice  did  say. — 7 

But  then  another  spoke : 
"  Thy  fatal  summons  I  deny, 
And  thine  infernal  Lord  defy, 
Appealing  me  to  Him  on  High 

Who  burst  the  sinner's  yoke." 
At  that  dread  accent,  with  a  scream, 
Parted  the  pageant  like  a  dream ; 

The  summoner  was  gone. 
Prone  on  her  face  the  Abbess  fell, 
And  fast,  and  fast,  her  beads  did  tell ; 
Her  nuns  came,  startled  by  the  yell, 

And  found  her  there  alone. 
She  mark'd  not,  at  the  scene  aghast, 
What  time,  or  how,  the  Palmer  pass'd. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 
6  MS. :  "  By  wrath,  by  fraud,  by  fear." 

6  MS. :  "  Ere  twenty  days  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

Before  the  mighty  Monarch's  throne, 
I  cite  you  to  appear." 

7  MS. :  "  In  thundering  tone  the  voice  did  say.' 


126 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXVII. 

Shift  we  the  scene. — The  camp  doth  move, 

Duu-Edin's  streets  are  empty  now, 
Save  when,  for  weal  of  those  they  love, 

To  pray  the  prayer,  and  vow  the  vow, 
The  tottering  child,  the  anxious  fair, 
The  gray-hair'd  sire,  with  pious  care, 
To  chapels  and  to  shrines  repair; — 
Where  is  the  Palmer  now?  and  where 
The  Abbess,  Marmion,  and  Clare? — 
Bold  Douglas!  to  Tantallon  fair 

They  journey  in  thy  charge : 
Lord  Marmion  rode  on  his  right  hand, 
The  Palmer  still  was  with  the  band; 
Angus,  like  Lindesay,  did  command 

That  none  should  roam  at  large. 
But  in  that  Palmer's  alter'd  mien 
A  wondrous  change  might  now  be  seen : 

Freely  he  spoke  of  war, 
Of  marvels  wrought  by  single  hand, 
When  lifted  for  a  native  land; 
And  still  look'd  high,  as  if  he  plann'd 

Some  desperate  deed  afar. 
His  courser  would  he  feed  and  stroke, 
And,  tucking  up  his  sable  frocke, 
Would  first  his  mettle  bold  provoke, 

Then  soothe  or  quell  his  pride. 
Old  Hubert  said,  that  never  one 
He  saw,  except  Lord  Marmion, 

A  steed  so  fairly  ride. 

XXVIII. 

Some  half-hour's  march  behind,  there  came, 

By  Eustace  govern'd  fair, 
A  troop  escorting  Hilda's  Dame, 

With  all  her  nuns,  and  Clare. 
No  audience  had  Lord  Marmion  sought ; 

Ever  he  fear'd  to  aggravate 

Clara  de  Clare's  suspicious  hate ; 
Ami  safer  'twas,  he  thought, 

To  wait  till,  from  the  nuns  removed, 

The  influence  of  kinsmen  loved, 

And  suit  by  Henry's  self  approved, 
Her  slow  consent  had  wrought. 

1  lis  was  no  flickering  flame,  that  dies 

Unless  when  fann'd  by  Looks  and  sighs, 

And  lighted  oft  at  lady's  eyes; 

He  long'd  to  stretch  his  wide  command 

O'er  luckless  Clara's  ample  land  : 

Besides,  when  Wilton  with  him  vied, 

Although  the  pang  of  humbled  pride 

The  place  of  jealousy  supplied, 
Yet  conquest,  by  that  meanness  won 
11''  almost  loath'd  to  think  upon, 
Led  him,  at  times,  to  hate  the  cause 
Which  made  him  burst  through  honor's  laws. 

1  MS.:  "North  Berwick's  town,  and  conic  Law." 

2  The  convent  alluded  to  is  a  foundation  of  Cistercian  nuns, 


/  If  e'er  he  loved,  'twas  her  alone 
Who  died  within  that  vault  of  stone. 

XXIX. 

And  now,  when  close  at  hand  they  saw 
North  Berwick's  town,  and  lofty  Law,1 
Fitz-Eustace  bade  them  pause  a  while, 
Before  a  venerable  pile,2 

Whose  turrets  view'd,  afar, 
The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lambie  Isle,3 

The  oeeau's  peace  or  war. 
At  tolling  of  a  bell,  forth  came 
The  convent's  venerable  Dame, 
And  pray'd  Saint  Hilda's  Abbess  rest 
With  her,  a  loved  and  honor'd  guest, 
Till  Douglas  should  a  bark  prepare 
To  waft  her  back  to  Whitby  fair. 
Glad  was  the  Abbess,  you  may  guess, 
And  thank'd  the  Scottish  Prioress ; 
And  tedious  were  to  tell,  I  ween, 
The  courteous  speech  that  pass'd  between. 

O'erjoy'd  the  nuns  their  palfreys  leave ; 
But  when  fair  Clara  did  intend, 
Like  them,  from  horseback  to  descend, 

Fitz-Eustace  said, — "  I  grieve, 
Fair  lady,  grieve  e'en  from  my  heart, 
Such  gentle  company  to  part ; — 

Think  not  discourtesy, 
But  lords'  commands  must  be  obey'd ; 
And  Marmion  and  the  Douglas  said, 

That  you  must  wend  with  me. 
Lord  Marmion  hath  a  letter  broad, 
Which  to  the  Scottish  Earl  he  show'd, 
Commanding  that  beneath  his  care, 
Without  delay,  you  shall  repair 
To  your  good  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare." 

XXX. 

The  startled  Abbess  loud  exclaim'd  ; 
But  she,  at  whom  the  blow  was  aim'd, 
Grew  pale  as  death,  and  cold  as  lead, — 
She  deem'd  she  heard  her  death-doom  read. 
"  Cheer  thee,  my  child  !"  the  Abbess  said ; 
"  They  dare  not  tear  thee  from  my  hand, 
To  ride  alone  with  armed  band." — 

"  Nay,  holy  mother,  nay," 
Fitz-Eustace  said,  "  the  lovely  Clare 
Will  be  in  Lady  Angus'  care, 

In  Scotland  while  we  stay  ; 
And,  when  we  move,  an  easy  ride 
Will  bring  us  to  the  English  side, 
Female  attendance  to  provide 

Befitting  Gloster's  heir : 
Nor  thinks  nor  dreams  my  noble  lord, 
By  slightest  look,  or  act,  or  word, 

To  harass  Lady  Clare. 


near  North  Berwick,  of  which  there  are  still  some  remains. 
K  was  (bunded  by  Duncan,  Karl  of  Fife,  in  1216. 
3  M.S. :  "  The  lofty  Bass,  the  Lamb's  green  isle." 


MAKMION. 


127 


Her  faithful  guardian  he  will  he, 
Nor  sue  for  slightest  courtesy 

That  e'en  to  stranger  falls, 
Till  he  shall  place  her,  safe  and  free, 

Within  her  kinsman's  halls." 
He  spoke,  and  blush'd  with  earnest  grace : 
His  faith  was  painted  on  his  face, 

And  Clare's  worst  fear  relieved. 
The  Lady  Abbess  loud  exclaini'd 
On  Henry,  and  the  Douglas  blamed, 

Entreated,  threaten'd,  grieved ; 
To  martyr,  saint,  and  prophet  pray'd, 
Against  Lord  Marmion  inveigh'd, 
And  call'd  the  Prioress  to  aid, 
To  curse  with  candle,  bell,  and  book. 
Her  head  the  grave  Cistercian  shook : 
"  The  Douglas,  and  the  King,"  she  said, 
"  In  their  commands  will  be  obey'd ; 
Grieve  not,  nor  dream  that  harm  can  fall 
The  maiden  in  Tantallon  hall." 

XXXI. 

The  Abbess,  seeing  strife  was  vain, 
Assumed  her  wonted  state  again, — 

For  much  of  state  she  had, — 
Composed  her  veil,  and  raised  her  head, 
And — "  Bid,"  in  solemn  voice  she  said, 

"  Thy  master,  bold  and  bad, 
The  records  of  his  house  turn  o'er, 

And,  when  he  shall  there  written  see, 

That  one  of  his  own  ancestry 

Drove  the  monks  forth  of  Coventry,1 
Bid  him  his  fate  explore ! 

Prancing  in  pride  of  earthly  trust, 

His  charger  hurl'd  him  to  the  dust, 

And,  by  a  base  plebeian  thrust, 
He  died  his  band  before. 

God  judge  'twixt  Marmion  and  me; 

He  is  a  Chief  of  high  degree, 
And  I  a  poor  recluse : 

Yet  oft,  in  holy  writ,  we  see 

Even  such  weak  minister  as  me 
May  the  oppressor  bruise : 

For  thus,  inspired,  did  Judith  slay 
The  mighty  in  his  sin, 

And  Jael  thus,  and  Deborah" 

Here  hasty  Blount  broke  in : 
"  Fitz-Eustace,  we  must  march  our  band : 
St.  Anton'  fire  thee !  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day,  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand, 

To  hear  the  Lady  preach  ? 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 

2  This  line,  necessary  to  the  rhyme,  is  now  for  the  first  time 
restored  from  the  MS.  It  must  have  been  omitted  by  an 
oversight  in  the  original  printing. — Ed. 

3  For  the  origin  of  Marmion's  visit  to  Tantallon  Castle,  in 
the  Poem,  see  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  17. 

4  "  During  the  regency  (subsequent  to  the  death  of  James 
V.)  the  Dowager  Queen  Regent,  Mary  of  Guise,  became  desi- 
rous of  putting  a  French  garrison  into  Tantallon,  as  she  had 


By  this  good  light !  if  thus  we  stay, 
Lord  Marmion,  for  our  fond  delay, 

Will  sharper  sermon  teach. 
Come,  don  thy  cap,  and  mount  thy  horse ; 
The  Dame  must  patience  take  perforce." — 

XXXII. 

"  Submit  we  then  to  force,"  said  Clare, 
"  But  let  this  barbarous  lord  despair 

His  purposed  aim  to  win ; 
Let  him  take  living,  land,  and  life ; 
But  to  be  Marmion's  wedded  wife 

In  me  were  deadly  sin : 
And  if  it  be  the  King's  decree 
That  I  must  find  no  sanctuary 
In  that  inviolable  dome2 
Where  even  a  homicide  might  come, 

And  safely  rest  his  head, 
Though  at  its  open  portals  stood, 
Thirsting  to  pour  forth  blood  for  blood, 

The  kinsmen  of  the  dead, — 
Yet  one  asylum  is  my  own 

Against  the  dreaded  hour ; 
A  low,  a  silent,  and  a  lone, 

Where  kings  have  little  power. 
One  victim  is  before  me  there. — 
Mother,  your  blessing,  and  in  prayer 
Remember  your  unhappy  Clare !" 
Loud  weeps  the  Abbess,  and  bestows 

Kind  blessings  many  a  one : 
Weeping  and  wailing  loud  arose, 
Round  patient  Clare,  the  clamorous  woes 

Of  every  simple  nun. 
His  eyes  the  gentle  Eustace  dried, 
And  scarce  rude  Blount  the  sight  could  bide. 

Then  took  the  squire  her  rein, 
And  gently  led  away  her  steed, 
And,  by  each  courteous  word  and  deed, 

To  cheer  her  strove  in  vain. 

XXXIII. 

But  scant  three  miles  the  band  had  rode, 
When  o'er  a  height  they  pass'd, 

And,  sudden,  close  before  them  show'd 
His  towers  Tantallon  vast  ;3 

Broad,  massive,  high,  and  stretching  far, 

And  held  impregnable  in  war, 

On  a  projecting  rock  they  rose, 

And  round  three  sides  the  ocean  flows ; 

The  fourth  did  battled  walls  enclose, 
And  double  mound  and  fosse.4 


into  Dunbar  and  Inchkeith,  in  order  the  better  to  bridle  the 
lords  and  barons  who  inclined  to  the  reformed  faith,  and  to 
secure  by  citadels  the  sea-coast  of  the  Frith  of  Forth.  For 
this  purpose,  the  Regent,  to  use  the  phrase  of  the  time, 
'dealed  with'  the  (then,)  Earl  of  Angus  for  his  consent  to  the 
proposed  measure.  He  occupied  himself,  while  she  was 
speaking,  in  feeding  a  falcon  which  sat  upon  his  wrist,  and 
only  replied  by  addressing  the  bird,  but  leaving  the  Queen  to 
make  the  application,  '  The  devil  is  in  this  greedy  gled — she 


128 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


By  narrow  drawbridge,  outworks  strong, 
Through  studded  gates,  an  entrance  long, 

To  the  main  court  they  cross. 
It  was  a  wide  and  stately  square : 
Around  were  lodgings,  fit  and  fair, 

And  towers  of  various  form, 
Which  on  the  court  projected  far, 
And  broke  its  lines  quadrangular. 
Here  was  square  keep,  there  turret  high, 
Or  pinnacle  that  sought  the  sky, 
Whence  oft  the  Warder  could  descry 

The  gathering  ocean-storm. 

XXXIV. 
Here  did  they  rest. — The  princely  care 
Of  Douglas,  why  should  I  declare, 
Or  say  they  met  reception  fair  ? 

Or  why  the  tidings  say, 
Which,  varying,  to  Tantallon  came, 
By  hurrying  posts  or  fleeter  fame, 

With  every  varying  day  ? 
And,  first,  they  heard  King  James  had  won 

Etall,  and  Wark,  and  Ford;  and  then, 

That  Norham  Castle  strong  was  ta'en. 
At  that  sore  marvell'd  Marmion ; — 
And  Douglas  hoped  his  Monarch's  hand 
Would  soon  subdue  Northumberland : 

But  whisper5  d  news  there  came, 
That,  while  his  host  inactive  lay, 
And  melted  by  degrees  away, 
King  James  was  dallying  off  the  day 

With  Heron's  wily  dame. — 
Such  acts  to  chronicles  I  yield ; 

Go  seek  them  there,  and  see : 
Mine  is  a  tale  of  Flodden  Field, 

And  not  a  history. — 
At  length  they  heard  the  Scottish  host 
On  that  high  ridge  had  made  their  post, 

Which  frowns  o'er  Millfield  Plain; 
And  that  brave  Surrey  many  a  band 
Had  gather'd  in  the  Southern  land, 
And  march'd  into  Northumberland, 

And  camp  at  Wooler  ta'en. 
Marmion,  like  charger  in  the  stall, 
That  hears,  without,  the  trumpet-call, 

Began  to  chafe  and  swear : — 
"  A  sorry  thing  to  hide  my  head 
In  castle,  like  a  fearful  maid, 

When  such  a  field  is  near! 
Needs  must  I  see  this  battle-day : 
Death  to  my  fame  if  such  a  fray 
Were  fought,  and  .Marmion  away! 
The  Douglas,  too,  I  wot  not  why, 
Hath  'bated  of  his  courtesy : 

will  never  be  fou.*  But  when  the  Queen,  without  appearing 
to  notice  this  hint,  continued  to  press  her  obnoxious  request, 
Angus  replied,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  feudal  noble,  '  Yes, 
Madam,  the  castle  is  yours:  God  forbid  else.  But  by  the 
might  of  God,  Madam!'  such  was  his  usual  oath,  'I  muBl  be 
your  Captain  and  Keeper  for  you,  and  I  will  keep  it  as  well 


No  longer  in  his  halls  I'll  stay." 
Then  bade  his  band  they  should  array 
For  march  against  the  dawning  day. 


iH  arm  ton. 


INTRODUCTION    TO    CANTO   SIXTH. 


RICHARD   HEBER,  Esq. 

Mertoun  Housed  Christvxc 

Heap  on  more  wood !  the  wind  is  chill ; 

But  let  it  whistle  as  it  will, 

We'll  keep  our  Christmas  merry  still. 

Each  age  has  deem'd  the  new-born  year 

The  fittest  time  for  festal  cheer : 

Even,  heathen  yet,  the  savage  Dane 

At  Iol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain  ;2 

High  on  the  beach  his  galleys  drew, 

And  feasted  all  his  pirate  crew ; 

Then  in  his  low  and  pine-built  hall, 

AVhere  shields  and  axes  deck'd  the  wall, 

They  gorged  upon  the  half-dress'd  steer ; 

Caroused  in  seas  of  sable  beer ; 

While  round,  in  brutal  jest,  were  thrown 

The  half-gnaw'd  rib,  and  marrow-bone : 

Or  listen'd  all,  in  grim  delight, 

While  Scalds  yell'd  out  the  joys  of  fight. 

Then  forth,  in  frenzy,  would  they  hie, 

While  wildly  loose  their  red  locks  fly, 

And  dancing  round  the  blazing  pile, 

They  make  such  barbarous  mirth  the  while, 

As  best  might  to  the  mind  recall 

The  boisterous  joys  of  Odin's  hall. 

And  well  our  Christian  sires  of  old 

Loved  when  the  year  its  course  had  roll'd, 

And  brought  blithe  Christmas  back  again, 

With  all  his  hospitable  train. 

Domestic  and  religious  rite 

Gave  honor  to  the  holy  night; 

On  Christmas  eve  the  bells  were  rung; 

On  Christmas  eve  the  mass  was  sung : 

That  only  night  in  all  the  year 

Saw  the  stoled  priest  the  chalice  rear.3 

as  any  you  can  place  there.' " — Sir  Walter  Scott's  Miscella- 
neous Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  p.  436. 

1  Mirtoun  House,  the  seat  of  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden, 
is  beautifully  situated  on  the  Tweed,  about  two  miles  below 
Dryburgh  Abbey. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C.  »  Ibid.  Note  4  D. 


MABMION. 


129 


The  damsel  donn'd  her  kirtle  sheen ; 

The  hall  was  dress'd  with  holly  green ; 

Forth  to  the  wood  did  merry -men  go, 

To  gather  in  the  mistletoe. 

Then  open'd  wide  the  Baron's  hall 

To  vassal,  tenant,  serf,  and  all ; 

Power  laid  his  rod  of  rule  aside, 

And  Ceremony  dofF'd  his  pride. 

The  heir,  with  roses  in  his  shoes, 

That  night  might  village  partner  choose ; 

The  lord,  underogating,  share 

The  vulgar  game  of  "  post  and  pair." 

All  hail'd,  with  uncontroll'd  delight, 

And  general  voice,  the  happy  night, 

That  to  the  cottage,  as  the  crown, 

Brought  tidings  of  salvation  down. 

The  fire,  with  well-dried  logs  supplied, 
Went  roaring  up  the  chimney  wide ; 
The  huge  hall-table's  oaken  face, 
Scrubb'd  till  it  shone,  the  day  to  grace, 
Bore  then  upon  its  massive  board 
No  mark  to  part  the  squire  and  lord. 
Then  was  brought  in  the  lusty  brawn, 
By  old  blue-coated  serving  man ; 
Then  the  grim  boar's  head  frown'd  on 

high, 
Crested  with  bays  and  rosemary. 
Well  can  the  green-garb'd  ranger  tell 
How,  when,  and  where,  the  monster  fell ; 
What  dogs  before  his  death  he  tore, 
And  all  the  baiting  of  the  boar.1 
The  wassail  round,  in  good  brown  bowls, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithely  trowls. 
There  the  huge  sirloin  reek'd ;  hard  by 
Plum-porridge  stood,  and  Christmas  pie ; 
Nor  fail'd  old  Scotland  to  produce, 
At  such  high  tide,  her  savory  goose. 
Then  came  the  merry  maskers  in, 
And  carols  roar'd  with  blithesome  din ; 
If  unmelodious  was  the  song, 
It  was  a  hearty  note,  and  strong. 
Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery  ;2 
White  shirts  supplied  the  masquerade, 
And  smutted  cheeks  the  visors  made ; 
But,  oh !  what  maskers,  richly  dight, 
Can  boast  of  bosoms  half  so  light ! 
England  was  merry  England,  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 
'Twas  Christmas  broach'd  the  mightiest  ale ; 
'Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale ; 

1  MS. :  "  And  all  the  hunting  of  the  hoar. 

Then  round  the  merry  wassail-bowl, 
Garnish'd  with  ribbons,  blithe  did  trowl, 
And  the  large  sirloin  steani'd  on  high, 
Plum-porridge,  hare,  and  savory  pie." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

3  "  Blood  is  warmer  than  water," — a  proverb  meant  to  vin- 
dicate our  family  predilections. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 
9 


A  Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 

The  poor  man's  heart  through  half  the  year. 

Still  linger,  in  our  northern  clime, 
Some  remnants  of  the  good  old  time ; 
And  still,  within  our  valleys  here, 
We  hold  the  kindred  title  dear, 
Even  when,  perchance,  its  far-fetch'd  claim 
To  Southron  ear  sounds  empty  name ; 
For  course  of  blood,  our  proverbs  deem, 
Is  warmer  than  the  mountain  stream.3 
And  thus,  my  Christmas  still  I  hold 
Where  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair,* 
And  reverend  apostolic  air, 
The  feast  and  holy-tide  to  share, 
And  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  honest  mirth  with  thoughts  divine : 
Small  thought  was  his,  in  after  time 
E'er  to  be  hitch'd  into  a  rhyme. 
The  simple  sire  could  only  boast 
That  he  was  loyal  to  his  cost ; 
The  banish'd  race  of  kings  revered, 
And  lost  his  land, — but  kept  his  beard. 

In  these  dear  halls,  where  welcome  kind5 
Is  with  fair  liberty  combined ; 
Where  cordial  friendship  gives  the  hand, 
And  flies  constraint  the  magic  wand 
Of  the  fair  dame  that  rules  the  land,6 
Little  we  heed  the  tempest  drear, 
While  music,  mirth,  and  social  cheer, 
Speed  on  their  wings  the  passing  year. 
And  Mertoun's  halls  are  fair  e'en  now, 
When  not  a  leaf  is  on  the  bough. 
Tweed  loves  them  well,  and  turns  again, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  sweet  domain, 
And  holds  his  mirror  to  her  face, 
And  clips  her  with  a  close  embrace : — 
Gladly  as  he,  we  seek  the  dome, 
And  as  reluctant  turn  us  home. 

How  just  that,  at  this  time  of  glee, 
My  thoughts  should,  Heber,  turn  to  thee ! 
For  many  a  merry  hour  we've  known, 
And  heard  the  chimes  of  midnight's  tone.7 
Cease,  then,  my  friend !  a  moment  cease, 
And  leave  these  classic  tomes  in  peace ! 
Of  Roman  and  of  Grecian  lore 
Sure  mortal  brain  can  hold  no  more. 
These  ancients,  as  Noll  Bluff  might  say, 
"  Were  pretty  fellows  in  their  day  ;"8 

5  MS. :  "  In  these  fair  halls,  with  merry  cheer, 

Is  bid  farewell  the  dying  year." 

6  "A  lady  of  noble  German  descent,  born  Countess  Harriet 
Bruhl  of  Martinskirchen,  married  to  H.  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden 
(now  Lord  Polwarth),  the  author's  relative  and  much-valued 
friend  almost  from  infancy." — Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  iv.  p.  59. 

'  The  MS.  adds:  "  As  boasts  old  Shallow  to  Sir  John." 
8  "  Hannibal  was  a  pretty  fellow,  sir— a  very  pretty  fellow 
in  his  day." — Old  Bachelor. 


130 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  time  and  tide  o'er  all  prevail^ 
On  Christmas  eve  a  Christmas  tale 
Of  wonder  and  of  war — "  Profane ! 
What !  leave  the  lofty  Latian  strain, 
Her  stately  prose,  her  verse's  charms, 
To  hear  the  clash  of  rusty  arms : 
In  Fairy  Land  or  Limbo  lost, 
To  jostle  conjurer  and  ghost, 
Goblin  and  witch !" — Nay,  Heber  dear, 
Before  you  touch  my  charter,  hear : 
Though  Leyden  aids,  alas !  no  more, 
My  cause  with  many-languaged  lore,1 
This  may  I  say : — in  realms  of  death 
Ulysses  meets  Alcides'  wra  ith ; 
-<Eneas,  upon  Thracia's  shore, 
The  ghost  of  murder'd  Polydore ; 
For  omens,  we  in  Livy  cross, 
At  every  turn,  locutus  Bos. 
As  grave  and  duly  srjeaks  that  ox 
As  if  he  told  the  price  of  stocks ; 
Or  held,  in  Rome  republican, 
The  place  of  common-councilman. 

All  nations  have  their  omens  drear, 
Their  legends  wild  of  woe  and  fear. 
To  Cambria  look — the  peasant  see, 
Bethink  him  of  Glendowerdy, 
And  shun  "  the  spirit's  Blasted  Tree."2 
The  Highlander,  whose  red  claymore 
The  battle  turn'd  on  Maida's  shore, 
Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 
If  ask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale  :3 
He  fears  the  vengeful  Elfin  King, 
Who  leaves  that  day  his  grassy  ring : 
Invisible  to  human  ken, 
He  walks  among  the  sons  of  men. 

Didst  e'er,  dear  Heber,  pass  along* 
Beneath  the  towers  of  Franchemont, 
Which,  like  an  eagle's  nest  in  air, 
Hang  o'er  the  stream  and  hamlet  fair  ?5 
Deep  in  their  vaults,  the  peasants  say, 
A  mighty  treasure  buried  lay, 
Amass'd  through  rapine  and  through  wrong 
By  the  last  Lord  of  Franchemont.^ 
The  iron  chest  is  bolted  hard, 
A  huntsman  sits,  its  constant  guard ; 


1  MS.:  "With  all  his  many-languaged  lore." 
John  Leyden,  M.D.,  who  had  been  of  great  service  to  Pir 
Walter  Scott  in  the  preparation   of  the   Border  Minstrelsy, 
sailed  for  India  in  April,  1803,  and  died  at  Java  in  August, 
1811,  before  completing  his  3Gth  year. 

"  Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more : 
His  brief  and  bright  career  is  o'er, 
And  tout  •  his  tuneful  strains; 
Quench'd  is  hia  lamp  of  varied  lore, 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour: 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

Has  Leyden's  cold  remains !" 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  canto  iv.  post. 


Around  his  neck  his  horn  is  hung, 

His  hanger  in  his  belt  is  slung; 

Before  his  feet  his  blood-hounds  lie ; 

An  'twere  not  for  his  gloomy  eye, 

Whose  withering  glance  no  heart  can  brook, 

As  true  a  huntsman  doth  he  look, 

As  bugle  e'er  in  brake  did  sound, 

Or  ever  holloo'd  to  a  hound. 

To  chase  the  fiend,  and  win  the  prize, 

In  that  same  dungeon  ever  tries 

An  aged  necromantic  priest ; 

It  is  an  hundred  years  at  least 

Since  'twixt  them  first  the  strife  begun, 

And  neither  yet  has  lost  nor  won. 

And  oft  the  Conjurer's  words  will  make 

The  stubborn  Demon  groan  and  quake ; 

And  oft  the  bands  of  iron  break, 

Or  bursts  one  lock,  that  still  amain, 

Fast  as  'tis  open'd,  shuts  again. 

That  magic  strife  within  the  tomb 

May  last  until  the  day  of  doom, 

Unless  the  adept  shall  learn  to  tell 

The  very  word  that  clench'd  the  spell, 

When  Franch'mont  lock'd  the  treasure  cell. 

An  hundred  years  are  pass'd  and  gone, 

And  scarce  three  letters  has  he  won. 

Such  general  superstition  may 
Excuse  for  old  Pitscottie  say ; 
Whose  gossip  history  has  given 
My  song  the  messenger  from  Heaven,7 
That  warn'd,  in  Lithgow,  Scotland's  King, 
Nor  less  the  infernal  summoning;8 
May  pass  the  Monk  of  Durham's  tale, 
Whose  demon  fought  in  Gothic  mail ; 
May  pardon  plead  for  Fordun  grave, 
Who  told  of  Gilford's  Goblin  Cave. 
But  why  such  instances  to  you, 
Who,  in  an  instant,  can  renew 
Your  treasured  hoards  of  various  lore, 
And  furnish  twenty  thousand  more  ? 
Hoards,  not  like  theirs  whose  volumes  rest 
Like  treasures  in  the  Franch'mont  chest, 
While  gripple  owners  still  refuse 
To  others  what  they  cannot  use ; 
Give  them  the  priest's  whole  century, 
They  shall  not  spell  you  letters  three; 


See  a  notice  of  his  life  in  the  Author's  Miscellaneous  Prose 
Works. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  G. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  4  H. 

4  This  paragraph  appears  interpolated  on  the  blank  page  of 
the  MS. 

'■>  MS.:  "Which,  high  in  air.  lilce  eagle's  nest, 

Hang  from  the  dizzy  mountain's  breast." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  I. 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A.    The  four  lines  which  follow  are 
not  in  the  MS. 


MARMION. 


131 


Their  pleasure  in  the  books  the  same 
The  magpie  takes  in  pilfer'd  gem. 
Thy  volumes,  open  as  thy  heart, 
Delight,  amusement,  science,  art, 
To  every  ear  and  eye  impart ; 
Yet  who  of  all  who  thus  employ  them 
Can  like  the  owner's  self  enjoy  them? — 
But,  hark !  I  hear  the  distant  drum  ! 
The  day  of  Flodden  Field  is  come. — 
Adieu,  dear  Heber !  life  and  health, 
And  store  of  literary  wealth ! 


iHarmtmt. 


CANTO    SIXTH. 


Wit  Battle. 
I. 
While  great  events  were  on  the  gale, 
And  each  hour  brought  a  varying  tale, 
And  the  demeanor,  changed  and  cold, 
Of  Douglas  fretted  Marmion  bold, 
And,  like  the  impatient  steed  of  war, 
He  snuff 'd  the  battle  from  afar ; 
And  hopes  were  none,  that  back  again 
Herald  should  come  from  Terouenne, 
Where  England's  King  in  leaguer  lay, 
Before  decisive  battle-day  ; 
Whilst  these  things  were,  the  mournful  Clare 
Did  in  the  Dame's  devotions  share ; 
For  the  good  Countess  ceaseless  pray'd 
To  Heaven  and  Saints  her  sons  to  aid, 
And,  with  short  interval,  did  pass 
From  prayer  to  book,  from  book  to  mass, 
And  all  in  high  Baronial  pride, — 
A  life  both  dull  and  dignified ; — 
Yet  as  Lord  Marmion  nothing  press'd 
Upon  her  intervals  of  rest, 
Dejected  Clara  well  could  bear 
The  formal  state,  the  lengthen'd  prayer, 
Though  dearest  to  her  wounded  heart 
The  hours  that  she  might  spend  apart. 

II. 

I  said,  Tantallon's  dizzy  steep 
Hung  o'er  the  margin  of  the  deep. 
Many  a  rude  tower  and  rampart  there 
Repell'd  the  insult  of  the  air, 
Which,  when  the  tempest  vex'd  the  sky, 
Half  breeze,  half  spray,  came  whistling  by. 
Above  the  rest,  a  turret  square 
Did  o'er  its  Gothic  entrance  bear, 
Of  sculpture  rude,  a  stony  shield  ; 
The  Bloody  Heart  was  in  the  Field, 
And  in  the  chief  three  mullets  stood, 
The  cognizance  of  Douglas  blood. 

1  MS. :  "  The  tower  contain'd  a  narrow  stair, 
And  gave  an  open  access  where." 


The  turret  held  a  narrow  stair,1 

Which,  mounted,  gave  you  access  where 

A  parapet's  embattled  row 

Did  seaward  round  the  castle  go. 

Sometimes  in  dizzy  steps  descending, 

Sometimes  in  narrow  circuit  bending, 

Sometimes  in  platform  broad  extending, 

Its  varying  circle  did  combine 

Bulwark,  and  bartizan,  and  line, 

And  bastion,  tower,  and  vantage-coign ; 

Above  the  booming  ocean  leant 

The  far-projecting  battlement ; 

The  billows  burst,  in  ceaseless  flow, 

Upon  the  precipice  below. 

Where'er  Tantallon  faced  the  land, 

Gate- works  and  walls  were  strongly  manned ; 

No  need  upon  the  sea-girt  side : 

The  steepy  rock,  and  frantic  tide, 

Approach  of  human  step  denied ; 

And  thus  these  lines  and  ramparts  rude 

Were  left  in  deepest  solitude. 

III. 

And,  for  they  were  so  lonely,  Clare 
Would  to  these  battlements  repair, 
And  muse  upon  her  sorrows  there, 

And  list  the  sea-bird's  cry ; 
Or  slow,  like  noontide  ghost,  would  glide 
Along  the  dark-gray  bulwarks'  side, 
And  ever  on  the  heaving  tide 

Look  down  with  weary  eye. 
Oft  did  the  cliff  and  swelling  main 
Recall  the  thoughts  of  Whitby's  fane, — 
A  home  she  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 

For  she  had  laid  adown, 
So  Douglas  bade,  the  hood  and  veil, 
And  frontlet  of  the  cloister  pale, 

And  Benedictine  gown : 
It  were  unseemly  sight,  he  said, 
A  novice  out  of  convent  shade. — 
Now  her  bright  locks,  with  sunny  glow, 
Again  adorn'd  her  brow  of  snow  ; 
Her  mantle  rich,  whose  borders,  round, 
A  deep  and  fretted  broidery  bound, 
In  golden  foldings  sought  the  ground ; 
Of  holy  ornament,  alone 
Bemain'd  a  cross  with  ruby  stone ; 

And  often  did  she  look 
On  that  which  in  her  hand  she  bore, 
With  velvet  bound,  and  broider'd  o'er, 

Her  breviary  book. 
In  such  a  place,  so  lone,  so  grim, 
At  dawning  pale,  or  twilight  dim, 

It  fearful  would  have  been 
To  meet  a  form  so  richly  dress'd,2 
With  book  in  hand,  and  cross  on  breast, 

And  such  a  woeful  mien. 

2  MS. :  "  To  meet  a  form  so  fair,  and  dress'd 

In  antique  robes,  with  cross  on  breast.1 


132 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Fitz-Eustace,  loitering  with  his  how, 
To  practice  on  the  gull  and  crow, 
Baw  her,  at  distance,  gliding  slow, 

And  did  by  Mary  swear, — 
Some  love-lorn  Fay  she  might  have  been, 
Or,  in  Romance,  some  spell-bound  Queen ; 
For  ne'er,  in  work-day  world,  was  seen 

A  form  so  witching  fair.1 

IV. 

Once  walking  thus,  at  evening  tide, 

It  chanced  a  gliding  sail  she  spied, 

And,  sighing,  thought — "  The  Abbess,  there, 

Perchance  does  to  her  home  repair ; 

Her  peaceful  rule,  where  Duty,  free, 

Walks  hand  in  hand  with  Charily  ; 

Where  oft  Devotion's  tranced  glow 

Can  such  a  glimpse  of  heaven  bestow, 

That  the  enraptured  sisters  see 

High  vision  and  deep  mystery ; 

The  very  form  of  Hilda  fair, 

Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 

And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer.2 

Oh !  wherefore,  to  my  duller  eye, 

Did  still  the  Saint  her  form  deny  I 

Was  it  that,  sear'd  by  sinful  scorn, 

My  heart  could  neither  melt  nor  burn  ? 

Or  lie  my  warm  aftections  low, 

With  him  that  taught  them  first  to  glow? 

Yet,  gentle  Abbess,  well  I  knew 

To  pay  thy  kindness  grateful  due, 

And  well  could  brook  the  mild  command 

That  ruled  thy  simple  maiden  band. 

How  different  now !  condemn'd  to  bide 

My  doom  from  this  dark  tyrant's  pride. — 

But  Marmion  has  to  learn,  ere  long, 

That  constant  mind,  and  hate  of  wrong, 

Descended  to  a  feeble  girl 

From  Red  De  Clare,  stout  Gloster's  Earl : 

Of  such  a  stem,  a  sapling  weak3 

He  ne'er  shall  bend,  although  he  break. 


"  But  see ! — what  makes  this  armor  here  ?" — 

For  in  her  path  there  lay 
Targe,  corselet,  helm  ; — she  view'd  them  near. — 
"  The  breast-plate  pierced ! — Ay,  much  I  fear, 
Weak  fence  wert  thou  'gainst  foeman's  spear, 
That  hath  made  fatal  entrance  here, 

As  these  dark  blood-gouts  say. — 
Thus  Wilton ! — Oh !  not  corselet's  ward, 
Not  truth,  as  diamond  pure  and  hard, 

1  MS. :  "A  form  so  sad  and  fair." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  K. 

:;  MS. :  "Of  such  a  stem,  or  branch,-!  '    V  weak, 

I      so     j 

He  ne'er  shall  bend  me,  though  he  break." 

4  MS. :  "  By  many  a  short  caress  delay 'd." 

6  "  When  the  surprise  at  meeting  a  lover  rescued  from  the 

dead  is  considered,  the  above  picture  will  not  be  thought  over- 


Could  be  thy  manly  bosom's  guard, 

<  )n  vein  disastrous  day  !" — 
She  raised  her  eyes  in  mournful  mood, — 
Wilton  himself  before  her  stood  ! 
It  might  have  seem'd  his  passing  ghost, 
For  every  youthful  grace  was  lost ; 
And  joy  unwonted,  and  surprise, 
Gave  their  strange  wildness  to  his  eyes. — 
Expect  not,  noble  dames  and  lords, 
That  I  can  tell  such  scene  in  words : 
What  skillful  limner  e'er  would  choose 
To  paint  the  rainbow's  varying  hues, 
Unless  to  mortal  it  were  given 
To  dip  his  brush  in  dyes  of  heaven  ? 
Far  less  can  my  weak  line  declare 

Each  changing  passion's  shade ; 
Brightening  to  rapture  from  despair, 
Sorrow,  surprise,  and  pity  there, 
And  joy,  with  her  angelic  air, 
And  hope,  that  paints  the  future  fair, 

Their  varying  hues  display'd : 
Each  o'er  its  rival's  ground  extending, 
Alternate  conquering,  shifting,  blending, 
Till  all,  fatigued,  the  conflict  yield, 
And  mighty  Love  retains  the  field. 
Shortly  I  tell  what  then  he  said, 
By  many  a  tender  word  delay'd,4 
And  modest  blush,  and  bursting  sigh, 
And  question  kind,  and  fond  reply : — 

VI. 

J9t  SSUilton's  Ify'stors.5 
"  Forget  we  that  disastrous  day, 
When  senseless  in  the  lists  I  lay. 

Thence  dragg'd, — but  how  I  cannot  know, 
For  sense  and  recollection  fled, — 

I  found  me  on  a  pallet  low, 
Within  my  ancient  beadsman's  shed ; — * 

Austin. — Remember'st  thou,  my  Clare, 
How  thou  didst  blush  when  the  old  man, 
When  first  our  infant  love  began, 

Said  we  would  make  a  matchless  pair  ? 
Menials,  and  friends,  and  kinsmen  fled 
From  the  degraded  traitor's  bed, — 7 
He  only  held  my  burning  head, 
And  tended  me  for  many  a  day, 
While  wounds  and  fever  held  their  sway. 
But  far  more  needful  was  his  care 
When  sense  return'd  to  wake  despair; 

For  I  did  tear  the  closing  wound, 

And  dash  me  frantic  on  the  ground, 
If  e'er  I  heard  the  name  of  Clare. 

charged  with  coloring ;  and  yet  the  painter  is  so  fatigued  with 
his  exertion,  that  he  has  finally  thrown  away  the  brush,  and 
is  contented  with  merely  chalking  out  the  intervening  adven- 
tures of  De  Wilton,  without  bestowing  on  them  any  colors  at 
all." — C'ri/iin!  Hirinr. 
«  MS. :  "  Where  an  old  beadsman  held  my  head." 

*  MS. :  "  The  banish'd  traitor's  j   j™/6  }  bed." 


MABMION. 


133 


At  length,  to  calmer  reason  brought, 
Much  by  his  kind  attendance  wrought, 

With  him  I  left  my  native  strand, 
And,  in  a  Palmer's  weeds  array'd, 
My  hated  name  and  form  to  shade, 

I  journey'd  many  a  land ; 
No  more  a  lord  of  rank  and  birth,    • 
But  mingled  with  the  dregs  of  earth. 

Oft  Austin  for  my  reason  fear'd, 
When  I  would  sit,  and  deeply  brood 
On  dark  revenge,  and  deeds  of  blood, 

Or  wild  mad  schemes  uprear'd. 
My  friend  at  length  fell  sick,  and  said, 

God  would  remove  him  soon : 
And,  while  upon  his  dying  bed, 

He  begg'd  of  me  a  boon — 
If  e'er  my  deadliest  enemy 
Beneath  my  brand  should  conquer'd  lie, 
Even  then  my  mercy  should  awake, 
And  spare  his  life  for  Austin's  sake. 

VII. 

"  Still  restless  as  a  second  Cain, 

To  Scotland  next  my  route  was  ta'en ; 

Full  well  the  paths  I  knew. 
Fame  of  my  fate  made  various  sound, 
That  death  in  pilgrimage  I  found, 
That  I  had  perish'd  of  my  wound, — 

None  cared  which  tale  was  true ; 
And  living  eye  could  never  guess 
De  Wilton  in  his  Palmer's  dress ; 
For  now  that  sable  slough  is  shed, 
And  trimm'd  my  shaggy  beard  and  head, 
I  scarcely  know  me  in  the  glass. 
A  chance  most  wondrous  did  provide 
That  I  should  be  that  Baron's  guide — 

I  will  not  name  his  name ! — 
Vengeance  to  God  alone  belongs ; 
But,  when  I  think  on  all  my  wrongs, 

My  blood  is  liquid  flame ! 
And  ne'er  the  time  shall  I  forget, 
When,  in  a  Scottish  hostel  set, 

Dark  looks  we  did  exchange : 
What  were  his  thoughts  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  in  my  bosom  muster'd  Hell 

Its  plans  of  dark  revenge. 

VIII. 

"  A  word  of  vulgar  augury, 

That  broke  from  me,  I  scarce  knew  why, 

Brought  on  a  village  tale ; 
Which  wrought  upon  his  moody  sprite, 
And  sent  him  armed  forth  by  night. 

I  borrow'd  steed  and  mail, 


1  MS. :  "  But  thought  of  Austin  staid  my  hand, 
And  in  the  sheath  I  plunged  the  brand ; 

I  left  him  there  alone. — 
Oh,  good  old  man  !  even  from  the  grave 
Thy  spirit  could  De  Wilton  save." 


And  weapons,  from  his  sleeping  band ; 

And,  passing  from  a  postern  door, 
We  met,  and  'counter'd  hand  to  hand, — 

He  fell  on  Gifibrd  moor. 
For  the  death-stroke  my  brand  I  drew 
(Oh,  then  my  helmed  head  he  knew, 

The  Palmer's  cowl  was  gone), 
Then  had  three  inches  of  my  blade 
The  heavy  debt  of  vengeance  paid, — 
My  hand  the  thought  of  Austin  staid  j1 

I  left  him  there  alone. — 
Oh,  good  old  man !  even  from  the  grave 
Thy  spirit  could  thy  master  save : 
If  I  had  slain  my  foeman,  ne'er 
Had  Whitby's  Abbess,  in  her  fear, 
Given  to  my  hand  this  packet  dear, 
Of  power  to  clear  my  injured  fame, 
And  vindicate  De  Wilton's  name. — 
Perchance  you  heard  the  Abbess  tell 
Of  the  strange  pageantry  of  Hell, 

That  broke  our  secret  speech — 
It  rose  from  the  infernal  shade, 
Or  featly  was  some  juggle  play'd, 

A  tale  of  peace  to  teach. 
Appeal  to  Heaven  I  judged  was  best, 
When  my  name  came  among  the  rest. 

IX. 

"  Now  here,  within  Tantallon  Hold, 
To  Douglas  late  my  tale  I  told, 
To  whom  my  house  was  known  of  old. 
Won  by  my  proofs,  his  falchion  bright 
This  eve  anew  shall  dub  me  knight. 
These  were  the  arms  that  once  did  turn 
The  tide  of  fight  on  Otterburne, 
And  Harry  Hotspur  forced  to  yield, 
When  the  Dead  Douglas  won  the  field.* 
These  Angus  gave — his  armorer's  care, 
Ere  morn,  shall  every  breach  repair ; 
For  nought,  he  said,  was  in  his  halls, 
But  ancient  armor  on  the  walls, 
And  aged  chargers  in  the  stalls, 
And  women,  priests,  and  gray-hailed  men ; 
The  rest  were  all  in  Twisel  glen.3 
And  now  I  watch  my  armor  here, 
By  law  of  arms,  till  midnight's  near ; 
Then,  once  again  a  belted  knight, 
Seek  Surrey's  camp  with  dawn  of  light. 


"  There  soon  again  we  meet,  my  Clare ! 
This  Baron  means  to  guide  thee  there : 
Douglas  reveres  his  King's  command, 
Else  would  he  take  thee  from  his  band. 


2  See  the  ballad  of  Otterbourne,  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy, 
vol.  i.  p.  345. 

3  Where  James  encamped  before  taking  post  on  Flodden. 
The  MS.  has— 

"  The  rest  were  all  on  Flodden  plain." 


134 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Aud  there  thy  kinsman,  Surrey,  too, 
Will  give  I>e  Wilton  justice  due. 
Now  meeter  far  for  martial  broil, 
Firmer  my  limbs,  and  strung  by  toil, 

Once  more" "  Ob,  Wilton !  must  we  then 

Risk  new-found  happiness  again, 

Trust  fate  of  arms  once  more  ? 
And  is  there  not  an  humble  glen, 

Where  we,  content  and  poor, 
Might  build  a  cottage  in  the  shade, 
A  shepherd  thou,  and  I  to  aid 

Thy  task  on  dale  and  moor? 

That  reddening  brow  ! — too  well  I  know, 
Not  even  thy  Clare  can  peace  bestow, 

While  falsehood  stains  thy  name : 
Go  then  to  fight!  Clare  bids  thee  go! 
Clare  can  a  warrior's  feelings  know, 

And  weep  a  warrior's  shame ; 
Can  Red  Earl  Gilbert's  spirit  feel, 
Buckle  the  spurs  upon  thy  heel, 
And  belt  thee  with  thy  brand  of  steel, 

And  send  thee  forth  to  fame  I" 

XI. 

That  night,. upon  the  rocks  and  bay, 
The  midnight  moonbeam  slumbering  lay, 
And  pour'd  its  silver  light,  and  pure, 
Through  loop-hole  and  through  embrasure, 

Upon  Tantallon  tower  and  hall  ; 
But  chief  where  arched  windows  wide 
Illuminate  the  chapel's  pride, 

The  sober  glances  fall. 
Much  was  there  need;  though  seam'd  with 

scars, 
Two  veterans  of  the  Douglas'  wars, 

Though  two  gray  priests  were  there, 
And  each  a  blazing  torch  held  high, 
You  could  not  by  their  blaze  descry1 

The  chapel's  carving  fair. 
Amid  that  dim  and  smoky  light, 
Chequering  the  silver  moonshine  bright, 
A  bishop  by  the  altar  stood,2 
A  noble  lord  of  Douglas  blood, 
With  mitre  sheen,  and  rocquet  white. 
Yet  show'd  his  meek  and  thoughtful  eye 
But  little  pride  of  prelacy  ; 
More  pleased  that,  in  a  barbarous  age, 
He  gave  rude  Scotland  Virgil's  page, 
Than  that  beneath  his  rule  he  held 
The  bishopric  of  fair  Dunkeld. 
Beside  him  ancient  Angus  stood, 
DofPd  his  furr'd  gown,  and  sable  hood: 
O'er  his  huge  form,  and  visage  pale, 
He  wore  a  cap  and  shirt  of  mail ; 


i  MS. :  "  You  might  not  by  their  shine  descry." 

2  The  well-known  Gawain  Douglas,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  son 
of  Archibald  Bell-the-Cat,  Earl  of  Angus.  lie  was  author  of 
a  Scottish  metrical  version  of  the  iEneid,  aud  of  mauy  other 


And  lean'd  his  large  and  wrinkled  hand 
Upon  the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 
Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray, 
His  foeman's  limbs  to  shred  away, 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray.3 

He  seem'd  as,  from  the  tombs  around 
Rising  at  judgment-day, 

Some  giant  Douglas  may  be  found 
In  all  his  old  array  ; 
So  pale  his  face,  so  huge  his  limb, 
So  old  his  arms,  his  look  so  grim. 

XII. 

Then  at  the  altar  Wilton  kneels, 
And  Clare  the  spurs  bound  on  his  heels ; 
And  think  what  next  he  must  have  felt, 
At  buckling  of  the  falchion  belt ! 

And  judge  how  Clara  changed  her  hue, 
While  fastening  to  her  lover's  side 
A  friend  which,  though  in  danger  tried, 

He  once  had  found  untrue  ! 
Then  Douglas  struck  him  with  his  blade : 
"  Saint  Michael  and  Saint  Andrew  aid, 

I  dub  thee  knight. 
Arise,  Sir  Ralph,  De  Wilton's  heir! 
For  King,  for  Church,  for  Lady  fair, 

See  that  thou  fight."—* 
And  Bishop  Gawain,  as  he  rose, 
Said — "  Wilton !  grieve  not  for  thy  woes, 

Disgrace,  and  trouble ; 
For  He,  who  honor  best  bestows, 

May  give  thee  double." — 
De  Wilton  sobb'd,  for  sob  he  must — 
"  Where'er  I  meet  a  Douglas,  trust 
That  Douglas  is  my  brother !" — 
"  Nay,  nay,"  old  Angus  said,  "  not  so; 
To  Surrey's  camp  thou  now  must  go, 

Thy  wrongs  no  longer  smother. 
I  have  two  sons  in  yonder  field ; 
And,  if  thou  meet'st  them  under  shield, 
Upon  them  bravely — do  thy  worst ; 
And  foul  fall  him  that  blenches  first  I" 

XIII. 
Not  far  advanced  was  morning  day, 
When  Marmion  did  his  troop  array 

To  Surrey's  camp  to  ride ; 
He  had  safe  conduct  for  his  band, 
Beneath  the  royal  seal  and  hand, 

And  Douglas  gave  a  guide : 
The  ancient  Earl,  with  stately  grace, 
Would  Clara  on  her  palfrey  place, 
And  whisper'd  in  an  under  tone, 
"  Let  the  hawk  stoop,  his  prey  is  flown." — 

poetical  pieces  of  great  merit.  He  had  not  at  this  period 
attained  the  mitre. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  4  L. 

*  "  The  following  (five  lines)  are  a  sort  of  mongrel  between 
the  school  of  Stcrnhold  aud  Hopkins  and  the  later  one  of  Mr. 
Wordsworth." — Jeffrey. 


MAKMION. 


135 


The  train  from  out  the  castle  drew,1 
But  Marmion  stopp'd  to  bid  adieu  : — 

"  Though  something  I  might  plain,"  he  said, 
"  Of  cold  respect  to  stranger  guest, 
Sent  hither  by  your  King's  behest, 

While  in  Tantallon's  towers  I  staid ; 
Part  we  in  friendship  from  your  land, 
And,  noble  Earl,  receive  my  hand." — 
But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  spoke : — 
"  My  manors,  halls,  and  bowers,  shall  still 
Be  open,  at  my  Sovereign's  will, 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  to  be  the  owner's  peer.2 
My  castles  are  my  King's  alone, 
From  turret  to  foundation-stone — 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own ; 
And  never  shall  in  friendly  grasp 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp." — 

XIV. 

Burn'd  Marmion's  swarthy  cheek  like  fire, 
And  shook  his  very  frame  for  ire, 

And — "  This  to  me !"  he  said, — 
"  An  'twere  not  for  thy  hoary  beard, 
Such  hand  as  Marmion's  had  not  spared 

To  cleave  the  Douglas  head ! 
And,  first,  I  tell  thee,  haughty  Peer, 
He  who  does  England's  message  here, 
Although  the  meanest  in  her  state, 
May  well,  proud  Angus,  be  thy  mate : 
And,  Douglas,  more  I  tell  thee  here, 

Even  in  thy  pitch  of  pride, 
Here  in  thy  hold,  thy  vassals  near 
(Nay,  never  look  upon  your  lord, 
And  lay  your  hands  upon  your  sword), 

I  tell  thee,  thou'rt  defied ! 
And  if  thou  saidst  I  am  not  peer 
To  any  lord  in  Scotland  here, 
Lowland  or  Highland,  far  or  near, 

Lord  Angus,  thou  hast  lied !" — 3 
On  the  Earl's  cheek  the  flush  of  rage 
O'ercame  the  ashen  hue  of  age : 
Fierce  he  broke  forth, — "  And  darest  thou  then 
To  beard  the  lion  in  his  den, 

The  Douglas  in  his  hall  ? 
And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  ? — 
No,  by  Saint  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no  ! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms — what,  Warder,  ho ! 

Let  the  portcullis  fall." — 4 
Lord  Marmion  turn'd, — well  was  his  need, — 
And  dash'd  the  rowels  in  his  steed, 
Like  arrow  through  the  archway  sprung, 
The  ponderous  grate  behind  him  rung : 


i  MS. 
a  MS. 
a  MS. 


"  The  train  the  portal  arch  pass'd  through." 
"  Unmeet  they  be  to  harbor  here." 
"False  Douglas,  thou  hast  lied!" 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  M. 


To  pass  there  was  such  scanty  room, 
The  bars,  descending,  razed  his  plume. 

XV. 

The  steed  along  the  drawbridge  flies, 

Just  as  it  trembled  on  the  rise ; 

Nor  lighter  does  the  swallow  skim 

Along  the  smooth  lake's  level  brim: 

And  when  Lord  Marmion  reach'd  his  band, 

He  halts,  and  turns  with  clenched  hand, 

And  shout  of  loud  defiance  pours, 

And  shook  his  gauntlet  at  the  towers. 

"  Horse !  horse !"  the  Douglas  cried,  "  and 

chase !" 
But  soon  he  rein'd  his  fury's  pace : 
"  A  royal  messenger  he  came, 
Though  most  unworthy  of  the  name. — 
A  letter  forged !  Saint  Jude  to  speed ! 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed  !5 
At  first  in  heart  it  liked  me  ill, 
When  the  King  praised  his  clerkly  skill. 
Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine,6 
Save  Gawain,  ne'er  could  pen  a  line ; 
So  swore  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 
Let  my  boy-bishop  fret  his  fill. — 
Saint  Mary  mend  my  fiery  mood ! 
Old  age  ne'er  cools  the  Douglas  blood : 
I  thought  to  slay  him  where  he  stood. 
'Tis  pity  of  him  too,"  he  cried : 
"  Bold  can  he  speak,  and  fairly  ride, 
I  warrant  him  a  warrior  tried." 
With  this  his  mandate  he  recalls, 
And  slowly  seeks  his  castle  halls. 

XVI. 

The  day  in  Marmion's  journey  wore; 
Yet,  ere  his  passion's  gust  was  o'er, 
They  cross'd  the  heights  of  Stanrig-moor. 
His  troop  more  closely  there  he  scann'd, 
And  miss'd  the  Palmer  from  the  band. — 
"  Palmer  or  not,"  young  Blount  did  say, 
"  He  parted  at  the  peep  of  day ; 
Good  sooth,  it  was  in  strange  array." — 
"  In  what  array  ?"  said  Marmion,  quick. 
"  My  lord,  I  ill  can  spell  the  trick ; 
But  all  night  long,  with  clink  and  bang, 
Close  to  my  couch  did  hammers  clang ; 
At  dawn  the  falling  drawbridge  rang, 
And  from  a  loop-hole  while  I  peep, 
Old  Bell-the-Cat  came  from  the  Keep, 
Wrapp'd  in  a  gown  of  sables  fair, 
As  fearful  of  the  morning  air ; 
Beneath,  when  that  was  blown  aside, 
A  rusty  shirt  of  mail  I  spied, 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  N. 

6  MS. :  "  Thanks  to  Saint  Bothan,  son  of  mine 
Could  never  pen  a  written  line ; 
So  swear  I,  and  I  swear  it  still, 
Let  brother  Gawain  fret  his  fill." 


136 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


By  Archibald  won  in  bloody  work, 

Against  the  Saracen  and  Turk : 

Last  night  it  hung  not  in  the  hall ; 

I  thought  some  marvel  would  befall. 

And  next  I  saw  them  saddled  lead 

Old  Cheviot  forth,  the  Earl's  best  steed ; 

A  matchless  horse,  though  something  old, 

Prompt  in  his  paces,  cool  and  bold. 

I  heard  the  Sheriff  Sholto  say, 

The  Earl  did  much  the  Master1  pray 

To  use  him  on  the  battle-day ; 

But  he  preferr'd" "  Nay,  Henry,  cease ! 

Thou  sworn  horse-courser,  hold  thy  peace. — 
Eustace,  thou  bear'st  a  brain — I  pray, 
What  did  Blount  see  at  break  of  day  ?"— 
v         -^ 

XVII. 
"  In  brief,  my  lord,  we  both  descried 
(For  then  I  stood  by  Henry's  side)' 
The  Palmer  mount,  and  outwards  ride, 

Upon  the  Earl's  own  favorite  steed : 
All  sheathed  he  was  in  armor  bright, 
And  much  resembled  that  same  knight 
Subdued^by  you  in  Cotswold  fight : 

Lord  Angus  wish'd  him  speed." — 
The  instant  that  Fitz-Eustace  spoke, 
A  sudden  light  on  Marmion  broke ; — 
"  Ah !  dastard  fool,  to  reason  lost !" 
He  mutter'd ;  "  'Twas  nor  fay  nor  ghost 
I  met  upon  the  moonlight  wold, 
But  living  man  of  earthly  mould. — 

Oh,  dotage  blind  and  gross  I 
Had  I  but  fought  as  wont,  one  thrust 
Had  laid  De  Wilton  in  the  dust, 

My  path  no  more  to  cross. — 
How  stand  we  now  ? — he  told  his  tale 
To  Douglas ;  and  with  some  avail ; 

'Twas  therefore  gloom'd  his  rugged  brow. — 
Will  Surrey  dare  to  entertain, 
'Gainst  Marmion,  charge  disproved  and  vain? 

Small  risk  of  that,  I  trow. 
Yet  Clare's  sharp  questions  must  I  shun ; 
Must  separate  Constance  from  the  Nun — 
Oh,  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave, 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive ! 
A  Palmer  too ! — no  wonder  why 
I  felt  rebuked  beneath  his  eye : 
I  might  have  known  there  was  but  one 
Whose  look  could  quell  Lord  Marmion." 

XVIII. 
Stung  with  these  thoughts,  he  urged  to  speed 
His  troop,  and  reach'd,  at  eve,  the  Tweed, 
Where  Lennel's  convent2  closed  their  march 
(There  now  is  left  but  one  frail  arch, 
Yet  mourn  thou  not  its  cells ; 

1  His  eldest  son,  the  Master  of  Angus. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  0. 

3  "  From  this  period  to  the  conclusion  of  the  poem,  Mr. 
Scott's  genius,  so  long  overclouded,  bursts  forth  in  full  lustre, 


Our  time  a  fair  exchange  has  made ; 
Hard  by,  in  hospitable  shade, 

A  reverend  pilgrim  dwells, 
Well  worth  the  whole  Bernardine  brood, 
That  e'er  wore  sandal,  frock,  or  hood); 
Yet  did  Saint  Bernard's  Abbot  there 
Give  Marmion  entertainment  fair, 
And  lodging  for  his  train  and  Clare.3 
Next  morn  the  Baron  climb'd  the  tower, 
To  view  afar  the  Scottish  power, 

Encamp'd  on  Flodden  edge ; 
The  white  pavilions  made  a  show, 
Like  remnants  of  the  winter  snow, 

Along  the  dusky  ridge. 
Long  Marmion  look'd : — at  length  his  eye 
Unusual  movement  might  descry 

Amid  the  shifting  lines : 
The  Scottish  host  drawn  out  appears, 
For,  flashing  on  the  hedge  of  spears, 

The  eastern  sunbeam  shines. 
Their  front  now  deepening,  now  extending ; 
Their  flank  inclining,  wheeling,  bending, 
Now  drawing  back,  and  now  descending, 
The  skillful  Marmion  well  could  know 
They  watch'd  the  motions  of  some  foe 
Who  traversed  on  the  plain  below. 

XIX. 

Even  so  it  was.    From  Flodden  ridge 

The  Scots  beheld  the  English  host 

Leave  Barmore-wood,  their  evening 
post, 

And  heedful  watch'd  them  as  they  cross'd 
The  Till  by  Twisel  Bridge.* 

High  sight  it  is,  and  haughty,  while 

They  dive  into  the  deep  defile ; 

Beneath  the  cavern'd  cliff  they  fall, 

Beneath  the  castle's  airy  wall. 
By  rock,  by  oak,  by  hawthorn-tree, 

Troop  after  troop  are  disappearing ; 

Troop  after  troop  their  banners  rearing, 
Upon  the  eastern  bank  you  see. 
Still  pouring  down  the  rocky  den, 

Where  flows  the  sullen  Till, 
And  rising  from  the  dim-wood  glen, 
Standards  on  standards,  men  on  men, 

In  slow  succession  still, 
And,  sweeping  o'er  the  Gothic  arch, 
And  pressing  on,  in  ceaseless  march, 

To  gain  the  opposing  hill. 
That  morn,  to  many  a  trumpet  clang, 
Twisel !  thy  rock's  deep  echo  rang ; 
And  many  a  chief  of  birth  and  rank, 
Saint  Helen!  at  thy  fountain  drank. 
Thy  hawthorn  glade,  which  now  we  see 
In  spring-time  bloom  so  lavishly, 

and  even  transcends  itself.    It  is  impossible  to  do  him  justice 
by  making  extracts,  when  all  is  equally  attractive."— Monthly 
A'*  rii  w. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  P. 


MAEMION. 


137 


Had  then  from  many  an  axe  its  doom, 
To  give  the  marching  columns  room. 

XX. 

And  why  stands  Scotland  idly  now, 
Dark  Flodden !  on  thy  airy  brow, 
Since  England  gains  the  pass  the  while, 
And  struggles  through  the  deep  defile  ? 
What  checks  the  fiery  soul  of  James  ? 
Why  sits  that  champion  of  the  dames 

Inactive  on  his  steed, 
And  sees  between  him  and  his  land, 
Between  him  and  Tweed's  southern  strand, 

His  host  Lord  Surrey  lead  ? 
What  'vails  the  vain  knight-errant's  brand  ? — 
Oh,  Douglas,  for  thy  leading  wand ! 

Fierce  Randolph,  for  thy  speed ! 
Oh  for  one  hour  of  Wallace  wight, 
Or  well-ski  ll'd  Bruce,  to  rule  the  fight, 
And  cry — "  Saint  Andrew  and  our  right !" 
Another  sight  had  seen  that  morn, 
From  Fate's  dark  book  a  leaf  been  torn, 
And  Flodden  had  been  Bannockbourne ! — 
The  precious  hour  has  pass'd  in  vain, 
And  England's  host  has  gain'd  the  plain ; 
Wheeling  their  march,  and  circling  still, 
Around  the  base  of  Flodden  hill. 

XXI. 

Ere  yet  the  bands  met  Marmion's  eye,1 
Fitz-Eustace  shouted  loud  and  high, 
"  Hark !  hark !  my  lord,  an  English  drum ! 
And  see  ascending  squadrons  come 

Between  Tweed's  river  and  the  hill, 
Foot,  horse,  and  cannon ; — hap  what  hap, 
My  basnet  to  a  prentice  cap, 

Lord  Surrey's  o'er  the  Till ! — 
Yet  more !  yet  more ! — how  far  array'd 
They  file  from  out  the  hawthorn  shade, 

And  sweep  so  gallant  by  !2 
With  all  their  banners  bravely  spread, 

And  all  their  armor  flashing  high, 
Saint  George  might  waken  from  the  dead, 

To  see  fair  England's  standards  fly." — 
"  Stint  in  thy  prate,"  quoth  Blount,  "  thou'dst  best, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest." — 3 
With  kindling  brow  Lord  Marmion  said, — 
"  This  instant  be  our  band  array'd ; 
The  river  must  be  quickly  cross'd, 
That  we  may  join  Lord  Surrey's  host. 
If  fight  King  James, — as  well  I  trust 
That  fight  he  will,  and  fight  he  must, — 

1  MS. :  "  Ere  first  they  met  Lord  Marniion's  eye." 
s  MS. :  "  And  all  go  sweeping  by." 

3  "  The  speeches  of  Squire  Blount  are  a  great  deal  too  un- 
polished for  a  noble  youth  aspiring  to  knighthood.  On  two 
occasions,  to  specify  no  more,  he  addresses  his  brother  squire 
in  these  cacophonous  lines, — 

'  St.  Anton'  fire  thee .'  wilt  thou  stand 
All  day  with  bonnet  in  thy  hand ;' 
and, 


The  Lady  Clare  behind  our  lines 
Shall  tarry  while  the  battle  joins." 

XXII. 

Himself  he  swift  on  horseback  threw, 
Scarce  to  the  Abbot  bade  adieu ; 
Far  less  would  listen  to  his  prayer 
To  leave  behind  the  helpless  Clare. 
Down  to  the  Tweed  his  band  he  drew, 
And  mutter'd,  as  the  flood  they  view, 
"  The  pheasant  in  the  falcon's  claw, 
He  scarce  will  yield  to  please  a  daw : 
Lord  Angus  may  the  Abbot  awe, 

So  Clare  shall  bide  with  me." 
Then  on  that  dangerous  ford,  and  deep, 
Where  to  the  Tweed  Leat's  eddies  creep,* 

He  ventured  desperately : 
And  not  a  moment  will  he  bide, 
Till  squire,  or  groom,  before  him  ride ; 
Headmost  of  all  he  stems  the  tide, 

And  stems  it  gallantly. 
Eustace  held  Clare  upon  her  horse, 

Old  Hubert  led  her  rein ; 
Stoutly  they  braved  the  current's  course, 
And,  though  far  downward  driven  perforce, 

The  southern  bank  they  gain. 
Behind  them  straggling,  came  to  shore, 

As  best  they  might,  the  train : 
Each  o'er  his  head  his  yew-bow  bore, 

A  caution  not  in  vain ; 
Deep  need  that  day  that  every  string, 
By  wet  unharm'd,  should  sharply  ring. 
A  moment  then  Lord  Marmion  staid, 
And  breathed  his  steed,  his  men  array'd, 

Then  forward  moved  his  band, 
Until,  Lord  Surrey's  rear-guard  won, 
He  halted  by  a  Cross  of  Stone, 
That,  on  a  hillock  standing  lone, 

Did  all  the  field  command. 

XXIII. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 

Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray  ;5 

Their  marshall'd  lines  stretch'd  east  and  west,6 

And  fronted  north  and  south, 
And  distant  salutation  pass'd 

From  the  loud  cannon  mouth ; 
Not  in  the  close  successive  rattle 
That  breathes  the  voice  of  modern  battle, 

But  slow  and  far  between. — 
The  hillock  gain'd,  Lord  Marmion  staid : 
"  Here,  by  this  Cross,"  he  gently  said, 

'Stint  in  thy  prate,'  quoth  Blount,  '  thou'dst  best, 
And  listen  to  our  lord's  behest.' 
Neither  can  we  be  brought  to  admire  the  simple  dignity  of 
Sir  Hugh  the  Heron,  who  thus  encourageth  his  nephew, — 
'  By  my  fay, 
Well  hast  thou  spoke— say  forth  thy  say.' "— Jeffrey. 
4  MS. :  "  Where  to  the  Tweed  Leat's  tributes  creep." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  Q. 
6  MS. :  "  Their  lines  were  form'd,  stretch'd  east  and  west." 


138 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  You  well  may  view  the  scene. 
Here  shalt  thou  tarry,  lovely  Clare : 
Oh !  think  of  Marmion  in  thy  prayer ! — 
Thou  wilt  not? — well, — no  less  my  care 
Shall,  watchful,  for  thy  weal  prepare. — 
You,  Blount  and  Eustace,  are  her  guard, 

AVith  ten  pick'd  archers  of  my  train; 
With  England  if  the  day  go  hard, 

To  Berwick  speed  amain. — 
But  if  we  conquer,  cruel  maid, 
My  spoil  shall  at  your  feet  be  laid, 

When  here  we  meet  again." 
He  waited  not  for  answer  there, 
And  would  not  mark  the  maid's  despair,1 

Nor  heed  the  discontented  look 
From  either  squire ;  but  spurr'd  amain, 
And,  dashing  through  the  battle  plain, 

His  way  to  Surrey  took. 

XXIV. 
" The  good  Lord  Marmion,  by  my  life ! 

Welcome  to  danger's  hour ! — 
Short  greeting  serves  in  time  of  strife ; — 

Thus  have  I  ranged  my  power : 
Myself  will  rule  this  central  host, 

Stout  Stanley  fronts  their  right, 
My  sons  command  the  vanward  post, 

With  Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight  ;2 

Lord  Dacre,  with  his  horsemen  light, 

Shall  be  in  rearward  of  the  fight, 
And  succor  those  that  need  it  most. 

Now,  gallant  Marmion,  well  I  know, 

Would  gladly  to  the  vanguard  go ; 
Edmund,  the  Admiral,  Tunstall  there, 
With  thee  their  charge  will  blithely  share ; 
There  fight  thine  own  retainers  too, 
Beneath  De  Burg,  thy  steward  true." — s 
"  Thanks,  noble  Surrey !"  Marmion  said, 
Nor  farther  greeting  there  he  paid ; 
But,  parting  like  a  thunderbolt, 
First  in  the  vanguard  made  a  halt, 

Where  such  a  shout  there  rose 
Of  "  Marmion !  Marmion !"  that  the  cry, 
Up  Flodden  mountain  shrilling  high, 

Startled  the  Scottish  foes. 

XXV. 

Blount  and  Fitz-Eustace  rested  still 
With  Lady  Clare  upon  the  hill  ; 
On  which  (for  far  the  day  was  spent) 
The  western  sunbeams  now  were  bent. 
The  cry  they  heard,  its  meaning  knew, 
Could  plain  their  distant  comrades  view : 


1  MS.:  "Nor  mark'd  the  lady's  deep  despair, 
Nor  heeded  discontented  look." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  R. 

3  MS.:  "Beneath  thy  seneschal,  Fitz-IIugh." 

*  "Of  all  the  poetieal  battles  which  have  been  fought,  from 
the  days  of  Homer  to  those  of  Mr.  Southcy,  there  is  none,  in 


Sadly  to  Blount  did  Eustace  say, 
"  Unworthy  office  here  to  stay ! 
No  hope  of  gilded  spurs  to-day. — 
Bui  see!  look  up — on  Flodden  bent 
The  Scottish  foe  has  fired  his  tent." 

And  sudden,  as  he  spoke, 
From  the  sharp  ridges  of  the  hill,* 
All  downward  to  the  banks  of  Till, 

Was  wreathed  in  sable  smoke. 
Volumed  and  fast,  and  rolling  far, 
The  cloud  enveloped  Scotland's  war, 

As  down  the  hill  they  broke ; 
Nor  martial  shout,  nor  minstrel  tone, 
Announced  their  march ;  their  tread  alone, 
At  times  one  warning  trumpet  blown, 

At  times  a  stifled  hum, 
Told  England,  from  his  mountain-throne 

King  James  did  rushing  come. — 
Scarce  could  they  hear  or  see  their  foes, 
Until  at  weapon-point  they  close. — 5 
They  close,  in  clouds  of  smoke  and  dust, 
With  sword-sway,  and  with  lance's  thrust ; 

And  such  a  yell  was  there, 
Of  sudden  and  portentous  birth, 
As  if  men  fought  upon  the  earth, 

And  fiends  in  upper  air  ;6 
Oh,  life  and  death  were  in  the  shout, 
Recoil  and  rally,  charge  and  rout, 

And  triumph  and  despair. 
Long  look'd  the  anxious  squires ;  their  eye 
Could  in  the  darkness  nought  descry. 

XXVI. 

At  length  the  freshening  western  blast 

Aside  the  shroud  of  battle  cast ; 

And,  first,  the  ridge  of  mingled  spears7 

Above  the  brightening  cloud  appears ; 

And  in  the  smoke  the  pennons  flew, 

As  in  the  storm  the  white  sea-mew. 

Then  mark'd  they,  dashing  broad  and  far, 

The  broken  billows  of  the  war, 

And  plumed  crests  of  chieftains  brave 

Floating  like  foam  upon  the  wave ; 

But  nought  distinct  they  see : 
Wide  raged  the  battle  on  the  plain ; 
Spears  shook,  and  falchions  flash'd  amain ; 
Fell  England's  arrow-flight  like  rain ; 
Crests  rose,  and  stoop'd,  and  rose  again, 

Wild  and  disorderly. 
Amid  the  scene  of  tumult,  high 
They  saw  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  fly  ; 
And  stainless  TunstalPs  banner  white, 
And  Edmund  Howard's  lion  bright, 


our  opinion,  at  all  comparable,  for  interest  and  animation,— 
for  breadth  of  drawing  and  magnificence  of  effect,— with  this 
of  Mr.  Scott's."— Jeffrey. 

6  Tli  is  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

o  The  next  three  lines  are  not  in  the  MS. 

"  .M.S. :  "  And  first  the  broken  ridge  of  spears." 


MAEMION. 


139 


Still  bear  them  bravely  in  the  fight : 

Although  against  them  come 
Of  gallant  Gordons  many  a  one, 
And  many  a  stubborn  Badenoch-man,1 
And  many  a  rugged  Border  clan, 

With  Huntly,  and  with  Home. 

XXVII. 

Far  on  the  left,  unseen  the  while, 
Stanley  broke  Lennox  and  Argyle ; 
Though  there  the  western  mountaineer2 
Eush'd  with  bare  bosom  on  the  spear, 
And  flung  the  feeble  targe  aside, 
And  with  both  hands  the  broadsword  plied, 
'Twas  vain : — But  Fortune,  on  the  right, 
With  fickle  smile  cheer'd  Scotland's  fight. 
Then  fell  that  spotless  banner  white,3 

The  Howard's  lion  fell ; 
Yet  still  Lord  Marmion's  falcon  flew 
With  wavering  flight,  while  fiercer  grew 

Around  the  battle-yell. 
The  Border  slogan  rent  the  sky  ; 
A  Home !  a  Gordon !  was  the  cry : 
Loud  were  the  clanging  blows ; 
Advanced, — forced  back, — now  low,  now  high, 

The  pennon  sunk  and  rose ; 
As  bends  the  bark's  mast  in  the  gale, 
When  rent  are  rigging,  shrouds,  and  sail, 

It  waver'd  mid  the  foes. 
No  longer  Blount  the  view  could  bear : 
"  By  Heaven,  and  all  its  saints !  I  swear 

I  will  not  see  it  lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace,  you  with  Lady  Clare4 
May  bid  your  beads,  and  patter  prayer, — 

I  gallop  to  the  host." 
And  to  the  fray  he  rode  amain, 
Follow'd  by  all  the  archer  train. 
The  fiery  youth,  with  desperate  charge, 
Made,  for  a  space,  an  opening  large, — 

The  rescued  banner  rose ; 
But  darkly  closed  the  war  around : 
Like  pine-tree  rooted  from  the  ground,5 

It  sunk  among  the  foes. 
Then  Eustace  mounted  too : — yet  staid, 
As  loath  to  leave  the  helpless  maid, 

When,  fast  as  shaft  can  fly, 
Blood-shot  his  eyes,  his  nostrils  spread, 
The  loose  rein  dangling  from  his  head, 
Housing  and  saddle  bloody  red, 
Lord  Marmion's  steed  rush'd  by ; 

1  In  all  former  editions,  Highlandman.  Badenoch  is  the 
correction  of  the  Author's  interleaved  copy  of  the  edition  of 
1830. 

2  MS. :  "  Though  there  the  dauntless  mountaineer." 

3  MS. :  "  Fell  stainless  Tunstall's  banner  white, 

Sir  Edmund's  lion  fell." 
*  MS. :  "  Fitz-Eustace,  you  and  Lady  Clare 

May  for  its  safety  join  in  prayer." 
6  MS. :  "  Like  pine  uprooted  from  the  ground." 


And  Eustace,  maddening  at  the  sight, 
A  look  and  sign  to  Clara  cast 
To  mark  he  would  return  in  haste,6 

Then  plunged  into  the  fight. 

XXVIII. 

Ask  me  not  what  the  maiden  feels, 
Left  in  that  dreadful  hour  alone : 
Perchance  her  reason  stoops,  or  reels ; 
Perchance  a  courage,  not  her  own, 
Braces  her  mind  to  desperate  tone. — 
The  scatter'd  van  of  England  wheels ; — 7 
She  only  said,  as  loud  in  air 
The  tumult  roar'd,  "  Is  Wilton  there  ?" — 
They  fly,  or,  madden'd  by  despair, 
Fight  but  to  die,—"  Is  Wilton  there?" 
With  that,  straight  up  the  hill  there  rode 

Two  horsemen  drench'd  with  gore, 
And  in  their  arms,  a  helpless  load, 

A  wounded  knight  they  bore. 
His  hand  still  strain'd  the  broken  brand ; 
His  arms  were  smear'd  with  blood  and  sand  * 
Dragg'd  from  among  the  horses'  feet, 
With  dinted  shield,  and  helmet  beat, 
The  falcon-crest  and  plumage  gone, 
Can  that  be  haughty  Marmion !  .  .  .8 
Young  Blount  his  armor  did  unlace, 
And,  gazing  on  his  ghastly  face, 

Said—"  By  Saint  George,  he's  gone ! 
That  spear-wound  has  our  master  sped, 
And  see  the  deep  cut  on  his  head ! 

Good  night  to  Marmion." — 
"  Unnurtured  Blount !  thy  brawling  cease : 
He  opes  his  eyes,"  said  Eustace;  "peace!" 

XXIX. 

When,  doffd  his  cascpie,  he  felt  free  air,9 
Around  'gan  Marmion  wildly  stare : — 
"Where's  Harry  Blount?  Fitz-Eustace  where? 
Linger  ye  here,  ye  hearts  of  hare ! 
Bedeem  my  pennon, — charge  again ! 
Cry — 'Marmion  to  the  rescue !' — Vain! 
Last  of  my  race,  on  battle-plain 
That  shout  shall  ne'er  be  heard  again ! — 
Yet  my  last  thought  is  England's — fly,10 
To  Dacre  bear  my  signet  ring : 
Tell  him  his  squadrons  up  to  bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  hie : 
Tunstall  lies  dead  upon  the  field, 
His  life-blood  stains  the  spotless  shield  ; 

6  MS. :  "  And  cried  he  would  return  in  haste." 
T  MS.:  "Repulsed,  the  band  jof  and  whee]s„ 

The  scatter'd  wing  J 

8  MS. :  "  Can  that  be  j  £™*  j  Lord  Marmion !" 

»  MS. :  "  And  when  he  felt  the  fresher  air." 
10  MS.:  "Yet  my  last  thought's  for  England— hie, 
To  Dacre  give  my  signet-ring.  .  .  . 
Fitz-Eustace,  to  Lord  Surrey  fly." 


140 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   "WORKS. 


Edmund  is  down ;  my  life  is  reft; 

The  Admiral  alone  is  left. 

Let  Stanley  charge  with  spur  of  fire, — 

With  Chester  charge,  and  Lancashire, — 

Full  upon  Scotland's  central  host,1 

Or  victory  and  England's  lost. — 

Must  I  hid  twice  ? — hence,  varlets  !  fly ! 

Leave  Marinion  here  alone — to  die." 

They  parted,  and  alone  he  lay  : 

Clare  drew  her  from  the  sight  away, 
Till  pain  wrung  forth  a  lowly  moan, 
And  half  he  murmur'd, — "  Is  there  none 

Of  all  my  halls  have  nurst, 
Page,  squire,  or  groom,  one  cup  to  bring 
Of  blessed  water  from  the  spring, 

To  slake  my  dying  thirst !" 

XXX. 

Oh,  Woman !  in  our  hours  of  ease 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please, 
And  variable  as  the  shade 
By  the  light  quivering  aspen  made, — 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  angel  thou  ! — 
Scarce  were  the  piteous  accents  said, 
When,  with  the  Baron's  casque,  the  maid 

To  the  nigh  streamlet  ran : 
Forgot  were  hatred,  wrongs,  and  fears ; 
The  plaintive  voice  alone  she  hears, 

Sees  but  the  dying  man.2 
She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  side,3 

But  in  abhorrence  backward  drew  ; 
For,  oozing  from  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ? — behold  her  mark 

A  little  fountain  cell, 
Where  water,  clear  as  diamond  spark, 

In  a  stone  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
jDrtnk  .  ixitarj  .  pilgrim  .  brink .  anb"  .  praj  . 
jFor .  tfje .  kini)  .  soul .  of .  £$bil .  (Gran  . 

SiStfio  .  iuilt .  tfjisf .  .cross .  ana" .  Swell . 
She  fill'd  the  helm,  and  back  she  hied, 
And  with  surprise  and  joy  espied 

A  Monk  supporting  Marmion's  head ; 

1  MS. :  "  Full  on  King  James's  central  host." 

2  "The  hero  of  the  piece,  Marmion,  who  has  been  guilty  of 
seducing  a  nun,  and  abandoning  her  to  be  buried  alive,  of 
forgery  to  min  a  friend,  and  of  perfidy  in  endeavoring  to 
seduce  away  from  him  the  object  of  his  tenderesl  affections, 
fights  and  dies  gloriously,  and  is  indebted  to  the  injured  Clara 
for  the  last  drop  of  water  to  cool  his  dying  thirst.  This  last 
act  of  disinterested  attention  extorts  from  the  author  the 
smoothest,  sweetest,  and  tenderest  lines  in  the  whole  poem. 
It  is  with  pleasure  that  we  extract  numbers  so  harmonious 
from  the  discords  by  which  they  are  surrounded." — Critical 
Jieview. 

8  MS.:  "She  stoop'd  her  by  the  runnel's  tide, 
But  in  abhorrence  soon  withdrew, 


A  pious  man,  whom  duty  brought 
To  dubious  verge  of  battle  fought, 
To  shrieve  the  dying,  bless  the  dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep  drank  Lord  Marmion  of  the  wave, 
And,  as  she  stoop'd  his  brow  to  lave — 
"  Is  it  the  hand  of  Clare,"  he  said, 
"Or  injured  Constance,  bathes  my  head?" 

Then,  as  remembrance  rose, — 
"  Speak  not  to  me  of  shrift  or  prayer ! 

I  must  redress  her  woes. 
Short  space,  few  words,  are  mine  to  spare ; 
Forgive  and  listen,  gentle  Clare !" 

"Alas!"  she  said,  "the  while, — 
Oh,  think  of  your  immortal  weal ! 
In  vain  for  Constance  is  your  zeal ; 

She died  at  Holy  Isle."— 

Lord  Mannion  started  from  the  ground, 
As  light  as  if  he  felt  no  wound ; 
Though  in  the  action  burst  the  tide, 
In  torrents,  from  his  wounded  side. 
"  Then  it  was  truth,"  he  said — "  I  knew 
That  the  dark  presage  must  be  true. — 
I  would  the  Fiend,  to  whom  belongs 
The  vengeance  due  to  all  her  wrongs, 

Would  spare  me  but  a  day ! 
For  wasting  fire,  and  dying  groan,* 
And  priests  slain  on  the  altar  stone, 

Might  bribe  him  for  delay. 
It  may  not  be ! — this  dizzy  trance — 
Curse  on  yon  base  marauder's  lance, 
And  doubly  cursed  my  failing  brand ! 
A  sinful  heart  makes  feeble  hand." 
Then,  fainting,  down  on  earth  he  sunk, 
Supported  by  the  trembling  Monk. 

XXXII. 

With  fruitless  labor,  Clara  bound 
And  strove  to  stanch  the  gushing  wound : 
The  Monk,  with  unavailing  cares, 
Exhausted  all  the  Church's  prayers. 
Ever  he  said  that,  close  and  near, 
A  lady's  voice  was  in  his  ear, 
And  that  the  priest  he  could  not  hear ; 
For  that  she  ever  sung, 

For,  oozing  from  the  mountains  wide 
Where  raged  the  war,  a  dark-red  tide 

Was  curdling  in  the  streamlet  blue. 
Where  shall  she  turn  ?  behold,  she  marks 

A  little  vaulted  cell, 
Whose  water,  clear  as  diamond  sparks, 

In  a  rude  basin  fell. 
Above,  some  half-worn  letters  say, 
Drink,  passing  pilgrim,  drink,  and  pray." 
*  MS. :  "  Fire,  sacrilege,  and  dying  groan, 

And  priests  gorged  on  the  altar  stone, 
Might  bribe  him  for  delay, 

And  all  by  whom  the  deed  was  done 

Should  with  myself  become  his  own. 
It  may  not  be" 


MARMION. 


141 


"In  the  lost  battle,  borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle  with  groans  of  the 
dying  !" 

So  the  notes  rung. — 
"  Avoid  thee,  Fiend ! — with  cruel  hand, 
Shake  not  the  dying  sinner's  sand ! 
Oh,  look,  my  son,  upon  yon  sign1 
Of  the  Redeemer's  grace  divine ; 

Oh,  think  on  faith  and  bliss ! — 
By  many  a  death-bed  I  have  been, 
And  many  a  sinner's  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." — 
The  war,  that  for  a  space  did  fail, 
Now  trebly  thundering  swell'd  the  gale, 

And— Stanley  !  was  the  cry ; 
A  light  on  Marmion's  visage  spread, 

And  fired  his  glazing  eye  :2 
With  dying  hand,  above  his  head 
He  shook  the  fragment  of  his  blade, 

And  shouted  "  Victory ! — 
Charge,  Chester,  charge !  On,  Stanley,  on !" 
Were  the  last  words  of  Marmion.3 

XXXIII. 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell, 
Still  rose  the  battle's  deadly  swell, 
For  still  tire  Scots,  around  their  King, 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desjierate  ring. 
Where's  now  their  victor  van  ward  wing, 

Where  Huntly,  and  where  Home  ? — 
Oh,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come, 
When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier, 
And  every  paladin  and  peer, 

On  Roncesvalles  died ! 
Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain, 
To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain, 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again, 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side, 
Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  flies, 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies, 

Our  Caledonian  pride ! 
In  vain  the  wish — for  far  away, 
While  spoil  and  havoc  mark  their  way, 


1  MS. :  "  Oh,  look,  my  son,  upon  this  cross, 

Oh,  think  upon  the  grace  divine, 

On  saints  and  heavenly  bliss ! — 
By  many  a  sinner's  bed  I've  been, 
And  many  a  dismal  parting  seen, 

But  never  aught  like  this." 

2  MS. :  "  And  sparkled  in  his  eye." 

3  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake  has  nothing  so  good  as  the  death  of 
Marmion." — Mackintosh. 

4  MS. :  "  In  vain  the  wish — for  far  they  stray, 

And  spoil  and  havoc  mark'd  their  way. 

'  Oh,  Lady,'  cried  the  Monk,  '  away !' " 
*  MS. :  "  But  still  upon  the  darkening  heath." 
6  MS. :  "  Ever  the  stubborn  spears  made  good 

Their  dark  impenetrable  wood ; 

Each  Scot  stepp'd  where  his  comrade  stood, 


Near  Sybil's  Cross  the  plunderers  stray. — 
"  Oh,  Lady,"  cried  the  Monk,  "  away  !"* 

And  placed  her  on  her  steed, 
And  led  her  to  the  chapel  fair 

Of  Tilmouth  upon  Tweed. 
There  all  the  night  they  spent  in  prayer, 
And  at  the  dawn  of  morning,  there 
She  met  her  kinsman,  Lord  Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 

But  as  they  left  the  dark'ning  heath,5 
More  desperate  grew  the  strife  of  death. 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 
In  headlong  charge  their  horse  assail'd ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep, 

That  fought  around  their  King. 
But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghastly  blow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring  ; 
The  stubborn  spear-men  still  made  good6 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood, 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  King. 
Then  skillful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shatter'd  bands ; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foemen  know; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  plash, 

While  many  a  broken  band, 
Disorder'd,  through  her  currents  dash, 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land ; 


The  instant  that  he  fell, 
Till  the  last  ray  of  parting  light, 
Then  ceased  perforce  the  dreadful  fight, 

And  sunk  the  battle's  yell. 
The  skillful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Drew  from  the  strife  his  shatter'd  bands. 

Their  loss  his  foemen  knew ; 
Their  King,  their  Lords,  their  mightiest  low, 
They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds  blow, 

Melts  from  the  mountain  blue. 
By  various  march  their  scatter'd  bands, 
Disorder'd,  gain'd  the  Scottish  lands. — 
Day  dawns  on  Flodden's  dreary  side, 
And  show'd  the  scene  of  carnage  wide ; 
There,  Scotland,  lay  thy  bravest  pride !" 


142 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail.1 
Tradition,  Legend,  tune,  and  song, 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong: 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 
Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fatal  field, 
Where  shivcr'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear, 

And  hroken  was  her  shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day  dawns  upon  the  mountain's  side : — 2 
There,  Scotland !  lay  thy  bravest  pride, 
Chiefs,  knights,  and  nobles,  many  a  one : 
The  sad  survivors  all  are  gone. — 
View  not  that  corpse  mistrustfully, 
Defaced  and  mangled  though  it  be ; 
Nor  to  yon  Border  castle  high 
Look  northward  with  upbraiding  eye ; 

Nor  cherish  hope  in  vain, 
That,  journeying  far  on  foreign  strand, 
The  Royal  Pilgrim  to  his  land 

May  yet  return  again. 
He  saw  the  wreck  his  rashness  wrought ; 
Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain  : 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 

Beseem'd  the  Monarch  slain.3 
But,  oh,  how  changed  since  yon  blithe  night  !- 
Gladly  I  turn  me  from  the  sight, 

Unto  my  tale  again. 

XXXVI. 

Short  is  my  tale : — Fitz-Eustace'  care 

A  pierced  and  mangled  body  bare 

To  moated  Lichfield's  lofty  pile ; 

And  there,  beneath  the  southern  aisle, 

A  tomb,  with  Gothic  sculpture  fair, 

Did  long  Lord  Marmion's  image  bear. 

(Now  vainly  for  its  site  you  look; 

'Twas  levell'd  when  fanatic  Brook 

The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took;4 

But,  thanks  to  Heaven  and  good  Saint  Chad, 

A  guerdon  meet  the  spoiler  had !) 


1  "The  powerful  poetry  of  those  passages  can  receive  no 
Illustration  from  any  praises  or  observations  of  ours.  It  is 
superior,  in  our  apprehension,  to  all  that  this  author  has 
hitherto  produced;  and,  with  a  few  faults  of  diction,  equal 
to  any  thing  that  has  ever  been  written  upon  similar  subjects. 
From  the  moment  the  author  gets  in  sight  of  Flodden  field, 
indeed,  to  the  end  of  the  poem,  there  is  no  tame  writing,  and 
no  intervention  of  ordinary  passages.  He  does  not  once  flag 
or  grow  tedious;  and  neither  stops  to  describe  dresses  and 
ceremonies,  nor  to  commemorate  the  harsh  names  of  feudal 
barons  from  the  Border.  There  is  a  flight  of  five  or  six  hun- 
dred lines,  in  short,  in  which  he  never  stoops  his  wing,  nor 
wavers  in  his  course;  hut  carries  the  reader  forward  with  a 
more  rapid,  sustained,  and  lofty  movement,  than  any  epic 
bard  that  we  can  at  present  remember." — Jeffkey. 


There  erst  was  martial  Marmion  found, 
His  feet  upon  a  couchant  hound, 

His  hands  to  heaven  upraised ; 
And  all  around,  on  scutcheon  rich, 
And  tablet  carved,  and  fretted  niche, 

His  arms  and  feats  were  blazed. 
And  yet,  though  all  was  carved  so  fair, 
And  priest  for  Marmion  breathed  the  prayer, 
The  last  Lord  Marmion  lay  not  there. 
From  Ettrick  woods  a  peasant  swain 
Follow'd  his  lord  to  Flodden  plain, — 
One  of  those  flowers  whom  plaintive  lay 
In  Scotland  mourns  as  "  wede  away :" 
Sore  wounded,  Sybil's  Cross  he  spied, 
And  dragg'd  him  to  its  foot,  and  died, 
Close  by  the  noble  Marmion's  side. 
The  spoilers  stripp'd  and  gash'd  the  slain, 
And  thus  their  corpses  were  mista'en ; 
And  thus,  in  the  proud  Baron's  tomb, 
The  lowly  woodsman  took  the  room. 

XXXVII. 

Less  easy  task  it  were  to  show 

Lord  Marmion's  nameless  grave,  and  low.5 

They  dug  his  grave  e'en  where  he  lay,6 
But  every  mark  is  gone; 

Time's  wasting  hand  has  done  away 

The  simple  Cross  of  Sybil  Gray, 
And  broke  her  font  of  stone : 
But  yet  from  out  the  little  hill7 
Oozes  the  slender  springlet  still. 

Oft  halts  the  stranger  there, 
For  thence  may  best  his  curious  eye 
The  memorable  field  descry ; 

And  shepherd  boys  repair 
To  seek  the  water-flag  and  rush, 
And  rest  them  by  the  hazel  bush, 

And  plait  their  garlands  fair ; 
Nor  dream  they  sit  upon  the  grave 
That  holds  the  bones  of  Marmion  brave. — 
When  thou  shalt  find  the  little  hill,8 
With  thy  heart  commune,  and  be  still. 
If  ever,  in  temptation  strong, 
Thou  left'st  the  right  path  for  the  wrong ; 
If  every  devious  step,  thus  trod, 
Still  led  thee  farther  from  the  road ; 


2  "  Day  glimmers  on  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
The  cloven  cuirass,  and  the  hclmless  head,"  Ac. 

Byron's  Lara. 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  4  S.  *  Ibid.  Note  4  T. 

5  "A  corpse  is  afterwards  conveyed,  as  that  of  Marmion,  to 
the  Cathedral  of  Lichfield,  where  a  magnificent  tomb  is  erected 
to  his  memory,  and  masses  are  instituted  for  the  repose  of  his 
soul ;  but,  by  an  admirably-imagined  act  of  poetical  justice,  we 
are  informed  that  a  peasant's  body  was  placed  beneath  that 
costly  monument,  while  the  haughty  Baron  himself  was  buried 
like  a  vulgar  corpse,  on  the  spot  on  which  he  died." — Mom.  Rev. 

4  MS. :  "  They  dug  his  bed  e'en  where  he  lay." 

7  MS. :  "  But  yet  where  swells  the  little  hill." 

8  MS. :  "  If  thou  shouldst  find  this  little  tomb, 

Beware  to  speak  a  hasty  doom." 


MABMION. 


143 


Dread  thou  to  speak  presumptuous  doom 
On  noble  Marmion's  lowly  tomb ; 
But  say,  "  He  died  a  gallant  knight, 
With  sword  in  hand,  for  England's  right." 

XXXVIII. 
I  do  not  rhyme  to  that  dull  elf 
Who  cannot  image  to  himself, 
That  all  through  Flodden's  dismal  night 
Wilton  was  foremost  in  the  fight ; 
That,  when  brave  Surrey's  steed  was  slain, 
'Twas  Wilton  mounted  him  again ; 
'Twas  Wilton's  brand  that  deepest  hew'd1 
Amid  the  spear-men's  stubborn  wood ; 
Unnamed  by  Holinshed  or  Hall, 
He  was  the  living  soul  of  all : 
That,  after  fight  his  faith  made  plain, 
He  won  his  rank  and  lands  again ; 
And  charged  his  old  paternal  shield 
With  bearings  won  on  Flodden  Field. 
Nor  sing  I  to  that  simple  maid 
To  whom  it  must  in  terms  be  said, 
That  King  and  kinsmen  did  agree 
To  bless  fair  Clara's  constancy ; 
Who  cannot,  unless  I  relate, 
Paint  to  her  mind  the  bridal's  state ; 
That  Wolsey's  voice  the  blessing  spoke, 
More,  Sands,  and  Denny,  pass'd  the  joke : 
That  bluff  King  Hal  the  curtain  drew, 
And  Catherine's  hand  the  stocking  threw ; 

1  MS. :  "  He  hardest  press'd  the  Scottish  ring ; 

'Twas  thought  that  he  struck  down  the  King." 

2  Used  generally  for  tale  or  discourse. 

s  "  We  have  dwelt  longer  on  the  beauties  and  defects  of 
this  poem  than,  we  are  afraid,  will  be  agreeable  either  to  the 
partial  or  the  indifferent ;  not  only  because  we  look  upon  it  as 
a  misapplication,  in  somedegree,  of  very  extraordinary  talents, 
but  because  we  cannot  help  considering  it  as  the  foundation 
of  a  new  school,  which  may  hereafter  occasion  no  little  an- 
noyance both  to  us  and  to  the  public.  Mr.  Scott  has  hitherto 
filled  the  whole  stage  himself;  and  the  very  splendor  of  his 
success  has  probably  operated  as  yet  rather  to  deter  than  to 
encourage  the  herd  of  rivals  and  imitators ;  but  if,  by  the  help 
of  the  good  parts  of  his  poem,  he  succeeds  in  suborning  the 
verdict  of  the  public  in  favor  of  the  bad  parts  also,  and  estab- 
lishes an  indiscriminate  taste  for  chivalrous  legends  and 
romances  in  irregular  rhyme,  he  may  depend  upon  having  as 
many  copyists  as  Mrs.  Eadcliffe  or  Schiller,  and  upon  becoming 
the  founder  of  a  new  schism  in  the  catholic  poetical  church, 
for  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  exertions,  there  will  probably  be 
no  cure  but  in  the  extravagance  of  the  last  and  lowest  of  its 
followers.  It  is  for  this  reason  that  we  conceive  it  to  be  our 
duty  to  make  one  strong  effort  to  bring  back  the  great  apostle 
of  the  heresy  to  the  wholesome  creed  of  his  instructors,  and  to 
stop  the  insurrection  before  it  becomes  desperate  and  sense- 
less, by  persuading  the  leader  to  return  to  his  duty  and  alle- 
giance. We  admire  Mr.  Scott's  genius  as  much  as  any  of 
those  who  may  be  misled  by  its  perversion;  and,  like  the 
curate  and  the  barber  in  Don  Quixote,  lament  the  day  when 
a  gentleman  of  such  endowments  was  corrupted  by  the  wicked 
tales  of  knight-errantry  and  enchantment." — Jeffrey. 

"  We  do  not  flatter  ourselves  that  Mr.  Scott  will  pay  to  our 
advice  that  attention  which  he  has  refused  to  his  acute  friend 
Mr.  Erskine ;  but  it  is  possible  that  his  own  good  sense  may  in 
time  persuade  him  not  to  abandon  his  loved  fairy  ground  (a 


And  afterwards,  for  many  a  day, 

That  it  was  held  enough  to  say, 

In  blessing  to  a  wedded  pair, 

"  Love  they  like  Wilton  and  like  Clare !" 


3L'33ttbo2. 

TO  THE  READER. 

Why  then  a  final  note  prolong, 

Or  lengthen  out  a  closing  song, 

Unless  to  bid  the  gentles  speed 

Who  long  have  listed  to  my  rede  ?2 

To  statesmen  grave,  if  such  may  deign 

To  read  the  Minstrel's  idle  strain, 

Sound  head,  clean  hand,  and  piercing  wit, 

And  patriotic  heart — as  Pitt  ! 

A  garland  for  the  hero's  crest, 

And  twined  by  her  he  loves  the  best ; 

To  every  lovely  lady  bright, 

What  can  I  wish  but  faithful  knight  ? 

To  every  faithful  lover  too, 

What  can  I  wish  but  lady  true  ? 

And  knowledge  to  the  studious  sage ; 

And  pillow  to  the  head  of  age. 

To  thee,  dear  school-boy,  whom  my  lay 

Has  cheated  of  thy  hour  of  play, 

Light  task,  and  merry  holiday  ! 

To  all,  to  each,  a  fair  good-night, 

And  pleasing  dreams,  and  slumbers  light  !3 

province  over  which  we  wish  him  a  long  and  prosperous  gov- 
ernment), but  to  combine  the  charms  of  lawful  poetry  with 
those  of  wild  and  romantic  fiction.  As  the  first  step  to  this 
desirable  end,  we  would  beg  him  to  reflect  that  his  Gothic 
modi  Is  will  not  bear  him  out  in  transferring  the  loose  and 
shuffling  ballad  metre  to  a  poem  of  considerable  length  and 
of  complicated  interest  like  the  present.  It  is  a  very  easy 
thing  to  write  five  hundred  ballad  verses,  stans  pede  in  uno : 
but  Mr.  Scott  needs  not  to  be  told  that  five  hundred  verses 
written  on  one  foot  have  a  very  poor  chance  for  immortality." 
— Monthly  Review. 


"  The  story,"  writes  Mr.  Southey,  "  is  made  of  better  mate- 
rials than  the  Lay,  yet  they  are  not  so  well  fitted  together. 
As  a  whole,  it  has  not  pleased  me  so  much — in  parts,  it  has 
pleased  me  more.  There  is  nothing  so  finely  conceived  in 
your  former  poem  as  the  death  of  Marmion :  there  is  nothing 
finer  in  its  conception  any  where.  The  introductory  epistles 
I  do  not  wish  away,  because,  as  poems,  they  gave  me  great 
pleasure ;  but  I  wished  them  at  the  end  of  the  volume,  or  at 
the  beginning, — any  where  except  where  they  were.  My 
taste  is  perhaps  peculiar  in  disliking  all  interruptions  in  nar- 
rative poetry.  When  the  poet  lets  his  story  sleep,  and  talks 
in  his  own  person,  it  has  to  me  the  same  sort  of  unpleasant 
effect  that  is  produced  at  the  end  of  an  act.  You  are  alive 
to  know  what  follows,  and  lo — down  comes  the  curtain,  and 
the  fiddlers  begin  with  their  abominations.  The  general 
opinion,  however,  is  with  me,  in  this  particular  instance." — 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  44. 

"Thank  you,"  says  Mr.  Wordsworth,  "for  Marmion.  I 
think  your  end  has  been  attained.  That  it  is  not  the  end 
which  I  should  wish  you  to  propose  to  yourself,  you  will  be 
well  aware  from  what  you  know  of  my  notions  of  composi- 
tion, both  as  to  matter  and  manner.    In  the  circle  of  my 


144 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


acquaintance,  it  seems  as  well  liked  as  the  Lay,  though  I  have 
heard  that  in  the  world  it  is  not  so.  Had  the  poem  been 
much  better  than  the  Lay,  it  could  scarcely  have  Batisfied  the 
public,  which  has  too  much  of  the  monster,  the  moral  mon- 
ster, in  its  composition." — Ibid.  p.  45. 

".My  own  opinion,"  says  Mr.  George  Ellis,  "is  that  both 
the  productions  are  equally  good  in  their  different  ways : 
yet,  upon  the  whole,  I  had  rather  be  the  author  of  Marmion 
than  of  the  Lay,  because  I  think  its  species  of  excellence  of 
much  more  difficult  attainment.  What  degree  of  bulk  may 
be  essentially  necessary  to  the  corporeal  part  of  an  Epic 
poem,  I  know  not;  but  sure  I  am  that  the  story  of  Mannion 
might  have  furnished  twelve  books  as  easily  as  six — that  the 
masterly  character  of  Constance  would  not  have  been  less  be- 
witching had  it  been  much  more  minutely  painted — and  that 
De  Wilton  might  have  been  dilated  with  great  ease,  and  even 
to  considerable  advantage ; — in  short,  that  had  it  been  your 
intention  merely  to  exhibit  a  spirited  romantic  story,  instead 
of  making  that  story  subservient  to  the  delineation  of  the 
manners  which  prevailed  at  a  certain  period  of  our  history, 
the  number  and  variety  of  your  characters  would  have  suited 
any  scale  of  painting.  On  the  whole,  I  can  sincerely  assure 
you  that,  had  I  seen  Marmion  without  knowing  the  author, 
I  should  have  ranked  it  with  Theodore  and  Honoria, — that 
is  to  say,  on  the  very  top  shelf  of  English  poetry."— Ibid.  vol. 
iii.  p.  46. 

"  I  shall  not,  after  so  much  of  and  about  criticism,  say  any 
thing  more  of  Marmion  in  this  place  than  that  I  have  always 
considered  it  as,  on  the  whole,  the  greatest  of  Scott's  poems. 
There  is  a  certain  light,  easy,  virgin  charm  about  the  Lay, 
which  we  look  for  in  vain  through  the  subsequent  volumes  of 
his  verse ;  but  the  superior  strength,  and  breadth,  and  bold- 
ness, both  of  conception  and  execution,  in  the  Marmion,  a[>- 
pear  to  me  indisputable.  The  great  blot,  the  combination  of 
mean  felony  with  so  many  noble  qualities  in  the  character  of 
the  hero,  was,  as  the  poet  says,  severely  commented  on  at  the 
time  by  the  most  ardent  of  his  early  friends,  Leyden ;  but 
though  he  admitted  the  justice  of  that  criticism,  he  chose  '  to 
let  the  tree  lie  as  it  had  fallen.'    He  was  also  sensible  that 


many  of  the  subordinate  snd  connecting  parts  of  the  narra- 
tive are  flat,  harsh,  and  obscure— but  would  never  make  any 
serious  attempt  to  do  away  with  these  imperfections;  and 
perhaps  they,  after  all,  heighten  by  control  the  effect  of  the 
passages  of  high-wrought  enthusiasm  which  alone  he  con- 
sidered, in  after  days,  with  satisfaction.  As  for  the 'episto- 
lary dissertations,'  it  must,  I  take  it,  be  allowed  that  they 
interfered  with  the  flow  of  the  story,  when  readers  were 
turning  the  leaves  with  the  first  ardor  of  curiosity ;  and  they 
were  not,  in  fact,  originally  intended  to  be  interwoven  in  any 
fashion  with  the  romance  of  Marmion.  Though  the  author 
himself  does  not  allude  to,  and  had  perhaps  forgotten  the 
circumstance,  when  writing  the  Introductory  Essay  of  1830 
—they  were  announced,  by  an  advertisement  early  in  1807,  as 
'Six  Epistles  from  Ettrick  Forest,'  to  be  published  in  a  sepa- 
rate volume,  similar  to  that  of  the  Ballads  and  Lyrical  Pieces ; 
and  perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  that  this  first  plan  had 
been  adhered  to.  But  however  that  may  be,  are  there  any 
pages,  among  all  he  ever  wrote,  that  one  would  be  more  sorry 
he  should  not  have  written?  They  are  among  the  most  deli- 
cious portraitures  that  genius  ever  painted  of  itself— buoyant, 
virtuous,  happy  genius — exulting  in  its  own  energies,  yet 
possessed  and  mastered  by  a  clear,  calm,  modest  mind,  and 
happy  only  in  diffusing  happiness  around  it. 

"With  what  gratification  those  Epistles  were  read  by  the 
friends  to  whom  they  were  addressed,  it  would  be  superfluous 
to  show.  He  had,  in  fact,  painted  them  almost  as  fully  as 
himself;  and  who  might  not  have  been  proud  to  find  a  place 
in  such  a  gallery?  The  tastes  and  habits  of  six  of  those  men 
in  whose  intercourse  Scott  found  the  greatest  pleasure  when 
his  fame  was  approaching  its  meridian  splendor  are  thus  pre- 
served for  posterity ;  and  when  I  reflect  with  what  avidity  we 
catch  at  the  least  hint  which  seems  to  afford  us  a  glimpse  of 
the  intimate  circle  of  any  great  poet  of  former  ages,  I  cannot 
but  believe  that  posterity  would  have  held  this  record  pre- 
cious, even  had  the  individuals  been  in  themselves  far  less 
remarkable  than  a  Rose,  an  Ellis,  a  Heber,  a  Skene,  a  Marriott, 
and  an  Erskine." — Lockhakt,  vol.  iii.  p.  55. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

As  when  the  Champion  of  the  Lake 

Enters  Morgana 's  fated  house, 

Or  in  the  Chapel  Perilous, 

Despising  spells  and  demons'  force, 

Molds  converse  with  the  unburied  corse. — P.  79. 

The  romance  of  the  Morte  Arthur  contains  a  sort  of  abridg- 
ment of  the  most  celebrated  adventures  of  the  Round  Table  ; 
and,  being  written  in  comparatively  modern  language,  gives 
the  general  reader  an  excellent  idea  of  what  romances  of 
chivalry  actually  were.  It  has  also  the  merit  of  being  written 
in  pure  old  English ;  and  many  of  the  wild  adventures  which 
it  contains  are  told  with  a  simplicity  bordering  upon  the  sub- 
lime. Several  of  these  are  referred  to  in  the  text;  and  I 
would  have  illustrated  them  by  more  full  extracts,  but  as  this 
curious  work  is  about  to  be  republished.  I  confine  myself  to 
the  tale  of  the  Chapel  Perilous,  and  of  the  quest  of  Sir  Laun- 
celot  after  the  Sangreal. 

"  Right  so  Sir  Launcelot  departed,  and  when  he  came  to 
the  Chapell  Perilous,  he  alighted  downe,  and  tied  his  horse 
to  a  little  gate.  And  as  soon  as  he  was  within  the  church- 
yard, he  saw,  on  the  front  of  the  chapell,  many  faire  rich 
shields  turned  upside  downe ;  and  many  of  the  shields  Sir 
Launcelot  had  seene  knights  have  before  ;  with  that  he  saw 
stand  by  him  thirtie  great  knights,  more,  by  a  yard,  than  any 
man  that  ever  he  had  seene,  and  all  those  grinned  and  gnashed 
at  Sir  Launcelot ;  and  when  he  saw  their  countenance,  hee 
dread  them  sore,  and  so  put  his  shield  afore  him,  and  tooke 
his  sword  in  his  hand,  ready  to  doe  battaile;  and  they  were 
all  armed  in  black  harneis,  ready,  with  their  shields  and 
swords  drawn.  And  when  Sir  Launcelot  would  have  gone 
through  them,  they  scattered  on  every  side  of  him,  and  gave 
him  the  way  ;  and  therewith  he  waxed  all  bold,  and  entered 
into  the  chapell,  and  then  hee  saw  no  light  but  a  dimme 
lampe  burning,  and  then  was  he  ware  of  a  corps  covered 
with  a  cloath  of  silke ;  then  Sir  Launcelot  stooped  downe, 
and  cut  a  piece  of  that  cloth  away,  and  then  it  fared  under 
him  as  the  earth  had  quaked  a  little,  whereof  he  was  afeard, 
and  then  hee  saw  a  faire  sword  lye  by  the  dead  knight,  and 
that  he  gat  in  his  hand,  and  hied  him  out  of  the  chappell. 
As  soon  as  he  was  in  the  chappell-yerd,  all  the  knights  spoke 
to  him  with  a  grimly  voice,  and  said,  '  Knight,  Sir  Launcelot, 
lay  that  sword  from  thee,  or  else  thou  shalt  die.' — '  Whether 
I  live  or  die,'  said  Sir  Launcelot, '  with  no  great  words  get  yee 
it  againe,  therefore  fight  for  it  and  yee  list.'  Therewith  he 
passed  through  them  ;  and,  beyond  the  chappell-yerd,  there 
met  him  a  faire  damosell,  and  said,  'Sir  Launcelot,  leave 
that  sword  behind  thee,  or  thou  wilt  die  for  it.' — 'I  will  not 
leave  it,'  said  Sir  Launcelot,  'for  no  threats.' — 'No?'  said 
she;  'and  ye  did  leave  that  sword,  Queen  Guenever  should 
ye  never  see.' — 'Then  were  I  fool  and  I  would  leave  this 
sword,'  said  Sir  Launcelot.  '  Now,  gentle  knight,'  said  the 
damosell,  'I  require  thee  to  kiss  me  once.' — 'Nay,' said  Sir 
Launcelot,  '  that  God  forbid  !' — '  Well,  sir,'  said  she,  '  and 
thou  haddest  kissed  me  thy  life  dayes  had  been  done ;  but 

10 


now,  alas  !'  said  she, '  I  have  lost  all  my  labour  ;  for  I  ordeined 
this  chappell  for  thy  sake,  and  for  Sir  Gawaine ;  and  once  I 
had  Sir  Gawaine  within  it ;  and  at  that  time  he  fought  with 
that  knight  which  there  lieth  dead  in  yonder  chappell,  Sir 
Gilbert  the  bastard,  and  at  that  time  hee  smote  oft' Sir  Gilbert 
the  bastard's  left  hand.  And  so,  Sir  Launcelot,  now  I  tell 
thee,  that  I  have  loved  thee  this  seaven  yeare  ;  but  there  may 
no  woman  have  thy  love  but  Queene  Guenever  ;  but  sithen  I 
may  not  rejoyce  thee  to  have  thy  body  alive,  I  had  kept  no 
more  joy  in  this  world  but  to  have  had  thy  dead  body  ;  and  I 
would  have  balmed  it  and  served,  and  so  have  kept  it  in  my 
life  daies,  and  daily  I  should  have  clipped  thee,  and  kissed 
thee,  in  the  despite  of  Queen  Guenever.' — 'Yee  say  well,'  said 
Sir  Launcelot ;  '  Jesus  preserve  me  from  your  subtill  craft.' 
And  therewith  he  took  his  horse,  and  departed  from  her." 


Note  B. 


A  sinful  man,  and  unconfess'd, 

He  took  the  Sangreal' s  holy  quest, 

And,  slumbering,  saw  the  vision  high 

He  might  not  view  with  waking  eye. — P.  79. 

One  day,  when  Arthur  was  holding  a  high  feast  with  his 
Knights  of  the  Round  Table,  the  Sangreal,  or  vessel  out  of 
which  the  last  passover  was  eaten  (a  precious  relic,  which 
had  long  remained  concealed  from  human  eyes,  because  of 
the  sins  of  the  land),  suddenly  appeared  to  him  and  all  his 
chivalry.  The  consequence  of  this  vision  was  that  all  the 
knights  took  on  them  a  solemn  vow  to  seek  the  Sangreal. 
But,  alas !  it  could  only  be  revealed  to  a  knight  at  once  accom- 
plished in  earthly  chivalry,  and  pure  and  guiltless  of  evil 
conversation.  All  Sir  Launcelot's  noble  accomplishments  were 
therefore  rendered  vain  by  his  guilty  intrigue  with  Queen 
Guenever,  or  Ganore  ;  and  in  his  holy  quest  he  encountered 
only  such  disgraceful  disasters  as  that  which  follows : — 

"But  Sir  Launcelot  rode  overthwart  and  endlong  in  a  wild 
forest,  and  held  no  path  but  as  wild  adventure  led  him ;  and 
at  the  last,  he  came  unto  a  stone  crosse,  which  departed  two 
wayes,  in  wast  land;  and,  by  the  crosse,  was  a  stone  that  was 
of  marble ;  but  it  was  so  dark  that  Sir  Launcelot  might  not 
well  know  what  it  was.  Then  Sir  Launcelot  looked  by  him, 
and  saw  an  old  chappell,  and  there  he  wend  to  have  found 
people.  And  so  Sir  Launcelot  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree,  and 
there  he  put  off  his  shield,  and  hung  it  upon  a  tree,  and  then 
hee  went  unto  the  chappell  doore,  and  found  it  wasted  and 
broken.  And  within  he  found  a  faire  altar,  full  richly  arrayed 
with  cloth  of  silk,  and  there  stood  a  faire  candlestick,  which 
beare  six  great  candles,  and  the  candlesticke  was  of  silver. 
And  when  Sir  Launcelot  saw  this  light,  hee  had  a  great  will 
for  to  enter  into  the  chappell,  but  he  could  find  no  place  where 
hee  might  enter.  Then  was  he  passing  heavie  and  dismaii  d. 
Then  he  returned,  and  came  againe  to  his  horse,  and  tooke 

(145) 


146 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


off  his  saddle  and  his  bridle,  and  let  him  pasture,  and  unlaced 
his  helme,  and  ungirded  his  sword,  and  hud  him  downe  to 
sleepe  upon  his  shield,  before  the  erosse. 

"Ami  so  nee  fell  on  Bleepe;  and, halfe  waking  and  halfe 
sleeping,  he  saw  come  by  him  two  palfreys,  both  faire  and 
white,  the  which  beare  a  litter,  therein  lying  a  sieke  knight. 
Ami  when  he  was  nigh  the  erosse,  he  there  abode  still.  All 
this  Sir  Launcelot  saw  and  beheld,  for  hee  slept  not  verily, 
and  hee  hoard  him  say,  'O  sweete  Lord,  when  shall  this  sor- 
row leave  mo,  and  when  shall  the  holy  vessell  come  by  me, 
where  through  I  shall  be  blessed,  for  I  have  endured  thus 
long  for  little  trespasse !'  And  thus  a  great  while  complained 
the  knight,  and  allwaies  Sir  Launcelot  heard  it.  With  that 
Sir  Launcelot  saw  the  candlesticke,  with  the  lire  tapers,  come 
before  the  erosse;  but  he  could  see  nobody  that  brought 
it.  Also  there  came  a  table  of  silver,  and  the  holy  vessel]  of 
the  Sancgreall,  the  which  Sir  Launcelot  had  seen  before  that 
time  in  King  Petchoux's  house.  And  therewithal!  the  sieke 
knight  set  him  upright,  and  held  up  both  his  hands,  and  said, 
'  Faire  sweete  Lord,  which  is  here  within  the  holy  vessell, 
take  heede  to  mee,  that  I  may  bee  hole  of  this  great  malady  !' 
And  therewith  upon  his  hands,  and  upon  his  knees,  he  went 
so  nigh  that  he  touched  the  holy  vessell,  and  kissed  it:  And 
anon  he  was  hole,  and  then  he  said, '  Lord  God,  I  thank  thee, 
for  I  am  healed  of  this  malady.'  Soo  when  the  holy  vessell 
had  been  there  a  great  while,  it  went  into  the  chappelle 
againe,  with  the  candlesticke  and  the  light,  so  that  Sir  Laun- 
celot wist  not  where  it  became,  for  he  was  overtaken  with 
sinne,  that  hee  had  no  power  to  arise  against  the  holy  vessell, 
wherefore  afterward  many  men  said  of  him  shame.  But  he 
tooke  repentance  afterward.  Then  the  sieke  knight  dressed 
him  upright,  and  kissed  the  Crosse.  Then  anon  his  squire 
brought  him  his  armes,  and  asked  his  lord  how  he  did.  '  Cer- 
tainly,' said  hee,  'I  thanke  God  right  heartily,  for  through 
the  holy  vessell  I  am  healed:  But  I  have  right  great  mer- 
vaile  of  this  sleeping  knight,  which  hath  had  neither  grace 
nor  power  to  awake  during  the  time  that  this  holy  vessell 
hath  beene  here  present.' — '  I  dare  it  right  well  say,'  said  the 
squire,  'that  this  same  knight  is  defouled  with  some  manner 
of  deadly  sinne,  whereof  he  has  never  confessed.' — 'By  my 
faith,'  said  the  knight,  'whatsoever  he  be,  he  is  unhappie; 
for,  as  I  deerne,  hee  is  of  the  fellowship  of  the  Round  Table, 
the  which  is  entered  into  the  quest  of  the  Sancgreall.' — '  Sir,' 
6aid  the  squire, '  here  I  have  brought  you  all  your  armes,  save 
your  helme  and  your  sword;  and,  therefore,  by  mine  assent, 
now  may  ye  take  this  knight's  helme  and  his  sword;'  and  so 
he  di(L  And  when  he  was  eleane  armed,  he  took  Sir  Laun- 
celot's  horse,  for  he  was  better  than  his  owne,  and  so  they 
departed  from  the  erosse. 

"Then  anon  Sir  Launcelot  awaked,  and  set  himselfe  up- 
right, and  he  thought  him  what  hee  had  there  seene,  and 
whether  it  were  dreames  or  not ;  right  so  he  heard  a  voice 
that  said,  'Sir  Launcelot,  more  hardy  than  is  the  stone,  and 
more  bitter  than  is  the  wood,  and  more  naked  and  bare  than 
is  the  liefe  of  the  fig-tree,  therefore  go  thou  from  hence,  and 
withdraw  thee  from  this  holy  place ;'  and  when  Sir  Launcelot 
heard  this,  he  was  passing  heavy,  and  wist  not  what  to  doe. 
And  so  he  depart  id  son-  weeping,  and  cursed  the  time  that 
he  was  borne ;  for  then  he  deemed  never  to  have  had  more 
■worship;  for  the  words  wont  unto  his  heart,  till  that  he  knew 
■wherefore  that  hee  was  so  called." 


Note  C. 


And  Drydr-n ,  in  Immortal  strain, 

Had  raised  the  Table  Hound  again. — P.  79. 

Dryden's  melancholy  account  of  his  projected  Epic  Poem, 

blasted  by  the  se]Ii>h  and  sordid  parsimony  of  his  patrons,  is 


contained  in  an  "  Essay  on  Satire,"  addressed  to  the  Earl  of 
Dorset,  and  prefixed  to  the  Translation  of  Juvenal.  After 
mentioning  a  plan  of  supplying  machinery  from  the  guardian 
angels  of  kingdoms,  mentioned  in  the  Book  of  Daniel,  he 
adds  — 

"Thus,  my  lord,  I  have,  as  briefly  as  I  could,  given  your 
lordship,  and  by  you  the  world,  a  rude  draught  of  what  I  have 
been  long  laboring  in  my  imagination,  and  what  I  had  in- 
tended to  have  put  in  practice  (though  far  unable  for  the 
attempt  of  such  a  poem;;  and  to  have  left  the  stage,  to  which 
my  genius  never  much  inclined  me,  for  a  work  which  would 
have  taken  up  my  life  in  the  performance  of  it.  This,  too,  I 
had  intended  chiefly  for  the  honor  of  my  native  country,  to 
which  a  poet  is  particularly  obliged.  Of  two  subjects,  both 
relating  to  it,  I  was  doubtful  whether  I  should  choose  that  of 
King  Arthur  conquering  the  Saxons,  which,  being  farther 
distant  in  time,  gives  the  greatest  scope  to  my  invention  ;  or 
that  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  in  subduing  Spain,  and 
restoring  it  to  the  lawful  prince,  though  a  great  tyrant,  Don 
Pedro  the  Cruel;  which,  for  the  compass  of  time,  including 
only  the  expedition  of  one  year,  for  the  greatness  of  the 
action,  and  its  answerable  event,  for  the  magnanimity  of  the 
English  hero,  opposed  to  the  ingratitude  of  the  person  whom 
he  restored,  and  for  the  many  beautiful  episodes  which  I  had 
interwoven  with  the  principal  design,  together  with  the 
characters  of  the  chiefest  English  persons  (wherein,  after 
Virgil  and  Spenser,  I  would  have  taken  occasion  to  represent 
my  living  friends  and  patrons  of  the  noblest  families,  and  also 
shadowed  the  events  of  future  ages  in  the  succession  of  our 
imperial  line), — with  these  helps,  and  those  of  the  machines 
which  I  have  mentioned,  I  might  perhaps  have  done  as  well 
as  some  of  my  predecessors,  or  at  least  chalked  out  a  way  for 
others  to  amend  my  errors  in  a  like  design ;  but  being  encour- 
aged only  with  fair  words  by  King  Charles  II.,  my  little  salary 
ill  paid,  and  no  prospect  of  a  future  subsistence,  I  was  then 
discouraged  in  the  beginning  of  my  attempt;  and  now  age 
has  overtaken  me,  and  want,  a  more  insufferable  evil,  through 
the  change  of  the  times,  has  wholly  disabled  me." 


Note  D. 


Their  theme  the  merry  minstrels  made, 
0/  Ascapart,  and  Bevis  bold. — P.  80. 

The  "  History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton  "  is  abridged  by  my 
friend  Mr.  George  Ellis,  with  that  liveliness  which  extracts 
amusement  even  out  of  the  most  rude  and  unpromising  of  our 
old  tales  of  chivalry.  Ascapart,  a  most  important  personage 
in  the  romance,  is  thus  described  in  an  extract : — 

"  This  geaunt  was  mighty  and  strong, 

And  full  thirty  foot  was  long, 

lie  was  bristled  like  a  sow; 

A  foot  he  had  between  each  brow  ; 

His  lips  were  great,  and  hung  aside ; 

His  even  were  hollow,  his  mouth  was  wide; 

Lothly  he  was  to  look  on  than, 

And  liker  a  devil  than  a  man. 

His  staff  was  a  young  oak, 

Hard  and  heavy  was  his  stroke." 

Specimens  of  Metrical  Romances,  vol.  ii.  p.  136. 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  memory  of  Sir  Bevis  is  still 
fragrant  in  his  town  of  Southampton ;  the  gate  of  which  is 
sentinelled  by  the  effigies  of  that  doughty  knight-errant  and 
his  gigantic  associate. 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


147 


Note  E. 

Day  set  on  Norham's  castled  sleep, 

And  Tweed1  s  fair  river,  broad  and  deep,  &e. — P.  80. 

The  ruinous  castle  of  Norham  (anciently  called  Ubbanford) 
is  situated  on  the  southern  bank  of  the  Tweed,  about  six  miles 
above  Berwick,  and  where  that  river  is  still  the  boundary  be- 
tween England  and  Scotland.  The  extent  of  its  ruins,  as  well 
as  its  historical  importance,  shows  it  to  have  been  a  place  of 
magnificence,  as  well  as  strength.  Edward  I.  resided  there 
when  he  was  created  umpire  of  the  dispute  concerning  the 
Scottish  succession.  It  was  repeatedly  taken  and  retaken 
during  the  wars  between  England  and  Scotland ;  and,  indeed, 
scarce  any  happened,  in  which  it  had  not  a  principal  share. 
Norhani  Castle  is  situated  on  a  steep  bank,  which  overhangs 
the  river.  The  repeated  sieges  which  the  castle  had  sustained 
rendered  frequent  repairs  necessary.  In  1164,  it  was  almost 
rebuilt  by  Hugh  Pudsey,  Bishop  of  Durham,  who  added  a  huge 
keep,  or  donjon  ;  notwithstanding  which,  King  Henry  II.,  in 
1174,  took  the  castle  from  the  bishop,  and  committed  the 
keeping  of  it  to  William  de  Neville.  After  this  period  it  seems 
to  have  been  chiefly  garrisoned  by  the  King,  and  considered 
as  a  royal  fortress.  The  Greys  of  Chillingham  Castle  were 
frequently  the  castellans,  or  captains  of  the  garrison :  Yet,  as 
the  castle  was  situated  in  the  patrimony  of  St.  Cuthbert,  the 
property  was  in  the  see  of  Durham  till  the  Reformation.  After 
that  period  it  passed  through  various  hands.  At  the  union 
of  the  crowns,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  Sir  Robert  Carey 
(afterwards  Earl  of  Monmouth),  for  his  own  life,  and  that  of  two 
of  his  sons.  After  King  James's  accession,  Carey  sold  Norham 
Castle  to  George  Home,  Earl  of  Dunbar,  for  £6000.  See  his 
curious  Memoirs,  published  by  Mr.  Constable  of  Edinburgh. 

According  to  Mr.  Pinkerton,  there  is,  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum, Cal.  B.  6.  216,  a  curious  memoir  of  the  Dacres  on  the 
state  of  Norham  Castle  in  1522,  not  long  after  the  battle  of 
Flodden.  The  inner  ward,  or  keep,  is  represented  as  impreg- 
nable : — "  The  provisions  are  three  great  vats  of  salt  eels,  forty- 
four  kine,  three  hogsheads  of  salted  salmon,  forty  quarters 
of  grain,  besides  many  cows  and  four  hundred  sheep,  lying 
under  the  castle-wall  nightly ;  but  a  number  of  the  arrows 
wanted  feathers,  and  a  good  Fletcher  [i.  e.  maker  of  arrows] 
was  required." — History  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  201,  note. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  are  at  present  considerable,  as  well 
as  picturesque.  They  consist  of  a  large  shattered  tower,  with 
many  vaults,  and  fragments  of  other  edifices,  enclosed  within 
an  outward  wall  of  great  circuit. 


Note  F. 


The  battled  towers,  the  donjon  keep. — P.  80. 

It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  remind  my  readers  that  the 
donjon,  in  its  proper  signification,  means  the  strongest  part  of 
a  feudal  castle ;  a  high  square  tower,  with  walls  of  tremen- 
dous thickness,  situated  in  the  centre  of  the  other  buildings, 
from  which,  however,  it  was  usually  detached.  Here,  in-  case 
of  the  outward  defences  being  gained,  the  garrison  retreated 
to  make  their  last  stand.  The  donjon  contained  the  great 
hall,  and  principal  rooms  of  state  for  solemn  occasions,  and 
also  the  prison  of  the  fortress ;  from  which  last  circumstance 
we  derive  the  modern  and  restricted  use  of  the  word  dungeon. 
Ducange  (voce  Dunjo)  conjectures  plausibly  that  the  name 
is  derived  from  these  keeps  being  usually  built  upon  a  hill, 
which  in  Celtic  is  called  Dun.  Borlase  supposes  the  word 
came  from  the  darkness  of  the  apartments  in  these  towers, 
which  were  thence  .figuratively  called  Dungeons  ;  thus  deriv- 
ing the  ancient  word  from  the  modern  application  of  it. 


Prepared. 


2  Armor. 


Note  G. 

Well  was  he  arm'd  from  head  to  heel, 
In  mail  and  plate  of  Milan  steel. — P.  81. 

The  artists  of  Milan  were  famous  in  the  middle  ages  for 
their  skill  in  armory,  as  appears  from  the  following  passage, 
in  which  Froissart  gives  an  account  of  the  preparations  made 
by  Henry,  Earl  of  Hereford,  afterwards  Henry  IV.,  and 
Thomas,  Duke  of  Norfolk,  Earl  Marischal,  for  their  proposed 
combat  in  the  lists  at  Coventry : — "  These  two  lords  made 
ample  provision  of  all  things  necessary  for  the  combat ;  and 
the  Earl  of  Derby  sent  off  messengers  to  Lombardy,  to  have 
armor  from  Sir  Galeas,  Duke  of  Milan.  The  Duke  complied 
with  joy,  and  gave  the  knight,  called  Sir  Francis,  who  had 
brought  the  message,  the  choice  of  all  his  armor  for  the  Earl 
of  Derby.  When  he  had  selected  what  he  wished  for  in  plated 
and  mail  armor,  the  Lord  of  Milan,  out  of  his  abundant  love 
for  the  Earl,  ordered  four  of  the  best  armorers  in  Milan  to 
accompany  the  knight  to  England,  that  the  Earl  of  Derby 
might  be  more  completely  armed." — Johnes'  Froissart,  vol.  iv. 
p.  597. 


Note  H. 

Who  checks  at  me,  to  death  is  dight. — P.  81. 

The  crest  and  motto  of  Mannion  are  borrowed  from  the  fol- 
lowing story : — Sir  David  de  Lindsay,  first  Earl  of  Crauford, 
was,  among  other  gentlemen  of  quality,  attended,  during  a  visit 
to  London,  in  1390,  by  Sir  William  Dalzell,who  was,  according 
to  my  authority,  Bower,  not  only  excelling  in  wisdom,  but 
also  of  a  lively  wit.  Chancing  to  be  at  the  court,  he  there  saw 
Sir  Piers  Courtenay,  an  English  knight,  famous  for  skill  in 
tilting,  and  for  the  beauty  of  his  person,  parading  the  palace, 
arrayed  in  a  new  mantle,  bearing  for  device  an  embroidered 
falcon,  with  this  rhyme, — 

"  I  bear  a  falcon,  fairest  of  flight, 
Whoso  pinches  at  her,  his  death  is  dight,1 
In  graith."2 

The  Scottish  knight,  being  a  wag,  appeared  next  day  in  a 
dress  exactly  similar  to  that  of  Courtenay,  but  bearing  a  mag- 
pie instead  of  the  falcon,  with  a  motto  ingeniously  contrived 
to  rhyme  to  the  vaunting  inscription  of  Sir  Piers : — 

"  I  bear  a  pie  picking  at  a  piece, 
Whoso  picks  at  her,  I  shall  pick  at  his  nese,3 
In  faith." 

This  affront  could  only  be  expiated  by  a  just  with  sharp 
lances.  In  the  course,  Dalzell  left  his  helmet  unlaced,  so 
that  it  gave  way  at  the  touch  of  his  antagonist's  lance,  and  he 
thus  avoided  the  shock  of  the  encounter.  This  happened 
twice : — in  the  third  encounter,  the  handsome  Courtenay  lost 
two  of  his  front  teeth.  As  the  Englishman  complained  bitterly 
of  Dalzell's  fraud  in  not  fastening  his  helmet,  the  Scottishman 
agreed  to  run  six  courses  more,  each  champion  staking  in  the 
hand  of  the  King  two  hundred  pounds,  to  be  forfeited,  if,  on 
entering  the  lists,  any  unequal  advantage  should  be  detected. 
This  being  agreed  to,  the  wily  Scot  demanded  that  Sir  Piers, 
in  addition  to  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  should  consent  to  the  ex- 
tinction of  one  of  his  eyes,  he  himself  having  lost  an  eye  in 
the  fight  of  Otterburn.  As  Courtenay  demurred  to  this 
equalization  of  optical  powers,  Dalzell  demanded  the  forfeit ; 
which,  after  much  altercation,  the  King  appointed  to  be  paid 

3  Nose. 


148 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


to  him,  saying,  he  surpassed  the  English  both  in  wit  and 
valor.  This  must  appear  to  the  reader  a  singular  specimen 
of  the  humor  of  that  time.  I  suspect  the  Jockey  Club  would 
have  given  a  different  decision  from  Henry  IV. 


Note  I. 


They  haiTd  Lord  Marmion  : 
They  haiVd  him  Lord  of  Fbntenaye, 
Of  Lxdterxvard,  and  Scrirelbaye, 

Of  Tamworth  tower  and  town. — P.  82. 

Lord  Marmion,  the  principal  character  of  the  present 
romance,  is  entirely  a  fictitious  personage.  In  earlier  times, 
indeed,  the  family  of  Marmion,  Lords  of  Fontenay,  in  Nor- 
mandy, was  highly  distinguished.  Robert  de  Marmion,  Lord 
of  Fontenay,  a  distinguished  follower  of  the  Conqueror,  ob- 
tained a  grant  of  the  castle  and  town  of  Tamworth,  and  also 
of  the  manor  of  Scrivelby,  in  Lincolnshire.  One,  or  both,  of 
these  noble  possessions  was  held  by  the  honorable  service  of 
being  the  royal  champion,  as  the  ancestors  of  Marmion  had 
formerly  been  to  the  Dukes  of  Normandy.  But  after  the 
castle  and  demesne  of  Tamworth  had  passed  through  four 
successive  Barons  from  Robert,  the  family  became  extinct  in 
the  person  of  Philip  de  Marmion,  who  died  in  20th  Edward  I. 
without  issue  male.  He  was  succeeded  in  his  castle  of  Tam- 
worth by  Alexander  de  Freville,  who  married  Mazera,  his 
granddaughter.  Baldwin  de  Freville,  Alexander's  descend- 
ant, in  the  reign  of  Richard  L,  by  the  supposed  tenure  of 
his  castle  of  Tamworth,  claimed  the  office  of  royal  champion, 
and  to  do  the  service  appertaining ;  namely,  on  the  day  of 
coronation,  to  ride,  completely  armed,  upon  a  barbed  horse, 
into  Westminster  Hall,  and  there  to  challenge  the  combat 
against  any  who  would  gainsay  the  King's  title.  But  this 
office  was  adjudged  to  Sir  John  Dymoke,  to  whom  the  manor 
of  Scrivelby  had  descended  by  another  of  the  co-heiresses  of 
Robert  de  Marmion ;  and  it  remains  in  that  family,  whose 
representative  is  Hereditary  Champion  of  England  at  the 
present  day.  The  family  and  possessions  of  Freville  have 
merged  in  the  Earls  of  Ferrars.  I  have  not,  therefore,  created 
a  new  family,  but  only  revived  the  titles  of  an  old  one  in  an 
imaginary  personage. 

It  was  one  of  the  Marmion  family  who,  in  the  reign  of 
Edward  II.,  performed  that  chivalrous  feat  before  the  very 
castle  of  Norham,  which  Bishop  Percy  has  woven  into  his 
beautiful  ballad,  "The  Hermit  of  Warkworth."— The  story  is 
thus  told  by  Leland: — 

"  The  Scottes  cam  yn  to  the  marches  of  England,  and  de- 
stroyed the  castles  of  Werk  and  Herbotel,  and  overran  much 
of  Northumberland  marches. 

"  At  this  tyme,  Thomas  Gray  and  his  friendes  defended 
Norham  from  the  Scottes. 

"It  were  a  wonderful  processe  to  declare,  what  mischefes 
cam  by  hungre  and  assegea  by  the  space  of  xi  yeres  in  Nor- 
thumberland; for  the  Scottes  became  so  proude,  after  they 
had  got  Berwick,  that  they  nothing  esteemed  the  English- 
men. 

"About  this  tyme  there  was  a  greate  feste  made  yn  Lincoln- 
shir,  to  which  came  many  gentlemen  and  ladies;  and  amonge 
them  one  lady  brought  a  heaulme  for  a  man  of  were,  with  a 
very  riche  creste  of  gold,  to  William  Marmion,  knight,  with  a 
letter  of  commandement  of  her  lady,  that  he  should  go  into 
the  daungerest  place  in  England,  and  ther  to  let  the  heaulme 
be  seene  and  known  as  famous.  So  he  went  to  Norham; 
whither,  within  4  days  of  cumming,  cam  Philip  Moubray, 
guardian  of  Berwieke,  having  yn  bis  bande  -10  men  of  amies, 
the  very  flour  of  men  of  the  Scottish  marches. 

»  Two. 


"  Thomas  Gray,  capitayne  of  Norham,  seynge  this,  brought 
his  garison  afore  the  barriers  of  the  castel,  behind  whom  cam 
William,  richly  arrayed,  as  al  glittering  in  gold,  and  wearing 
the  heaulme,  his  lady's  present. 

"  Then  said  Thomas  Gray  to  Marmion, '  Sir  Knight,  ye  be 
cum  hither  to  fame  your  helmet :  mount  up  on  yowr  horse, 
and  ride  lyke  a  valiant  man  to  yowr  foes  even  here  at  hand, 
and  I  forsake  God  if  I  rescue  not  thy  body  deade  or  alyve,  or 
I  myself  wyl  dye  for  it.' 

"Whereupon  he  toke  his  cursere,  and  rode  among  the 
throng  of  ennemyes;  the  which  layed  sore  stripes  on  him, 
and  pulled  him  at  the  last  out  of  his  sadel  to  the  grounde. 

"Then  Thomas  Gray,  with  al  the  hole  garrison,  lette  prick 
yn  among  the  Scottes,  and  so  wondid  them  and  their  horses, 
that  they  were  overthrowan  ;  and  Marmion,  sore  beten,  was 
horsid  agayn,  and,  with  Gray,  persewed  the  Scottes  yn  chase. 
There  were  taken  50  horse  of  price;  and  the  women  of  Nor- 
ham brought  them  to  the  foote  men  to  follow  the  chase." 


Note  K. 

— —  largesse,  largesse. — P.  82. 

This  was  the  cry  with  which  heralds  and  pursuivants  were 
wont  to  acknowledge  the  bounty  received  from  the  knights. 
Stewart  of  Lorn  distinguishes  a  ballad,  in  which  he  satirizes 
the  narrowness  of  James  V.  and  his  courtiers,  by  the  ironical 
burden— 

"  Lerges,  lerges,  lerges,  hay, 

Lerges  of  this  new^yeir  day. 
First  lerges  of  the  King,  my  chief, 
Quhilk  come  als  quiet  as  a  theif, 

And  in  my  hand  slid  schillingis  tway,* 
To  put  his  lergnes  to  the  prief,2 

For  lerges  of  this  new-yeir  day." 

The  heralds,  like  the  minstrels,  were  a  race  allowed  to  have 
great  claims  upon  the  liberality  of  the  knights,  of  whose  feats 
they  kept  a  record,  and  proclaimed  them  aloud,  as  in  the  text, 
upon  suitable  occasions. 

At  Berwick,  Norham,  and  other  Border  fortresses  of  import- 
ance, pursuivants  usually  resided,  whose  inviolable  character 
rendered  them  the  only  persons  that  could,  with  perfect  assur- 
ance of  safety,  be  sent  on  necessary  embassies  into  Scotland. 
This  is  alluded  to  in  stanza  xxi.  p.  84. 


Note  L. 


Sir  Flvgh  the  Heron  bold, 
Baron  of  Twisell,  and  of  Ford, 
And  Captain  of  the  Hold. — P.  82. 

Were  accuracy  of  any  consequence  in  a  fictitious  narrative, 
this  castellan's  name  ought  to  have  been  William;  for  Wil- 
liam Heron  of  Ford  was  husband  to  the  famous  Lady  Ford, 
whose  siren  charms  were  said  to  have  cost  our  James  IV.  so 
dear.  Moreover,  the  said  William  Heron  was,  at  the  time 
supposed,  a  prisoner  in  Scotland,  being  surrendered  by  Henry 
VIII.,  on  account  of  his  share  in  the  slaughter  of  Sir  Robert 
Ker  of  Cessford.  His  wife,  represented  in  the  text  as  resid- 
ing at  the  Court  of  Scotland,  was,  in  fact,  living  in  her  own 
Castle  at  Ford. — See  Sir  Richard  Heron's  curious  Genealogy 
of  the  Heron  Family. 

»  Proof. 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


149 


Note  M. 

The  whiles  a  northern  harper  rude 
Chanted  a  rhyme  of  deadly  feud, 
"Sow  the  fierce  Thirwalls,  and  Ridleys  all"  &c. — P.  82. 

This  old  Northumbrian  ballad  was  taken  down  from  the 
recitation  of  a  woman  eighty  years  of  age,  mother  of  one  of 
the  miners  of  Alston-moor,  by  an  agent  for  the  lead  mines 
there,  who  communicated  it  to  my  friend  and  correspondent, 
R.  Surtees,  Esquire,  of  Mainsforth.  She  had  not,  she  said, 
heard  it  for  many  years ;  but,  when  she  was  a  girl,  it  used  to 
be  sung  at  the  merry-makings  "till  the  roof  rung  again." 
To  preserve  this  curious  though  rude  rhyme,  it  is  here  in- 
serted. The  ludicrous  turn  given  to  the  slaughter  marks 
that  wild  and  disorderly  state  of  society,  in  which  a  murder 
was  not  merely  a  casual  circumstance,  but,  in  some  cases,  an 
exceedingly  good  jest.  The  structure  of  the  ballad  resembles 
the  "  Fray  of  Suport,"1  having  the  same  irregular  stanzas  and 
wild  chorus. 


Hoot  awa',  lads,  hoot  awa', 

Ha'  ye  heard  how  the  Ridleys,  and  Thirwalls,  and  a' 

Ha'  set  upon  Albany2  Featherstonhaugh, 

And  taken  his  life  at  the  Deadmanshaugh  ? 

There  was  Willimoteswick, 

And  Hardriding  Dick, 
And  Hughie  of  Hawden,  and  Will  of  the  Wa\ 

I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a', 
And  mony  a  mair  that  the  deil  may  knaw. 

II. 

The  auld  man  went  down,  but  Nicol,  his  son, 
Ran  away  afore  the  fight  was  begun ; 

And  he  run,  and  he  run, 

And  afore  they  were  done, 
There  was  many  a  Featherston  gat  sic  a  stun, 
As  never  was  seen  since  the  world  begun. 

III. 
I  canno'  tell  a',  I  canno'  tell  a' ; 
Some  gat  a  skelp,3  and  some  gat  a  claw ; 
But  they  gard  the  Featherstons  haud  their  jaw, — * 

Nicol,  and  Alick,  and  a'. 
Some  gat  a  hurt,  and  some  gat  nane ; 
Some  had  harness,  and  some  gat  sta'en.5 

rv. 

Ane  got  a  twist  o'  the  craig  ;* 
Ane  gat  a  bunch7  o'  the  wame  ;8 
Symy  Haw  gat  lamed  of  a  leg, 
And  syne  ran  wallowing9  hame. 

V. 

Hoot,  hoot,  the  old  man's  slain  outright ! 

Lay  him  now  wi'  his  face  down  ; — he's  a  sorrowful  sight. 


1  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  ii.  p.  124. 

2  Pronounced  Awbony. 

3  Skelp  signifies  slap,  or  rather  is  the  same  word  which  was 
originally  spelled  schlap. 

*  Hold  their  jaw,  a  vulgar  expression  still  in  use. 

6  Got  stolen,  or,  were  plundered ;  a  very  likely  termination 
of  the  fray. 

«  Neck.  i  Punch.  »  Belly.  9  Bellowing. 

10  Silly  slut.  The  border  bard  calls  her  so,  because  she  was 
weeping  for  her  slain  husband ;  a  loss  which  he  seems  to  think 
might  be  soon  repaired. 


Janet,  thou  donot,10 
I'll  lay  my  best  bonnet, 
Thou  gets  a  new  gude-man  afore  it  be  night. 

VI. 

Hoo  away,  lads,  hoo  away, 
"We's  a'  be  hangid  if  we  stay. 

Tak  up  the  dead  man,  and  lay  him  ahint  the  biggin. 
Here's  the  Bailey  o'  Haltwhistle,11 
Wi'  his  great  bull's  pizzle, 

That  sup'd  up  the  broo', — and  syne — in  the  piggin.12 

In  explanation  of  this  ancient  ditty,  Mr.  Surtees  has  fur- 
nished me  with  the  following  local  memorandum : — Willi- 
moteswick, the  chief  seat  of  the  ancient  family  of  Ridley,  is 
situated  two  miles  above  the  confluence  of  the  Allon  and 
Tyne.  It  was  a  house  of  strength,  as  appears  from  one  ob- 
long tower,  still  in  tolerable  preservation.13  it  has  been  long 
in  possession  of  the  Blacket  family.  Hardriding  Dick  is  not 
an  epithet  referring  to  horsemanship,  but  means  Richard 
Ridley  of  Hardriding,1*  the  seat  of  another  family  of  that 
name,  which,  in  the  time  of  Charles  I.,  was  sold  on  account  of 
expenses  incurred  by  the  loyalty  of  the  proprietor,  the  imme- 
diate ancestor  of  Sir  Matthew  Ridley.  Will  of  the  Wa'  seems 
to  be  William  Ridley  of  Walltown,  so  called  from  its  situa- 
tion on  the  great  Roman  wall.  Thirlwall  Castle,  whence  the 
clan  of  Thirlwalls  derived  their  name,  is  situated  on  the 
small  river  of  Tippel,  near  the  western  boundary  of  North- 
umberland. It  is  near  the  wall,  and  takes  its  name  from  the 
rampart  having  been  thirled,  i.  e.,  pierced,  or  breached,  in  its 
vicinity.  Featherston  Castle  lies  south  of  the  Tyne,  towards 
Alston-moor.  Albany  Featherstonhaugh,  the  chief  of  that 
ancient  family,  made  a  figure  in  the  reign  of  Edward  VI.  A 
feud  did  certainly  exist  between  the  Ridleys  and  Feather- 
stons, productive  of  such  consequences  as  the  ballad  narrates. 
24  Oct.  22do  Henriei  Svi.  Inguisilio  capt.  apud  Hautichistle,  sup 
t*isum  corpus  Alexandri  Featherston,  Gen.  apud  Grensilhaugh 
felonice  interfecti,  22  Oct.  per  Xicolaum  Ridley  de  Uhthanke,  Gen. 
Hugon  Sidle,  Xicolaum  Ridle,  et  alios  ejusdem  nominis.  Nor 
were  the  Featherstons  without  their  revenge ;  for  3Gto  Henriei 
8vi,  we  have — Vtlagatio  Nicolai  Fetherslon,  ac  Thome  Nyxson, 
&c,  <&c.,pro  homicidio  Will.  Ridle  de  Morale. 


Note  N. 


James  back'd  the  cause  of  that  mock  prince, 
Warbeck,  that  Flemish  counterfeit, 
Who  on  the  gibbet  paid  the  cheat. 
Then  did  I  march  with  Surrey's  power, 
What  time  we  razed  old  Ayton  lower. — P.  83. 

The  story  of  Perkin  Warbeck,  or  Richard,  Duke  of  York, 
is  well  known.    In  1496,  he  was  received  honorably  in  Scot- 


11  The  Bailiff"  of  Haltwhistle  seems  to  have  arrived  when 
the  fray  was  over.  This  supporter  of  social  order  is  treated 
with  characteristic  irreverence  by  the  moss-trooping  poet. 

12  An  iron  pot  with  two  ears. 

13  Willimoteswick  was,  in  prior  editions,  confounded  witfi 
Ridley  Hall,  situated  two  miles  lower,  on  the  same  side  of  the 
Tyne,  the  hereditary  seat  of  William  C.  Lowes,  Esq. 

14  Ridley,  the  bishop  and  martyr,  was,  according  to  some 
authorities,  born  at  Hardriding,  where  a  chair  was  preserved, 
called  the  Bishop's  Chair.  Others,  and  particularly  his  bio- 
grapher and  namesake,  Dr.  Glocester  Ridley,  assign  the  honor 
of  the  martyr's  birth  to  Willimoteswick. 


150 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


land ;  and  James  IV.,  after  conferring  upon  him  in  marriage 
his  own  relation,  the  Lady  Catharine  Gordon,  made  war  on 
England  in  behalf  of  his  pretensions.  To  retaliate  an  invasion 
of  England,  Surrey  advanced  into  Berwickshire  at  the  head  of 
considerable  forces,  but  retreated,  after  taking  the  inconsider- 
able fortress  of  Ayton.    Ford,  in  his  Dramatic  Chronicle  of 
Perkin  Warbeck,  makes  the  most  of  this  inroad: 
" Surrey. 
"  Are  all  our  braving  enemies  shrunk  back, 
Hid  in  the  fogges  of  their  distemper'd  climate, 
Not  daring  to  behold  our  colours  wave 
In  spight  of  this  infected  ayre?    Can  they 
Looke  on  the  strength  of  Cundrestine  defac't; 
The  glorie  of  Heydonhall  devasted ;  that 
Of  Edington  caste  downe ;  the  pile  of  Fulden 
Orethrowne :  And  this,  the  strongest  of  their  forts, 
Old  Ayton  Castle,  yeelded  and  demolished, 
And  yet  not  peepe  abroad?    The  Scots  are  bold, 
Hardie  in  battayle,  but  it  seems  the  cause 
They  undertake  considered,  appeares 
Unjoynted  in  the  frame  on't." 


Note  O. 


1  trow, 

Norham  can  find  you  guides  enow; 

For  here  be  some  have  prick' d  as  far, 

On  Scottish  ground,  as  to  Dunbar; 

Have  drunk  the  monks  of  St.  Bothan's  ale, 

And  driven  tlie  beeves  of  Lauderdale; 

Harried  the  wives  of  Greenlaw's  goods, 

And  given  them  light  to  set  their  hoods. — P.  84. 

The  garrisons  of  the  English  castles  of  Wark,  Norham,  and 
Berwick,  were,  as  may  be  easily  supposed,  very  troublesome 
neighbors  to  Scotland.  Sir  Richard  Maitland  of  Ledington 
wrote  a  poem,  called  "The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort,"  when 
his  barony  of  Blythe,  in  Lauderdale,  was  harried  by  Rowland 
Foster,  the  English  captain  of  Wark,  with  his  company,  to 
the  number  of  300  men.  They  spoiled  the  poetical  knight  of 
5000  sheep,  200  nolt,  30  horses  and  mares ;  the  whole  furniture 
of  his  house  of  Blythe,  worth  100  pounds  Scots  (£8,  6s.  8d.), 
and  every  thing  else  that  was  portable.  "  This  spoil  was  com- 
mitted the  16th  day  of  May,  1570  (and  the  said  Sir  Richard 
was  threescore  and  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  grown  blind), 
in  time  of  peace ;  when  nane  of  that  country  lippened  [ex- 
pected] such  a  thing."—"  The  Blind  Baron's  Comfort"  consists 
in  a  string  of  puns  on  the  word  Blythe,  the  name  of  the  lands 
thus  despoiled.  Like  John  Littlewit,  he  had  "a  conceit  left 
in  his  misery — a  miserable  conceit." 

The  last  line  of  the  text  contains  a  phrase,  by  which  the 
Borderers  jocularly  intimated  the  burning  a  house.  When 
the  Maxwells,  in  1685,  burned  the  Castle  of  Lochwood,  they 
said  they  did  so  to  give  the  Lady  Johnstone  "light  to  set  her 
hood."  Nor  was  the  phrase  inapplicable;  for,  in  a  letter,  to 
which  I  have  mislaid  the  reference,  the  Earl  of  Northumber- 
land writes  to  the  King  and  Council,  that  he  dressed  himself 
at  midnight,  at  Warkworth,  by  the  blaze  of  the  neighboring 
villages  burned  by  the  Scottish  marauders. 


Note  P. 


The  priest  of  Shorenvood — he  could  rein 
The  wildest  war-horse  in  your  train. — P.  84. 

This  churchman  seems  to  have  been  akin  to  Welsh,  the 
vicar  of  St.  Thomas  of  Exeter,  a  leader  among  the  Cornish 


insurgents  in  1549.  "This  man,"  says  Holinshed,  "had 
many  good  things  in  him.  He  was  of  no  great  stature,  but 
well  set,  and  mightilie  compact :  He  was  a  very  good  wrest- 
ler; shot  well,  both  in  the  long  bow  and  also  in  the  cross- 
bow ;  he  handled  his  hand-gun  and  peece  very  well ;  he  was 
a  very  good  woodman,  and  a  hardie,  and  such  a  one  as  would 
not  give  his  head  for  the  polling,  or  his  beard  for  the  washing. 
He  was  a  companion  in  any  exercise  of  activitie,  and  of  a 
courteous  and  gentle  behaviour.  He  descended  of  a  good 
honest  parentage,  being  borne  at  Peneverin  in  Cornwall ;  and 
yet,  in  this  rebellion,  an  arch-captain  and  a  principal  doer." 
—Vol.  iv.  p.  958,  4to  edition.  This  model  of  clerical  talents 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  hanged  upon  the  steeple  of  his  own 
church.1 


Note  Q. 


-that  Grot  where  olives  nod, 


Where,  darling  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
From  all  the  youth  of  Sicily, 
Saint  Bosaiie  retired  to  God. — P.  84. 

"  Sante  Rosalia  was  of  Palermo,  and  born  of  a  very  noble 
family,  and,  when  very  young,  abhorred  so  much  the  vanities 
of  this  world,  and  avoided  the  converse  of  mankind,  resolving 
to  dedicate  herself  wholly  to  God  Almighty,  that  she,  by 
divine  inspiration,  forsook  her  father's  house,  and  never  was 
more  heard  of  till  her  body  was  found  in  that  cleft  of  a  rock, 
on  that  almost  inaccessible  mountain,  where  now  the  chapel 
is  built;  and  they  affirm  she  was  carried  up  there  by  the 
hands  of  angels ;  for  that  place  was  not  formerly  so  accessible 
(as  now  it  is)  in  the  days  of  the  Saint ;  and  even  now  it  is  a 
very  bad,  and  steepy,  and  breakneck  way.  In  this  frightful 
place,  this  holy  woman  lived  a  great  many  years,  feeding  only 
on  what  she  found  growing  on  that  barren  mountain,  and 
creeping  into  a  narrow  and  dreadful  cleft  in  a  rock,  which 
was  always  dropping  wet,  and  was  her  place  of  retirement  as 
well  as  prayer ;  having  worn  out  even  the  rock  with  her  knees 
in  a  certain  place,  which  is  now  open'd  on  purpose  to  show  it 
to  those  who  come  here.  This  chapel  is  very  richly  adorn'd ; 
and  on  the  spot  where  tho  Saint's  dead  body  was  discover'd, 
which  is  just  beneath  the  hole  in  the  rock,  which  is  open'd 
on  purpose,  as  I  said,  there  is  a  very  fine  statue  of  marble, 
representing  her  in  a  lying  posture,  railed  in  all  about  with 
fine  iron  and  brass  work ;  and  the  altar,  on  which  they  say 
mass,  is  built  just  over  it." —  Voyage  to  Sicily  and  Malta,  by  Mr. 
John  Dryden  (son  to  the  poet),  p.  107. 


Note  R. 


Friar  John 

Himself  still  sleeps  before  his  beads 

Have  mark'd  ten  aves  and  two  creeds. — P.  85. 

Friar  John  understood  the  soporific  virtue  of  his  beads  and 
breviary,  as  well  as  his  namesake  in  Rabelais.  "  But  Gargan- 
tua  could  not  sleep  by  any  means,  on  which  side  soever  he 
turned  himself.  Whereupon  the  monk  said  to  him,  'I  never 
sleep  soundly  but  when  I  am  at  sermon  or  prayers :  Let  us 
therefore  begin,  you  and  I,  the  seven  penitential  psalms,  to 
try  whether  you  shall  not  quickly  fall  asleep.'  The  conceit 
pleased  Gargantua  very  well ;  and  beginning  the  first  of  these 
psalms,  as  soon  as  they  came  to  Beali  quorum,  they  fell  asleep, 
both  the  one  and  the  other." 

1  The  reader  needs  hardly  to  be  reminded  of  Ivanhoe. 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


151 


Note  S. 

The  summon' d  Palmer  came  in  place. — P.  85. 

A  Palmer,  opposed  to  a  Pilgrim,  was  one  who  made  it  his 
sole  business  to  visit  different  holy  shrines ;  travelling  inces- 
santly, and  subsisting  by  charity :  whereas  the  Pilgrim  re- 
tired to  his  usual  home  and  occupations,  when  he  had  paid 
his  devotions  at  the  particular  spot  which  was  the  object  of 
his  pilgrimage.  The  Palmers  seem  to  have  been  the  Ques- 
tionarii  of  the  ancient  Scottish  canons  1242  and  1296.  There 
is  in  the  Bannatyne  MS.  a  burlesque  account  of  two  such 
persons,  entitled  "  Simmy  and  his  brother."  Their  accoutre- 
ments are  thus  ludicrously  described  (I  discard  the  ancient 
spelling) : — 

"  Syne  shaped  them  up,  to  loup  on  leas, 

Two  tabards  of  the  tartan ; 
They  counted  nought  what  their  clouts  were 

When  sew'd  them  on,  in  certain. 
Syne  clampit  up  St.  Peter's  keys, 

Made  of  an  old  red  gartane ; 
St.  James's  shells,  on  t'other  side,  shows 
As  pretty  as  a  partane 
Toe, 
Synimye  and  his  brother." 


Note  T. 


To  fair  St.  Andreas  hound, 
Wilkin  the  ocean-cave  to  pray, 
Where  good  Saint  Ride  his  holy  lay, 
From  midnight  to  the  dawn  of  day, 
Sung  to  the  billows'  sound. — P.  80. 

St.  Regulus  (Scotlice,  St.  Rule),  a  monk  of  Patrse,  in  Achaia, 
warned  by  a  vision,  is  said,  A.D.  370,  to  have  sailed  west- 
ward, until  he  landed  at  St.  Andrews  in  Scotland,  where  he 
founded  a  chapel  and  tower.  The  latter  is  still  standing; 
and,  though  we  may  doubt  the  precise  date  of  its  foundation, 
is  certainly  one  of  the  most  ancient  edifices  in  Scotland.  A 
cave,  nearly  fronting  the  ruinous  castle  of  the  Archbishops  of 
St.  Andrews,  bears  the  name  of  this  religious  person.  It  is 
difficult  of  access ;  and  the  rock  in  which  it  is  hewed  is  washed 
by  the  German  Ocean.  It  is  nearly  round,  about  ten  feet  in 
diameter,  and  the  same  in  height.  On  one  side  is  a  sort  of 
stone  altar ;  on  the  other  an  aperture  into  an  inner  den,  where 
the  miserable  ascetic,  who  inhabited  this  dwelling,  probably 
slept.  At  full  tide,  egress  and  regress  are  hardly  practicable. 
As  Regulus  first  colonized  the  metropolitan  see  of  Scotland, 
and  converted  the  inhabitants  in  the  vicinity,  he  has  some 
reason  to  complain  that  the  ancient  name  of  Killrule  (Oella 
Regidi)  should  have  been  superseded,  even  in  favor  of  the 
tutelar  saint  of  Scotland.  The  reason  of  the  change  was,  that 
St.  Rule  is  said  to  have  brought  to  Scotland  the  relics  of  Saint 
Andrew. 


Note  U. 


■  Saint  Fillan's  blessed  well, 


Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore. — P.  86. 

St.  Fillan  was  a  Scottish  saint  of  some  reputation.  Although 
Popery  is,  with  us,  matter  of  abomination,  yet  the  common 
people  still  retain  some  of  the  superstitions  connected  with 
it.    There  are  in  Perthshire  several  wells  and  springs  dedi- 


cated to  St.  Fillan,  which  are  still  places  of  pilgrimage  and 
offerings,  even  among  the  Protestants.  They  are  held  power- 
ful in  cases  of  madness ;  and,  in  some  of  very  late  occurrence, 
lunatics  have  been  left  all  night  bound  to  the  holy  stone,  in 
confidence  that  the  saint  would  cure  and  unloose  them  before 
morning.— [See  various  notes  to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border.] 


Note  V. 


The  scenes  are  desert  now,  and  bare, 
Where  flourish'd  once  a  forest  fair. — P.  86. 

Ettrick  Forest,  now  a  range  of  mountainous  sheep-walks, 
was  anciently  reserved  for  the  pleasure  of  the  royal  chase. 
Since  it  was  disparked,  the  wood  has  been,  by  degrees,  almost 
totally  destroyed,  although,  wherever  protected  from  the 
sheep,  copses  soon  arise  without  any  planting.  When  the 
King  hunted  there,  he  often  summoned  the  array  of  the  coun- 
try to  meet  and  assist  his  sport.  Thus,  in  1528,  James  V. 
"made  proclamation  to  all  lords,  barons,  gentlemen,  land- 
ward-men,  and  freeholders,  that  they  should  compear  at 
Edinburgh,  with  a  month's  victuals,  to  pass  with  the  King 
where  he  pleased,  to  danton  the  thieves  of  Tiviotdale,  Annan- 
dale,  Liddisdale,  and  other  parts  of  that  country ;  and  also 
warned  all  gentlemen  that  had  good  dogs  to  bring  them,  that 
he  might  hunt  in  the  said  country  as  he  pleased :  The  whilk 
the  Earl  of  Argyle,  the  Earl  of  Huntley,  the  Earl  of  Athole, 
and  so  all  the  rest  of  the  gentlemen  of  the  Highland,  did,  and 
brought  their  hounds  with  them  in  like  manner,  to  hunt  with 
the  King,  as  he  pleased. 

"  The  second  day  of  June  the  King  past  out  of  Edinburgh 
to  the  hunting,  with  many  of  the  nobles  and  gentlemen  of 
Scotland  with  him,  to  the  number  of  twelve  thousand  men ; 
and  then  past  to  Meggitland,  and  hounded  and  hawked  all 
the  country  and  bounds;  that  is  to  say,  Crammat,  Pappert- 
law,  St.  Mary-laws,  Carlavrick,  Chapel,  Ewindoores,  and 
Longhope.  I  heard  say,  he  slew,  in  these  bounds,  eighteen 
score  of  harts."1 

These  huntings  had,  of  course,  a  military  character,  and 
attendance  upon  them  was  a  part  of  the  duty  of  a  vassal. 
The  act  for  abolishing  ward  or  military  tenures  in  Scotland 
enumerates  the  services  of  hunting,  hosting,  watching,  and 
warding,  as  those  which  were  in  future  to  be  illegal. 

Taylor,  the  water-poet,  has  given  an  account  of  the  mode 
in  which  these  huntings  were  conducted  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland,  in  the  seventeenth  century,  having  been  present  at 
Braemar  upon  such  an  occasion  : — 

"There  did  I  find  the  truly  noble  and  right  honourable 
lords,  John  Erskine,  Earl  of  Mar;  James  Stewart,  Earl  of 
Murray ;  George  Gordon,  Earl  of  Engye,  son  and  heir  to  the 
Marquis  of  Huntley;  James  Erskine,  Earl  of  Buchan;  and 
John,  Lord  Erskine,  son  and  heir  to  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and 
their  Countesses,  with  my  much  honoured,  and  my  last  as- 
sured and  approved  friend,  Sir  William  Murray,  knight  of 
Abercarney,  and  hundreds  of  others,  knights,  esquires,  and 
their  followers ;  all  and  every  man,  in  general,  in  one  habit, 
as  if  Lycurgus  had  been  there,  and  made  laws  of  equality ;  for 
once  in  the  year,  which  is  the  whole  month  of  August,  and 
sometimes  part  of  September,  many  of  the  nobility  and  gen- 
try of  the  kingdom  (for  their  pleasure)  do  come  into  these 
Highland  countries  to  hunt ;  where  they  do  conform  them- 
selves to  the  habit  of  the  Highlandmen,  who,  for  the  most 
part,  speak  nothing  but  Irish ;  and,  in  former  time,  were 
those  people  which  were  called  the  Red-shanks.  Their  habit 
is — shoes,  with  but  one  sole  a-piece ;  stockings  (which  they 

1  Pitscottie's  History  of  Scotland,  folio  edition,  p.  143. 


152 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


call  short  hose),  made  of  a  warm  stuff  of  diverse  colours, 
which  they  call  tartan;  as  for  breeches,  many  of  them,  nor 
their  forefathers,  never  wore  any,  but  a  jerkin  of  the  same 
Stuff  thai  their  hose  is  of;  their  garters  being  bauds  or  wreaths 
of  hay  or  straw ;  with  a  plaid  about  their  shoulders;  which  is 
a  mantle  of  diverse  colours,  much  finer  and  lighter  stuff  than 
their  hose;  with  blue  Hat  caps  on  their  heads;  a  handker- 
chief, knit  with  two  knots,  about  their  necks:  and  thus  are 
they  attired.  Now  their  weapons  are— long  bowes  and  forked 
arrows,  swords  and  targets,  harquebusses,  muskets,  durks, 
and  Lochaber  axes.  With  these  arms  I  found  many  of  them 
armed  for  the  hunting.  As  for  their  attire,  any  man,  of  what 
degree  soever,  that  comes  amongst  them,  must  not  disdain  to 
wear  it;  for,  if  they  do,  then  they  will  disdain  to  hunt,  or  wil- 
lingly to  bring  in  their  dogs ;  but  if  men  be  kind  unto  them, 
and  be  in  their  habit,  then  are  they  conquered  with  kindness, 
and  the  sport  will  be  plentiful.  This  was  the  reason  that  I 
found  so  many  noblemen  and  gentlemen  in  those  shapes. 
But  to  proceed  to  the  hunting: — 

"  My  good  Lord  of  Marr  having  put  me  into  that  shape,  I 
rode  with  him  from  his  house,  where  I  saw  the  ruins  of  an 
old  castle,  called  the  Castle  of  Kindroghit.  It  was  built  by 
King  Malcolm  Canmore  (for  a  hunting-house),  who  reigned 
in  Scotland,  when  Edward  the  Confessor,  Uarold,  and  Nor- 
man William,  reigned  in  England.  I  speak  of  it,  because  it 
was  the  last  house  I  saw  in  those  parts ;  for  I  was  the  space 
of  twelve  days  after,  before  I  saw  either  house,  corn-field,  or 
habitation  for  any  creature,  but  deer,  wild  horses,  wolves, 
and  such  like  creatures, — which  made  me  doubt  that  I  should 
never  have  seen  a  house  again. 

"  Thus,  the  first  day,  we  travelled  eight  miles,  where  there 
were  small  cottages,  built  on  purpose  to  lodge  in,  which  they 
call  Lonquhards.  I  thank  my  good  Lord  Erskine,  he  com- 
manded that  I  should  always  be  lodged  in  his  lodging:  the 
kitchen  being  always  on  the  side  of  a  bank :  many  kettles 
and  pots  boiling,  and  many  spits  turning  and  winding,  with 
great  variety  of  cheer, — as  venison  baked ;  sodden,  rost,  and 
stewed  beef;  mutton,  goats,  kid,  hares,  fresh  salmon,  pigeons, 
hens,  capons,  chickens,  partridges,  muir-coots,  heath-cocks, 
caperkellies,  and  termagants ;  good  ale,  sacke,  white  and 
claret,  tent  (or  allegant),  with  most  potent  aquavits. 

"All  these,  and  more  than  these,  we  had  continually  in 
superfluous  abundance,  caught  by  falconers,  fowlers,  fishers, 
and  brought  by  my  lord's  tenants  and  purveyors  to  victual 
our  camp,  which  consisteth  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred 
men  and  horses.  The  manner  of  the  hunting  is  this :  Five  or 
six  hundred  men  do  rise  early  in  the  morning,  and  they  do 
disperse  themselves  divers  ways,  and  seven,  eight,  or  ten 
miles  compass,  they  do  bring,  or  chase  in,  the  deer  in  many 
herds  (two,  three,  or  four  hundred  in  a  herd),  to  such  or  such 
a  place,  as  the  noblemen  shall  appoint  them  ;  then,  when  day 
is  come,  the  lords  and  gentlemen  of  their  companies  do  ride 
or  go  to  the  said  places,  sometimes  wading  up  to  the  middles, 
through  burns  and  rivers;  and  then,  they  being  come  to  the 
place,  do  lie  down  on  the  ground,  till  those  foresaid  scouts, 
which  are  called  the  Tinkhell,  do  bring  down  the  deer;  but, 
as  the  proverb  says  of  the  bad  cook,  so  these  tinkhell  men  do 
lick  their  own  fingers;  for,  besides  their  bows  and  arrows, 
which  they  carry  with  them,  we  can  hear,  now  and  then,  a 
harquebuss  or  a  musket  go  off,  which  they  do  seldom  dis- 
charge in  vain.  Then,  after  we  had  staid  there  three  hours, 
or  thereabouts,  we  might  perceive  the  deer  appear  on  the 
hills  round  about  us  (their  heads  making  a  show  like  a  wood), 
which,  being  followed  close  by  the  tinkhell,  are  chased  down 
into  the  valley  where  we  lay;  then  all  Hie  valley,  on  each 
side,  being  way-laid  with  a  hundred  couple  of  strong  Irish 
greyhounds,  they  are  all  let  loose,  as  occasion  serves,  upon  the 
herd  of  deer,  that  with  dogs,  guns,  arrows,  durks,  and  daggers, 
In  the  space  of  two  hours,  fourscore  fat  deer  were  slain;  which 
after  are  disposed  of,  some  one  way,  and  some  another,  twenty 
and  thirty  miles,  and  more  than  enough  left  for  us,  to  make 
merry  withall,  at  our  rendezvous." 


Note  W. 

By  lone  SaiiU  Mary's  silent  lake. — P.  88. 

This  beautiful  sheet  of  water  forms  the  reservoir  from  which 
the  Yarrow  takes  its  source.  It  is  connected  with  a  smaller 
lake,  called  the  Loch  of  the  Lowes,  and  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains. In  the  winter,  it  is  still  frequented  by  flights  of  wild 
swans ;  hence  my  friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines : — 

"  The  swan  on  sweet  St.  Mary's  lake 
Floats  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

Near  the  lower  extremity  of  the  lake  are  the  ruins  of  Dry- 
hope  tower,  the  birth-place  of  Mary  Scott,  daughter  of  Philip 
Scott  of  Dryhope,  and  famous  by  the  traditional  name  of  the 
Flower  of  Yarrow.  She  was  married  to  Walter  Scott  of  Har- 
den, no  less  renowned  for  his  depredations,  than  his  bride  for 
her  beauty.  Her  romantic  appellation  was,  in  later  days, 
with  equal  justice,  conferred  on  Miss  Mary  Lilias  Scott,  the 
last  of  the  elder  branch  of  the  Harden  family.  The  author 
well  remembers  the  talent  and  spirit  of  the  latter  Flower  of 
Yarrow,  though  age  had  then  injured  the  charms  which  pro- 
cured her  the  name.  The  words  usually  sung  to  the  air  of 
"  Tweedside,"  beginning,  "  What  beauties  does  Flora  disclose," 
were  composed  in  her  honor. 


Note  X. 


in  feudal  strife,  a  foe 

Hath  laid  Our  Lady's  chapel  low. — P.  88. 

The  chapel  of  St.  Mary  of  the  Lowes  <de  Incubus)  was  situ- 
ated on  the  eastern  side  of  the  lake  to  which  it  gives  name. 
It  was  injured  by  the  clan  of  Scott,  in  a  feud  with  the  Cran- 
stouns;  but  continued  to  be  a  place  of  worship  during  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  vestiges  of  the  building  can  now 
scarcely  be  traced ;  but  the  burial  ground  is  still  used  as  a 
cemetery.  A  funeral,  in  a  spot  so  very  retired,  has  an  uncom- 
monly striking  effect.  The  vestiges  of  the  chaplain's  house 
are  yet  visible.  Being  in  a  high  situation,  it  commanded  a 
full  view  of  the  lake,  with  the  opposite  mountain  of  Bourhope, 
belonging,  with  the  lake  itself,  to  Lord  Napier.  On  the  left 
hand  is  the  tower  of  Dryhope,  mentioned  in  a  preceding  note. 


Note  Y. 


the  Wizard's  grave  ; 

That  Wizard  Priest's,  whose  bones  are  thrust 
From  company  of  holy  dust. — P.  88. 

At  one  corner  of  the  burial-ground  of  the  demolished 
chapel,  hut  without  its  precincts,  is  a  small  mound,  called 
Binram's  Corse,  where  tradition  deposits  the  remains  of  a 
necromantic  priest,  the  former  tenant  of  the  chaplainry.  His 
story  much  resembles  that  of  Ambrosio  in  "  The  Monk,"  and 
lias  been  made  the  theme  of  a  ballad,  by  my  friend  Mr.  James 
Hogg,  more  poetically  designated  the  Kttrick  Shepherd.  To  his 
volume,  entitled  "The  Mountain  Bard,"  which  contains  this 
and  many  other  legendary  stories  and  ballads  of  great  merit, 
I  refer  the  curious  reader. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAKMION. 


153 


Note  Z. 

Some  ruder  and  more  savage  scene, 

Like  thai  which  frowns  round  dark  Loch-skene. — P.  89. 

Loch-skene  is  a  mountain  lake,  of  considerable  size,  at  the 
head  of  the  MofFat-water.  The  character  of  the  scenery  is 
uncommonly  savage  ;  and  the  earn,  or  Scottish  eagle,  has,  for 
many  ages,  built  its  nest  yearly  upon  an  islet  in  the  lake. 
Loch-skene  discharges  itself  into  a  brook,  which,  after  a  short 
and  precipitate  course,  falls  from  a  cataract  of  immense 
height,  and  gloomy  grandeur,  called,  from  its  appearance,  the 
"Gray  Mare's  Tail."  The  "Giant's  Grave,"  afterwards  men- 
tioned, is  a  sort  of  trench,  which  bears  that  name,  a  little  way 
from  the  foot  of  the  cataract.  It  has  the  appearance  of  a  bat- 
tery, designed  to  command  the  pass. 


Note  2  A. 

■  high  Whitby's  cloister' d pile. — P.  89. 


The  Abbey  of  Whitby,  in  the  Archdeaconry  of  Cleaveland, 
on  the  coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  founded  A.  D.  657,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  vow  of  Oswy,  King  of  Northumberland.  It  con- 
tained both  monks  and  nuns  of  the  Benedictine  order;  but, 
contrary  to  what  was  usual  in  such  establishments,  the  abbess 
was  superior  to  the  abbot.  The  monastery  was  afterwards 
ruined  by  the  Danes,  and  rebuilt  by  William  Percy,  in  the 
reign  of  the  Conqueror.  There  were  no  nuns  there  in  Henry 
the  Eighth's  time,  nor  long  before  it.  The  ruins  of  Whitby 
Abbey  are  very  magnificent. 


Note  2  B. 


■  St.  CuthberCs  Holy  Isle— P.  89. 


Lindisfarne,  an  isle  on  the  coast  of  Northumberland,  was 
called  Holy  Island,  from  the  sanctity  of  its  ancient  monastery, 
and  from  its  having  been  the  episcopal  seat  of  the  see  of  Dur- 
ham during  the  early  ages  of  British  Christianity.  A  succes- 
sion of  holy  men  held  that  otfice;  but  their  merits  were 
swallowed  up  in  the  superior  fame  of  St.  Cuthbert,  who  was 
sixth  Bishop  of  Durham,  and  who  bestowed  the  name  of  his 
"patrimony"  upon  the  extensive  property  of  the  see.  The 
ruins  of  the  monastery  upon  Holy  Island  betoken  great  an- 
tiquity. The  arches  are,  in  general,  strictly  Saxon ;  and  the 
pillars  which  support  them,  short,  strong,  and  massy.  In 
some  places,  however,  there  are  pointed  windows,  which  indi- 
cate that  the  building  has  been  repaired  at  a  period  long  sub- 
sequent to  the  original  foundation.  The  exterior  ornaments 
of  the  building,  being  of  alight  sandy  stone,  have  been  wasted, 
as  described  in  the  text.  Lindisfarne  is  not  properly  an 
island,  but  rather,  as  the  venerable  Bede  has  termed  it,  a 
semi-isle  ;  for,  although  surrounded  by  the  sea  at  full  tide,  the 
ebb  leaves  the  sands  dry  between  it  and  the  opposite  coast  of 
Northumberland,  from  which  it  is  about  three  miles  distant. 


Note  2  C. 


Then  Whitby'. i  nuns  exulting  told 
Hum  to  their  bouse  three  Barons  bold 
Must  menial  service  do. — P.  91. 

The  popular  account  of  this  curious  service,  which  was  pro- 
bably considerably  exaggerated,  is  thus  given  in  "A  True 
Account,"  printed  and  circulated  at  Whitby :  "  In  the  fifth 
year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  II.,  after  the  conquest  of  England 
by  William,  Duke  of  Normandy,  the  Lord  of  Uglebarnby,  then 


called  William  de  Bruce ;  the  Lord  of  Smeaton,  called  Ralph 
de  Percy;  with  a  gentleman  and  freeholder  called  Allatson, 
did,  on  the  16th  of  October,  1159,  appoint  to  meet  and  hunt  the 
wild-boar,  in  a  certain  wood,  or  desert  place,  belonging  to  the 
Abbot  of  Whitby :  the  place's  name  was  Eskdale-side ;  and 
the  abbot's  name  was  Sedman.  Then,  these  young  gentlemen 
being  met,  with  their  hounds  and  boar-staves,  in  the  place  be- 
fore mentioned,  and  there  having  found  a  great  wild-boar,  the 
hounds  run  him  well  near  about  the  chapel  and  hermitage  of 
Eskdale-side,  where  was  a  monk  of  Whitby,  who  was  an  her- 
mit. The  boar,  being  very  sorely  pursued  and  dead-run,  took 
in  at  the  chapel-door,  there  laid  him  down,  and  presently 
died.  The  hermit  shut  the  hounds  out  of  the  chapel,  and 
kept  himself  within  at  his  meditations  and  prayers,  the 
hounds  standing  at  bay  without.  The  gentlemen,  in  the  thick 
of  the  wood,  being  just  behind  their  game,  followed  the  cry  of 
their  hounds,  and  so  came  to  the  hermitage,  calling  on  the 
hermit,  who  opened  the  door  and  came  forth ;  and  within  they 
found  the  boar  lying  dead :  for  which,  the  gentlemen,  in  a  very 
great  fury,  because  the  hounds  were  put  from  their  game,  did 
most  violently  and  cruelly  run  at  the  hermit  with  their  boar- 
staves,  whereby  he  soon  after  died.  Thereupon  the  gentle- 
men, perceiving  and  knowing  that  they  were  in  peril  of  death, 
took  sanctuary  at  Scarborough:  But  at  that  time  the  abbot 
being  in  very  great  favor  with  the  King,  removed  them  out 
of  the  sanctuary ;  whereby  they  came  in  danger  of  the  law.  and 
not  to  be  privileged,  but  likely  to  have  the  severity  of  the  law, 
which  was  death  for  death.  But  the  hermit,  being  a  holy  and 
devout  man,  and  at  the  point  of  death,  sent  for  the  abbot,  and 
desired  him  to  send  for  the  gentlemen  who  had  wounded  bim. 
The  abbot  so  doing,  the  gentlemen  came ;  and  the  hermit, 
being  very  sick  and  weak,  said  unto  them,  '  I  am  sure  to  die 
of  those  wounds  you  have  given  me.' — The  abbot  answered, 
'They  shall  as  surely  die  for  the  same.' — But  the  hermit  an- 
swered, '  Not  so,  for  I  will  freely  forgive  them  my  death,  if  they 
will  be  content  to  be  enjoined  the  penance  I  shall  lay  on  them 
for  the  safeguard  of  their  souls.'  The  gentlemen  being  pre- 
sent, bade  him  save  their  lives.  Then  said  the  hermit,  '  You 
and  yours  shall  hold  your  lands  of  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  and 
his  successors,  in  this  manner :  That,  upon  Ascension-day,  you, 
or  some  of  you,  shall  come  to  the  wood  of  the  Stray-heads, 
which  is  in  Eskdale-side,  the  same  day  at  sun-rising,  and  there 
shall  the  abbot's  officer  blow  his  horn,  to  the  intent  that  you 
may  know  where  to  find  him ;  and  he  shall  deliver  unto  you, 
William  de  Bruce,  ten  stakes,  eleven  strout  stowers,  and  eleven 
yethers,  to  be  cut  by  you,  or  some  of  you,  with  a  knife  of  one 
penny  price :  and  you,  Ralph  de  Percy,  shall  take  twenty-one 
of  each  sort,  to  be  cut  in  the  same  manner ;  and  you,  Allatson, 
shall  take  nine  of  each  sort,  to  be  cut  as  aforesaid,  and  to  be 
taken  on  your  backs  and  carried  to  the  town  of  Whitby,  and 
to  be  there  before  nine  of  the  clock  the  same  day  before  men- 
tioned. At  the  same  hour  of  nine  of  the  clock,  if  it  be  full 
sea,  your  labor  and  service  shall  cease ;  and  if  low  water, 
each  of  you  shall  set  your  stakes  to  the  brim,  each  stake 
one  yard  from  the  other,  and  so  yether  them  on  each  side 
with  your  yethers;  and  so  stake  on  each  side  with  your 
strout  stowers,  that  they  may-  stand  three  tides  without 
removing  by  the  force  thereof.  Each  of  you  shall  do,  make, 
and  execute  the  said  service,  at  that  very  hour,  every  year, 
except  it  be  full  sea  at  that  hour;  but  when  it  shall  so  fall 
out,  this  service  shall  cease.  You  shall  faithfully  do  this,  in 
remembrance  that  you  did  most  cruelly  slay  me  ;  and  that  you 
may  the  better  call  to  God  for  mercy,  repent  unfeignedly  of 
your  sins,  and  do  good  works.  The  officer  of  Eskdale-side 
shall  blow,  Oulonyou!  Out  on  you .'  Out  on  you!  for  this  heinous 
crime.  If  you,  or  your  successors,  shall  refuse  this  service, 
so  long  as  it  shall  not  be  full  sea  at  the  aforesaid  hour,  you  or 
yours  shall  forfeit  your  lands  to  the  Abbot  of  Whitby,  or  his 
successors.  This  I  entreat,  and  earnestly  beg,  that  you  may 
have  lives  and  goods  preserved  for  this  service :  and  I  request 
of  you  to  promise,  by  your  parts  in  Heaven,  that  it  shall  be 
done  by  you  and  your  successors,  as  is  aforesaid  requested ; 


154 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


and  I  will  confirm  it  by  the  faith  of  an  honest  man.'— Then 
the  hermit  said,  '  My  soul  longeth  for  the  Lord:  and  I  do  as 
freely  forgive  these  men  my  death  as  Christ  forgave  the  thieves 
on  the  cross.'  And,  in  the  presence  of  the  abbot  and  the  rest, 
he  said  moreover  these  words:  'In  manus  tuos,  Do/nine,  com- 
mendo  spiri/um  meum,  a  rincujis  cni/n  mortis  redemis/i  me, 
Domini  nritatis.  Amen.' — So  he  yielded  up  the  ghost  the 
eighth  day  of  December,  anno  Domini  1159,  whose  soul  God 
have  mercy  upon.    Amen. 

"This  service,"  it  is  added,  "still  continues  to  be  perfonnod 
with  the  prescribed  ceremonies,  though  not  by  the  proprietors 
in  person.  Part  of  the  lands  charged  therewith  are  now  held 
by  a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Herbert." 


Note  2  D. 


in  their  eonvent-cell 

A  Scion  princess  once  did  dwell, 
The  lovely  Edelfled.—P.  92. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  King  Oswy,  who,  in  gratitude  to 
Heaven  for  the  great  victory  which  he  won  in  655,  against 
Penda,  the  Pagan  King  of  Mercia,  dedicated  Edelfleda,  then 
but  a  year  old,  to  the  service  of  God,  in  the  monastery  of 
Whitby,  of  which  St.  Hilda  was  then  abbess.  She  afterwards 
adorned  the  place  of  her  education  with  great  magnificence. 


Note  2  E. 


•  of  thousand  snakes,  each  one 


Was  changed  into  a  coil  of  stone, 

'When  holy  Hilda  pray'd; 
They  told  how  sea-fowls'  pinions  fail, 
As  over  Whitby's  towers  they  sail. — P.  92. 

These  two  miracles  are  much  insisted  upon  by  all  ancient 
writers  who  have  occasion  to  mention  either  Whitby  or  St. 
Hilda.  The  relics  of  the  snakes  which  infested  the  precincts 
of  the  convent,  and  were,  at  the  abbess's  prayer,  not  only 
beheaded,  but  petrified,  are  still  found  about  the  rocks,  and 
are  termed  by  Protestant  fossillsts,  Ammonitce. 

The  other  miracle  is  thus  mentioned  by  Camden :  "  It  is 
also  ascribed  to  the  power  of  her  sanctity  that  these  wild 
geese,  which,  in  the  winter,  fly  in  great  flocks  to  the  lakes  and 
rivers  unfrozen  in  the  southern  parts,  to  the  great  amazement 
of  every  one,  fall  down  suddenly  upon  the  ground,  when 
they  are  in  their  flight  over  certain  neighboring  fields  here- 
abouts: a  relation  I  should  not  have  made,  if  I  had  not 
received  it  from  several  credible  men.  But  those  who  are  less 
inclined  to  heed  superstition,  attribute  it  to  some  occult  quality 
in  the  ground,  and  to  somewhat  of  antipathy  between  it  and 
the  geese,  such  as  they  say  is  betwixt  wolves  and  scyllaroots : 
For  that  such  hidden  tendencies  and  aversions,  as  we  call 
sympathies  and  antipathies,  are  implanted  in  many  things  by 
provident  Nature  for  the  preservation  of  them,  is  a  thing  so 
evident  that  everybody  grants  it."  Mr.  Charlton,  in  his  His- 
tory of  Whitby,  points  out  the  true  origin  of  the  fable,  from 
the  number  of  sea-gulls  that,  when  flying  from  a  storm,  often 
alight  Bear  Whitby;  and  from  the  woodcocks,  and  other  birds 
of  passage,  who  do  the  same  upon  their  arrival  on  shore,  after 
a  long  flight. 


Note  2  F. 


His  body's  resting-place,  of  old, 

How  (ft  their  patron  changed,  they  told. — P.  92. 

St.  Cuthbcrt  was,  in  the  choice  of  his  sepulchre,  one  of  the 


most  mutable  and  unreasonable  saints  in  the  Calendar.  He 
died  A.  D.  688,  in  a  hermitage  upon  the  Fame  Islands,  having 
resigned  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  about 
two  years  before.1  His  body  was  brought  to  Lindisfarne, 
where  it  remained  until  a  descent  of  the  Danes,  about  79:!, 
when  the  monastery  was  nearly  destroyed.  The  monks  fled 
to  Scotland  with  what  they  deemed  their  chief  treasure,  the 
relics  of  St.  Cuthbert.  The  Saint  was,  however,  a  most  capri- 
cious fellow-traveller ;  which  was  the  more  intolerable,  as, 
like  Sinbad's  Old  Man  of  the  Sea,  he  journeyed  upon  the 
shoulders  of  his  companions.  They  paraded  him  through 
Scotland  for  several  years,  and  came  as  far  west  as  Whithern, 
in  Galloway,  whence  they  attempted  to  sail  for  Ireland,  but 
were  driven  back  by  tempests.  He  at  length  made  a  halt  at 
Norham ;  from  thence  he  went  to  Melrose,  where  he  remained 
stationary  for  a  short  time,  and  then  caused  himself  to  be 
launched  upon  the  Tweed  in  a  stone  coffin,  which  landed  him 
at  Tilmouth,  in  Northumberland.  This  boat  is  finely  shaped, 
ten  feet  long,  three  feet  and  a  half  in  diameter,  and  only  four 
inches  thick  ;  so  that,  with  very  little  assistance,  it  might  cer- 
tainly have  swum :  It  still  lies,  or  at  least  did  so  a  few  years 
ago,  in  two  pieces,  beside  the  ruined  chapel  of  Tilmouth. 
From  Tilmouth,  Cuthbert  wandered  into  Yorkshire ;  and  at 
length  made  a  long  stay  at  Chester-le-Street,  to  which  the 
bishop's  see  was  transferred.  At  length,  the  Danes  continu- 
ing to  infest  the  country,  the  monks  removed  to  Rippon  for  a 
season ;  and  it  was  in  returning  from  thence  to  Chester-le-Street 
that,  passing  through  a  forest  called  Dunholme,  the  Saint  and 
his  carriage  became  immovable  at  a  place  named  Wardlaw, 
or  Wardilaw.  Here  the  Saint  chose  his  place  of  residence ; 
and  all  who  have  seen  Durham  must  admit  that,  if  difficult 
in  his  choice,  he  evinced  taste  in  at  length  fixing  it.  It  is  said 
that  the  Northumbrian  Catholics  still  keep  secret  the  precise 
spot  of  the  Saint's  sepulture,  which  is  only  entrusted  to  three 
persons  at  a  time.  When  one  dies,  the  survivors  associate 
to  them,  in  his  room,  a  person  judged  fit  to  be  the  depository 
of  so  valuable  a  secret. 

[The  resting-place  of  the  remains  of  this  Saint  is  not  now 
matter  of  uncertainty.  So  recently  as  17th  May,  1827,  1133 
years  after  his  death,  their  discovery  and  disinterment  were 
effected.  Under  a  blue  stone,  in  the  middle  of  the  shrine  if 
St.  Cuthbert,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  choir  of  Durham 
Cathedral,  there  was  then  found  a  walled  grave,  containing 
the  coffins  of  the  Saint.  The  first,  or  outer  one,  was  ascer- 
tained to  be  that  of  1541,  the  second  of  1041 ;  the  third,  or  in- 
ner one,  answering  in  every  particular  to  the  description  of 
that  of  698,  was  found  to  contain,  not  indeed,  as  had  been 
averred  then,  ancLeven  until  1509,  the  incorruptible  body, but 
the  entire  skeleton  of  the  Saint ;  the  bottom  of  the  grave  being 
perfectly  dry,  free  from  offensive  smell,  and  without  the 
slightest  symptom  that  a  human  body  had  ever  undergone  de- 
composition within  its  walls.  The  skeleton  was  found  swathed 
in  five  silk  robes  of  emblematical  embroidery,  the  ornamental 
parts  laid  with  gold  leaf,  and  these  again  covered  with  a  robe 
of  linen.  Beside  the  skeleton  were  also  deposited  several  gold 
and  silver  insignia,  and  other  relics  of  the  Saint. 

The  Roman  Catholics  now  allow  that  the  coffin  was  that  of 
St.  Cuthbert. 

The  bones  of  the  Saint  were  again  restored  to  the  grave  in 
a  new  coffin,  amid  the  fragments  of  the  former  ones.  Those 
portions  of  the  inner  coffin  which  could  be  preserved,  includ- 
ing one  of  his  rings,  with  the  silver  altar,  golden  cross,  stole, 
comb,  two  maniples,  bracelets,  girdle,  gold  wire  of  the  skele- 
ton, and  fragments  of  the  five  silk  robes,  and  some  of  the  rings 
of  the  outer  coffin  made  in  1541,  were  deposited  in  the  library 
of  the  Dean  and  Chapter,  where  they  are  now  preserved. 


1  He  resumed  the  bishopric  of  Lindisfarne,  which,  owing  to 
bad  health,  lie  again  relinquished  within  less  than  three 
months  before  his  death.— Rainu's  St.  Cuthbert. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAKMION. 


155 


For  ample  details  of  the  life  of  St.  Cuthbert  — his  coffin- 
journeys, — an  account  of  the  opening  of  his  tomb,  and  a  de- 
scription of  the  silk  robes  and  other  relics  found  in  it,  the 
reader  interested  in  such  matters  is  referred  to  a  work  entitled 
"  Saint  Cuthbert,  by  James  Raine,  M.A."  (4to,  Durham,  1828), 
where  he  will  find  much  of  antiquarian  history,  ceremonies, 
and  superstitions,  to  gratify  his  curiosity.] — Ed. 


Note  2  G. 


Even  Scotland's  dauntless  king,  and  heir,  &c. 
Before  his  standard  fled. — P.  92. 

Every  one  has  heard  that  when  David  I.,  with  his  son 
Henry,  invaded  Northumberland  in  1136,  the  English  host 
marched  against  them  under  the  holy  banner  of  St.  Cuthbert ; 
to  the  efficacy  of  which  was  imputed  the  great  victory  which 
they  obtained  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Northallerton,  or  Cuton- 
moor.  The  conquerors  were  at  least  as  much  indebted  to  the 
jealousy  and  intractability  of  the  different  tribes  who  com- 
posed David's  army;  among  whom,  as  mentioned  in  the  text, 
were  the  Galwegians,  the  Britons  of  Strath-Clyde,  the  men  of 
Teviotdale  and  Lothian,  with  many  Norman  and  German 
warriors,  who  asserted  the  cause  of  the  Empress  Maud.  See 
Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  i.  p.  622 ;  a  most  laborious,  curious, 
and  interesting  publication,  from  which  considerable  defects 
of  style  and  manner  ought  not  to  turn  aside  the  Scottish  an- 
tiquary. 


Note  2  H. 


'Jhcas  he,  to  vindicate  his  reign, 

Edged  Alfred's  falchion  on  the  Dane, 

And  turn'd  the  Conqueror  back  again. — P.  92. 

Cuthbert,  we  have  seen,  had  no  great  reason  to  spare  the 
Danes,  when  opportunity  offered.  Accordingly,  I  find,  in 
Simeon  of  Durham,  that  the  Saint  appeared  in  a  vision  to 
Alfred,  when  lurking  in  the  marshes  of  Glastonbury,  and 
promised  him  assistance  and  victory  over  his  heathen  ene- 
mies;  a  consolation  which,  as  was  reasonable,  Alfred,  after 
the  victory  of  Ashendown,  rewarded  by  a  royal  offering  at 
the  shrine  of  the  Saint.  As  to  William  the  Conqueror,  the 
terror  spread  before  his  army,  when  he  marched  to  punish 
the  revolt  of  the  Northumbrians,  in  1096,  had  foiced  the 
monks  to  fly  once  more  to  Holy  Island  with  the  body  of  the 
Saint.  It  was,  however,  replaced  before  William  left  the 
north ;  and,  to  balance  accounts,  the  Conqueror  having  inti- 
mated an  indiscreet  curiosity  to  view  the  Saint's  body,  he  was, 
while  in  the  act  of  commanding  the  shrine  to  be  opened, 
seized  with  heat  and  sickness,  accompanied  with  such  a  panic 
terror  that,  notwithstanding-  there  was  a  sumptuous  dinner 
prepared  for  him,  he  fled  without  eating  a  morsel  (which  the 
monkish  historian  seems  to  have  thought  no  small  part  both 
of  the  miracle  and  the  penance),  and  never  drew  his  bridle 
till  he  got  to  the  river  Tees. 


Note  2  I. 


Saint  Cuthbert  sits,  and  toils  to  frame 

The  sea-born  beads  that  bear  his  name. — P.  92. 

Although  we  do  not  learn  that  Cuthbert  was,  during  his  life, 
such  an  artificer  as  Dunstan,  his  brother  in  sanctity,  yet,  since 
his  death,  he  has  acquired  the  reputation  of  forging  those 


Entrochi  which  are  found  among  the  rocks  of  Holy  Island, 
and  pass  there  by  the  name  of  St.  Cuthbert's  Beads.  While 
at  this  task,  he  is  supposed  to  sit  during  the  night  upon  a 
certain  rock,  and  use  another  as  his  anvil.  This  story  was 
perhaps  credited  in  former  days ;  at  least  the  Saint's  legend 
contains  some  not  more  probable. 


Note  2  K. 

Old  Cblwulf.—P.  92. 

Ceolwulf,  or  Colwulf,  King  of  Northumberland,  flourished 
in  the  eighth  century.  He  was  a  man  of  some  learning ;  for 
the  venerable  Bede  dedicates  to  him  his  "  Ecclesiastical  His- 
tory." He  abdicated  the  throne  about  738,  and  retired  to 
Holy  Island,  where  he  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity.  Saint  as 
Colwulf  was,  however,  I  fear  the  foundation  of  the  penance 
vault  does  not  correspond  with  his  character ;  for  it  is  recorded 
among  his  memorabilia  that,  finding  the  air  of  the  island  raw 
and  cold,  he  indulged  the  monks,  whose  rule  had  hitherto 
confined  them  to  milk  or  water,  with  the  comfortable  privi- 
lege of  using  wine  or  ale.  If  any  rigid  antiquary  insists  on 
this  objection,  he  is  welcome  to  suppose  the  penance-vault 
was  intended,  by  the  founder,  for  the  more  genial  purposes  of 
a  cellar. 

These  penitential  vaults  were  the  Geissel-gewolbe  of  German 
convents.  In  the  earlier  and  more  rigid  times  of  monastic 
discipline,  they  were  sometimes  used  as  a  cemetery  for  the 
lay  benefactors  of  the  convent,  whose  unsanctified  corpses 
were  then  seldom  permitted  to  pollute  the  choir.  They  also 
served  as  places  of  meeting  for  the  chapter,  when  measures 
of  uncommon  severity  were  to  be  adopted.  But  their  most 
frequent  use,  as  is  implied  by  the  name,  was  as  places  for  per- 
forming penances  or  undergoing  punishment. 


Note  2  L. 


Tynenwuih's  haughty  Prioress. — P.  93. 

That  there  was  an  ancient  priory  at  Tynemouth  is  certain. 
Its  ruins  are  situated  on  a  high  rocky  point ;  and,  doubtless, 
many  a  vow  was  made  to  the  shrine  by  the  distressed  mariners 
who  drove  towards  the  iron-bound  coast  of  Northumberland 
in  stormy  weather.  It  was  anciently  a  nunnery ;  for  Virca, 
abbess  of  Tynemouth,  presented  St.  Cuthbert  (yet  alive)  with 
a  rare  winding-sheet,  in  emulation  of  a  holy  lady  called  Tuda, 
who  had  sent  him  a  coffin :  But,  as  in  the  case  of  Whitby, 
and  of  Holy  Island,  the  introduction  of  nuns  at  Tynemouth 
in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  is  an  anachronism.  The  nunnery 
at  Holy  Island  is  altogether  fictitious.  Indeed,  St.  Cuthbert 
was  unlikely  to  permit  such  an  establishment ;  for,  notwith- 
standing his  accepting  the  mortuary  gifts  above  mentioned, 
and  his  carrying  on  a  visiting  acquaintance  with  the  Abbess 
of  Coldingham,  he  certainly  hated  the  whole  female  sex ;  and, 
in  revenge  of  a  slippery  trick  played  to  him  by  an  Irish  prin- 
cess, he,  after  death,  inflicted  severe  penances  on  such  as  pre- 
sumed to  approach  within  a  certain  distance  of  his  shrine. 


Note  2  M. 


On  those  the  wall  was  to  enclose, 
Alive,  within  the  tomb. — P.  94. 

It  is  well  known  that  the  religious  who  broke  their  vows 


156 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


of  chastity  were  subjected  to  the  same  penalty  as  the  Roman 
vestals  in  a  similar  case.  A  small  niche,  sufficient  to  enclose 
their  bodies,  was  made  in  the  massive  wall  of  the  convent ;  a 
slender  pittance  of  food  and  water  was  deposited  in  it,  and  the 
awful  words,  Vaue  jln  Pace,  were  the  signal  for  immuring 
tin' criminal.  It  is  not  likely  that,  in  latter  times,  this  punish- 
ment was  often  resorted  to ;  but,  among  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey 
of  Coldingham,  were  some  years  ago  discovered  the  remains 
of  a  female  skeleton,  which,  from  the  shape  of  the  niche,  and 
position  of  the  figure,  seemed  to  be  that  of  an  immured  nun. 
[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  on  stanza  xxxii.  post,  suggests 
that  the  proper  reading  of  the  sentence  is  vade  in  paeem — not 
pari  in  peace,  but  go  into  peace,  or  into  eternal  rest,  a  pretty 
intelligible  mittimus  to  another  world.] 


Note  2  N. 

The  village  inn. — P.  99. 

The  accommodations  of  a  Scottish  hostelrie,  or  inn,  in  the 
16th  century,  may  be  collected  from  Dunbar's  admirable  tale 
of  "  The  Friars  of  Berwick."  Simon  Lawder,  "  the  gay  ostlier," 
seems  to  have  lived  very  comfortably ;  and  his  wife  decorated 
her  person  with  a  scarlet  kirtle,  and  a  belt  of  silk  and  silver, 
and  rings  upon  her  fingers ;  and  feasted  her  paramour  with 
rabbits,  capons,  partridges,  and  Bourdeaux  wine.  At  least,  if 
the  Scottish  inns  were  not  good,  it  was  not  for  want  of  en- 
couragement from  the  legislature ;  who,  so  early  as  the  reign 
of  James  I.,  not  only  enacted  that  in  all  boroughs  and  fairs 
there  be  hostellaries,  having  stables  and  chambers,  and  pro- 
vision for  man  and  horse,  but  by  another  statute  ordained 
that  no  man,  travelling  on  horse  or  foot,  should  presume  to 
lodge  anywhere  except  in  these  hostellaries;  and  that  no 
person,  save  innkeepers,  should  receive  such  travellers,  under 
the  penalty  of  forty  shillings,  for  exercising  such  hospitality.1 
But,  in  spite  of  these  provident  enactments,  the  Scottish  hos- 
tels are  but  indifferent,  and  strangers  continue  to  find  recep- 
tion in  the  houses  of  individuals. 


Note  2  O. 


The  death  of  a  dear  friend.— P.  101. 

Among  other  omens  to  which  faithful  credit  is  given  among 
the  Scottish  peasantry,  is  what  is  called  the  "  dead-bell,"  ex- 
plained by  my  friend  James  Hogg  to  be  that  tinkling  in  the 
ears  which  the  country  people  regard  as  the  secret  intelligence 
of  some  friend's  decease.  He  tells  a  story  to  the  purpose  in 
the  "  Mountain  Bard,"  p.  26. 

["  O  lady,  'tis  dark,  an'  I  heard  the  dead-bell ! 
An'  I  darena  gae  yonder  for  gowd  nor  fee." 

"By  the  dead-bell  is  meant  a  tinkling  in  the  ears,  which  our 
peasantry  in  the  country  regard  as  a  secret  intelligence  of 
some  friend's  decease.  Thus  this  natural  occurrence  strikes 
many  with  a  superstitious  awe.  This  reminds  me  of  a  trifling 
anecdote,  which  I  will  here  relate  as  an  instance: — Our  two 
servant-girls  agreed  to  go  an  errand  of  their  own,  one  night 
after  supper,  to  a  considerable  distance,  from  which  I  strove 
to  persuade  them,  but  could  not  prevail.  So,  after  going  to 
the  apartment  where  I  slept,  I  took  a  drinking-glass,  and, 
coming  close  to  the  back  of  the  door,  made  two  or  three 
sweeps  round  the  lips  of  the  glass  with  my  finger,  which  caused 
a  loud  shrill  sound.  I  then  overheard  the  following  dialogue : — 

1  James  I.  Parliament  I.  cap.  24 ;  Parliament  HI.  cap.  56. 


'  B.  Ah,  mercy  !  the  dead-bell  went  through  my  head  just  now 
with  such  a  knell  as  I  never  heard.' — '/.  I  heard  it  too.' — 
'  B.  Did  you,  indeed  ?  That  is  remarkable.  I  never  knew  of 
two  hearing  it  at  the  same  time  before.' — '  /.  We  will  not  go 
to  Midgehope  to-night.'—'  B.  I  would  not  go  for  all  the  world ! 
I  sliall  warrant  it  is  my  poor  brother  Wat;  who  knows  what 
these  wild  Irishes  may  have  done  to  him?'" — Hogg's  Moun- 
tain Bard,  3d  Edit.  pp.  31-2.] 


Note  2  P. 


the  Goblin  Hall.— P.  102. 


A  vaulted  hall  under  the  ancient  castle  of  Gifford  or  Yester 
(for  it  bears  either  name  indifferently),  the  construction  of 
which  has  from  a  very  remote  period  been  ascribed  to  magic. 
The  statistical  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Garval  and  Baro 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  present  state  of  this  castle 
and  apartment: — "Upon  a  peninsula,  formed  by  the  water 
of  Hopes  on  the  east,  and  a  large  rivulet  on  the  west,  stands 
the  ancient  castle  of  Yester.  Sir  David  Dalrymple,  in  his 
Annals,  relates  that  '  Hugh  Gifford  de  Yester  died  in  1267 ; 
that  in  his  castle  there  was  a  capacious  cavern,  formed  by 
magical  art,  and  called  in  the  country  Bo-Hall,  i.  e.,  Hob- 
goblin Hall.'  A  stair  of  twenty-four  steps  led  down  to  this 
apartment,  which  is  a  large  and  spacious  hall,  with  an  arched 
roof;  and  though  it  hath  stood  for  so  many  centuries,  and 
been  exposed  to  the  external  air  for  a  period  of  fifty  or  sixty 
years,  it  is  still  as  firm  and  entire  as  if  it  had  only  stood  a  few 
years.  From  the  floor  of  this  hall,  another  stair  of  thirty-six 
steps  leads  down  to  a  pit  which  hath  a  communication  with 
Hopes-water.  A  great  part  of  the  walls  of  the  large  and 
ancient  castle  are  still  standing.  There  is  a  tradition  that  the 
castle  of  Yester  was  the  last  fortification,  in  this  country,  that 
surrendered  to  General  Gray,  sent  into  Scotland  by  Protector 
Somerset." — Statistical  Account,  vol.  xiii.  I  have  only  to  add 
that,  in  1737,  the  Goblin  Hall  was  tenanted  by  the  Marquis 
of  Tweeddale's  falconer,  as  I  learn  from  a  poem  by  Boyse, 
entitled  "  Retirement,"  written  upon  visiting  Yester.  It  is 
now  rendered  inaccessible  by  the  fall  of  the  stair. 

Sir  David  Dalrymple's  authority  for  the  anecdote  is  in  For- 
dun,  whose  words  are, — "A.  D.  mcclxvii.  Hugo  Giffard  de 
Yester  moritur  ;  cujus  castrum,  vel  saltern  caveam,  et  dongionem, 
arte  darmonicd  antique  relaiiones  ferunt  fabrifaclus ;  nam  ibidem 
habelur  mirabilis  specus  sublerraneus,  opere  mirifico  con-struclus, 
magno  terrarum  spaiio  proklaiu-s,  qui  communiter  33o-^aII 
appellalus  est."  Lib.  x.  cap.  21. — Sir  David  conjectures  that 
Hugh  de  Gifford  must  either  have  been  a  very  wise  man  or  a 
great  oppressor. 


Note  2  Q. 


There  floated  Haco's  banner  trim, 
Above  Norweyan  warriors  grim. — P.  103. 

In  12G3,  Haco,  King  of  Norway,  came  into  the  Frith  of 
Clyde  with  a  powerful  armament,  and  made  a  descent  at 
Largs,  in  Ayrshire.  Here  he  was  encountered  and  defeated, 
on  I  lie  2d  October,  by  Alexander  III.  Haco  retreated  to 
Orkney,  where  he  died  soon  after  this  disgrace  to  his  arms. 
There  arc  still  existing,  near  the  place  of  battle,  many  bar- 
rows, some  of  which,  having  been  opened,  were  found,  as 
usual,  to  contain  bones  and  urns. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAKMION. 


157 


Note  2  R. 

■  his  wizard  habit  strange. — P.  103. 


"Magicians,  as  is  well  known,  were  very  curious  in  the 
choice  and  form  of  their  vestments.  Their  caps  are  oval,  or 
like  pyramids,  with  lappets  on  each  side,  and  fur  within. 
Their  gowns  are  long,  and  furred  with  fox-skins,  under  which 
they  have  a  linen  garment  reaching  to  the  knee.  Their  gir- 
dles are  three  inches  broad,  and  have  many  cabalistical 
names,  with  crosses,  trines,  and  circles  inscribed  on  them. 
Their  shoes  should  be  of  new  russet  leather,  with  a  cross  cut 
upon  them.  Their  knives  are  dagger-fashion ;  and  their 
swords  have  neither  guard  nor  scabbard." — See  these,  and 
many  other  particulars,  in  the  Discourses  concerning  Devils 
and  Spirits,  annexed  to  Reginald  Scot's  Discovery  of  Witch- 
craft, edition  1665. 


Note  2  S. 

Upon  his  breast  apentacle. — P.  103. 

"A  pentacle  is  a  piece  of  fine  linen,  folded  with  five  corners, 
according  to  the  five  senses,  and  suitably  inscribed  with 
characters.  This  the  magician  extends  towards  the  spirits 
which  he  invokes,  when  they  are  stubborn  and  rebellious, 
and  refuse  to  be  conformable  unto  the  ceremonies  and  rites 
of  magic." — See  the  Discourses,  &c.,  above  mentioned,  p.  66. 


Note  2  T. 


As  born  upon  that  blessed  night 

When  yawning  graves,  and  dying  groan, 

Proclaim' d  hell's  empire  overthrown. — P.  103. 

It  is  a  popular  article  of  faith  that  those  who  are  born  on 
Christmas,  or  Good  Friday,  have  the  power  of  seeing  spirits, 
and  even  of  commanding  them.  The  Spaniards  imputed  the 
haggard  and  downcast  looks  of  their  Philip  II.  to  the  dis- 
agreeable visions  to  which- this  privilege  subjected  him. 


Note  2  U. 


Yet  still  the  knightly  spear  and  shield 
The  Elfin  Warrior  doth  wield 
Upon  the  brown  hill's  breast. — P.  104. 

The  following  extract  from  the  Essay  upon  the  Fairy  Super- 
stitions, in  the  "  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,"  vol.  ii., 
will  show  whence  many  of  the  particulars  of  the  combat  be- 
tween Alexander  III.  and  the  Goblin  Knight  are  derived: — 

Gervase  of  Tilbury  (Olia  Imperial  ap.  Script,  rer.  Brunsvic, 
vol.  i.  p.  797)  relates  the  following  popular  story  concerning  a 
fairy  knight :— "  Osbert,  a  bold  and  powerful  baron,  visited  a 
noble  family  in  the  vicinity  of  Wandlebury,  in  the  bishopric 
of  Ely.  Among  other  stories  related  in  the  social  circle  of 
his  friends,  who,  according  to  custom,  amused  each  other  by 
repeating  ancient  tales  and  traditions,  he  was  informed  that 
if  any  knight,  unattended,  entered  an  adjacent  plain  by  moon- 
light, and  challenged  an  adversary  to  appear,  he  would  be 
immediately  encountered  by  a  spirit  in  the  form  of  a  knight. 
Osbert  resolved  to  make  the  experiment,  and  set  out,  attended 
by  a  single  squire,  whom  he  ordered  to  remain  without  the 
limits  of  the  plain,  which  was  surrounded  by  an  ancient 
intrenchment.  On  repeating  the  challenge,  he  was  instantly 
assailed  by  an  adversary,  whom  he  quickly  unhorsed,  and 
seized  the  reins  of  his  steed.     During  this  operation,  his 


ghostly  opponent  sprung  up,  and  darting  his  spear,  like  a 
javelin,  at  Osbert,  wounded  him  in  the  thigh.  Osbert  returned 
in  triumph  with  the  horse,  which  he  committed  to  the  care 
of  his  servants.  The  horse  was  of  a  sable  color,  as  well  as 
his  whole  accoutrements,  and  apparently  of  great  beauty  and 
vigor.  He  remained  with  his  keeper  till  cock-crowing,  when, 
with  eyes  flashing  fire,  he  reared,  spurned  the  ground,  and 
vanished.  On  disarming  himself,  Osbert  perceived  that  he 
was  wounded,  and  that  one  of  his  steel  boots  was  full  of 
blood."  Gervase  adds  that,  "  as  long  as  he  lived,  the  scar  of 
his  wound  opened  afresh  on  the  anniversary  of  the  eve  on 
which  he  encountered  the  spirit."  Less  fortunate  was  the 
gallant  Bohemian  knight,  who,  travelling  by  night  with  a 
single  companion,  "  came  in  sight  of  a  fairy  host,  arrayed 
under  displayed  banners.  Despising  the  remonstrances  of  his 
friend,  the  knight  pricked  forward  to  break  a  lance  with  a 
champion,  who  advanced  from  the  ranks  apparently  in  defi- 
ance. His  companion  beheld  the  Bohemian  overthrown, 
horse  and  man,  by  his  aerial  adversary  ;  and  returning  to  the 
spot  next  morning,  he  found  the  mangled  corpses  of  the  knight 
and  steed." — Hierarchy  of  Blessed  Angels,  p.  554. 

Besides  these  instances  of  Elfin  chivalry  above  quoted, 
many  others  might  be  alleged  in  support  of  employing  fairy 
machinery  in  this  manner.  The  forest  of  Glenmore,  in  the 
North  Highlands,  is  believed  to  be  haunted  by  a  spirit  called 
Lham-dearg,  in  the  array  of  an  ancient  warrior,  having  a 
bloody  hand,  from  which  he  takes  his  name.  He  insists  upon 
those  with  whom  he  meets  doing  battle  with  him ;  and  the 
clergyman  who  makes  up  an  account  of  the  district,  extant 
in  the  Macfarlane  MS.  in  the  Advocates'  Library,  gravely 
assures  us  that,  in  his  time,  Lham-dearg  fought  with  three 
brothers  whom  he  met  in  his  walk,  none  of  whom  long  sur- 
vived the  ghostly  conflict.  Barclay,  in  his  "  Euphormion," 
gives  a  singular  account  of  an  officer  who  had  ventured,  with 
his  servant,  rather  to  intrude  upon  a  haunted  house  in  a  town 
in  Flanders,  than  to  put  up  with  worse  quarters  elsewhere. 
After  taking  the  usual  precautions  of  providing  fires,  lights, 
and  arms,  they  watched  till  midnight,  when  behold !  the 
severed  arm  of  a  man  dropped  from  the  ceiling;  this  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  legs,  the  other  arm,  the  trunk,  and  the  head  of 
the  body,  all  separately.  The  members  rolled  together,  united 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  astonished  soldiers,  and 
formed  a  gigantic  warrior,  who  defied  them  both  to  combat. 
Their  blows,  although  they  penetrated  the  body  and  amputated 
the  limbs  of  their  strange  antagonist,  had,  as  the  reader  may 
easily  believe,  little  effect  on  an  enemy  who  possessed  such 
powers  of  self-union  ;  nor  did  his  efforts  make  more  effectual 
impression  upon  them.  How  the  combat  terminated  I  do  not 
exactly  remember,  and  have  not  the  book  by  me ;  but  I  think 
the  spirit  made  to  the  intruders  on  his  mansion  the  usual 
proposal,  that  they  should  renounce  their  redemption ;  which 
being  declined,  he  was  obliged  to  retract. 

The  most  singular  tale  of  the  kind  is  contained  in  an  ex- 
tract communicated  to  me  by  my  friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mains- 
forth,  in  the  Bishopric,  who  copied  it  from  a  MS.  note  in  a 
copy  of  Burthogge  "  On  the  Nature  of  Spirits,  8vo,  1694," 
which  had  been  the  property  of  the  late  Mr.  Gill,  attorney- 
general  to  Egerton,  Bishop  of  Durham.  "  It  was  not,"  says 
my  obliging  correspondent,  "  in  Mr.  Gill's  own  hand,  but  pro- 
bably an  hundred  years  older,  and  was  said  to  be  E  libra 
Convent.  Dunelm.  per  T.  C.  extract,  whom  I  believe  to  have  been 
Thomas  Cradocke,  Esq.,  barrister,  who  held  several  offices 
under  the  See  of  Durham  a  hundred  years  ago.  Mr.  Gill  was 
possessed  of  most  of  his  manuscripts."  The  extract,  which, 
in  fact,  suggested  the  introduction  of  the  tale  into  the  present 
poem,  runs  thus : — 

"Bern  miram  hujusmodi  qua?  nostris  temporibus  even/it,  teste 
viro  nobili  acfide  dignissimo,  enarrare  hand  pigebit.  Badulphua 
Bulmer,  cum  e  caslris,  qua  tunc  temporis  prope  Norham  posita 
erant,  obleclationis  causa,  exiisset,  ac  in  ulleriore  Tuedce  ripd  proe- 
dam  cum  canibus  leporariis  insequeretur,  forte  cum  Scoto  quodam 
nobili,  sibi  antehac,  ut  videbalur,  familiariter  cognilo,  congressus 


158 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


est;  ac,  id  fas  erat  inter  inimicos,  flagrante  bello,  brevissimd  inter- 
rogaHonit  mord  inlerposUd,  alter  utros  invicem  incitato  cursu 
tqfettU  an  im  it  petb  re.  Noster,  primo  occursu,  equo  praacerrimo 
hotU*  iiHpdu  labante,  in  terram  eversus  pectore  el  capile  Ueso, 
saiKjuiiuin,  mortua  similis,  eromebat.  Quern  ut  se  agre  habentem 
eoini/cr  al/ocutus  est  alter,  pollicitusque,  modo  an/ilium  non  abne- 
yaret,  monitisque  obtemperans ab  omni  rerum  sacrarum  cogitalione 
ah.stiiii  ret,  nee  Deo,  Deiparce  Virgini,  Sanetove ullo,  preces  aut  vola 
efferrei  vel  inter  sese  conciperet,  se  brevi  eum  sanum  validumque 
ristiiuturum  esse.  Prm  angore  oblala  conditio  accepta  est;  ac 
veterator  ille  nescio  quid  obscmni  murmurif  insusurrans,  preltensa 
■iiiunu,  dido  citius  in  pedes  sanum  ut  antea  sublevavit.  Nosier 
auiem,  maxima  prve  rei  inaudUd  novitate  formidine  pereulsus, 
Ml  Jesu!  exclamal,  vel  quid  simile;  ac  subito  respiciens  nee 
hostem  nee  ullam  alium  con-spicil,  equum  solum  gravissinw  nuper 
casu  afflictum,  per  summampacem  in  rivo  fluvii  pascentem.  Ad 
caslra  ilaque  mirabundus  revertens,  fidei  dubius,  rem  primo  occul- 
tooti,  <li  in,  confecto  bello,  Confessori  suo  totam  asseruii.  Delusoria 
procul  dubio  res  tola,  ac  mala  veteraioris  illius  aperitur  fraus,  qua 
hominem  Chrislianum ad  vetitum  tide  auxilium pelliceret.  Nomen 
utriiiique  alius  (nobilis  alias  ac  clari)  reiicendum  duco,  cum  hand 
dubium  sit  quia  Diabolis,  Deo permitlente,  formarn  quam  libuerit, 
immo  angeli  lucis,  sacro  oculo  Dei  teste,  posse  assumere."  The 
MS.  chronicle,  from  which  Mr.  Cradocke  took  this  curious 
extract,  cannot  now  he  found  in  the  Chapter  Library  of  Dur- 
ham, or,  at  least,  has  hitherto  escaped  the  researches  of  my 
friendly  correspondent. 

Lindesay  is  made  to  allude  to  this  adventure  of  Ralph  Bul- 
mer,  as  a  well-known  story,  in  the  4th  canto,  stanza  xxii. 
p.  113. 

The  northern  champions  of  old  were  accustomed  peculiarly 
to  search  for,  and  delight  in,  encounters  with  such  military 
spectres.  See  a  whole  chapter  on  the  subject  in  Baktholi- 
KUS,  De  Causis  cviiiemplce  Mortis  a  Danis,  p.  253. 


Note  2  V. 


Close  to  the  hid,  no  more  his  oirn, 
Close  to  the  aid  he  sought  in  vain, 
T/ie  morn  may  find  the  stiffened  swain. — P.  106. 

I  cannot  help  here  mentioning  that,  on  the  night  in  which 
these  lines  were  written,  suggested,  as  they  were,  by  a  sud- 
den fall  of  snow,  beginning  after  sunset,  an  unfortunate  man 
perished  exactly  in  the  manner  here  described,  and  his  body 
was  next  morning  found  close  to  his  own  house.  The  acci- 
dent happened  within  five  miles  of  the  farm  of  Ashestiel. 


Note  2  W. 

Forbes.— P.  107. 


Sir  William  Forbes  of  Pitsligo,  Baronet ;  unequalled,  per- 

1  I  beg  leave  to  quote  a  single  instance  from  a  very  interest- 
ing passage.  Sir  David,  recounting  his  attention  to  King 
James  V.  in  his  infancy,  is  made,  by  the  learned  editor's 
punctuation,  to  say, — 

"The  first  sillabis,  that  thou  did  mute, 
Was  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  Late  ; 
Then  played  I  twenty  springia  perqaeir, 
Quhilk  was  great  plesour  for  to  hear." 

Vol.  i.  p.  7.  257. 

Mr.  Chalmers  does  not  inform  us,  by  note  or  glossary,  what 

is  meant  by  the  King  "muting  pa,  da,  lyn,  upon  the  lute;"  but 

any  old  woman  in  Scotland  will  bear  witness  that  pa,  da,  lyn, 

are  the  first  efforts  of  a  child  to  say,  "  Whare's  David  Li/ide- 


haps,in  the  degree  of  individual  affection  entertained  for  him 
by  his  friends,  as  well  as  in  the  general  respect  and  esteem  of 
Scotland  at  large.  His  "  Life  of  Beattie,"  whom  he  befriended 
and  patronized  in  life,  as  well  as  celebrated  after  his  decease, 
was  not  long  published,  before  the  benevolent  and  affection- 
ate biographer  was  called  to  follow  the  subject  of  his  narrative. 
This  melancholy  event  very  shortly  succeeded  the  marriage 
of  the  friend,  to  whom  this  introduction  is  addressed,  with 
one  of  Sir  William's  daughters. 


Note  2  X. 


•  Friar  Bush.—Y.  108. 


Alias,  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp."  This  personage  is  a  strolling 
demon,  or  esprit  follel,  who,  once  upon  a  time,  got  admittance 
into  a  monastery  as  a  scullion,  and  played  the  monks  many 
pranks.  He  was  also  a  sort  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  Jack 
o'  Lanthorn.  It  is  in  allusion  to  this  mischievous  demon  that 
Milton's  clown  speaks, — 

"  She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  Friar's  lanthorn  led." 

"  The  History  of  Friar  Rush  "  is  of  extreme  rarity,  and,  for 
some  time,  even  the  existence  of  such  a  book  was  doubted, 
although  it  is  expressly  alluded  to  by  Reginald  Scot,  in  his 
"  Discovery  of  Witchcraft."  I  have  perused  a  copy  in  the 
valuable  library  of  my  friend  Mr.  Heber ;  and  I  observe,  from 
Mr.  Beloe's  "Anecdotes  of  Literature,"  that  there  is  one  in 
the  excellent  collection  of  the  Marquis  of  Stafford. 


Note  2  Y. 


Sir  David  Lindesay  of  the  Mount, 
Lard  Lion  King-at-arms. — P.  109. 

The  late  elaborate  edition  of  Sir  David  Lindesay's  Works, 
by  Mr.  George  Chalmers,  has  probably  introduced  him  to 
many  of  my  readers.  It  is  perhaps  to  be  regretted  that  the 
learned  Editor  had  not  bestowed  more  pains  in  elucidating  his 
author,  even  although  he  should  have  omitted,  or  at  least 
reserved,  his  disquisitions  on  the  origin  of  the  language  used 
by  the  poet  :l  But,  with  all  its  faults,  his  work  is  an  accept- 
able present  to  Scottish  antiquaries.  Sir  David  Lindesay  was 
well  known  for  his  early  efforts  in  favor  of  the  Reformed 
doctrines;  and,  indeed,  his  play,  coarse  as  it  now  seems, must 
have  had  a  powerful  effect  upon  the  people  of  his  age.  I  am 
uncertain  if  I  abuse  poetical  license,  by  introducing  Sir  David 
Lindesay  in  the  character  of  Lion-Herald,  sixteen  years  before 
he  obtained  that  office.  At  any  rate,  I  am  not  the  first  who 
has  been  guilty  of  the  anachronism  ;  for  the  author  of  "  Flod- 
den  Field  "  despatches  Dnllamount,  which  can  mean  nobody 
but  Sir  David  de  la  Mont,  to  France,  on  the  message  of  de- 
wy?"* and  that  the  subsequent  words  begin  another  sen- 
tence^— 

■  "  Upon  the  lute 


Then  played  I  twenty  springis  perqueir,"  &c. 

In  another  place,  "justing  lumis,"  i.  e.,  looms,  or  implements 
of  tilting,  is  facetiously  interpreted  "playfnl  limbs."  Many 
BUCh  minute  errors  could  be  pointed  out ;  but  these  are  only 
mentioned  incidentally,  and  not  as  diminishing  the  real  merit 
of  the  edition. 


*  Tt  is  sucpestpd  by  an  ingenious  correspondent  that  Pa,  da,  lyn,  < 
rather  to  be  interpreted,  play,  Davy  Lyndesay. 


Jght 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


159 


fiance  from  James  IV.  to  Henry  VIII.  It  was  often  an  office 
imposed  on  the  Lion  King-at-arms,  to  receive  foreign  ambas- 
sadors; and  Lindesay  himself  did  this  honor  to  Sir  Ralph 
Sadler,  in  1539-40.  Indeed,  the  oath  of  the  Lion,  in  its  first 
article,  bears  reference  to  his  frequent  employment  upon 
royal  messages  and  embassies. 

The  office  of  heralds,  in  feudal  times,  being  held  of  the  ut- 
most  importance,  the  inauguration  of  the  Kings-at-arms,  who 
presided  over  their  colleges,  was  proportionally  solemn.  In 
fact,  it  was  the  mimicry  of  a  royal  coronation,  except  that  the 
unction  was  made  with  wine  instead  of  oil.  In  Scotland,  a 
namesake  and  kinsman  of  Sir  David  Lindesay,  inaugurated  in 
1592,  "  was  crowned  by  King  James  with  the  ancient  crown 
of  Scotland,  which  was  used  before  the  Scottish  kings  assumed 
a  close  crown ;"  and,  on  occasion  of  the  same  solemnity,  dined 
at  the  King's  table,  wearing  the  crown.  It  is  probable  that 
the  coronation  of  his  predecessor  was  not  less  solemn.  So 
Sacred  was  the  herald's  office  that,  in  1515,  Lord  Drummond 
was  by  Parliament  declared  guilty  of  treason,  and  his  lands 
forfeited,  because  he  had  struck  with  his  fist  the  Lion  King- 
at-arms,  when  he  reproved  him  for  his  follies.1  Nor  was  he 
restored  but  at  the  Lion's  earnest  solicitation. 


Note  2  Z. 

Crichtoun  Castle. — P.  110. 

A  large  ruinous  castle  on  the  banks  of  the  Tyne,  about  ten 
miles  from  Edinburgh.  As  indicated  in  the  text,  it  was  built 
at  different  times,  and  with  a  very  differing  regard  to  splen- 
dor and  accommodation.  The  oldest  part  of  the  building  is 
a  narrow  keep,  or  tower,  such  as  formed  the  mansion  of  a 
lesser  Scottish  baron ;  but  so  many  additions  have  been  made 
to  it,  that  there  is  now  a  large  court-yard,  surrounded  by 
buildings  of  different  ages.  The  eastern  front  of  the  court  is 
raised  above  a  portico,  and  decorated  with  entablatures,  bear- 
ing anchors.  All  the  stones  of  this  front  are  cut  into  diamond 
facets,  the  angular  projections  of  which  have  an  uncommonly 
rich  appearance.  The  inside  of  this  part  of  the  building  ap- 
pears to  have  contained  a  gallery  of  great  length  and  uncom- 
mon elegance.  Access  was  given  to  it  by  a  magnificent  stair- 
case, now  quite  destroyed.  The  soffits  are  ornamented  with 
twining  cordage  and  rosettes ;  and  the  whole  seems  to  have 
been  far  more  splendid  than  was  usual  in  Scottish  castles. 
The  castle  belonged  originally  to  the  Chancellor,  Sir  William 
Crichton,  and  probably  owed  to  him  its  first  enlargement,  as 
well  as  its  being  taken  by  the  Earl  of  Douglas,  who  imputed 
to  Crichton's  counsels  the  death  of  his  predecessor,  Earl  Wil- 
liam, beheaded  in  Edinburgh  Castle,  with  his  brother,  in 
1440.    It  is  said  to  have  been  totally  demolished  on  that  occa- 


1  The  record  expresses,  or  rather  is  said  to  have  expressed, 
the  cause  of  forfeiture  to  be, — "  Eo  quod  Leonem,  armorum 
Regem  pugno  violasset  diun  eum  de  ineptiis  suis  admonet."  See 
Nisbet's  Heraldry,  Part  iv.  chap.  xvi. ;  and  Lesl^ei  Hisloria 
ad  Annum  1515. 

2  ["  In  Scotland,  formerly,  as  still  in  some  parts  of  Greece, 
the  great  chieftains  required,  as  an  acknowledgment  of  their 
authority,  that  those  who  passed  through  their  lands  should 
repair  to  their  castle,  to  explain  the  purpose  of  their  journey, 
and  receive  the  hospitality  suited  to  their  rank.  To  neglect 
this  was  held  discourtesy  in  the  great,  and  insolence  in  the 
inferior  traveller ;  and  so  strictly  was  the  etiquette  insisted 
on  by  some  feudal  lords,  that  the  Lord  Oliphant  is  said  to 
have  planted  guns  at  his  castle  of  Newtyle  in  Angus,  so  as  to 
command  the  high  road,  and  compel  all  restive  passengers  to 
do  this  act  of  homage. 

"  It  chanced  when  such  ideas  were  predominant,  that  the 
Lord  of  Crichton  Castle  received  intelligence  that  a  Southern 


sion ;  hut  the  present  state  of  the  ruin  shows  the  contrary. 
In  1483,  it  was  garrisoned  by  Lord  Crichton,  then  its  pro- 
prietor, against  King  James  III.,  whose  displeasure  he  had 
incurred  by  seducing  his  sister  Margaret,  in  revenge,  it  is 
said,  for  the  Monarch  having  dishonored  his  bed.  From  the 
Crichton  family  the  castle  passed  to  that  of  the  Hepburns, 
Earls  Both  well ;  and  when  the  forfeitures  of  Stewart,  the  last 
Earl  Both  well,  were  divided,  the  barony  and  castle  of  Crichton 
fell  to  the  share  of  the  Earl  of  Buccleuch.  They  were  after- 
wards the  property  of  the  Pringles  of  Clifton,  and  are  now 
that  of  Sir  John  Callander,  Baronet.  It  were  to  be  wished 
the  proprietor  would  take  a  little  pains  to  preserve  these 
splendid  remains  of  antiquity,  which  are  at  present  used  as 
a  fold  for  sheep,  and  wintering  cattle;  although,  perhaps, 
there  are  very  few  ruins  in  Scotland  which  display  so  well  the 
style  and  beauty  of  ancient  castle-architecture.  The  castle 
of  Crichton  has  a  dungeon  vault,  called  the  Massy  More.  The 
epithet,  which  is  not  uncommonly  applied  to  the  prisons  of 
other  old  castles  in  Scotland,  is  of  Saracenic  origin.  It  occurs 
twice  in  the  " Epislohe  Itineraries"  of  Tollius: — " Career  subter- 
raneus,  sive,  ut  Mauri  appellant,  Mazmorra,"  p.  147 ;  and  again, 
"  Coguntur  omnes  Captivi  sub  noclem  in  ergastula  subterranea, 
quee  Turcee  Algezerani  vocant  Mazmorras,"  p.  243.  The  same 
word  applies  to  the  dungeons  of  the  ancient  Moorish  castles 
in  Spain,  and  serves  to  show  from  what  nation  the  Gothic 
style  of  castle-building  was  originally  derived.2 


Note  3  A. 


Earl  Adam  Hepburn. — P.  110. 

He  was  the  second  Earl  of  Bothwell,  and  fell  in  the  field  of 
Flodden,  where,  according  to  an  ancient  English  poet,  he  dis- 
tinguished himself  by  a  furious  attempt  to  retrieve  the  day : — 

"  Then  on  the  Scottish  part,  right  proud, 

The  Earl  of  Bothwell  then  out  brast, 
And  stepping  forth,  with  stomach  good, 

Into  the  enemies'  throng  he  thrast; 
And  Bothwell !  Bothwell !  cried  bold, 

To  cause  his  souldiers  to  ensue, 
But  there  he  caught  a  wellcome  cold, 

The  Englishmen  straight  down  him  threw. 
Thus  Haburn  through  his  hardy  heart 

His  fatal  fine  in  conflict  found,"  &c. 

Flodden  Field,  a  Poem ;  edited  by 
H.  Weber.    Edin.  1808. 

Adam  was  grandfather  to  James,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  too  well 
known  in  the  history  of  Queen  Mary. 


chieftain  of  high  rank,  some  say  Scott  of  Buccleuch,  was  to 
pass  his  dwelling  on  his  return  from  court.  The  Lord  of 
Crichton  made  great  preparation  to  banquet  his  expected 
guest,  who  nevertheless  rode  past  the  castle  without  paying 
the  expected  visit.  In  his  first  burst  of  indignation,  the  Baron 
pursued  the  discourteous  traveller  with  a  body  of  horse,  made 
him  prisoner,  and  confined  him  in  the  dungeon,  while  he  him- 
self and  his  vassals  feasted  upon  the  good  cheer  which  had 
been  provided.  With  the  morning,  however,  came  reflection, 
and  anxiety  for  the  desperate  feud  which  impended  as  the 
necessary  consequence  of  his  rough  proceeding.  It  is  said 
that,  by  way  of  amende  honorable,  the  Baron,  upon  the  second 
day,  placed  his  compelled  guest  in  his  seat  of  honor  in  the 
hall,  while  he  himself  retired  into  his  own  dungeon,  and  thus 
did  at  once  penance  for  his  rashness,  satisfied  the  honor  of  the 
stranger  chief,  and  put  a  stop  to  the  feud  which  must  other- 
wise have  taken  place  between  them." — Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Miscellaneous  Prose  Works,  vol.  vii.  pp.  192-3.] — Ed. 


160 


.     SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Note  3  B. 

Fbr  that  a  messenger  from  heaven 
In  vain  to  James  had  counsel  given 
Against  the  English  war.— P.  111. 

This  story  is  told  by  Pitscottie  with  characteristic  simpli- 
city :— -  The  Kiug,  seeing  that  France  could  get  no  support  of 
him  for  that  time,  made  a  proclamation,  full  hastily,  through 
all  the  realm  of  Scotland,  both  east  and  west,  south  and  north, 
as  well  in  tne  isles  as  in  the  firm  land,  to  all  manner  of  men 
between  sixty  and  sixteen  years,  that  they  should  be  ready, 
within  twenty  days,  to  pass  with  him,  with  forty  days  victual, 
and  to  meet  at  the  Burrow-muir  of  Edinburgh,  and  there  to 
pass  forward  where  he  pleased.  His  proclamations  were 
hastily  obeyed,  contrary  the  Council  of  Scotland's  will ;  but 
every  man  loved  his  prince  so  well  that  they  would  on  no 
ways  disobey  him  ;  but  every  man  caused  make  his  proclama- 
tion so  hastily,  conform  to  the  charge  of  the  King's  procla- 
mation. 

"  The  King  came  to  Lithgow,  where  he  happened  to  be  for 
the  time  at  the  Council,  very  sad  and  dolorous,  making  his 
devotion  to  God,  to  send  him  good  chance  and  fortune  in  his 
voyage.  In  this  meantime  there  came  a  man,  clad  in  a  blue 
gown,  in  at  the  kirk  door,  and  belted  about  him  in  a  roll  of 
linen  cloth ;  a  pair  of  brotikings1  on  his  feet,  to  the  great  of 
his  legs ;  with  all  other  hose  and  clothes  conform  thereto:  but 
he  had  nothing  on  his  head,  but  syde-  red  yellow  hair  behind, 
and  on  his  haffets,3  which  wan  down  to  his  shoulders ;  but  his 
forehead  was  bald  and  bare.  He  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  two- 
and-fifty  years,  with  a  great  pike-staff  in  his  hand,  and  came 
first  forward  among  the  lords,  crying  and  speiring4  for  the 
King,  saying  he  desired  to  speak  with  him.  While,  at  the 
last,  he  came  where  the  King  was  sitting  in  the  desk  at  his 
prayers ;  but  when  he  saw  the  King,  he  made  him  little  rev- 
erence or  salutation,  but  leaned  down  groffling  on  the  desk 
before  him,  and  said  to  him  in  this  manner,  as  after  follows : 
'Sir  King,  my  mother  hath  sent  me  to  you,  desiring  you  not 
to  pass,  at  this  time,  where  thou  art  purposed ;  for  if  thou  does, 
thou  wilt  not  fare  well  in  thy  journey,  nor  none  that  passeth 
with  thee.  Further,  she  bade  thee  rnell5  with  no  woman,  nor 
use  their  counsel,  nor  let  them  touch  thy  body,  nor  thou 
theirs ;  for,  if  thou  do  it,  thou  wilt  be  confounded  and  brought 
to  shame.' 

"  By  this  man  had  spoken  thir  words  unto  the  King's  grace, 
the  evening-song  was  near  done,  and  the  King  paused  on  thir 
words,  studying  to  give  him  an  answer ;  but,  in  the  meantime, 
before  the  King's  eyes,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  the  lords  that 
were  about  him  for  the  time,  this  man  vanished  away,  and 
could  no  ways  be  seen  or  comprehended,  but  vanished  away 
as  he  had  been  a  blink  of  the  sun,  or  a  whip  of  the  whirlwind, 
and  could  no  more  be  seen.  I  heard  say,  Sir  David  Lindesay 
Lyon-herauld,  aud  John  Inglis  the  marshal,  who  were,  at  that 
time,  young  men,  and  special  servants  to  the  King's  grace, 
were  standing  presently  beside  the  King,  who  thought  to  have 
laid  hands  on  this  man,  that  they  might  have  speired  further 
tidings  at  him :  But  all  for  nought ;  they  could  not  touch 
him ;  for  he  vanished  away  betwixt  them,  and  was  no  more 
seen." 

Buchanan,  in  more  elegant  though  not  more  impressive 
language,  tells  the  same  story,  and  quotes  the  personal  infor- 
mation of  our  Sir  David  Lindesay:  "  In  iis  (L  e.,  qui  propius 
astiterant)  fuit  David  Lindesius,  Montanus,  homo  spectator  fid*  I  et 
probUatis,  nee  a  literarum  studiis  alienus,  et  cujns  totttu  vita  tenor 
loiigis.dme  a  menliendo  aberrat;  a  quo  nisi  ego  haze  nti  tradtdi, 
pro  certis  accepissem,utvulgatam  van  is  rumoribtujabulum,  omis- 
surus  eram." — Lib.  xiii.  The  King's  throne,  in  St.  Catherine's 
aisle,  which  he  had  constructed  forhimai  If,  with  twelve  stalls 
for  the  Knights  Companions  of  the  Order  of  the  Thistle,  is 
still  shown  as  the  place  where  the  apparition  was  seen.    I 


1  Buskins. 


Long. 


s  Cheeks. 


know  not  by  what  means  St.  Andrew  got  the  credit  of  having 
been  the  celebrated  monitor  of  James  IV. ;  for  the  expression 
in  Lindesay's  narrative,  "  My  mother  has  sent  me,"  could 
only  be  used  by  St.  John,  the  adopted  son  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
The  whole  story  is  so  well  attested  that  we  have  only  the 
choice  between  a  miracle  or  an  imposture.  Mr.  Pfnkerton 
plausibly  argues,  from  the  caution  against  incontinence,  that 
the  Queen  was  privy  to  the  scheme  of  those  who  had  recourse 
to  this  expedient  to  deter  King  James  from  his  impolitic  war. 


Note  3  C. 

The  wild-buck  bells.— P.  111. 

I  am  glad  of  an  opportunity  to  describe  the  cry  of  the  deer 
by  another  word  than  braying,  although  the  latter  has  been 
sanctified  by  the  use  of  the  Scottish  metrical  translation  of 
the  Psalms.  Bell  seems  to  be  an  abbreviation  of  bellow.  This 
sylvan  sound  conveyed  great  delight  to  our  ancestors,  chiefly, 
I  suppose,  from  association.  A  gentle  knight  in  the  reign  of 
Henry  VIII. ,  Sir  Thomas  Wortley,  built  Wantley  Lodge,  in 
Wancliffe  Forest,  for  the  pleasure  (as  an  ancient  inscription 
testifies)  of  "listening  to  the  hart's  bell." 


Note  3  D. 


June  saw  his  father's  overthrow. — P.  111. 

The  rebellion  against  James  III.  was  signalized  by  the 
cruel  circumstance  of  his  son's  presence  in  the  hostile  army. 
When  the  King  saw  his  own  banner  displayed  against  him, 
and  his  son  in  the  faction  of  his  enemies,  he  lost  the  little 
courage  he  had  ever  possessed,  fled  out  of  the  field,  fell  from 
his  horse  as  it  started  at  a  woman  and  water-pitcher,  and  was 
slain,  it  is  not  well  understood  by  whom.  James  IV.,  after 
the  battle,  passed  to  Stirling,  and  hearing  the  monks  of  the 
chapel-royal  deploring  the  death  of  his  father,  their  founder, 
he  was  seized  with  deep  remorse,  which  manifested  itself  in 
severe  penances.  See  a  following  Note  on  stanza  ix.  of  canto  v. 
The  battle  of  Sauchie-burn,  in  which  James  III.  fell,  was 
fought  18th  June,  1488. 


Note  3  E. 


the  Borough-moor. — P.  114. 

The  Borough,  or  Common  Moor  of  Edinburgh,  was  of  very 
great  extent,  reaching  from  the  southern  walls  of  the  city  to 
the  bottom  of  Braid  Hills.  It  was  anciently  a  forest ;  and,  in 
that  state,  was  so  great  a  nuisance  that  the  inhabitants  of 
Edinburgh  had  permission  granted  to  them  of  building  wooden 
galleries,  projecting  over  the  street,  in  order  to  encourage 
tli'  in  to  consume  the  timber,  which  they  seem  to  have  done 
very  effectually.  When  James  IV.  mustered  the  array  of  the 
kingdom  there,  in  1513,  the  Borough-moor  was,  according  to 
Hawthornden,  "a  field  spacious,  and  delightful  by  the  shade 
of  many  stately  and  aged  oaks."  Upon  that  and  similar  occa- 
sions, the  royal  standard  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been 
displayed  from  the  Hare-Stane,  a  high  stone,  now  built  into 
the  wall,  on  the  left  hand  of  the  highway  leading  towards 
Braid,  not  far  from  the  head  of  Bruntsfield  Links.  The  Hare- 
Stane  probably  derives  its  name  from  the  British  word  Har, 
signifying  an  army. 


*  Asking. 


6  Meddle. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAEMION. 


161 


Note  3  F. 


-pavilions. — P.  114. 


I  do  not  exactly  know  the  Scottish  mode  of  encampment  in 
1513,  but  Patten  gives  a  curious  description  of  that  which  he 
saw  after  the  battle  of  Pinkey,  in  1547  :— "  Here  now,  to  say 
somewhat  of  the  manner  of  their  camp.  As  they  had  no 
pavilions,  or  round  houses,  of  any  commendable  compass,  so 
wear  there  few  other  tentes  with  posts,  as  the  used  manner 
of  making  is ;  and  of  these  few  also,  none  of  above  twenty 
foot  length,  but  most  far  under ;  for  the  most  part  all  very 
sumptuously  beset  (after  their  fashion),  for  the  love  of  France, 
with  fleur-de-lys,  some  of  blue  buckeram,  some  of  black,  and 
some  of  some  other  colours.  These  white  ridges,  as  I  call 
them,  that,  as  we  stood  on  Fauxsyde  Bray,  did  make  so  great 
muster  toward  us,  which  I  did  take  then  to  be  a  number  of 
tentes,  when  we  came,  we  found  it  a  linen  drapery,  of  the 
coarser  cambryke  in  dede,  for  it  was  all  of  canvas  sheets,  and 
wear  the  tenticles,  or  rather  cabyns  and  couches  of  their  sol- 
diers ;  the  which  (much  after  the  common  building  of  their 
country  beside)  had  they  framed  of  four  sticks,  about  an  ell 
long  a  piece,  whearof  two  fastened  together  at  one  end  aloft, 
and  the  two  endes  beneath  stuck  in  the  ground,  an  ell  asun- 
der, standing  in  fashion  like  the  bowes  of  a  sowes  yoke ;  over 
two  such  bowes  (one,  as  it  were,  at  their  head,  the  other  at 
their  feet),  they  stretched  a  sheet  down  on  both  sides,  where- 
by their  cabin  became  roofed  like  a  ridge,  but  skant  shut  at 
both  ends,  and  not  very  close  beneath  on  the  sides,  unless 
their  sticks  were  the  shorter,  or  their  wives  the  more  liberal 
to  lend  them  larger  napery ;  howbeit,  when  they  had  lined 
them,  and  stuff 'd  them  so  thick  with  straw,  with  the  weather 
as  it  was  not  very  cold,  when  they  wear  ones  couched,  they 
were  as  warm  as  they  had  been  wrapt  in  horses  dung." — 
Patten's  Account  of  Somersets  Expedition. 


Note  3  G. 


— —  in  proud  Scotland's  royal  shield, 
The  ruddy  lion  ramp'd  in  gold. — P.  114. 

The  well-known  arms  of  Scotland.  If  you  will  believe 
Boethius  and  Buchanan,  the  double  tressure  round  the  shield, 
mentioned,  counter  fleur-de-lysed  or  lingued  and  armed  azure, 
was  first  assumed  by  Echaius,  King  of  Scotland,  contempo- 
rary of  Charlemagne,  and  founder  of  the  celebrated  League 
with  France ;  but  later  antiquaries  make  poor  Eochy,  or  Achy, 
little  better  than  a  sort  of  King  of  Brentford,  whom  old  Grig 
(who  has  also  swelled  into  Gregorius  Magnus)  associated  with 
himself  in  the  important  duty  of  governing  some  part  of  the 
north-eastern  coast  of  Scotland. 


Note  3  H. 


Caledonia's  Queen  is  changed. — P.  116. 


The  Old  Town  of  Edinburgh  was  secured  on  the  north  side 
by  a  lake,  now  drained,  and  on  the  south  by  a  wall,  which 
there  was  some  attempt  to  make  defensible  even  so  late  as 
1745.  The  gates,  and  the  greater  part  of  the  wall,  have  been 
pulled  down,  in  the  course  of  the  late  extensive  and  beautiful 
enlargement  of  the  city.  My  ingenious  and  valued  friend, 
Mr.  Thomas  Campbell,  proposed  to  celebrate  Edinburgh  under 
the  epithet  here  borrowed.  But  the  "  Queen  of  the  North  " 
has  not  been  so  fortunate  as  to  receive  from  so  eminent  a  pen 
the  proposed  distinction. 

11 


Note  3  I. 

Since  first,  when  conquering  York  arose, 
To  Henry  meek  she  gave  repose. — P.  117. 

Henry  VI.,  with  his  Queen,  his  heirs,  and  the  chiefs  of  his 
family,  fled  to  Scotland  after  the  fatal  battle  of  Towton.  In 
this  note  a  doubt  was  formerly  expressed  whether  Henry  VI. 
came  to  Edinburgh,  though  his  Queen  certainly  did ;  Mr.  Pin- 
kerton  inclining  to  believe  that  he  remained  at  Kirkcud- 
bright. But  my  noble  friend,  Lord  Napier,  has  pointed  out 
to  me  a  grant  by  Henry,  of  an  annuity  of  forty  marks  to  his 
Lordship's  ancestor,  John  Napier,  subscribed  by  the  King 
himself,  at  Edinburgh,  the  28th  day  of  August,  in  the  thirty- 
ninth  year  of  his  reign,  which  corresponds  to  the  year  of  God 
1461.  This  grant,  Douglas,  with  his  usual  neglect  of  accuracy, 
dates  in  1368.  But  this  error  being  corrected  from  the  copy 
in  Macfarlane's  MSS.,  p.  119-20,  removes  all  skepticism  on  the 
subject  of  Henry  VI.  being  really  at  Edinburgh.  John  Napier 
was  son  and  heir  of  Sir  Alexander  Napier,  and  about  this 
time  was  Provost  of  Edinburgh.  The  hospitable  reception  of 
the  distressed  monarch  and  his  family  called  forth  on  Scot- 
land the  encomium  of  Molinet,  a  contemporary  poet.  The 
English  people,  he  says, — 

"  Ung  nouveau  roy  creerent, 

Par  despiteux  vouloir, 
Le  viel  en  deboutirent, 

Et  son  legitime  hair, 
Qui  fuytyf  alia  prendre, 

D'Escosse'  le  garand, 
De  tous  siecles  le  mendre, 

Et  le  plus  tolleranl." 

— Recollection  des  Arantures. 


Note  3  K. 

•  the  romantic  strain, 


Whose  Aixglo-Norman  tones  whilere 
Could  win  the  royal  Henry's  ear. — P.  117. 

Mr.  Ellis,  in  his  valuable  Introduction  to  the  "Specimens 
of  Romance,"  has  proved,  by  the  concurring  testimony  of  La 
Ravaillere,  Tressan,  but  especially  ttie  Abbe  de  la  Hue,  that 
the  courts  of  our  Anglo-Norman  Kings,  rather  than  those  of 
the  French  monarch,  produced  the  birth  of  Romance  litera- 
ture. Marie,  soon  after  mentioned,  compiled  from  Armoricaa 
originals,  and  translated  into  Norman-French,  or  romance 
language,  the  twelve  curious  Lays,  of  which  Mr.  Ellis  has 
given  us  a  precis  in  the  Appendix  to  his  Introduction.  The 
story  of  Blondel,  the  famous  andfaithful  minstrel  of  Richard;  I., 
needs  no  commentary. 


Note  3  L. 


The  cloth-yard  arrows. — P.  118. 

This  is  no  poetical  exaggeration.  In  some  of  the  counties 
of  England,  distinguished  for  archery,  shafts  of  this  extraor- 
dinary length  were  actually  used.  Thus,  at  the  battle  of 
Blackheath,  between  the  troops  of  Henry  VII.  and  the  Cor- 
nish insurgents,  in  1496,  the  bridge  of  Dartford  was  defended 
by  a  picked  band  of  archers  from  the  rebel  army,  "  whose 
arrows,"  says  Holinshed,  "  were  in  length  a  full  cloth  yard." 
The  Scottish,  according  to  Ascham,  had  a  proverb,  that  every 
English  archer  carried  under  his  belt  twenty-four  Scots,  in 
allusion  to  his  bundle  of  unerring  shafts. 


162 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Note  3  M. 

To  pass,  to  it  heel,  the  crmipe  to  gain, 
Aiul  high  curvet,  thai  not  in  vain 
T/te  sword  sway  might  descend  amain 
Onfoeman's  casque  below. — P.  118. 

"  The  most  useful  air,  as  the  Frenchmen  term  it,  is  terri- 
terr;  the  courbetles,  cabrioles,  or  un  pas  et  un  sault,  being  fitter 
for  horses  of  parade  and  triumph  than  for  soldiers:  yet  I 
cannot  deny  but  a  demivolte  with  courbettes,  so  that  they  be 
not  too  high,  may  be  useful  in  a  fight  or  meslee;  for,  as  La- 
broue  hath  it,  in  his  Book  of  Horsemanship,  Monsieur  de 
Montmorency  having  a  horse  that  was  excellent  in  perform- 
ing the  demivolte,  did,  with  his  sword,  strike  down  two  adver- 
saries from  their  horses  in  a  tourney,  where  divers  of  the 
prime  gallants  of  France  did  meet ;  for,  taking  his  time,  when 
the  horse  was  in  the  height  of  his  courbetle,  and  discharging  a 
blow  then,  his  sword  fell  with  such  weight  and  force  upon 
the  two  cavaliers,  one  after  another,  that  he  struck  them 
from  their  horses  to  the  ground."— Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury's 
Life,  p.  48. 


Note  3  N. 


Be  saw  the  hardy  burghers  there 

March  arm,d,  on  foot,  with  faces  bare. — P.  118. 

The  Scottish  burgesses  were,  like  yeomen,  appointed  to  be 
armed  with  bows  and  sheaves,  sword,  buckler,  knife,  spear, 
■or  a  good  axe  instead  of  a  bow,  if  worth  £100 :  their  armor 
to  be  of  white  or  bright  harness.  They  wore  white  hats,  i.  e., 
bright  steel  caps,  without  crest  or  visor.  By  an  act  of  James 
IV.  their  weapon^schawings  are  appointed  to  be  held  four 
ilimes  a  year,  under  the  aldermen  or  bailiffs. 


Note  3  O. 


■On  foot  the  yeoman  too 

Each  at  his  back  (a  slender  store) 

His  forty  days'  provision  bore,  .... 

His  arms  were  halbert,  axe,  or  spear. — P.  118. 

Bows  and  quivers  were  in  vain  recommended  to  the  pea- 
santry of  Scotland,  by  repeated  statutes;  spears  and  axes 
seem  universally  to  have  been  used  instead  of  them.  Their 
defensive  armor  was  the  plate  jack,  hauberk,  or  brigantine; 
and  their  missile  weapons  crossbows  and  culverins.  All  wore 
swords  of  excellent  temper,  according  to  Patten ;  and  a  volu- 
minous handkerchief  round  their  neck,  "  not  for  cold,  but  for 
cutting."  The  mace  also  was  much  used  in  the  Scottish 
army:  The  old  poem  on  the  battle  of  Flodden  mentions  a 
band — 

"Who  manfully  did  meet  their  foes, 
With  leaden  mauls  and  lances  long." 

When  the  feudal  array  of  the  kingdom  was  called  forth, 
each  man  was  obliged  to  appear  with  forty  days'  provision. 
When  this  was  expended,  which  took  place  before  the  battle 
of  Flodden,  the  army  melted  away  of  course.  Almost  all  the 
Scottish  forces,  except  a  few  knights,  men-at-arms,  and  the 
Border  prickers,  who  formed  excellent  light-cavalry,  acted 
upon  foot. 


Note  3  P. 

A  banquet  rich,  and  costly  wines. — P.  119. 

In  all  transactions  of  great  or  petty  importance,  and  among 
whomsoever  taking  place,  it  would  seem  that  a  present  of 
wine  was  a  uniform  and  indispensable  preliminary.  It  was 
not  to  Sir  John  Falstaff  alone  that  such  an  introductory  pre- 
face was  necessary,  however  well  judged  and  acceptable  on 
the  part  of  Mr.  Brook ;  for  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  while  on  an 
embassy  to  Scotland  in  1539-40,  mentions,  with  complacency, 
"  the  same  night  came  Rothesay  (the  herald  so  called)  to  me 
again,  and  brought  me  wine  from  the  King,  both  white  and 
red."— Clifford's  Edition,  p.  39. 


Note  3  Q. 


•  his  iron  belt, 


That  bound  his  breast  in  penance  pain, 
In  memory  of  his  father  slain. — P.  120. 

Few  readers  need  be  reminded  of  this  belt,  to  the  weight 
of  which  James  added  certain  ounces  every  year  that  he  lived. 
Pitscottie  founds  his  belief  that  James  was  not  slain  in  the 
battle  of  Flodden,  because  the  English  never  had  this  token 
of  the  iron  belt  to  show  to  any  Scottishman.  The  person  and 
character  of  James  are  delineated  according  to  our  best  his- 
torians. His  romantic  disposition,  which  led  him  highly  to 
relish  gayety,  approaching  to  license,  was,  at  the  same  time, 
tinged  with  enthusiastic  devotion.  These  propensities  some- 
times formed  a  strange  contrast.  He  was  wont,  during  his  fits 
of  devotion,  to  assume  the  dress,  and  conform  to  the  rules,  of 
the  order  of  Franciscans ;  and  when  he  had  thus  done  pen- 
ance for  some  time  in  Stirling,  to  plunge  again  into  the  tide 
of  pleasure.  Probably,  too,  with  no  unusual  inconsistency,  he 
sometimes  laughed  at  the  superstitious  observances  to  which 
he  at  other  times  subjected  himself.  There  is  a  very  singular 
poem  by  Dunbar,  seemingly  addressed  to  James  IV.  on  one 
of  these  occasions  of  monastic  seclusion.  It  is  a  most  daring 
and  profane  parody  on  the  services  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
entitled, — 

"  Dunbar's  Dirige  to  the  King, 

Byding  ower  lung  in  Striviiing. 

We  that  are  here,  in  heaven's  glory, 
To  you  that  are  in  Purgatory, 
Commend  us  on  our  hearty  wise ; 
I  mean  we  folks  in  Paradise, 
In  Edinburgh,  with  all  merriness, 
To  you  in  Stirling,  with  distress, 
Where  neither  pleasure  nor  delight  is, 
For  pity  this  epistle  writis,"  &c. 

See  the  whole  in  Sibbald's  Collection,  vol.  i.  p.  234. 


Note  3  R. 


Sir  Hugh  the  Heron's  wife. — P.  120. 

It  has  been  already  noticed  [see  note  to  stanza  xiii.  of 
canto  i.]  that  King  James's  acquaintance  with  Lady  Heron  of 
Ford  did  not  commence  until  he  marched  into  England.  Our 
historians  impute  to  the  King's  infatuated  passion  the  delays 
which  led  to  the  fatal  defeat  of  Flodden.  The  author  of 
"  The  Genealogy  of  the  Heron  Family "  endeavors,  with 
laudable  anxiety,  to  clear  the  Lady  Ford  from  this  scandal: 
that  she  came  and  went,  however,  between  the  ^rmies  of 


APPENDIX    TO    MAKMION. 


163 


James  and  Surrey,  is  certain.  See  Pinkerton's  History,  and 
the  authorities  he  refers  to,  vol.  ii.  p.  99.  Heron  of  Ford  had 
been,  in  1511,  in  some  sort  accessory  to  the  slaughter  of  Sir 
Robert  Kerr  of  Cessford,  Warden  of  the  Middle  Marches.  It 
was  committed  by  his  brother  the  bastard,  Lilburn,  and 
Starked,  three  Borderers.  Lilburn  and  Heron  of  Ford  were 
delivered  up  by  Henry  to  James,  and  were  imprisoned  in  the 
fortress  of  Fastcastle,  where  the  former  died.  Part  of  the 
pretence  of  Lady  Ford's  negotiations  with  James  was  the 
liberty  of  her  husband. 


Note  3  S. 


the  fair  Queen  of  France 

Sent  him  a  turquois  ring  and  glove, 
And  charged  him,  as  her  knight  and  love, 

For  her  to  break  a  lance. — P.  120. 

"  Also  the  Queen  of  France  wrote  a  love-letter  to  the  King 
of  Scotland,  calling  him  her  love,  showing  him  that  she  had 
suffered  much  rebuke  in  France  for  the  defending  of  his 
honor.  She  believed  surely  that  he  would  recompense  her 
again  with  some  of  his  kingly  support  in  her  necessity;  that 
is  to  say,  that  he  would  raise  her  an  army,  and  come  three  foot 
of  ground  on  English  ground,  for  her  sake.  To  that  effect  she 
sent  him  a  ring  off  her  finger,  with  fourteen  thousand  French 
crowns  to  pay  his  expenses." — Pitscottie,  p.  110.  A  turquois 
ring ;  probably  this  fatal  gift  is,  with  James's  sword  and  dag- 
ger, preserved  in  the  College  of  Heralds,  London. 


Note  3  T. 


Archibald  Bell-lhe-CaL—V.  122. 

Archibald  Douglas,  Earl  of  Angus,  a  man  remarkable  for 
strength  of  body  and  mind,  acquired  the  popular  name  of 
Bell-lhe-Cai  upon  the  following  remarkable  occasion : — James 
the  Third,  of  whom  Pitscottie  complains  that  he  delighted 
more  in  music,  and  "policies  of  building,"  than  in  hunting, 
hawking,  and  other  noble  exercises,  was  so  ill  advised  as  to 
make  favorites  of  his  architects  and  musicians,  whom  the 
same  historian  irreverently  terms  masons  and  fiddlers.  His 
nobility,  who  did  not  sympathize  in  the  King's  respect  for  the 
fine  arts,  were  extremely  incensed  at  the  honors  conferred 
on  those  persons,  particularly  on  Cochrane,  a  mason,  who  had 
been  created  Earl  of  Mar;  and,  seizing  the  opportunity,  when, 
in  1482,  the  King  had  convoked  the  whole  array  of  the  country 
to  march  against  the  English,  they  held  a  midnight  council 
in  the  church  of  Lauder,  for  the  purpose  of  forcibly  removing 
these  minions  from  the  King's  person.  When  all  had  agreed 
on  the  propriety  of  this  measure,  Lord  Gray  told  the  assembly 
the  apologue  of  the  Mice,  who  had  formed  a  resolution  that  it 
would  be  highly  advantageous  to  their  community  to  tie  a 
bell  round  the  cat's  neck,  that  they  might  hear  her  approach 
at  a  distance;  but  which  public  measure  unfortunately  mis- 
carried, from  no  mouse  being  willing  to  undertake  the  task 
of  fastening  the  bell.  "  I  understand  the  moral,"  said  Angus, 
"  and  that  what  we  propose  may  not  lack  execution,  I  will 
bell  the  cat."  The  rest  of  the  strange  scene  is  thus  told  by 
Pitscottie : — 

"  By  this  was  advised  and  spoken  by  thir  lords  foresaid, 
Cochran,  the  Earl  of  Mar,  came  from  the  King  to  the  council 
(which  council  was  holden  in  the  kirk  of  Lauder  for  the  time), 
who  was  well  accompanied  with  a  band  of  men  of  war,  to  the 


number  of  three  hundred  light  axes,  all  clad  in  white  livery, 
and  black  bends  thereon,  that  they  might  be  known  for 
Cochran  the  Earl  of  Mar's  men.  Himself  was  clad  in  a  riding- 
pie  of  black  velvet,  with  a  great  chain  of  gold  about  his  neck, 
to  the  value  of  five  hundred  crowns,  and  four  blowing  horns, 
with  both  the  ends  of  gold  and  silk,  set  with  a  precious  stone, 
called  a  berryl,  hanging  in  the  midst.  This  Cochran  had  his 
heumont  borne  before  him,  overgilt  with  gold,  and  so  were  all 
the  rest  of  his  horns,  and  all  his  pallious  were  of  fine  canvas 
of  silk,  and  the  cords  thereof  fine  twined  silk,  and  the  chains 
upon  bis  pallions  were  double  overgilt  with  gold. 

"  This  Cochran  was  so  proud  in  his  conceit  that  he  counted 
no  lords  to  be  marrows  to  him,  therefore  he  rushed  rudely  at 
the  kirk-door.  The  council  inquired  who  it  was  that  per- 
turbed them  at  that  time.  Sir  Robert  Douglas,  Laird  of 
Lochleven,  was  keeper  of  the  kirk-door  at  that  time,  who  in- 
quired who  that  was  that  knocked  so  rudely?  and1  Cochran 
answered,  'This  is  I,  the  Earl  of  Mar.'  The  which  news 
pleased  well  the  lords,  because  they  were  ready  boun  to  cause 
take  him,  as  is  before  rehearsed.  Then  the  Earl  of  Angus 
passed  hastily  to  the  door,  and  with  him  Sir  Robert  Douglas 
of  Lochleven,  there  to  receive  in  the  Earl  of  Mar,  and  so  many 
of  his  complices  who  were  there,  as  they  thought  good.  And 
the  Earl  of  Angus  met  with  the  Earl  of  Mar,  as  he  came  in 
at  the  door,  and  pulled  the  golden  chain  from  his  craig,  and 
said  to  him,  a  tow1  would  set  him  better.  Sir  Robert  Douglas 
syne  pulled  the  blowing  horn  from  him  in  like  manner,  and 
said,  'He  had  been  the  hunter  of  mischief  over  long.'  This 
Cochran  asked,  'My  lords,  is  it  mows,2  or  earnest?'  They 
answered,  and  said,  'It  is  good  earnest,  and  so  thou  shalt 
find;  for  thou  and  thy  complices  have  abused  our  prince  this 
long  time ;  of  whom  thou  shalt  have  no  more  credence,  but 
shalt  have  thy  reward  according  to  thy  good  service,  as  thou 
hast  deserved  in  times  bypast ;  right  so  the  rest  of  thy  fol- 
lowers.' 

"  Notwithstanding,  the  lords  held  them  quiet  till  they  caused 
certain  armed  men  to  pass  into  the  King's  pallion,  and  two 
or  three  wise  men  to  pass  with  them,  and  give  the  King  fair 
pleasant  words,  till  they  laid  hands  on  all  the  King's  servants, 
and  took  them  and  hanged  them  before  his  eyes  over  the 
bridge  of  Lawder.  Incontinent  they  brought  forth  Cochran, 
and  his  hands  bound  with  a  tow,  who  desired  them  to  take 
one  of  his  own  pallion  tows  and  bind  his  hands,  for  he  thought 
shame  to  have  his  hands  bound  with  such  tow  of  hemp,  like 
a  thief.  The  lords  answered,  he  was  a  traitor,  he  deserved  no 
better;  and,  fordespight,  they  took  a  hair  tether,3  and  hanged 
him  over  the  bridge  of  Lawder,  above  the  rest  of  his  com- 
plices."—Pitscottie,  p.  78,  folio  edit. 


Note  3  U. 


Rope. 


*  Jest. 


Against  the  war  had  Angus  stood, 
And  chafed  his  royal  lord. — P.  122. 

Angus  was  an  old  man  when  the  war  against  England  was 
resolved  upon.  He  earnestly  spoke  against  that  measure  from 
its  commencement;  and,  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Flodden, 
remonstrated  so  freely  upon  the  impolicy  of  fighting  that  the 
King  said  to  him,  with  scorn  and  indignation,  "  if  he  was 
afraid,  he  might  go  home."  The  Earl  burst  into  tears  at  this 
insupportable  insult,  and  retired  accordingly,  leaving  his  sons 
George,  Master  of  Angus,  and  Sir  William  of  Glenbervie,  to 
command  his  followers.  They  were  both  slain  in  the  battle, 
with  two  hundred  gentlemen  of  the  name  of  Douglas.  The 
aged  Earl,  broken-hearted  at  the  calamities  of  his  house  and 
his  country,  retired  into  a  religious  house,  where  he  died  about 
a  year  after  the  field  of  Flodden. 

3  Halter. 


164 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Note  3  V. 

Tantallon  hold.— P.  122. 

The  ruins  of  Tantallon  Castle  occupy  a  liiph  rock  projecting 
into  the  German  Ocean,  about  two  miles  east  of  North  Ber- 
wick. The  building  is  not  seen  till  a  close  approach,  as  there 
is  rising  ground  betwixt  it  and  the  land.  The  circuit  is  of 
large  extent,  fenced  upon  three  sides  by  the  precipice  which 
overhangs  the  sea,  and  on  the  fourth  by  a  double  ditch  and 
very  strong  outworks.  Tantallon  was  a  principal  castle  of 
tli<'  Douglas  family,  and  when  the  Earl  of  Angus  was  banished, 
in  1527,  it  continued  to  hold  out  against  James  V.  The  King 
v,  i  iit  in  person  against  it,  and  for  its  reduction,  borrowed  from 
hi  i  iastle  of  Dunbar,  then  belonging  to  the  Duke  of  Albany, 
two  great  cannons,  whose  names,  as  Pitscottie  informs  us  with 
laudable  minuteness,  were  "Thrawn-mouth'd  Meg  and  her 
Marrow;"  also,  "two  great  botcards,  and  two  moyan,  two 
d<ml>le  falcons,  and  four  quarter  falcons ;"  for  the  safe  guiding 
and  re-delivery  of  which  three  lords  were  laid  in  pawn  at 
Dunbar.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  apparatus,  James  was 
forced  to  raise  the  siege,  and  only  afterwards  obtained  posses- 
sion of  Tantallon  by  treaty  with  the  governor,  Simon  Panango. 
When  the  Earl  of  Angus  returned  from  banishment,  upon  the 
death  of  James,  he  again  obtained  possession  of  Tantallon, 
and  it  actually  afforded  refuge  to  an  English  ambassador, 
under  circumstances  similar  to  those  described  in  the  text. 
This  was  no  other  than  the  celebrated  Sir  Ralph  Sadler,  who 
resided  there  for  some  time  under  Angus's  protection,  after 
the  failure  of  his  negotiation  for  matching  the  infant  Mary 
with  Edward  VL  He  says  that  though  this  place  was  poorly 
furnished,  it  was  of  such  strength  as  might  warrant  him 
against  the  malice  of  his  enemies,  and  that  he  now  thought 
himself  out  of  danger.1 

There  is  a  military  tradition  that  the  old  Scottish  March 
was  meant  to  express  the  words, 

Ding  down  Tantallon, 
Mak  a  brig  to  the  Bass. 

Tantallon  was  at  length  "  dung  down  "  and  ruined  by  the 
Covenanters ;  its  lord,  the  Marquis  of  Douglas,  being  a  favorer 
of  the  royal  cause.  The  castle  and  barony  were  sold  in  the 
beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  President  Dalrymple 
of  North  Berwick,  by  the  then  Marquis  of  Douglas. 


Note  3  W. 


•  tlieir  motto  on  his  blade. — P.  122. 


A  very  ancient  sword,  in  possession  of  Lord  Douglas,  bears, 
among  a  great  deal  of  nourishing,  two  hands  pointing  to  a 
h.art,  which  is  placed  betwixt  them,  and  the  date  1329,  being 
the  year  in  which  Bruce  charged  the  Good  Lord  Douglas  to 
carry  his  heart  to  the  Holy  Land.  The  following  lines  (the 
first  couplet  of  which  is  quoted  by  Godscroft  as  a  popular 
saying  in  his  time)  are  inscribed  around  the  emblem : 

"So  mony  guid  as  of  ye  Dovglas  beinge, 
Of  ane  surname  was  ne'er  in  Scotland  seine. 

I  will  ye  charge,  eftcr  yat  I  depart, 
To  holy  grawe,  and  thair  bury  my  hart; 
Let  it  remand  ever  botes  ttme  and  iiowr, 
To  ye  Lost  day  I  sie  my  Saviour. 

1  The  very  curious  stale  Papers  of  this  able  negotiator  were, 
in  1S10,  published  by  Mr.  Clifford,  with  some  notes  by  the 
Author  of  Marmion. 


I  do  protest  in  tyme.  of  al  my  ringe, 
Ye  lyk  subject  had  never  ony  keing." 

This  curious  and  valuable  relic  was  nearly  lost  during  the 
civil  war  of  1745-6,  being  carried  away  from  Douglas  Castle  by 
some  of  those  in  arms  for  Prince  Charles.  But  great  interest 
having  been  made  by  the  Duke  of  Douglas  among  the  chief 
partisans  of  the  Stuart,  it  was  at  length  restored.  It  resembles 
a  Highland  claymore,  of  the  usual  size,  is  of  an  excellent 
temper,  and  admirably  poised. 


Note  3  X. 


•  Martin  Sivart.—V.  124. 


A  German  general,  who  commanded  the  auxiliaries  sent 
by  the  Duchess  of  Burgundy  with  Lambert  Simnel.  He  was 
defeated  and  killed  at  Stokefield.  The  name  of  this  German 
general  is  preserved  by  that  of  the  field  of  battle,  which  is 
called,  after  him,  Swart-moor.  There  were  songs  about  him 
long  current  in  England. — See  Dissertation  prefixed  to  Rit- 
son's  Ancient  Songs,  1792,  p.  Ixi. 


Note  3  Y. 


Perchance  some  form  was  unobserved ; 
Perchance  in  prayer,  or  faith,  he  swerved. — P.  124. 

It  was  early  necessary  for  those  who  felt  themselves  obliged 
to  believe  in  the  divine  judgment  being  enunciated  in  the 
trial  by  duel,  to  find  salvos  for  the  strange  and  obviously  pre- 
carious chances  of  the  combat.  Various  curious  evasive  shifts, 
used  by  those  who  took  up  an  unrighteous  quarrel,  were  sup- 
posed sufficient  to  convert  it  into  a  just  one.  Thus,  in  the 
romance  of  "  Amys  and  Amelion,"  the  one  brother-in-arms, 
fighting  for  the  other,  disguised  in  his  armor,  swears  that 
he  did  not  commit  the  crime  of  which  the  Steward,  his  an- 
tagonist, truly,  though  maliciously,  accused  him  whom  he 
represented.  Brantome  tells  the  story  of  an  Italian  who  en- 
tered the  lists  upon  an  unjust  quarrel,  but,  to  make  his  cause 
good,  fled  from  his  enemy  at  the  first  onset.  "  Turn,  coward !" 
exclaimed  his  antagonist.  "Thou  liest,"  said  the  Italian, 
"coward  am  I  none;  and  in  this  quarrel  will  I  fight  to  the 
death,  but  my  first  cause  of  combat  was  unjust,  and  I  aban- 
don it."  "  Je  vous  laisse  &  pen-ser,"  adds  Brantome,  "  s'il  n'y  a 
pas  de  tabus  Id."  Elsewhere  he  says,  very  sensibly,  upon  the 
confidence  which  those  who  had  a  righteous  cause  entertained 
of  victory :  "  Un  autre  abus  y  avoit-il,  que  ceux  qui  avoient  un 
juste  subjet  de  querelle,  et  qu'071  les  faisoil  jurer  avant  entrer  au 
camp,pensoient  estre  anssitosl  vainqueurs,  voire  s'en  assvroient-t-ils 
du  tout,  mesmes  que  leurs  conf&sseurs,  parrains  et  confidants  leurs 
en  respondoient  tout-d-fait,  comme  si  Dieu  leur  en  eusl  donni  une 
paiente;  et  ne  regardant  point  d  oVaulres  f antes  passSes,  et  que 
Dieu  en  garde  lapunition  il  ce  coup  Id  pour  plus  grande,  despi- 
teuse,  et  ezemplaire." — Discours  sur  les  Duels. 


Note  3  Z. 


The  Cross.— P.  125. 


The  Cross  of  Edinburgh  was  an  ancient  and  curious  struc- 
ture. The  lower  part  was  an  octagonal  tower,  sixteen  feet  in 
diameter,  and  about  fifteen  feet  high.  At  each  angle  there 
was  a  pillar,  and  between  them  an  arch  of  the  Grecian  shape. 
Above  these  was  a  projecting  battlement,  with  a  turret  at 


APPENDIX    TO    MARMION. 


165 


each. corner,  and  medallions,  of  rude  but  curious  workman- 
ship, between  them.  Above  this  rose  the  proper  Cross,  a  col- 
umn of  one  stone,  upwards  of  twenty  feet  high,  surmounted 
with  a  unicorn.  This  pillar  is  preserved  in  the  grounds  of  the 
property  of  Drum,  near  Edinburgh.  The  Magistrates  of  Edin- 
burgh, in  1756,  with  consent  of  the  Lords  of  Session  {proh 
pudor.'),  destroyed  this  curious  monument,  under  a  wanton 
pretext  that  it  encumbered  the  street;  while,  on  the  one 
hand,  they  left  an  ugly  mass  called  the  Luckenbooths,  and,  on 
the  other,  an  awkward,  long,  and  low  guard-house,  which 
were  fifty  times  more  encumbrance  than  the  venerable  and 
inoffensive  Cross. 

From  the  tower  of  the  Cross,  so  long  as  it  remained,  the  he- 
ralds published  the  acts  of  Parliament ;  and  its  site,  marked 
by  radii,  diverging  from  a  stone  centre,  in  the  High  Street,  is 
still  the  place  where  proclamations  are  made. 


Note  4  A. 


This  awful  summons  came. — P.  125. 

This  supernatural  citation  is  mentioned  by  all  our  Scottish 
historians.  It  was,  probably,  like  the  apparition  at  Linlith- 
gow, an  attempt,  by  those  averse  to  the  war,  to  impose  upon 
the  superstitious  temper  of  James  IV.  The  following  account 
from  Pitscottie  is  characteristically  minute,  and  furnishes, 
besides,  some  curious  particulars  of  the  equipment  of  the  army 
of  James  IV.  I  need  only  add  to  it  that  Plotcock,  or  Plutock, 
is  no  other  than  Pluto.  The  Christians  of  the  middle  ages 
by  no  means  misbelieved  in  the  existence  of  the  heathen 
deities ;  they  only  considered  them  as  devils  ;l  and  Plotcock, 
so  far  from  implying  anything  fabulous,  was  a  synonym  of 
the  grand  enemy  of  mankind.  "  Yet  all  thir  warnings,  and 
uncouth  tidings,  nor  no  good  counsel,  might  stop  the  King,  at 
this  present,  from  his  vain  purpose,  and  wicked  enterprise, 
but  hasted  him  fast  to  Edinburgh,  and  there  to  make  his  pro- 
vision and  furnishing,  in  having  forth  his  amiy  against  the 
day  appointed,  that  they  should  meet  in  the  Burrow-nmir  of 
Edinburgh  :  That  is  to  say,  seven  cannons  that  he  had  forth 
of  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  which  were  called  the  Seven 
Sisters,  casten  by  Robert  Borthwick,  the  master-gunner,  with 
other  small  artillery,  bullet,  powder,  and  all  manner  of  order, 
as  the  master-gunner  could  devise. 

"  In  this  meantime,  when  they  were  taking  forth  their  ar- 
tillery, and  the  King  being  in  the  Abbey  for  the  time,  there 
was  a  cry  heard  at  the  Market-cross  of  Edinburgh,  at  the  hour 
of  midnight,  proclaiming  as  it  had  been  a  summons,  which 
was  named  and  called  by  the  proclaimer  thereof,  The  Sum- 
mons of  Plotcock ;  which  desired  all  men  to  compear,  both 
Earl,  and  Lord,  and  Baron,  and  all  honest  gentlemen  within 
the  town  (every  man  specified  by  his  own  name),  to  compear, 
within  the  space  of  forty  days,  before  his  master,  where  it 
should  happen  him  to  appoint,  and  be  for  the  time,  under  the 
pain  of  disobedience.  But  whether  this  summons  was  pro- 
claimed by  vain  persons,  night-walkers,  or  drunken  men,  for 
their  pastime,  or  if  it  was  a  spirit,  I  cannot  tell  truly;  but  it 
was  shewn  to  me  that  an  indweller  of  the  town,  Mr.  Richard 
Lawson,  being  evil-disposed,  ganging  in  his  gallery-stair  fore- 
anent  the  Cross,  hearing  this  voice  proclaiming  this  summons, 
thought  marvel  what  it  should  be,  cried  on  his  servant  to  bring 
him  his  purse ;  and  when  he  had  brought  him  it,  he  took  out 
a  crown,  and  cast  over  the  stair,  saying,  '  I  appeal  from  that 
summons,  judgment,  and  sentence  thereof,  and  takes  me  all 

1  See,  on  this  curious  subject,  the  Essay  on  Fairies,  in  the 
"Border  Minstrelsy,"  vol.  ii.  under  the  fourth  head;  also, 
Jackson  on  Unbelief,  p.  175.  Chaucer  calls  Pluto  the  "  King 
of  Faerie ;"  and  Dunbar  names  him,  "  Pluto,  that  ehich  in- 
cubus."   If  he  was  not  actually  the  devil,  he  must  be  con- 


whole  in  the  mercy  of  God,  and  Christ  Jesus  his  son.'  Verily, 
the  author  of  this,  that  caused  me  write  the  manner  of  this 
summons,  was  a  landed  gentleman,  who  was  at  that  time 
twenty  years  of  age,  and  was  in  the  town  the  time  of  the  said 
summons;  and  thereafter,  when  the  field  was  stricken,  he 
swore  to  me,  there  was  no  man  that  escaped  that  was  called 
in  this  summons,  but  that  one  man  alone  which  made  his  pro- 
testation, and  appealed  from  the  said  summons ;  but  all  the 
lave  were  perished  in  the  field  with  the  king." 


Note  4  B. 


one  of  his  men  ancestry 

Drove  the  monks  forth  of  Coventry.- 


-P.  127. 


This  relates  to  the  catastrophe  of  a  real  Robert  de  Marmion, 
in  the  reign  of  King  Stephen,  whom  William  of  Newbury  de- 
scribes with  some  attributes  of  my  fictitious  hero:  "Homo 
bellicosus,  ferocia,  et  astucia,  fere  nvUo  suo  tempore  impar." 
This  Baron,  having  expelled  the  monks  from  the  church  of 
Coventry,  was  not  long  of  experiencing  the  divine  judgment, 
as  the  same  monks,  no  doubt,  termed  his  disaster.  Having 
waged  a  feudal  war  with  the  Earl  of  Chester,  Marmion's  horse 
fell,  as  he  charged  in  the  van  of  his  troop,  against  a  body  of 
the  Earl's  followers:  the  rider's  thigh  being  broken  by  the 
fall,  his  head  was  cut  off  by  a  common  foot-soldier,  ere  he 
could  receive  any  succor.  The  whole  story  is  told  by  William 
of  Newbury. 


Note  4  C. 


the  savage  Dane 


At  Iol  more  deep  the  mead  did  drain. — P.  128. 

The  Iol  of  the  heathen  Danes  (a  word  still  applied  to  Christ- 
mas in  Scotland)  was  solemnized  with  great  festivity.  The 
humor  of  the  Danes  at  table  displayed  itself  in  pelting  each 
other  with  bones  ;  and  Torfaus  tells  a  long  and  curious  story, 
in  the  History  of  Hrolfe  Kraka,  of  one  Hottus,  an  inmate  of 
the  Court  of  Denmark,  who  was  so  generally  assailed  with 
these  missiles,  that  he  constructed,  out  of  the  bones  with  which 
he  was  overwhelmed,  a  very  respectable  intrenchment,  against 
those  who  continued  the  raillery.  The  dances  of  the  northern 
warriors  round  the  great  fires  of  pine-trees  are  commemo- 
rated by  Olaus  Magnus,  who  says  they  danced  with  such  fury, 
holding  each  other  by  the  hands,  that,  if  the  grasp  of  any 
failed,  he  was  pitched  into  the  fire  with  the  velocity  of  a  sling. 
The  sufferer,  on  such  occasions,  was  instantly  plucked  out, 
and  obliged  to  quaff  off  a  certain  measure  of  ale,  as  a  penalty 
for  "  spoiling  the  king's  fire." 


Note  4  D. 

On  Christmas  eve. — P.  128. 

In  Roman  Catholic  countries,  mass  is  never  said  at  night, 
except  on  Christmas  eve.  Each  of  the  frolics  with  which  that 
holiday  used  to  be  celebrated  might  admit  of  a  long  and 
curious  note;  but  I  shall  content  myself  with  the  following 

sidered  as  the  "  prince  of  the  power  of  the  air."  The  most 
remarkable  instance  of  these  surviving  classical  superstitions 
is  that  of  the  Germans  concerning  the  Hill  of  Venus,  into 
which  she  attempts  to  entice  all  gallant  knights,  and  detains 
them  there  in  a  sort  of  Fools'  Paradise. 


166 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


description  of  Christmas  and  his  attributes,  as  personified  in 
one  of  Ben  Jonaon'S  Masques  for  the  Court: — 

"  Enter  CHRISTMAS,  with  two  or  three  of  t/ie  Guard.  He  is 
attired  iu  round  hose,  long  stockings,  a  close  doublet,  a  high- 
crowned  hat,  with  a  brooch,  a  long  thin  beard,  a  truncheon, 
lilile  ruffe,  white  shoes,  hiss  scarfs  and  garters  tied  cross,  and 
his  drum  beaten  before  him. — The  names  of  his  children,  with 
i/u  ir  attires:  Miss-Iiule,  in  a  velvet  cap,  with  a  sprig,  a  short 
cloak,  great  yellow  rutf,  like  a  reveller ;  his  torch-bearer  bear- 
ing a  rope,  a  cheese,  and  a  basket ; — Carotl,  a  long  tawny  coat, 
with  a  red  cap,  and  a  flute  at  his  girdle ;  his  torch-bearer  carry- 
ing a  song-book  open ; — Minc'd-pie,  like  a  fine  cook's  wife, 
drest  neat,  her  man  carrying  a  pie,  dish,  and  spoons; — Gam- 
boll,  like  a  tumbler,  with  a  hoop  and  bells ;  his  torch-bearer 
arm'd  with  COle-Staff,  and  blinding  cloth; — Post  and  Pair, 
with  a  pair-royal  of  aces  in  his  hat,  his  garment  all  done  over 
with  pairs  and  purs;  his  squire  carrying  a  box,  cards,  and 
counters  ;—Xew-year's-Gift,  in  a  blue  coat,  serving-man  like, 
with  an  orange,  and  a  sprig  of  rosemary  gilt  on  his  head,  his 
hat  full  of  brooches,  with  a  collar  of  gingerbread ;  his  torch- 
bearer  carrying  a  march-pain,  with  a  bottle  of  wine  on  either 
arm; — Mumming,  in  a  masquing  pied  suit,  with  a  visor;  his 
torch-bearer  carrying  the  box,  and  ringing  it ;—  Wassal,  like  a 
neat  sempster  and  songster ;  her  page  bearing  a  brown  bowl, 
drest  with  ribbands,  and  rosemary,  before  her ;—  Offering,  in 
a  short  gown,  with  a  porter's  staff  in  his  hand ;  a  wyth  borne 
before  him,  and  a  bason,  by  his  torch-bearer ; — Baby  Cocke, 
drest  like  a  boy,  in  a  fine  long  coat,  biggin,  bib,  muckender, 
and  a  little  dagger;  his  usher  bearing  a  great  cake,  with  a 
bean  and  a  pease." 


Note  4  E. 


Who  lists  may  in  their  mumming  see 
Traces  of  ancient  mystery. — P.  129. 

It  seems  certain  that  the  Mummers  of  England,  who  (in 
Northumberland  at  least)  used  to  go  about  in  disguise  to  the 
neighboring  houses,  bearing  the  then  useless  ploughshare, 
and  the  Guisards  of  Scotland,  not  yet  in  total  disuse,  present, 
in  some  indistinct  degree,  a  shadow  of  the  old  mysteries, 
which  were  the  origin  of  the  English  drama.  In  Scotland 
(me  ipso  teste),  we  were  wont,  during  my  boyhood,  to  take  the 
characters  of  the  apostles,  at  least  of  Peter,  Paul,  and  Judas 
Iscariot ;  the  first  had  the  keys,  the  second  carried  a  sword, 
and  the  last  the  hag,  in  which  the  dole  of  our  neighbors' 
plum-cake  was  deposited.  One  played  a  champion,  and  re- 
cited some  traditional  rhymes ;  another  was 

....    "Alexander,  King  of  Macedon, 
Who  conquer'd  all  the  world  but  Scotland  alone: 
When  he  came  to  Scotland  his  courage  grew  cold, 
To  see  a  little  nation  courageous  and  bold." 

These,  and  many  such  verses,  were  repeated,  but  by  rote,  and 
unconnectedly.  There  was  also,  occasionally,  I  believe,  a 
Saint  George.  In  all,  there  was  a  confused  resemblance  of 
the  ancient  mysteries,  in  which  the  characters  of  Scripture, 
the  Nine  Worthies,  and  other  popular  personages,  were  usu- 
ally exhibited.  It  were  much  to  be  wished  that  the  Chester 
Mysteries  were  published  from  the  MS.  in  the  Museum,  with 
tli''  annotations  which  a  diligent  Investigator  of  popular 
antiquities  might  still  supply.  The  late  acute  and  valuable 
antiquary,  Mr.  Ritson,  Rhowed  me  several  memoranda  to- 
wards such  a  task,  which  are  probably  now  dispersed  or  lost. 
See,  however,  his  Remarks  on  Shakspeare,  1783,  p.  38. 

1  Now  Lord  Polwarth. 

2  The  old  gentleman  was  an  intimate  of  this  celebrated 


Since  the  first  edition  of  Marmion  appeared,  this  subject  has 
received  much  elucidation  from  the  learned  and  extensive 
labors  of  Mr.  Douce;  and  the  Chester  Mysteries  [edited  by 
J.  H.  Marklaud,  Esq.]  have  been  printed  in  a  style  of  great 
elegance  and  accuraey  (in  1818)  by  Bensley  &  Sons,  London, 
for  the  Koxburghe  Club.    1830. 


Note  4  F. 


Wiere  my  great-grandsire  came  of  old, 
With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair. — P.  129. 

Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,1  my  kind  and  affectionate  friend,  and 
distant  relation,  has  the  original  of  a  poetical  invitation,  ad- 
dressed from  his  grandfather  to  my  relative,  from  which  a  few 
lines  in  the  text  are  imitated.  They  are  dated,  as  the  epistle 
in  the  text,  from  Mertoun  House,  the  seat  of  the  Harden 
family. 

"  With  amber  beard,  and  flaxen  hair, 
And  reverend  apostolic  air, 
Free  of  anxiety  and  care, 
Come  hither,  Christmas-day,  and  dine; 
We'll  mix  sobriety  with  wine, 
And  easy  mirth  with  thoughts  divine. 
We  Christians  think  it  holiday, 
On  it  no  sin  to  feast  or  play ; 
Others,  in  spite,  may  fast  and  pray. 
No  superstition  in  the  use 
Our  ancestors  made  of  a  goose ; 
Why  may  not  we,  as  well  as  they, 
Be  innocently  blithe  that  day, 
On  goose  or  pie,  on  wine  or  ale, 
And  scorn  enthusiastic  zeal? — 
Pray  come,  and  welcome,  or  plague  rott 
Your  friend  and  landlord,  Walter  Scott. 
"  Mr.  Walter  Scott,  Lessuden." 

The  venerable  old  gentleman,  to  whom  the  lines  are  ad- 
dressed, was  the  younger  brother  of  William  Scott  of  Rae- 
huru.  Being  the  cadet  of  a  cadet  of  the  Harden  family,  he 
had  very  little  to  lose ;  yet  he  contrived  to  lose  the  small  pro- 
perty he  had,  by  engaging  in  the  civil  wars  and  intrigues  of 
the  house  of  Stuart.  His  veneration  for  the  exiled  family  was 
so  great  that  he  swore  he  would  not  shave  his  beard  till  they 
were  restored:  a  mark  of  attachment,  which,  I  suppose,  had 
been  common  during  Cromwell's  usurpation ;  for,  in  Cowley's 
"  Cutter  of  Coleman  Street,"  one  drunken  cavalier  upbraids 
another  that,  when  he  was  not  able  to  afford  to  pay  a  barber, 
he  affected  to  "  wear  a  beard  for  the  King."  I  sincerely  hope 
this  was  not  absolutely  the  original  reason  of  my  ancestor's 
beard;  which,  as  appears  from  a  portrait  in  the  possession 
of  Sir  Henry  Hay  Macdougal,  Bart.,  and  another  painted  for 
the  famous  Dr.  Pitcairn,*  was  a  beard  of  a  most  dignified  and 
venerable  appearance. 


Note  4  G. 

■  the  spirits  Blasted  Tree— P.  130. 


I  am  permitted  to  illustrate  this  passage,  by  inserting 
"  Certbren  yr  Ellyll,  or  The  Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,"  a  legendary 
tale,  by  the  Reverend  George  Warrington  :— 

genius.  By  the  favor  of  the  late  Earl  of  Kellie,  descended 
on  the  maternal  side  from  Dr.  Pitcairn,  my  father  became 
possessed  of  the  portrait  in  question. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAEMION. 


167 


"  The  event  on  which  this  tale  is  founded  is  preserved  by 
tradition  in  the  family  of  the  Vaughans  of  Hengwyrt ;  nor 
is  it  entirely  lost,  even  among  the  common  people,  who  still 
point  out  this  oak  to  the  passenger.  The  enmity  between  the 
two  Welsh  chieftains,  Howel  Sele  and  Owen  Glendwr,  was 
extreme,  and  marked  by  vile  treachery  in  the  one  and  fero- 
cious cruelty  in  the  other.1  The  story  is  somewhat  changed 
and  softened,  as  more  favorable  to  the  character  of  the  two 
chiefs,  and  as  better  answering  the  purpose  of  poetry,  by  ad- 
mitting the  passion  of  pity  and  a  greater  degree  of  sentiment 
in  the  description.  Some  trace  of  Howel  Sele's  mansion  was 
to  be  seen  a  few  years  ago,  and  may  perhaps  be  still  visible,  in 
the  park  of  Nannau,  now  belonging  to  Sir  Eobert  Vaughan, 
Baronet,  in  the  wild  and  romantic  tracks  of  Merionethshire. 
The  abbey  mentioned  passes  under  two  names,  Vener  and 
Cynrmer.    The  former  is  retained,  as  more  generally  used. 

THE  SPIRIT'S  BLASTED  TREE. 
Ceubren  yr  Ellyll. 

"  Through  Nannau's  Chase  as  Howel  pass'd, 
A  chief  esteem'd  both  brave  and  kind, 

Far  distant  borne,  the  stag-hounds'  cry 
Came  murmuring  on  the  hollow  wind. 

"  Starting,  he  bent  an  eager  ear, — 
How  should  the  sounds  return  again? 

His  hounds  lay  wearied  from  the  chase, 
And  all  at  home  his  hunter  train. 

"  Then  sudden  anger  flash'd  his  eye, 

And  deep  revenge  he  vow'd  to  take, 
On  that  bold  man  who  dared  to  force 

His  red-deer  from  the  forest  brake. 

"Unhappy  Chief!  would  nought  avail, 
No  signs  impress  thy  heart  with  fear, 

Thy  lady's  dark  mysterious  dream, 
Thy  warning  from  the  hoary  seer? 

"  Three  ravens  gave  the  note  of  death, 
As  through  mid  air  they  wing'd  their  way ; 

Then  o'er  his  head,  in  rapid  flight, 
They  croak, — they  scent  their  destined  prey. 

"  Dl-omen'd  bird !  as  legends  say, 
Who  hast  the  wondrous  power  to  know, 

While  health  fills  high  the  throbbing  veins, 
The  fated  hour  when  blood  must  flow. 

"  Blinded  by  rage,  alone  he  pass'd, 

Nor  sought  his  ready  vassals'  aid : 
But  what  bis  fate  lay  long  unknown, 

For  many  an  anxious  year  delay'd. 

"  A  peasant  mark'd  his  angry  eye, 
He  saw  him  reach  the  lake's  dark  bourne, 

He  saw  him  near  a  Blasted  Oak, 
But  never  from  that  hour  return. 

"  Three  days  pass'd  o'er,  no  tidings  came ; — 
Where  should  the  Chief  his  steps  delay? 

With  wild  alarm  the  servants  ran, 
Yet  knew  not  where  to  point  their  way. 

"  His  vassals  ranged  the  mountain's  height, 
The  covert  close,  the  wide-spread  plain ; 

But  all  in  vain  their  eager  search, 
They  ne'er  must  see  their  lord  again. 


1  The  history  of  their  feud  may  be  found  in  Pennant'i 
Tour  in  Wales. 


"  Yet  Fancy,  in  a  thousand  shapes, 
Bore  to  his  home  the  Chief  once  more: 

Some  saw  him  on  high  Moal's  top, 
Some  saw  him  on  the  winding  shore. 

"  With  wonder  fraught  the  tale  went  round, 
Amazement  chain'd  the  hearer's  tongue: 

Each  peasant  felt  his  own  sad  loss, 
Yet  fondly  o'er  the  story  hung. 

"  Oft  by  the  moon's  pale  shadowy  light, 
His  aged  nurse  and  steward  gray 

Would  lean  to  catch  the  storied  sounds, 
Or  mark  the  flitting  spirit  stray. 

"  Pale  lights  on  Cader's  rocks  were  seen, 
And  midnight  voices  heard  to  moan ; 

'Twas  even  said  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Convulsive,  heaved  a  hollow  groan : 

"  And  to  this  day  the  peasant  still, 
With  cautious  fear,  avoids  the  ground : 

In  each  wild  branch  a  spectre  sees, 
And  trembles  at  each  rising  sound. 

"Ten  annual  suns  had  held  their  course, 
In  summer's  smile,  or  winter  storm ; 

The  lady  shed  the  widow'd  tear, 
As  oft  she  traced  his  manly  form. 

"  Yet  still  to  hope  her  heart  would  cling, 
As  o'er  the  mind  illusions  play, — 

Of  travel  fond,  perhaps  her  lord 
To  distant  lands  had  steer'd  his  way. 

"  'Twas  now  November's  cheerless  hour, 
Which  drenching  rain  and  clouds  deface ; 

Dreary  bleak  Robell's  tract  appear'd, 
And  dull  and  dank  each  valley's  space. 

"  Loud  o'er  the  weir  the  hoarse  flood  fell, 
And  dash'd  the  foaming  spray  on  high : 

The  west  wind  bent  the  forest  tops, 
And  angry  frown'd  the  evening  sky. 

"  A  stranger  pass'd  Llanelltid's  bourne, 
His  dark-gray  steed  with  sweat  besprent, 

Which,  wearied  with  the  lengthen'd  way, 
Could  scarcely  gain  the  hill's  ascent. 

"  The  portal  reach'd, — the  iron  bell 
Loud  sounded  round  the  outward  wall ; 

Quick  sprang  the  warder  to  the  gate, 
To  know  what  meant  the  clam'rous  call. 

" '  Oh !  lead  me  to  your  lady  soon ; 

Say, — it  is  my  sad  lot  to  tell, 
To  clear  the  fate  of  that  brave  knight, 

She  long  has  proved  she  loved  so  well.' 

"Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  spacious  hall, 
The  menials  look  surprise  and  fear ; 

Still  o'er  his  harp  old  Modred  hung, 
And  touch'd  the  notes  for  griefs  worn  ear. 

"  The  lady  sat  amidst  her  train ; 

A  mellow'd  sorrow  mark'd  her  look : 
Then,  asking  what  his  mission  meant. 

The  graceful  stranger  sigh'd  and  spoke : — 

" '  Oh  could  I  spread  one  ray  of  hope, 
One  moment  raise  thy  soul  from  woe, 


168 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Gladly  my  tongue  -would  tell  its  tale, 
My  words  at  ease  uufetter'd  Howl 

" '  Now,  lady,  give  attention  due, 

The  story  claims  thy  full  belief: 
E'en  in  the  worst  events  of  life, 

Suspense  removed  is  some-relief. 

" '  Though  worn  by  care,  see  Madoc  here, 
Great  Glyndwr's  friend,  thy  kindred's  foe: 

All,  let  his  name  no  anger  raise, 
For  now  that  mighty  Chief  lies  low. 

" '  E'en  from  the  day  when,  chain'd  by  fate, 
By  wizard's  dream,  or  potent  spell, 

Lingering  from  sad  Salopia's  field, 
'Reft  of  his  aid  the  Percy  fell ; — 

" '  E'en  from  that  day  misfortune  still, 

As  if  for  violated  faith, 
Pursued  him  with  unwearied  step; 

Vindictive  still  for  Hotspur's  death. 

" '  Vanquished  at  length,  the  Glyndwr  fled, 
Where  winds  the  Wye  her  devious  flood ; 

To  find  a  casual  shelter  there, 
In  some  lone  cot,  or  desert  wood. 

" '  Clothed  in  a  shepherd's  humble  guise, 
He  gain'd  by  toil  his  scanty  bread; 

He  who  had  Cambria's  sceptre  borne, 
And  her  brave  sons  to  glory  led  1 

" '  To  penury  extreme,  and  grief, 
The  Chieftain  fell  a  lingering  prey ; 

I  heard  his  last  few  faltering  words, 
Such  as  with  pain  I  now  convey. 

" '  To  Sele's  sad  widow  bear  the  tale, 

Nor  let  our  horrid  secret  rest ; 
Give  but  his  corse  to  sacred  earth, 

Then  may  my  parting  soul  be  blest.' — 

" '  Dim  wax'd  the  eye  that  fiercely  shone, 
And  faint  the  tongue  that  proudly  spoke, 

And  weak  that  arm,  still  raised  to  me, 
Which  oft  had  dealt  the  mortal  stroke. 

" ' How  could  I  (hen  his  mandate  bear? 

Or  how  his  last  behest  obey  ? 
A  rebel  deem'd,  with  him  I  fled ; 

With  him  I  shunn'd  the  light  of  day. 

"'Proscribed  by  Henry's  hostile  rage, 
My  country  lost,  despoil'd  my  land, 

Desperate,  I  fled  my  native  soil, 
And  fought  on  Syria's  distant  strand. 

" '  Oh,  had  thy  long-lamented  lord 
The  holy  cross  and  banner  view'd, 

Died  in  the  sacred  cause !  who  fell 
Sad  victim  of  a  private  feud ! 

" '  Led  by  the  ardor  of  the  chase, 
Far  distant  from  his  own  domain, 

From  where  Garthmaelan  spreads  her  shades, 
The  Glyndwr  sought  the  opening  plain. 

" '  With  head  aloft  and  antlers  wide, 
A  red  buck  roused  then  cross'd  in  view: 

Stung  with  the  Bight,  and  wild  with  rage, 
Swift  from  the  wood  fierce  Howel  flew. 


" '  With  bitter  taunt  and  keen  reproach, 
He,  all  impetuous,  pour'd  his  rage ; 

Reviled  the  Chief  as  weak  in  arms, 
And  bade  him  loud  the  battle  wage. 

" '  Glyndwr  for  once  restrain'd  his  sword, 
And,  still  averse,  the  fight  delays; 

But  soften'd  words,  like  oil  to  fire, 
Made  anger  more  intensely  blaze. 

"'They  fought;  and  doubtful  long  the  fray: 
The  Glyndwr  gave  the  fatal  wound ! 

Still  mournful  must  my  tale  proceed, 
And  its  last  act  all  dreadful  sound. 

" '  How  could  we  hope  for  wish'd  retreat, 

His  eager  vassals  ranging  wide, 
His  bloodhounds'  keen  sagacious  scent, 

O'er  many  a  trackless  mountain  tried? 

" '  I  mark'd  a  broad  and  Blasted  Oak, 
Scorch'd  by  the  lightning's  livid  glare 

Hollow  its  stem  from  branch  to  root, 
And  all  its  shrivell'd  arms  were  bare. 

" '  Be  this,  I  cried,  his  proper  grave ! — 
(The  thought  in  me  was  deadly  sin.) 

Aloft  we  raised  the  hapless  Chief, 
And  dropp'd  his  bleeding  corpse  within.' 

"A  shriek  from  all  the  damsels  burst, 

That  pierced  the  vaulted  roofs  below ; 
While  horror-struck  the  Lady  stood, 
.  A  living  form  of  sculptured  woe. 

"  With  stupid  stare  and  vacant  gaze, 
Full  on  his  face  her  eyes  were  cast, 

Absorb'd ! — she  lost  her  present  grief, 
And  faintly  thought  of  things  long  past. 

"  Like  wild-fire  o'er  a  mossy  heath, 
The  rumor  through  the  hamlet  ran; 

The  peasants  crowd  at  morning  dawn, 
To  hear  the  tale — behold  the  man. 

"  He  led  them  near  the  Blasted  Oak, 
Then,  conscious,  from  the  scene  withdrew ; 

The  peasants  work  with  trembling  haste, 
And  lay  the  whiten'd  bones  to  view ! — 

"  Back  they  recoil'd !— the  right  hand  still, 
Contracted,  grasp'd  a  rusty  sword ; 

Which  erst  in  many  a  battle  gleam'd, 
And  proudly  deck'd  their  slaughter'd  lord. 

"They  bore  the  corse  to  Vener's  shrine, 
With  holy  rites  and  prayers  address'd; 

Nine  white-robed  monks  the  last  dirge  sang, 
And  gave  the  angry  spirit  rest." 


Note  4  H. 


The  Highlander 

Will,  on  a  Friday  morn,  look  pale, 
Jf  ask'd  to  tell  a  fairy  tale."— P.  130. 

The  DaoineShV,  or  Men  of  Peace,  of  the  Scottish  High- 
landers, rather  resemble  the  Scandinavian  Duergar  than  the 
English  Fairies.    Notwithstanding  their  name,  they  are,  if 


APPENDIX   TO    MAKMION. 


169 


not  absolutely  malevolent,  at  least  peevish,  discontented, 
and  apt  to  do  mischief  on  slight  provocation.  The  belief  of 
their  existence  is  deeply  impressed  on  the  Highlanders,  who 
think  they  are  particularly  offended  at  mortals  who  talk  of 
thern,  who  wear  their  favorite  color,  green,  or  in  any  respect 
interfere  with  their  affairs.  This  is  especially  to  be  avoided 
on  Friday,  when,  whether  as  dedicated  to  Venus,  with  whom, 
in  Germany,  this  subterraneous  people  are  held  nearly 
connected,  or  for  a  more  solemn  reason,  they  are  more  active, 
and  possessed  of  greater  power.  Some  curious  particulars 
concerning  the  popular  superstitions  of  the  Highlanders  may 
be  found  in  Dr.  Graham's  Picturesque  Sketches  of  Perth- 
shire. 


Note  4  I. 


the  lowers  of  Franchemonl. — P.  130. 

The  journal  of  the  friend  to  whom  the  fourth  canto  of  the 
Poem  is  inscribed  furnished  me  with  the  following  account 
of  a  striking  superstition  : — 

"Passed  the  pretty  little  village  of  Franchemont  (near 
Spaw),  with  the  romantic  ruins  of  the  old  castle  of  the  Counts 
of  that  name.  The  road  leads  through  many  delightful  vales 
on  a  rising  ground ;  at  the  extremity  of  one  of  them  stands 
the  ancient  castle,  now  the  subject  of  many  superstitious 
legends.  It  is  firmly  believed  by  the  neighboring  peasantry 
that  the  last  Baron  of  Franchemont  deposited,  in  one  of  the 
vaults  of  the  castle,  a  ponderous  chest,  containing  an  im- 
mense treasure  in  gold  and  silver,  which,  by  some  magic  spell, 
was  intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  Devil,  who  is  constantly  found 
sitting  on  the  chest  in  the  shape  of  a  huntsman.  Any  one 
adventurous  enough  to  touch  the  chest  is  instantly  seized 
with  the  palsy.  Upon  one  occasion,  a  priest  of  noted  piety 
was  brought  to  the  vault:  he  used  all  the  arts  of  exorcism  to 
persuade  his  infernal  majesty  to  vacate  his  seat,  but  in  vain  ; 
the  huntsman  remained  immovable.  At  last,  moved  by  the 
earnestness  of  the  priest,  he  told  him  that  he  would  agree  to 
resign  the  chest  if  the  exorciser  would  sign  hjs  name  with 
blood.  But  the  priest  understood  his  meaning,  and  refused, 
as  by  that  act  he  would  have  delivered  over  his  soul  to  the 
Devil.  Yet  if  any  body  can  discover  the  mystic  words  used 
by  the  person  who  deposited  the  treasure,  and  pronounce 
them,  the  fiend  must  instantly  decamp.  I  had  many  stories 
of  a  similar  nature  from  a  peasant,  who  had  himself  seen  the 
Devil  in  the  shape  of  a  great  cat." 


Note  4  K. 

The  very  form,  of  Hilda  fair, 
Hovering  upon  the  sunny  air, 
And  smiling  on  her  votaries'  prayer. — P.  132.    ■ 

"  I  shall  only  produce  one  instance  more  of  the  great  vene- 
ration paid  to  Lady  Hilda,  which  still  prevails  even  in  these 
our  days ;  and  that  is,  the  constant  opinion  that  she  rendered, 
and  still  renders,  herself  visible,  on  some  occasions,  in  the 
Abbey  of  Streanshalh  or  Whitby,  where  she  so  long  resided. 
At  a  particular  time  of  the  year  (viz.  in  the  summer  months), 
at  ten  or  eleven  in  the  forenoon,  the  sunbeams  fall  in  the  in- 
side of  the  northern  part  of  the  choir ;  and  'tis  then  that  the 
spectators,  who  stand  on  the  west  side  of  Whitby  churchyard, 
so  as  just  to  see  the  most  northerly  part  of  the  abbey  past  the 
north  end  of  Whitby  church,  imagine  they  perceive,  in  one 


of  the  highest  windows  there,  the  resemblance  of  a  woman 
arrayed  in  a  shroud.  Though  we  are  certain  this  is  only  a 
reflection  caused  by  the  splendor  of  the  sunbeams,  yet  fame 
reports  it,  and  it  is  constantly  believed  among  the  vulgar,  to 
be  an  appearance  of  Lady  Hilda  in  her  shroud,  or  rather  in  a 
glorified  state ;  before  which,  I  make  no  doubt,  the  Papists, 
even  in  these  our  days,  offer  up  their  prayers  with  as  much 
zeal  and  devotion  as  before  any  other  image  of  their  most 
glorified  saint."— Charlton's  History  of  Whitby,  p.  33. 


Note  4  L. 


the  huge  and  sweeping  brand 

Which  wont  of  yore,  in  battle  fray, 
Hisfoeman's  limbs  to  shred  away, 
As  wood-knife  lops  the  sapling  spray. — P.  134. 

The  Earl  of  Angus  had  strength  and  personal  activity  cor- 
responding to  his  courage.  Spens  of  Kilspindie,  a  favorite  of 
James  IV.,  having  spoken  of  him  lightly,  the  Earl  met  him 
while  hawking,  and,  compelling  him  to  single  combat,  at  one 
blow  cut  asunder  his  thighbone,  and  killed  him  on  the  spot. 
But  ere  he  could  obtain  James's  pardon  for  this  slaughter, 
Angus  was  obliged  to  yield  his  castle  of  Hermitage,  in  ex- 
change for  that  of  Bothwell,  which  was  some  diminution  to 
the  family  greatness.  The  sword  with  which  he  struck  so 
remarkable  a  blow  was  presented  by  his  descendant  James, 
Earl  of  Morton,  afterwards  Kegent  of  Scotland,  to  Lord  Lin- 
desay  of  the  Byres,  when  he  defied  Bothwell  to  single  combat 
on  Carbcrry  Hill. — See  Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border. 


Note  4  M. 


And  hopest  thou  hence  unscathed  to  go  f — 
No,  by  Saiiit  Bride  of  Bothwell,  no! 
Up  drawbridge,  grooms  ! — what,  Warder,  ho  ! 
Let  the  portcullis  fall. — P.  135. 

This  ebullition  of  violence  in  the  potent  Earl  of  Angus  is 
not  without  its  example  in  the  real  history  of  the  house  of 
Douglas,  whose  chieftains  possessed  the  ferocity,  with  the 
heroic  virtues,  of  a  savage  state.  The  most  curious  instance 
occurred  in  the  case  of  Maclellan,  Tutor  of  Bombay,  who, 
having  refused  to  acknowledge  the  pre-eminence  claimed  by 
Douglas  over  the  gentlemen  and  Barons  of  Galloway,  was 
seized  and  imprisoned  by  the  Earl  in  his  castle  of  the  Thrieve, 
on  the  borders  of  Kirkcudbrightshire.  Sir  Patrick  Gray, 
commander  of  King  James  the  Second's  guard,  was  uncle  to 
the  Tutor  of  Bombay,  and  obtained  from  the  King  a  "  sweet 
letter  of  supplication,"  praying  the  Earl  to  deliver  his  prisoner 
into  Gray's  hand.  When  Sir  Patrick  arrived  at  the  castle, 
he  was  received  with  all  the  honor  due  to  a  favorite  servant 
of  the  King's  household ;  but  while  he  was  at  dinner,  the 
Earl,  who  suspected  his  errand,  caused  his  prisoner  to  be  led 
forth  and  beheaded.  After  dinner,  Sir  Patrick  presented  the 
King's  letter  to  the  Earl,  who  received  it  with  great  affecta- 
tion of  reverence;  "and  took  him  by  the  hand,  and  led  him 
forth  to  the  green,  where  the  gentleman  was  lying  dead,  and 
showed  him  the  manner,  and  said, '  Sir  Patrick,  you  are  come 
a  little  too  late ;  yonder  is  your  sister's  son  lying,  but  he  wants 
the  head:  take  his  body,  and  do  with  it  what  you  will.' — Sir 
Patrick  answered  again,  with  a  sore  heart,  and  said,  '  My 
lord,  if  ye  have  taken  from  him  his  head,  dispone  upon  the 


170 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


body  as  ye  please;'  and  with  that  called  for  his  horse,  and 
leaped  thereon ;  and  when  he  was  on  horseback,  he  said  to 
the  Earl  on  this  manner,  'My  lord,  if  I  live  you  shall  be 
rewarded  for  your  labors  that  you  have  used  at  this  time, 
according  to  your  demerits.' 

"  At  this  saying  the  Earl  was  highly  offended,  and  cried  for 
horse.  Sir  Patrick,  seeing  the  Earl's  fury,  spurred  his  horse, 
but  he  was  chased  near  Edinburgh  ere  they  left  him ;  and 
had  it  not  been  his  led  horse  was  so  tried  and  good,  he  had 
been  taken."— Pitscottie's  History,  p.  39. 


Note  4  N. 


A  letter  forged  !  Saint  Jude  to  speed! 
Did  ever  knight  so  foul  a  deed.' — P.  135. 

Lest  the  reader  should  partake  of  the  Earl's  astonishment, 
and  consider  the  crime  as  inconsistent  with  the  manners  of 
the  period,  I  have  to  remind  him  of  the  numerous  forgeries 
(partly  executed  by  a  female  assistant)  devised  by  Eobert  of 
Artois,  to  forward  his  suit  against  the  Countess  Matilda; 
which,  being  detected,  occasioned  his  flight  into  England, 
and  proved  the  remote  cause  of  Edward  the  Third's  mem- 
orable wars  in  France.  John  Harding,  also,  was  expressly 
hired  by  Edward  VI.  to  forge  such  documents  as  might 
appear  to  establish  the  claim  of  fealty  asserted  over  Scotland 
by  the  English  monarchs. 


Note  4  O. 

■  LenneVs  convent. — P.  136. 


This  was  a  Cistercian  house  of  religion,  now  almost  entirely 
demolished.  Lennel  House  is  now  the  residence  of  my  vene- 
rable friend,  Patrick  Brydone,  Esquire,  so  well  known  in  the 
literary  world.1  It  is  situated  near  Coldstream,  almost  oppo- 
site to  Cornhill,  and  consequently  very  near  to  Flodden  Field. 


Note  4  P. 


Twisel  Bridge.— -P.  136. 

On  the  evening  previous  to  the  memorable  battle  of  Flod- 
den, Surrey's  head-quarters  were  at  Barmoor  Wood,  and  King 
James  held  an  inaccessible  position  on  the  ridge  of  Flodden 
hill,  one  of  the  last  and  lowest  eminences  detached  from  the 
ridge  of  Cheviot.  The  Till,  a  deep  and  slow  river,  winded 
between  the  armies.  On  the  morning  of  the  9th  September, 
1513,  Surrey  marched  in  a  north-westerly  direction,  and 
crossed  the  Till,  with  his  van  and  artillery,  at  Twisel  Bridge, 
nigh  where  that  river  joins  the  Tweed,  his  rear-guard  column 
passing  about  a  mile  higher,  by  a  ford.  This  movement  had 
the  double  effect  of  placing  his  army  between  King  James 
and  his  supplies  from  Scotland,  and  of  striking  the  Scottish 
monarch  with  surprise,  as  he  seems  to  have  relied  on  the  depth 


1  First  Edition. — Mr.  Brydone  has  been  many  years  dead. 
1825. 

2  "  Lesquelz   Escossois   descendirenl   la  montaigne  en  bonne 


of  the  river  in  his  front.  But  as  the  passage,  both  over  the 
bridge  and  through  the  ford,  was  difficult  and  slow,  it  seems 
possible  that  the  English  might  have  been  attacked  to  great 
advantage  while  struggling  with  these  natural  obstacles.  I 
know  not  if  we  are  to  impute  James's  forbearance  to  want  of 
military  skill,  or  to  the  romantic  declaration  which  Pitscottie 
puts  in  his  mouth,  "  that  he  was  determined  to  have  his  ene- 
mies before  him  on  a  plain  field,"  and  therefore  would  suffer 
no  interruption  to  be  given,  even  by  artillery,  to  their  passing 
the  river. 

The  ancient  bridge  of  Twisel,  by  which  the  English  crossed 
the  Till,  is  still  standing  beneath  Twisel  Castle,  a  splendid  pile 
of  Gothic  architecture,  as  now  rebuilt  by  Sir  Francis  Blake, 
Bart.,  whose  extensive  plantations  have  so  much  improved 
the  country  around.  The  glen  is  romantic  and  delightful, 
with  steep  banks  on  each  side,  covered  with  copse,  particu- 
larly with  hawthorn.  Beneath  a  tall  rock,  near  the  bridge, 
is  a  plentiful  fountain,  called  St.  Helen's  Well. 


Note  4  Q. 

Hence  might  they  see  the  full  array 
Of  either  host,  for  deadly  fray. — P.  137. 

The  reader  cannot  here  expect  a  full  account  of  the  battle 
of  Flodden ;  but,  so  far  as  is  necessary  to  understand  the  ro- 
mance, I  beg  to  remind  him  that,  when  the  English  army,  by 
their  skillful  countermarch,  were  fairly  placed  between  King 
James  and  his  own  country,  the  Scottish  monarch  resolved  to 
fight ;  and,  setting  fire  to  his  tents,  descended  from  the  ridge 
of  Flodden  to  secure  the  neighboring  eminence  of  Brank- 
stone,  on  which  that  village  is  built.  Thus  the  two  armies 
met,  almost  without  seeing  each  other,  when,  according  to 
the  old  poem  of  "  Flodden  Field," 

"  The  English  line  stretch'd  east  and  west, 
And  southward  were  their  faces  set ; 

The  Scottish  northward  proudly  prest, 
And  manfully  their  foes  they  met." 

The  English  army  advanced  in  four  divisions.  On  the  right, 
which  first  engaged,  were  the  sons  of  Earl  Surrey,  namely, 
Thomas  Howard,  the  Admiral  of  England,  and  Sir  Edmund, 
the  Knight  Marshal  of  the  army.  Their  divisions  were  sepa- 
rated from  each  other;  but,  at  the  request  of  Sir  Edmund,  his 
brother's  battalion  was  drawn  very  near  to  his  own.  The 
centre  was  commanded  by  Surrey  in  person  ;  the  left  wing  by 
Sir  Edward  Stanley,  with  the  men  of  Lancashire  and  of  the 
palatinate  of  Chester.  Lord  Dacre,  with  a  large  body  of 
horse,  formed  a  reserve.  When  the  smoke,  which  the  wind 
had  driven  between  the  armies,  was  somewhat  dispersed,  they 
perceived  the  Scots,  who  had  moved  down  the  hill  in  a  similar 
order  of  battle,  and  in  deep  silence.2  The  Earls  of  Huntly 
and  of  Home  commanded  their  left  wing,  and  charged  Sir 
Edmund  Howard  with  such  success  as  entirely  to  defeat  his 
part  of  the  English  right  wing.  Sir  Edmund's  banner  was 
beaten  down,  and  he  himself  escaped  with  difficulty  to  his 
brother's  division.  The  Admiral,  however,  stood  firm;  and 
Dacre  advancing  to  his  support  with  the  reserve  of  cavalry, 
probably  between  the  interval  of  the  divisions  commanded  by 
the  brothers  Howard,  appears  to  have  kept  the  victors  in 
effectual  check.  Home's  men,  chiefly  Borderers,  began  to 
pillage  the  baggage  of  both  armies ;  and  their  leader  is  branded 


ordre,  en  la  maniere  que  marchent  les  Allemans  sans  parler,  ne 
faire  aucun  bruit."— Gazette  of  the  battle,  Pinkeeton's  His- 
tory, Appendix,  vol.  ii.  p.  456. 


APPENDIX    TO    MAKMION. 


171 


by  the  Scottish  historians  with  negligence  or  treachery.  On 
the  other  hand,  Huntly,  on  whom  they  bestow  many  enco- 
miums, is  said  by  the  English  historians  to  have  left  the  field 
after  the  first  charge.  Meanwhile  the  Admiral,  whose  flank 
these  chiefs  ought  to  have  attacked,  availed  himself  of  their 
inactivity,  and  pushed  forward  against  another  large  division 
of  the  Scottish  army  in  his  front,  headed  by  the  Earls  of 
Crawford  and  Montrose,  both  of  whom  were  slain  and  their 
forces  routed.  On  the  left,  the  success  of  the  English  was  yet 
more  decisive ;  for  the  Scottish  right  wing,  consisting  of  un- 
disciplined Highlanders,  commanded  by  Lennox  and  Argyle, 
was  unable  to  sustain  the  charge  of  Sir  Edward  Stanley,  and 
especially  the  severe  execution  of  the  Lancashire  archers. 
The  King  and  Surrey,  who  commanded  the  respective  centres 
of  their  armies,  were  meanwhile  engaged  in  close  and  dubious 
conflict.  James,  surrounded  by  the  flower  of  his  kingdom, 
and  impatient  of  the  galling  discharge  of  arrows,  supported 
also  by  his  reserve  under  Bothwell,  charged  with  such  fury 
that  the  standard  of  Surrey  was  in  danger.  At  that  critical 
moment,  Stanley,  who  had  routed  the  left  wing  of  the  Scot- 
tish, pursued  his  career  of  victory,  and  arrived  on  the  right 
flank,  and  in  the  rear  of  James's  division,  which,  throwing 
itself  into  a  circle,  disputed  the  battle  till  night  came  on. 
Surrey  then  drew  back  his  forces ;  for  the  Scottish  centre  not 
having  been  broken,  and  their  left  wing  being  victorious,  he 
yet  doubted  the  event  of  the  field.  The  Scottish  army,  how- 
ever, felt  their  loss,  and  abandoned  the  field  of  battle  in 
disorder  before  dawn.  They  lost,  perhaps,  from  eight  to  ten 
thousand  men ;  but  that  included  the  very  prime  of  their 
nobility,  gentry,  and  even  clergy.  Scarce  a  family  of  emi- 
nence but  has  an  ancestor  killed  at  Flodden  ;  and  there  is  no 
province  in  Scotland,  even  at  this  day,  where  the  battle  is 
mentioned  without  a  sensation  of  terror  and  sorrow.  The 
English  lost  also  a  great  number  of  men,  perhaps  within  one- 
third  of  the  vanquished,  but  they  were  of  inferior  note. — 
See  the  only  distinct  detail  of  the  Field  of  Flodden  in  Pink- 
erton's  History,  book  xi. ;  all  former  accounts  being  full  of 
blunders  and  inconsistency. 

The  spot  from  which  Clara  views  the  battle  must  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  on  a  hillock  commanding  the  rear  of  the 
English  right  wing,  which  was  defeated,  and  in  which  conflict 
Marmion  is  supposed  to  have  fallen.1 


Note  4  K. 


Brian  Tunstall,  stainless  knight. — P.  138. 

Sir  Brian  Tunstall,  called,  in  the  romantic  language  of  the 
time,  Tunstall  the  Undefiled,  was  one  of  the  few  Englishmen 
of  rank  slain  at  Flodden.  He  figures  in  the  ancient  English 
poem,  to  which  I  may  safely  refer  my  readers ;  as  an  edition, 
with  full  explanatory  notes,  has  been  published  by  my  friend, 
Mr.  Henry  Weber.  Tunstall,  perhaps,  derived  his  epithet  of 
undefiled  from  his  white  armor  and  banner,  the  latter  bearing 
a  white  cock,  about  to  crow,  as  well  as  from  his  unstained 
loyalty  and  knightly  faith.  His  place  of  residence  was  Thur- 
land  Castle. 

1  "  In  1810,  as  Sir  Carnaby  Haggerstone's  workmen  were 
digging  in  Flodden  Field,  they  came  to  a  pit  filled  with  human 
bones,  and  which  seemed  of  great  extent;  but,  alarmed  at 
the  sight,  they  immediately  filled  up  the  excavation,  and  pro- 
ceeded no  farther. 

"  In  1817,  Mr.  Gray  of  Millfield  Hill  found,  near  the  traces 
of  an  ancient  encampment,  a  short  distance  from  Flodden 
hill,  a  tumulus,  which,  on  removing,  exhibited  a  very  singu- 
lar sepulchre.    In  the  centre  a  large  urn  was  found,  but  in  a 


Note  4  S. 

Reckless  of  life,  he  desperate  fought, 

And  fell  on  Flodden  plain  : 
And  well  in  death  his  trusty  brand, 
Firm  clench'd  within  his  manly  hand, 

Beseem'd  the  Monarch  slain. — P.  142. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  King  James  fell  in  the  battle 
of  Flodden.  He  was  killed,  says  the  curious  French  Gazette, 
within  a  lance's  length  of  the  Earl  of  Surrey ;  and  the  same 
account  adds  that  none  of  his  division  were  made  prisoners, 
though  many  were  killed ;  a  circumstance  that  testifies  the 
desperation  of  their  resistance.  The  Scottish  historians  record 
many  of  the  idle  reports  which  passed  among  the  vulgar  of 
their  day.  Home  was  accused  by  the  popular  voice  not  only 
of  failing  to  support  the  King,  but  even  of  having  carried 
him  out  of  the  field  and  murdered  him.  And  this  tale  was 
revived  in  my  remembrance  by  an  unauthenticated  story  of 
a  skeleton,  wrapped  in  a  bull's  hide,  and  surrounded  with  an 
iron  chain,  said  to  have  been  found  in  the  well  of  Home 
Castle ;  for  which,  on  inquiry,  I  could  never  find  any  better 
authority  than  the  sexton  of  the  parish  having  said  that,  if 
the  well  were  cleaned  out,  he  would  not  be  surprised  at  such  a 
discovery.  Home  was  the  chamberlain  of  the  King,  and  his 
prime  favorite ;  he  had  much  to  lose  (in  fact  did  lose  all)  in 
consequence  of  James's  death,  and  nothing  earthly  to  gain  by 
that  event;  but  the  retreat  or  inactivity  of  the  left  wing 
which  he  commanded,  after  defeating  Sir  Edmund  Howard, 
and  even  the  circumstance  of  his  returning  unhurt  and 
loaded  with  spoil  from  so  fatal  a  conflict,  rendered  the  pro- 
pagation of  any  calumny  against  him  easy  and  acceptable. 
Other  reports  gave  a  still  more  romantic  turn  to  the  King's 
fate,  and  averred  that  James,  weary  of  greatness  after  the 
carnage  among  his  nobles,  had  gone  on  a  pilgrimage,  to  merit 
absolution  for  the  death  of  his  father  and  the  breach  of  his 
oath  of  amity  to  Henry.  In  particular,  it  was  objected  to  the 
English  that  they  could  never  show  the  token  of  the  iron  belt ; 
which,  however,  be  was  likely  enough  to  have  laid  aside  on 
the  day  of  battle  as  encumbering  his  personal  exertions.  They 
produce  a  better  evidence,  the  monarch's  sword  and  dagger, 
which  are  still  preserved  in  the  Herald's  College  in  London. 
Stowe  has  recorded  a  degrading  story  of  the  disgrace  with 
which  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  monarch  were  treated 
in  his  time.  An  unhewn  column  marks  the  spot  where  James 
fell,  still  called  the  King's  Stone. 


Note  4  T. 


The  fair  cathedral  storm'd  and  took. — P.  142. 

This  storm  of  Lichfield  cathedral,  which  had  been  garri- 
soned on  the  part  of  the  King,  took  place  in  the  Great  Civil 
War.  Lord  Brook,  who,  with  Sir  John  Gill,  commanded  the 
assailants,  was  shot  with  a  musket  ball  through  the  visor  of 
his  helmet.  The  royalists  remarked  that  he  was  killed  by  a 
shot  fired  from  St.  Chad's  cathedral,  and  upon  St.  Chad's  Day, 
and  received  his  death-wound  in  the  very  eye  with  which, 
he  had  said,  he  hoped  to  see  the  ruin  of  all  the  cathedrals  in 
England.  The  magnificent  church  in  question  suffered  cruelly 
upon  this  and  other  occasions;  the  principal  spire  being 
ruined  by  the  fire  of  the  besiegers. 

thousand  pieces.  It  had  either  been  broken  to  pieces  by  the 
stones  falling  upon  it  when  digging,  or  had  gone  to  pieces  on 
the  admission  of  the  air.  This  urn  was  surrounded  by  a 
number  of  cells  formed  of  flat  stones,  in  the  shape  of  graves, 
but  too  small  to  hold  the  body  in  its  natural  state.  These 
sepulchral  recesses  contained  nothing  except  ashes,  or  dust  of 
the  same  kind  as  that  in  the  urn."— Sykeir  Local  Records 
(2  vols.  8vo,  1833),  vol.  ii.  pp.  60  and  109. 


&f)e  iLafcrg  of  tfte  llafee: 


A  POEM,   IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

AFTER  the  success  of  "  Marmion,"  I  felt  inclined  to 
exclaim  with  Ulysses  in  the  "  Odyssey" — 

Outos  /neV  &h  aeflAos  aaaros  cKT€Te'AeerTat. 

NOy  avre  okott'ov  akkov.  Odys.  \.  1.  5. 

"  One  venturous  game  my  hand  has  won  to-day — 

Another,  gallants,  yet  remains  to  play." 

The  ancient  manners,  the  habits  and  customs  of  the 
aboriginal  race  by  whom  the  Highlands  of  Scotland 
were  inhabited  had  always  appeared  to  me  peculiarly 
adapted  to  poetry.  The  change  in  their  manners,  too, 
had  taken  place  almost  within  my  own  time,  or  at 
least  I  had  learned  many  particulars  concerning  the 
ancient  state  of  the  Highlands  from  the  old  men  of 
the  last  generation.  I  had  always  thought  the  old 
Scottish  Gael  highly  adapted  for  poetical  composi- 
tion. The  feuds  and  political  dissensions  which,  half 
a  century  earlier,  would  have  rendered  the  richer  and 
wealthier  part  of  the  kingdom  indisposed  to  counte- 
nance a  poem,  the  scene  of  which  was  laid  in  the 
Highlands,  were  now  sunk  in  the  generous  compas- 
sion which  the  English,  more  than  any  other  nation, 
feel  for  the  misfortunes  of  an  honorable  foe.  The 
Poems  of  Ossian  had,  by  their  popularity,  sufficiently 
shown  that  if  writings  on  Highland  subjects  were 
qualified  to  interest  the  reader,  mere  national  preju- 
dices were,  in  the  present  day,  very  unlikely  to  inter- 
fere with  their  success. 

I  had  also  read  a  great  deal,  seen  much,  and  heard 
more,  of  that  romantic  country,  where  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  spending  some  time  every  autumn ;  and  the 
scenery  of  Loch  Katrine  was  connected  with  the  re- 


1  "  These  Highland  visits  were  repeated  almost  every  sum- 
mer for  several  successive  years,  and  perhaps  even  the  first 
of  them  was  in  some  degree  connected  with  his  professional 
business.  At  all  events,  it  was  to  his  allotted  task  of  enforcing 
the  execution  of  a  legal  instrument  against  some  Maclarens, 
refractory  tenants  of  Stewart  of  Appin,  brother-in-law  to  In- 
vernahyle,  that  Scott  owed  his  introduction  to  the  scenery  of 
the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  '  An  escort  of  a  sergeant  and  six  men,' 
he  says,  'was  obtained  from  a  Highland  regiment  lying  in 
Stirling ;  and  the  author,  then  a  writer's  apprentice,  equiva- 
lent to  the  honorable  situation  of  an  attorney's  clerk,  was 
invested  with  the  superintendence  of  the  expedition,  with 
directions  to  see  that  the  messenger  discharged  his  duty  fully, 
and  that  the  gallant  sergeant  did  not  exceed  his  part  by  com- 
mitting violence  or  plunder.    And  thus  it  happened,  oddly 


collection  of  many  a  dear  friend  and  merry  expedition 
of  former  days.1  This  poem,  the  action  of  which  lay 
among  scenes  so  beautiful,  and  so  deeply  imprinted 
on  my  recollection,  was  a  labor  of  love ;  and  it  was 
no  less  so  to  recall  the  manners  and  incidents  intro- 
duced. The  frequent  custom  of  James  IV.,  and  j^ar- 
ticularly  of  James  V.,  to  walk  through  their  kingdom 
in  disguise,  afforded  me  the  hint  of  an  incident  which 
never  fails  to  be  interesting  if  managed  with  the 
slightest  address  or  dexterity. 

I  may  now  confess,  however,  that  the  employment, 
though  attended  with  great  pleasure,  was  not  without 
its  doubts  and  anxieties.  A  lady  to  whom  I  was 
nearly  related,  and  with  whom  I  lived,  during  her 
whole  life,  on  the  most  brotherly  terms  of  affection, 
was  residing  with  me  at  the  time  when  the  work  was 
in  progress,  and  used  to  ask  me  what  I  could  possibly 
do  to  rise  so  early  in  the  morning  (that  happening  to 
be  the  most  convenient  time  to  me  for  composition). 
At  last  I  told  her  the  subject  of  my  meditations ;  and 
I  can  never  forget  the  anxiety  and  affection  expressed 
in  her  reply.  "  Do  not  be  so  rash,"  she  said,  "  my 
dearest  cousin.2  You  are  already  popular — more  so, 
perhaps,  than  you  yourself  will  believe,  or  than  even 
I,  or  other  partial  friends,  can  fairly  allow  to  your 
merit.  You  stand  high — do  not  rashly  attempt  to 
climb  higher,  and  incur  the  risk  of  a  fall ;  for,  depend 
upon  it,  a  favorite  will  not  be  permitted  even  to 
stumble  with  impunity."  I  replied  to  this  affectionate 
expostulation  in  the  words  of  Montrose — 

"  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch 

To  gain  or  lose  it  all."3 

enough,  that  the  author  first  entered  the  romantic  scenery  of 
Loch  Katrine,  of  which  he  may  perhaps  say  he  has  somewhat 
extended  the  reputation,  riding  in  all  the  dignity  of  danger, 
with  a  front  and  rearguard,  and  loaded  arms.'"— Life  of  Scott, 
vol.  i.  p.  193. 

2  "The  lady  with  whom  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  this  conver- 
sation was,  no  doubt,  his  aunt,  Miss  Christian  Rutherford ; 
there  was  no  other  female  relation  dead  when  this  Introduc- 
tion was  written,  whom  I  can  suppose  him  to  have  consulted 
on  literary  questions.  Lady  Capulet,  on  seeing  the  corpse  of 
Tybalt,  exclaims, — 

'  Tybalt,  my  cousin !  oh,  my  brother's  child !' " 

Lockhart,  vol.  iii.  p.  251. 

3  Lines  in  praise  of  women.— Wishart's  Memoirs  of  Mon- 
trose, p.  497. 

(173) 


174 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  If  I  fail,"  I  said,  for  the  dialogue  is  strong  in  my 
recollection,  "  it  is  a  sign  that  I  ought  never  to  have 
succeeded,  and  I  will  write  prose  for  life :  you  shall 
see  no  change  in  my  temper,  nor  will  I  eat  a  single 
meal  the  worse.    But  if  I  succeed, 

'  Up  with  the  bonnic  blue  bonnet, 
The  dirk,  and  the  feather,  and  a'  "  " 

Afterwards,  I  showed  my  affectionate  and  anxious 
critic  the  first  canto  of  the  poem,  which  reconciled 
her  to  my  imprudence.  Nevertheless,  although  I  an- 
swered thus  confidently,  with  the  obstinacy  often  said 
to  be  proper  to  those  who  bear  my  surname,  I  acknowl- 
edge that  my  confidence  was  considerably  shaken  by 
the  warning  of  her  excellent  taste  and  unbiased  friend- 
ship. Nor  was  I  much  comforted  by  her  retractation 
of  the  unfavorable  judgment,  when  I  recollected  how 
likely  a  natural  partiality  was  to  effect  that  change  of 
opinion.  In  such  cases,  affection  rises  like  a  light  on 
the  canvas,  improves  any  favorable  tints  which  it  for- 
merly exhibited,  and  throws  its  defects  into  the  shade. 

I  remember  that  about  the-  same  time  a  friend 
started  in  to  "  heeze  up  my  hope,"  like  the  "  sportsman 
with  his  cutty  gun,"  in  the  old  song.  He  was  bred  a 
farmer,  but  a  man  of  powerful  understanding,  natural 
good  taste,  and  warm  poetical  feeling,  perfectly  com- 
petent to  supply  the  wants  of  an  imperfect  or  irregular 
education.  He  was  a  passionate  admirer  of  field-sports, 
which  we  often  pursued  together. 

As  this  friend  happened  to  diue  with  me  at  Ashestiel 
one  day,  I  took  the  opportunity  of  reading  to  him 
the  first  canto  of  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  in  order 
to  ascertain  the  effect  the  poem  was  likely  to  produce 
upon  a  person  who  was  but  too  favorable  a  represen- 
tative of  readers  at  large.  It  is,  of  course,  to  be  sup- 
posed that  I  determined  rather  to  guide  my  opinion 
by  what  my  friend  might  appear  to  feel  than  by  what 
he  might  think  fit  to  say.  His  reception  of  my  recita- 
tion, or  prelection,  was  rather  singular.  He  placed  his 
hand  across  his  brow,  and  listened  with  great  attention 
through  the  whole  account  of  the  stag-hunt,  till  the 
dogs  threw  themselves  into  the  lake  to  follow  their 
master,  who  embarks  with  Ellen  Douglas.  He  then 
started  up  with  a  sudden  exclamation,  struck  his  hand 
on  the  table,  and  declared,  in  a  voice  of  censure  cal- 

1  The  Jolly  Beggar,  attributed  to  King  James  V.— Herd's 
Collection,  1776. 

2  "  I  believe  the  shrewd  critic  here  introduced  was  the  poet's 
excellent  cousin,  Charles  Scott,  now  laird  of  Knowe-south. 
The  story  of  the  Irish  postilion's  trot  he  owed  to  Mr.  Moore." 
— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  253. 

3  "  Mr.  Robert  Cadell,  who  was  then  a  young  man  in  train- 
ing for  his  profession  in  Edinburgh,  retains  a  strong  impres- 
sion of  the  interest  which  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  excited  there 
for  two  or  three  months  before  it  was  on  the  counter.  'James 
Ballantyne,'  he  says,  'read  the  cantos  from  time  to  time  to 
select  coteries,  as  they  advanced  at  press.  Common  fame 
was  loud  in  their  favor;  a  great  poem  was  on  all  hands  anti- 
cipated. I  do  not  recollect  that  any  of  all  the  author's  works 
was  ever  looked  for  with  more  intense  anxiety,  or  that  any 
one  of  them  excited  a  more  extraordinary  sensation  when  it 
did  appear.    The  whole  country  rang  with  the  praises  of  the 


culated  for  the  occasion,  that  the  dogs  must  have  been 
totally  ruined  by  being  permitted  to  take  the  water 
after  such  a  severe  chase.  I  own  I  was  much  encour- 
aged by  the  species  of  reverie  which  had  possessed  so 
zealous  a  follower  of  the  sports  of  the  ancient  Ninirod, 
who  had  been  completely  surprised  out  of  all  doubts 
of  the  reality  of  the  tale.  Another  of  his  remarks 
gave  me  less  pleasure.  He  detected  the  identity  of 
the  King  with  the  wandering  knight,  Fitz-James, 
when  he  winds  his  bugle  to  summon  his  attendants. 
He  was  probably  thinking  of  the  lively,  but  some- 
what licentious,  old  ballad,  in  which  the  denouement 
of  a  royal  intrigue  takes  place  as  follows : 

"  He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 

He  blew  both  loud  and  shrill, 
And  four-and-twenty  belted  knights 

Came  skipping  ower  the  hill ; 
Then  he  took  out  a  little  knife, 

Let  a'  his  duddies  fa', 
And  he  was  the  brawest  gentleman 

That  was  amang  them  a'. 

And  we'll  go  no  more  a-roving,"  Ac.1 

This  discovery,  as  Mr.  Pepys  says  of  the  rent  in  his 
camlet  cloak,  was  but  a  trifle,  yet  it  troubled  me; 
and  I  was  at  a  good  deal  of  pains  to  efface  any  marks 
by  which  I  thought  my  secret  could  be  traced  before 
the  conclusion,  when  I  relied  on  it  with  the  same  hope 
of  producing  effect  with  which  the  Irish  post-boy  is 
said  to  reserve  a  "  trot  for  the  avenue."2 

I  took  uncommon  pains  to  verify  the  accuracy  of 
the  local  circumstances  of  this  story.  I  recollect,  in 
particular,  that  to  ascertain  whether  I  was  telling  a 
probable  tale,  I  went  into  Perthshire,  to  see  whether 
King  James  could  actually  have  ridden  from  the  banks 
of  Loch  Vennachar  to  Stirling  Castle  within  the  time 
supposed  in  the  Poem,  and  had  the  pleasure  to  satisfy 
myself  that  it  was  quite  practicable. 

After  a  considerable  delay,  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake" 
appeared  in  May,  1810;  and  its  success  was  certainly 
so  extraordinary  as  to  induce  me  for  the  moment 
to  conclude  that  I  had  at  last  fixed  a  nail  in  the  pro- 
verbially inconstant  wheel  of  Fortune,  whose  stability 
in  behalf  of  an  individual  who  had  so  boldly  courted 
her  favors  for  three  successive  times  had  not  as  yet 
been  shaken.3    I  had  attained,  perhaps,  that  degree 

poet — crowds  set  off  to  view  the  scenery  of  Loch  Katrine,  till 
then  comparatively  unknown ;  and  as  the  book  came  out  just 
before  the  season  for  excursions,  every  house  and  inn  in  that 
v  neighborhood  was  crammed  with  a  constant  succession  of 
visitors.  It  is  a  well-ascertained  fact  that  from  the  date  of 
the  publication  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  the  post-horse  duty 
in  Scotland  rose  in  an  extraordinary  degree ;  and  indeed  it 
continued  todo  so  regularly  for  a  number  of  years,  the  author's 
succeeding  works  keeping  up  the  enthusiasm  for  our  scenery 
which  he  had  thus  originally  created.' 

"  I  owe  to  the  same  correspondent  the  following  details : — 
'The  quarto  edition  of  2050  copies  disappeared  instantly,  and 
was  followed,  in  the  course  of  the  same  year,  by  four  editions 
in  octavo,  viz.,  one  of  3000,  a  second  of  3250,  and  a  third  and  a 
fourth  each  of  6000  copies ;  thus,  in  the  space  of  a  few  months, 
the  extraordinary  number  of  20,000  copies  were  disposed  of. 
In  the  next  year  (1811)  there  was  another  edition  of  3000; 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


175 


of  public  reputation  at  which  prudence,  or  certainly 
timidity,  would  have  made  a  halt,  and  discontinued 
efforts  by  which  I  was  far  more  likely  to  diminish 
my  fame  than  to  increase  it.  But,  as  the  celebrated 
John  Wilkes  is  said  to  have  explained  to  his  late 
Majesty  that  he  himself,  amid  his  full  tide  of  popu- 
larity, was  never  a  Wilkite,  so  I  can,  with  honest 
truth,  exculpate  myself  from  having  been  at  any  time 
a  partisan  of  my  own  poetry,  even  when  it  was  in  the 
highest  fashion  with  the  million.  It  must  not  be 
supposed  that  I  was  either  so  ungrateful  or  so  super- 
abundantly candid  as  to  despise  or  scorn  the  value  of 
those  whose  voice  had  elevated  me  so  much  higher 
than  my  own  opinion  told  me  I  deserved.  I  felt,  on 
the  contrary,  the  more  grateful  to  the  public,  as  re- 
ceiving that  from  partiality  to  me  which  I  could  not 
have  claimed  from  merit ;  and  I  endeavored  to  deserve 
the  partiality  by  continuing  such  exertions  as  I  was 
capable  of  for  their  amusement. 

It  may  be  that  I  did  not,  in  this  continued  course 
of  scribbling,  consult  either  the  interest  of  the  public 
or  my  own.  But  the  former  had  effectual  means  of 
defending  themselves,  and  could,  by  their  coldness, 
sufficiently  check  any  approach  to  intrusion ;  and  for 
myself,  I  had  now  for  several  years  dedicated  my 
hours  so  much  to  literary  labor  that  I  should  have 
felt  difficulty  in  employing  myself  otherwise ;  and  so, 
like  Dogberry,  I  generously  bestowed  all  my  tedious- 
ness  on  the  public,  comforting  myself  with  the  reflec- 
tion that,  if  posterity  should  think  me  undeserving  of 
the  favor  with  which  I  was  regarded  by  my  contem- 
poraries, "  they  could  not  but  say  I  had  the  crown," 
and  had  enjoyed  for  a  time  that  popularity  which  is 
so  much  coveted. 

I  conceived,  however,  that  I  held  the  distinguished 
situation  I  had  obtained,  however  unworthily,  rather 
like  the  champion  of  pugilism,1  on  the  condition  of 
being  always  ready  to  show  proofs  of  my  skill,  than 
in  the  manner  of  the  champion  of  chivalry,  who  per- 
forms his  duties  only  on  rare  and  solemn  occasions.    I 


there  was  one  of  2000  in  1814;  another  of  2000  in  1815;  one  of 
2000  again  in  1819 ;  and  two,  making  between  them  2500,  ap- 
peared in  1825.  Since  which  time  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  in 
collective  editions  of  his  poetry,  and  in  separate  issues,  must 
have  circulated  to  the  extent  of  at  least  20,000  copies  more. 
So  that,  down  to  the  month  of  July,  1836,  the  legitimate  sale 
in  Great  Britain  has  not  been  less  than  50,000  copies.' " — Life 
o/  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  248. 


was  in  any  case  conscious  that  I  could  not  long  hold 
a  situation  which  the  caprice,  rather  than  the  judg- 
ment, of  the  public  had  bestowed  upon  me,  and  pre- 
ferred being  deprived  of  my  precedence  by  some  more 
worthy  rival,  to  sinking  into  contempt  for  my  indo- 
lence, and  losing  my  reputation  by  what  Scottish  law- 
yers call  the  negative  proscription.  Accordingly  those 
who  choose  to  look  at  the  Introduction  to  Kokeby,  in 
the  present  edition,  will  be  able  to  trace  the  steps  by 
which  I  declined  as  a  poet  to  figure  as  a  novelist;  as 
the  ballad  says  Queen  Eleanor  sunk  at  Charing-Cross 
to  rise  again  at  Queenhithe. 

It  only  remains  for  me  to  say  that,  during  my  short 
pre-eminence  of  popularity,  I  faithfully  observed  the 
rules  of  moderation  which  I  had  resolved  to  follow 
before  I  began  my  course  as  a  man  of  letters.  If  a 
man  is  determined  to  make  a  noise  in  the  world,  he 
is  as  sure  to  encounter  abuse  and  ridicule  as  he  who 
gallops  furiously  through  a  village  must  reckon  on 
being  followed  by  the  curs  in  full  cry.  Experienced 
persons  know  that  in  stretching  to  flog  the  latter,  the 
rider  is  very  apt  to  catch  a  bad  fall ;  nor  is  an  attempt 
to  chastise  a  malignant  critic  attended  with  less  dan- 
ger to  the  author.  On  this  principle,  I  let  parody, 
burlesque,  and  squibs,  find  their  own  level ;  and  while 
the  latter  hissed  most  fiercely,  I  was  cautious  never 
to  cateh  them  up,  as  school-boys  do,  to  throw  them 
back  against  the  naughty  boy  who  fired  them  off, 
wisely  remembering  that  they  are,  in  such  cases,  apt 
to  explode  in  the  handling.  Let  me  add  that  my 
reign2  (since  Byron  has  so  called  it)  was  marked  by 
some  instances  of  good-nature  as  well  as  patience.  I 
never  refused  a  literary  person  of  merit  such  services 
in  smoothing  his  way  to  the  public  as  were  in  my 
power;  and  I  had  the  advantage,  rather  an  uncom- 
mon one  with  our  irritable  race,  to  enjoy  general 
favor,  without  incurring  permanent  ill-will,  so  far  as 
is  known  to  me,  among  any  of  my  contemporaries. 

W.  S. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


i  "In  twice  five  years  the  'greatest  living  poet,' 

Like  to  the  champion  in  the  fisty  ring, 

Is  call'd  on  to  support  his  claim,  or  show  it, 

Although  'tis  an  imaginary  thing,"  &c. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  St.  55. 

2  "  Sir  Walter  reign'd  before  me,"  Ac. 

Don  Juan,  canto  xi.  st.  57. 


®Ijc  la&s  erf  tije  Hake. 


MOST    NOBLE 

JOHN  JAMES,  MARQUIS  OF  ABERCOEN, 
&c,  &c,  &c, 

THIS    POEM1    IS    INSCRIBED    BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ARGUMENT. 


The  Scene  of  the  following  Poem  is  laid  chiefly  in  the  Vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine,  in  the  Western  Highlands  of 
Perthshire.     The  time  of  Action  includes  Six  Days,  and  the  transactions  of  each  Day  occupy  a  Canto? 


1  Published  by  John  Ballantyne  &  Co.  in  quarto,  with  en- 
graved frontispiece  of  Saxon's  portrait  of  Scott,  in  May, 
1810. 

2  "  Never,  we  think,  has  the  analogy  between  poetry  and 
painting  been  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in  the  writ- 
ings of  Mr.  Scott.  He  sees  everything  with  a  painter's  eye. 
Whatever  he  represents  has  a  character  of  individuality,  and 
is  drawn  with  an  accuracy  and  minuteness  of  discrimination 
which  we  are  not  accustomed  to  expect  from  verbal  descrip- 
tion. Much  of  this,  no  doubt,  is  the  result  of  genius :  for 
there  is  a  quick  and  comprehensive  power  of  discernment,  an 
intensity  and  keenness  of  observation,  an  almost  intuitive 
glance,  which  Nature  alone  can  give,  and  by  means  of  which 
her  favorites  are  enabled  to  discover  characteristic  differ- 
ences where  the  eye  of  dullness  sees  nothing  but  uniformity; 
but  something  also  must  be  referred  to  discipline  and  exer- 
cise. The  liveliest  fancy  can  only  call  forth  those  images 
which  are  already  stored  up  in  the  memory;  and  all  that 
invention  can  do  is  to  unite  these  into  new  combinations, 
which  must  appear  confused  and  ill-defined  if  the  impressions 
originally  received  by  the  senses  were  deficient  in  strength 
and  distinctness.  It  is  because  Mr.  Scott  usually  delineates 
those  objects  with  which  he  is  perfectly  familiar,  that  his  touch 
is  so  easy,  correct,  and  animated.  The  rocks,  the  ravines,  and 
the  torrents  which  he  exhibits,  are  not  the  imperfect  sketches 
of  a  hurried  traveller,  but  the  finished  studies  of  a  resident 
artist  deliberately  drawn  from  different  points  of  view ;  each 
has  its  true  shape  and  position;  it  is  a  portrait;  it  has  its 
name  by  which  the  spectator  is  invited  to  examine  the  exact- 
ness of  the  resemblance.  The  figures  which  are  combined 
with  the  landscape  are  painted  with  the  same  fidelity.  Like 
those  of  Salvator  Rosa,  they  are  perfectly  appropriate  to  the 
spot  on  which  they  stand.  The  boldness  of  feature,  the  light- 
ness and  compactness  of  form,  the  wildness  of  air,  and  the 
careless  ease  of  attitude  of  these  mountaineers,  are  as  conge- 
nial to  their  native  Highlands  as  the  birch  and  the  pine 
which  darken  their  glens,  the  sedge  which  fringes  their  lakes, 

(176) 


or  the  heath  which  waves  over  their  moors." — Quarterly  Re- 
view, May,  1810. 

"  It  is  honorable  to  Mr.  Scott's  genius  that  he  has  been 
able  to  interest  the  public  so  deeply  with  this  third  present- 
ment of  the  same  chivalrous  scenes;  but  we  cannot  help 
thinking  that  both  his  glory  and  our  gratification  would  have 
been  greater  if  he  had  changed  his  hand  more  completely, 
and  actually  given  us  a  true  Celtic  story,  with  all  its  drapery 
and  accompaniments  in  a  corresponding  style  of  decoration. 
Such  a  subject,  we  are  persuaded,  has  very  great  capabilities, 
and  only  wants  to  be  introduced  to  public  notice  by  such  a 
hand  as  Mr.  Scott's,  to  make  a  still  more  powerful  impression 
than  he  has  already  effected  by  the  resurrection  of  the  tales 
of  romance.  There  are  few  persons,  we  believe,  of  any  degree 
of  poetical  susceptibility,  who  have  wandered  among  the 
secluded  valleys  of  the  Highlands,  and  contemplated  the 
singular  people  by  whom  they  are  still  tenanted — with  their 
love  of  music  and  of  song — their  hardy  and  irregular  life,  so 
unlike  the  unvarying  toils  of  the  Saxon  mechanic — their 
devotion  to  their  chiefs — their  wild  and  lofty  traditions — their 
national  enthusiasm — the  melancholy  grandeur  of  the  scenes 
they  inhabit — and  the  multiplied  superstitions  which  still 
linger  among  them — without  feeling  that  there  is  no  existing 
people  so  well  adapted  for  the  purposes  of  poetry,  or  so 
capable  of  fumisliing  the  occasions  of  new  and  striking  in- 
ventions. 

"We  are  persuaded  that  if  Mr.  Scoffs  powerful  and  creative 
genius  were  to  be  turned  in  good  earnest  to  such  a  subject,  some- 
thing  might  be  produced  still  more  impressive  and  original  than 
n;  n  this  age  has  yet  witnessed." — Jeffrey,  Edinburgh  Review, 
N<>.  xvi.  for  1810. 

"  The  subject  of  The  Lady  is  a  common  Highland  irrup- 
tion, but  at  a  point  where  the  neighborhood  of  the  Low- 
lands affords  the  best  contrast  of  manners — where  the  scenery 
affords  the  noblest  subject  of  description — and  where  the 
wild  clan  is  so  near  to  the  Court  that  their  robberies  can 
be  connected  with  the  romantic  adventures  of  a  disguised 


THE    LADY    OF   THE    LAKE. 


177 


Zfy  3UUg  of  tije  ILafce. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


Z%i  (Cf)asc. 

Harp  of  the  North !  that  mouldering  long  hast  hung 

On  the  witch-elm  that  shades  Saint  Fillan's  spring, 
And  down  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung,1 

Till  envious  ivy  did  around  thee  cling, 
Muffling  with  verdant  ringlet  every  string, — 

O  minstrel  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep  ? 
Mid  rustling  leaves  and  fountains  murmuring, 

Still  must  thy  sweeter  sounds  their  silence  keep, 
Nor  bid  a  warrior  smile,  nor  teach  a  maid  to  weep  ? 

Not  thus,  in  ancient  days  of  Caledon, 

Was  thy  voice  mute  amid  the  festal  crowd, 
When  lay  of  hopeless  love,  or  glory  won, 

Aroused  the  fearful,  or  subdued  the  proud. 
At  each  according  pause  was  heard  aloud2 

Thine  ardent  symphony  sublime  and  high ! 
Fair  dames  and  crested  chiefs  attention  bow'd ; 

For  still  the  burden  of  thy  minstrelsy 
Was    Knighthood's    dauntless    deed,    and    Beauty's 
matchless  eye. 

Oh,  wake  once  more !  how  rude  soe'er  the  hand 

That  ventures  o'er  thy  magic  maze  to  stray ; 
Oh,  wake  once  more !  though  scarce  my  skill  command 

Some  feeble  echoing  of  thine  earlier  lay : 
Though  harsh  and  faint,  and  soon  to  die  away, 

And  all  unworthy  of  thy  nobler  strain, 
Yet  if  one  heart  throb  higher  at  its  sway, 

The  wizard  note  has  not  been  touched  in  vain. 
Then  silent  be  no  more !  Enchantress,  wake  again ! 


The  stag  at  eve  had  drunk  his  fill, 
Where  danced  the  moon  on  Monan's  rill, 


king,  an  exiled  lord,  and  a  high-born  beauty.  The  whole 
narrative  is  very  fine.  There  are  not  so  many  splendid 
passages  for  quotation  as  in  the  two  former  poems.  This 
may  indeed  silence  the  objections  of  the  critics,  but  I  doubt 
whether  it  will  promote  the  popularity  of  the  poem.  It  has 
nothing  so  good  as  the  Address  to  Scotland,  or  the  Death  of 
Marmion." — Mackintosh,  in  his  Diary,  1811,  see  his  Life, 
vol.  ii.  p.  82. 

"The  Lay,  if  I  may  venture  to  state  the  creed  now  estab- 
lished, is,  I  should  say,  generally  considered  as  the  most 
natural  and  original,  Marmion  as  the  most  powerful  and 
splendid,  the  Lady  of  the  Lake  as  the  most  interesting, 
romantic,  picturesque,  and  graceful  of  his  great  poems." — 
Lockhart,  vol.  iii.  p.  256. 
12 


And  deep  his  midnight  lair  had  made 

In  lone  Glenartney's  hazel  shade ; 

But,  when  the  sun  his  beacon  red 

Had  kindled  on  Benvoirlich's  head, 

The  deep-mouth'd  blood-hound's  heavy  bay 

Resounded  up  the  rocky  way,3 

And  faint,  from  farther  distance  borne, 

Were  heard  the  clanging  hoof  and  horn. 

II. 

As  Chief  who  hears  his  warder  call, 
"  To  arms !  the  foemen  storm  the  wall," 
The  antler'd  monarch  of  the  waste 
Sprung  from  his  heathery  couch  in  haste. 
But,  ere  his  fleet  career  he  took, 
The  dewdrops  from  his  flanks  he  shook ; 
Like  crested  leader,  proud  and  high, 
Toss'd  his  beam'd  frontlet  to  the  sky ; 
A  moment  gazed  adown  the  dale, 
A  moment  snuff  d  the  tainted  gale, 
A  moment  listen'd  to  the  cry 
That  thicken'd  as  the  chase  drew  nigh ; 
Then,  as  the  headmost  foes  appear'd, 
With  one  brave  bound  the  copse  he  clear'd, 
And,  stretching  forward  free  and  far, 
Sought  the  wild  heaths  of  Uam-Var 

III. 
Yell'd  on  the  view  the  opening  pack ; 
Rock,  glen,  and  cavern,  paid  them  back ; 
To  many  a  mingled  sound  at  once 
The  awaken'd  mountain  gave  response. 
A  hundred  dogs  bay'd  deep  and  strong, 
Clatter'd  a  hundred  steeds  along, 
Their  peal  the  merry  horns  rung  out, 
A  hundred  voices  join'd  the  shout ; 
With  hark  and  whoop  and  wild  halloo, 
No  rest  Benvoirlich's  echoes  knew.4 
Far  from  the  tumult  fled  the  roe, 
Close  in  her  covert  cower'd  the  doe ; 
The  falcon,  from  her  cairn  on  high, 
Cast  on  the  rout  a  wondering  eye, 
Till  far  beyond  her  piercing  ken 
The  hurricane  had  swept  the  glen. 
Faint  and  mere  faint,  its  failing  din 
Return'd  from  cavern,  cliff,  and  linn, 


1  MS. :  "  And  on  the  fitful  breeze  thy  numbers  flung, 

Till  envious  ivy,  with  her  verdant  ring, 
Mantled  and  muffled  each  melodious  string, — 
0  wizard  Harp,  still  must  thine  accents  sleep?" 

2  MS. :  "  At  each  according  pause  thou  spokest  aloud 

Thine  ardent  sympathy." 

3  MS. :  "  The  blood-hound's  notes  of  heavy  bass 

Resounded  hoarsely  up  the  pass." 

4  Benvoirlich,  a  mountain  comprehended  in  the  cluster  of 
the  Grampians,  at  the  head  of  the  valley  of  the  Garry,  a 
river  which  springs  from  its  base.  It  rises  to  an  elevation  of 
3330  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea. 


178 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  silence  settled,  wide  and  still, 
On  the  lone  wood  and  mighty  hill. 

IV. 

Less  loud  the  sounds  of  sylvan  war 
Disturb'd  the  heights  of  Uam-Var, 
And  roused  the  cavern  where,  'tis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old  j1 
For  ere  that  steep  ascent  was  won, 
High  in  his  pathway  hung  the  sun, 
And  many  a  gallant,  stay'd  perforce, 
Was  fain  to  breathe  his  faltering  horse, 
And  of  the  trackers  of  the  deer, 
Scarce  half  the  lessening  pack  was  near; 
So  shrewdly  on  the  mountain  side 
Had  the  bold  burst  their  mettle  tried. 

V. 

The  noble  stag  was  pausing  now 
Upon  the  mountain's  southern  brow, 
Where  broad  extended,  far  beneath, 
The  varied  realms  of  fair  Menteith. 
With  anxious  eye  he  wander'd  o'er 
Mountain  and  meadow,  moss  and  moor, 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

2  "About  a  mile  to  the  westward  of  the  inn  of  Aberfoyle, 
Lochard  opens  to  the  view.  A  few  hundred  yards  to  the  east 
of  it,  the  Avendow,  which  has  just  issued  from  the  lake, 
tumbles  its  waters  over  a  rugged  precipice  of  more  than  thirty 
feet  in  height,  forming,  in  the  rainy  season,  several  very  mag- 
nificent cataracts. 

'•  The  first  opening  of  the  lower  lake,  from  the  east,  is  un- 
commonly picturesque.  Directing  the  eye  nearly  westward, 
Benlomond  raises  its  pyramidal  mass  in  the  background.  In 
nearer  prospect,  you  have  gentle  eminences,  covered  with  oak 
and  birch  to  the  very  summit ;  the  bare  rock  sometimes  peep- 
ing through  amongst  the  clumps.  Immediately  under  the 
eye,  the  lower  lake,  stretching  out  from  narrow  beginnings  to 
a  breadth  of  about  half  a  mile,  is  seen  in  full  prospect.  On 
the  right,  the  banks  are  skirted  with  extensive  oak  woods 
which  cover  the  mountain  more  than  half  way  up. 

"Advancing  to  the  westward,  the  view  of  the  lake  is  lost 
for  about  a  mile.  The  upper  lake,  which  is  by  far  the  most 
extensive,  is  separated  from  the  lower  by  a  stream  of  about 
200  yards  in  length.  The  most  advantageous  view  of  the 
upper  lake  presents  itself  from  a  rising  ground  near  its  lower 
extremity,  where  a  footpath  strikes  oil'  to  the  south,  into  the 
wood  that  overhangs  this  connecting  stream.  Looking  west- 
ward, Benlomond  is  seen  in  the  background,  rising,  at  the 
distance  of  six  miles,  in  the  form  of  a  regular  cone,  its  sides 
presenting  a  gentle  Blopeto  the  N.W.  and  S.  E.  On  the  right 
is  the  lofty  mountain  of  Benoghrie,  running  west  towards  the 
deep  vale  in  which  LochcoD  lies  concealed  from  the  eye.  In 
the  foreground,  Lochard  stretches  oul  to  the  west  in  the 
fairest  prospect;  its  length  three  miles,  and  its  breadth  a 
mile  and  a  half.  On  the  ri^rlit,  it  is  skirted  with  woods;  the 
northern  and  western  extremity  of  the  lake  is  diversified 
with  meadows,  and  corn-fields,  and  farm-houses.  On  the  left, 
few  marks  of  cultivation  are  to  I"-  seen. 

"Farther  on,  the  traveller  passes  along  t ho  verge  of  the 
lake  under  a  ledge  of  rock,  from  thirty  to  fifty  feet  high ;  and, 
standing  immediately  under  this  reek,  towards  its  western 
extremity,  he  has  a  double  echo,  of  uncommon  distinctness. 
Upon  pronouncing,  with  a  firm  voice,  a  line  of  ten  syllables, 


And  ponder'd  refuge  from  his  toil 
By  far  Lochard-  or  Aberfoyle. 
But  nearer  was  the  copsewood  gray 
That  waved  and  wept  on  Loch  Achray, 
And  mingled  with  the  pine-trees  blue 
On  the  bold  cliffs  of  Benvenue. 
Fresh  vigor  with  the  hope  return'd,3 
With  dying  foot  the  heath  he  spurn'd, 
Held  westward  with  unwearied  race, 
And  left  behind  the  panting  chase. 

VI. 

'Twere  long  to  tell  what  steeds  gave  o'er 
As  swept  the  hunt  through  Cambus-more  ;* 
What  reins  were  tighten'd  in  despair 
When  rose  Benledi's  ridge  in  air  ;5 
Who  flagg'd  upon  Bochastle's  heath, 
Who  shunn'd  to  stem  the  flooded  Teith, — 6 
For  twice  that  day,  from  shore  to  shore, 
The  gallant  stag  swam  stoutly  o'er. 
Few  were  the  stragglers,  following  far, 
That  reach'd  the  lake  of  Vennachar  ;7 
And  when  the  Brigg  of  Turk  was  won,8 
The  headmost  horseman  rode  alone. 


it  is  returned,  first  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  lake;  and 
when  that  is  finished,  it  is  repeated  with  equal  distinctness 
from  the  wood  on  the  east.  The  day  must  be  perfectly  calm, 
and  the  lake  as  smooth  as  glass,  for  otherwise  no  human  voice 
can  be  returned  from  a  distance  of  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile." 
— Graham's  Sketches  of  Perthshire,  2d  edit.  p.  1S2,  &c. 


3  MS. 


"Fresh  vigor  with  the  thought  return'd, 
With  flying  hoof  the  heath  he  spurn'd." 


*  Cambus-more,  within  about  two  miles  of  Callender,  on  the 
wooded  banks  of  the  Keltie,  a  tributary  of  the  Teith,  is  the 
seat  of  a  family  of  the  name  of  Buchanan,  whom  the  Poet 
frequently  visited  in  his  younger  days. 

5  Benledi  is  a  magnificent  mountain,  3000  feet  in  height, 
which  bounds  the  horizon  on  the  north-west  from  Callender. 
The  name,  according  to  Celtic  etymologists,  signifies  the 
Mountain  of  God. 

6  Two  mountain  streams — the  one  flowing  from  Loch  Voil, 
by  the  pass  of  Leny,  the  other  from  Loch  Katrine,  by  Loch 
Achray  and  Loch  Vennachar — unite  at  Callender;  and  tin- 
river  thus  formed  thenceforth  takes  the  name  of  Teith.  Hence 
the  designation  of  the  territory  of  Menteith. 

'  "  Loch  Vennachar,  a  beautiful  expanse  of  water,  of  about 
five  miles  in  length  by  a  mile  and  a  half  in  breadth."— 
Graham. 

8  "About  a  mile  above  Loch  Vennachar,  the  approach 
Cfrom  the  east)  to  the  Brigg  or  Bridge  of  Turk  (the  scene  of 
the  death  of  a  wild-boar  famous  in  Celtic  tradition),  leads  to 
the  summit  of  an  eminence,  where  there  bursts  upon  the  tra- 
veller's eye  a  sudden  and  wide  prospect  of  the  windings  <>( 
the  river  that  issues  from  Loch  Achray,  with  that  sweet  lake 
itself  in  front ;  the  gently  rolling  river  pursues  its  serpentine 
course  through  an  extensive  meadow  ;  at  the  west  end  of  the 
lake,  on  the  side  of  Aberfoyle,  is  situated  the  delightful  farm 
of  Achray,  the  level  field,  a  denomination  justly  due  to  it, 
when  considered  in  contrast  with  the  ragged  rocks  and 
mountains  which  surround  it.  From  this  eminence  are  to 
be  seen  also,  on  the  right  hand,  the  entrance  to  Glenfinlas, 
and  in  the  distance  Benvenue." — Grauaji. 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


179 


VII. 

Alone,  but  with  unbated  zeal, 

That  horseman  plied  the  scourge  and  steel ; 

For  jaded  now,  and  spent  with  toil, 

Emboss'd  with  foam,  and  dark  with  soil, 

While  every  gasp  with  sobs  he  drew, 

The  laboring  stag  strain'd  full  in  view. 

Two  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 

Unmatch'd  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed,1 

Fast  on  his  flying  traces  came, 

And  all  but  won  that  desperate  game ; 

For,  scarce  a  spear's  length  from  his  haunch, 

Vindictive  toil'd  the  blood-hounds  stanch ; 

Nor  nearer  might  the  dogs  attain, 

Nor  farther  might  the  quarry  strain. 

Thus  up  the  margin  of  the  lake, 

Between  the  precipice  and  brake, 

O'er  stock  and  rock  their  race  they  take. 

VIII. 
The  Hunter  rnark'd  that  mountain  high, 
The  lone  lake's  western  boundary, 
And  deem'd  the  stag  must  turn  to  bay 
Where  that  huge  rampart  barr'd  the  way ; 
Already  glorying  in  the  prize, 
Measured  his  antlers  with  his  eyes ; 
For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 
Muster'd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew; — 2 
But  thundering  as  he  came  prepared, 
With  ready  arm  and  weapon  bared, 
The  wily  cpiarry  shunn'd  the  shock, 
And  turn'd  him  from  the  opposing  rock  ; 
Then,  dashing  down  a  darksome  glen, 
Soon  lost  to  hound  and  Hunter's  ken, 
In  the  deep  Trosachs'3  wildest  nook 
His  solitary  refuge  took. 
There,  while  close  couch'd,   the  thicket 

shed 
Cold  dews  and  wild-flowers  on  his  head, 
He  heard  the  baffled  dogs  in  vain 
Rave  through  the  hollow  pass  amain, 
Chiding  the  rocks  that  yell'd  again. 

IX. 

Close  on  the  hounds  the  Hunter  came, 
To  cheer  them  on  the  vanish'd  game ; 
But,  stumbling  in  the  rugged  dell, 
The  gallant  horse  exhausted  fell. 
The  impatient  rider  strove  in  vain 
To  rouse  him  with  the  spur  and  rein, 
For  the  good  steed,  his  labors  o'er, 
Stretch'd  his  stiff  limbs,  to  rise  no  more ; 
Then,  touch'd  with  pity  and  remorse, 
He  sorrow'd  o'er  the  expiring  horse. 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  2  Ihid.  Note  C. 

3  "The  term  Trosachs  signifies  the  rough  or  bristled  ter- 
ritory."— Graham. 

4  MS.:  "And  on  the  Hunter  hied  his  pace, 

To  meet  some  comrades  of  the  chase." 


"  I  little  thought,  when  first  thy  rein 
I  slack'd  upon  the  banks  of  Seine, 
That  Highland  eagle  e'er  should  feed 
On  thy  fleet  limbs,  my  matchless  steed .' 
Woe  worth  the  chase,  woe  worth  the  day, 
That  costs  thy  life,  my  gallant  gray !" 


Then  through  the  dell  his  horn  resounds, 
From  vain  pursuit  to  call  the  hounds. 
Back  limp'd,  with  slow  and  crippled  pace, 
The  sulky  leaders  of  the  chase ; 
Close  to  their  master's  side  they  press'd, 
With  drooping  tail  and  humbled  crest; 
But  still  the  dingle's  hollow  throat 
Prolong'd  the  swelling  bugle-note. 
The  owlets  started  from  their  dream, 
The  eagles  answer'd  with  their  scream, 
Round  and  around  the  sounds  were  cast, 
Till  echo  seem'd  an  answering  blast ; 
And  on  the  Hunter  hied  his  way,4 
To  join  some  comrades  of  the  day  ; 
Yet  often  paused,  so  strange  the  road, 
So  wondrous  were  the  scenes  it  show'd. 

XI. 

The  western  waves  of  ebbing  day 
Roll'd  o'er  the  glen  their  level  way ; 
Each  purple  peak,  each  flinty  spire, 
Was  bathed  in  floods  of  living  fire. 
But  not  a  setting  beam  could  glow 
Within  the  dark  ravines  below, 
Where  twined  the  path,  in  shadow  hid, 
Round  many  a  rocky  pyramid, 
Shooting  abruptly  from  the  dell 
Its  thunder-splinter'd  pinnacle ; 
Round  .many  an  insulated  mass, 
The  native  bulwarks  of  the  pass,5 
Huge  as  the  tower6  which  builders  vain 
Presumptuous  piled  on  Shinar's  plain. 
The  rocky  summits,  split  and  rent, 
Form'd  turret,  dome,  or  battlement, 
Or  seem'd  fantastically  set 
With  cupola  or  minaret, 
Wild  crests  as  pagod  ever  deck'd, 
Or  mosque  of  Eastern  architect. 
Nor  were  these  earth-born  castles  bare,7 
Nor  lack'd  they  many  a  banner  fair  ; 
For,  from  their  shiver'd  brows  display'd, 
Far  o'er  the  unfathomable  glade, 
All  twinkling  with  the  dewdrops  sheen,8 
The  briar-rose  fell  in  streamers  green, 
And  creeping  shrubs,  of  thousand  dyes, 
Waved  in  the  west  wind's  summer  sighs. 

5  MS. :  "  The  mimic  castles  of  the  pass." 

6  The  Tower  of  Bahel.— Genesis  xi.  1-9. 

1  MS. :  "  Nor  were  these  mighty  hulwarks  bare." 
8  MS.:  "Bright  glistening  with  the  dewdrops  sheenJ 


180 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


XII. 
Boon  nature  scatter'd,  free  and  wild, 
Each  plant  or  flower,  the  mountain's  child. 
Here  eglantine  embalm'd  the  air, 
Hawthorn  and  hazel  mingled  there ; 
The  primrose  pale  and  violet  flower 
Found  in  each  cliff  a  narrow  bower ; 
Fox-glove  and  night-shade,  side  by  side, 
Emblems  of  punishment  and  pride, 
Group'd  their  dark  hues  with  every  stain 
The  weather-beaten  crags  retain. 
"With  boughs  that  quaked  at  every  breath, 
Gray  birch  and  aspen  wept  beneath ; 
Aloft,  the  ash  and  warrior  oak 
Cast  anchor  in  the  rifted  rock ; 
And,  higher  yet,  the  pine-tree  hung 
His  shatter'd  trunk,  and  frequent  flung,1 
Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  boughs  athwart  the  narrow'd  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  glist'ning  streamers  waved  and  danced, 
The  wanderer's  eye  could  barely  view 
The  summer  heaven's  delicious  blue  ; 
So  wondrous  wild,  the  whole  might  seem 
The  scenery  of  a  fairy  dream. 

XIII. 

Onward,  amid  the  copse  'gan  peep 
A  narrow  inlet,  still  and  deep, 
Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  brim2 
As  served  the  wild  duck's  brood  to  swim. 
Lost  for  a  space,  through  thickets  veering, 
But  broader  when  again  appearing, 
Tall  rocks  and  tufted  knolls  their  face 
Could  on  the  dark-blue  mirror  trace  ; 
And  farther  as  the  Hunter  stray'd, 
Still  broader  sweep  its  channels  made. 
The  shaggy  mounds  no  longer  stood, 
Emerging  from  entangled  wood,3 
But,  wave-encircled,  seem'd  to  float, 
Like  castle  girdled  with  its  moat; 
Yet  broader  floods  extending  still 
Divide  them  from  their  parent  hill, 
Till  each,  retiring,  claims  to  be 
An  islet  in  an  inland  sea. 
I 

1  MS.:  "His scathed  trunk,  and  frequent  flung, 

Where  seem'd  the  cliffs  to  meet  on  high, 
His  rugged  arms  athwart  the  sky. 
Highest  of  all,  where  white  peaks  glanced, 
Where  twinkling  streamers  waved  and  danced." 

2  MS.:  "Affording  scarce  such  breadth  of  flood 

As  served  to  float  the  wild  duck's  brood." 

3  MS. :  "  Emerging  dry-shod  from  the  wood." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

5  Loch  Ketturin  is  the  Celtic  pronunciation.  In  his  Notes 
to  "The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  the  author  has  signified  his 
belief  that  the  lake  was  named  after  the  Catkrins,  or  wild 
robbers,  who  haunted  its  shores. 

6  Benvenue  is  literally  the  little  mountain — i.  e.,  as  con- 
trasted with  Benledi  and  Benlomond. 


XIV. 

And  now,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 

No  pathway  meets  the  wanderer's  ken, 

Unless  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 

A  far  projecting  precipice.* 

The  broom's  tough  roots  his  ladder  made, 

The  hazel  saplings  lent  their  aid  ; 

And  thus  an  airy  point  he  won, 

Where,  gleaming  with  the  setting  sun, 

One  burnish'd  sheet  of  living  gold, 

Loch  Katrine  lay  beneath  him  roll'd,5 

In  all  her  length  far  winding  lay, 

With  promontory,  creek,  and  bay, 

And  islands  that,  empurpled  bright, 

Floated  amid  the  livelier  light, 

And  mountains,  that  like  giants  stand, 

To  sentinel  enchanted  land. 

High  on  the  south,  huge  Benvenue6 

Down  on  the  lake  in  masses  threw 

Crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  confusedly  hurl'd, 

The  fragments  of  an  earlier  world  ; 

A  wildering  forest  feather'd  o'er 

His  ruin'd  sides  and  summit  hoar,7 

While  on  the  north,  through  middle  air, 

Ben-an8  heaved  high  his  forehead  bare.9 

XV. 

From  the  steep  promontory  gazed10 

The  stranger,  raptured  and  amazed ; 

And,  "  What  a  scene  were  here,"  he  cried, 

"  For  princely  pomp,  or  churchman's  pride ! 

On  this  bold  brow,  a  lordly  tower ; 

In  that  soft  vale,  a  lady's  bower ; 

On  yonder  meadow,  far  away, 

The  turrets  of  a  cloister  gray ; 

How  blithely  might  the  bugle-horn 

Chide,  on  the  lake,  the  lingering  morn ! 

How  sweet,  at  eve,  the  lover's  lute 

Chime,  when  the  groves  were  still  and  mute ! 

And,  when  the  midnight  moon  should  lave 

Her  forehead  in  the  silver  wave, 

How  solemn  on  the  ear  would  come 

The  holy  matins'  distant  hum, 

While  the  deep  peal's  commanding  tone 

Should  wake,  in  yonder  islet  lone, 

1  MS.:  "His  ruin'd  sides  and  fragments  hoar, 
While  on  the  north,  to  middle  air." 

8  According  to  Graham,  Ben-an,  or  Bennan,  is  a  mere 
diminutive  of  Ben — mountain. 

9  "Perhaps  the  art  of  landscape  painting  in  poetry  has 
never  been  displayed  in  higher  perfection  than  in  these 
stanzas,  to  which  rigid  criticism  might  possibly  object  that 
the  picture  is  somewhat  too  minute,  and  that  the  contem- 
plation of  it  detains  the  traveller  somewhat  too  long  from 
the  main  purpose  of  his  pilgrimage,  but  which  it  would  be 
an  act  of  the  greatest  injustice  to  break  into  fragments  and 
present  by  piecemeal.  Not  so  the  magnificent  scene  which 
bursts  upon  the  bewildered  hunter  as  he  emerges  at  length 
from  the  dell,  and  commands  at  one  view  the  beautiful  ex- 
panse of  Loch  Katrine."— Critical  Review,  August,  1820. 

1,1  MS.:  "From  t lie  high  promontory  gazed 

The  stranger,  aiveslruck  and  amazed." 


THE    LADY   OF    THE    LAKE. 


181 


A  sainted  hermit  from  his  cell, 
To  drop  a  bead  with  every  knell — 
And  bugle,  lute,  and  bell,  and  all, 
Should  each  bewilder'd  stranger  call 
To  friendly  feast,  and  lighted  hall.1 

XVI. 

"  Blithe  were  it  then  to  wander  here ! 
But  now, — beshrew  yon  nimble  deer, — 
Like  that  same  hermit's,  thin  and  spare, 
The  copse  must  give  my  evening  fare ; 
Some  mossy  bank  my  couch  must  be, 
Some  rustling  oak  my  canopy.2 
Yet  pass  we  that ;  the  war  and  chase 
Give  little  choice  of  resting-place ; — 
A  summer  night  in  greenwood  spent 
Were  but  to-morrow's  merriment : 
But  hosts  may  in  these  wilds  abound, 
Such  as  are  better  miss'd  than  found ; 
To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — 3 
I  am  alone ; — my  bugle-strain 
May  call  some  straggler  of  the  train ; 
Or,  fall  the  worst  that  may  betide, 
Ere  now  this  falchion  has  been  tried." 

XVII>, 

But  scarce  again  his  horn  he  wound,4 
When  lo !  forth  starting  at  the  sound, 
From  underneath  an  aged  oak, 
That  slanted  from  the  islet  rock, 
A  damsel  guider  of  its  way, 
A  little  skin'  shot  to  the  bay,5 
That  round  the  promontory  steep 
Led  its  deep  line  in  graceful  sweep, 
Eddying,  in  almost  viewless  wave, 
The  weeping  willow  twig  to  lave, 
And  kiss,  with  whispering  sound  and  slow, 
The  beach  of  pebbles  bright  as  snow. 
The  boat  had  touch'd  this  silver  strand, 
V  Just  as  the  Hunter  left  his  stand, 
And  stood  conceal'd  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake.  v 
The  maiden  paused,  as  if  again 
She  thought  to  catch  the  distant  strain. 
With  head  upraised,  and  look  intent, 
And  eye  and  ear  attentive  bent, 
And  locks  flung  back,  and  lips  apart, 
Like  monument  of  Grecian  art, 
In  listening  mood,  she  seem'd  to  stand, 
The  guardian  Naiad  of  the  strand. 

1  MS.:  "To  hospitable  feast  and  hall." 

2  MS. :  "And  hollow  trunk  of  some  old  tree 

My  chamber  for  the  night  must  be." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

*  MS.:  "  The  bugle  shrill  again  he  wound, 

And  lo!  forth  starting  at  the  sound." 

t  MS. :  "  A  little  skiff  shot  to  the  bay. 
The  Hunter  left  his  airy  stand, 


XVIII. 

And  ne'er  did  Grecian  chisel  trace6 

A  Nymph,  a  Naiad,  or  a  Grace, 

Of  finer  form,  or  lovelier  face ! 

What  though  the  sun,  with  ardent  frown, 

Had  slightly  tinged  her  cheek  with 

brown, — 
The  sportive  toil,  which,  short  and  light, 
Had  dyed  her  glowing  hue  so  bright, 
Served  too  in  hastier  swell  to  show 
Short  glimpses  of  a  breast  of  snow : 
What  though  no  rule  of  courtly  grace 
To  measured  mood  had  train'd  her  pace, — 
A  foot  more  light,  a  step  more  true, 
Ne'er  from  the  heath-flower  dash'd  the 

dew; 
E'en  the  slight  harebell  raised  its  head, 
Elastic,  from  her  airy  tread  : 
What  though  upon  her  speech  there  hung 
The  accents  of  the  mountain  tongue, — 7 
Those  silver  sounds,  so  soft,  so  dear, 
The  listener  held  his  breath  to  hear ! 

XIX. 
A  Chieftain's  daughter  seem'd  the  maid ; 
Her  satin  snood,8  her  silken  plaid, 
Her  golden  brooch,  such  birth  betray'd. 
And  seldom  was  a  snood  amid 
Such  wild  luxuriant  ringlets  hid, 
Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing , 
And  seldom  o'er  a  breast  so  fair 
Mantled  a  plaid  with  modest  care, 
And  never  brooch  the  folds  combined 
Above  a  heart  more  good  and  kind. 
Her  kindness  and  her  worth  to  spy, 
You  need  but  gaze  on  Ellen's  eye ; 
Not  Katrine,  in  her  mirror  blue, 
Gives  back  the  shaggy  banks  more  true, 
Than  every  free-born  glance  confess'd 
The  guileless  movements  of  her  breast ; 
Whether  joy  danced  in  her  dark  eye, 
Or  woe  or  pity  claim'd  a  sigh, 
Or  filial  love  was  glowing  there, 
Or  meek  devotion  pour'd  a  prayer, 
Or  tale  of  injury  call'd  forth 
The  indignant  spirit  of  the  North. 
One  only  passion  unreveal'd, 
With  maiden  pride  the  maid  conceal'd, 
Yet  not  less  purely  felt  the  flame ; — 
Oh,  need  I  tell  that  passion's  name ! 

And  when  the  boat  had  touch'd  the  sand, 
Conceal'd  he  stood  amid  the  brake, 
To  view  this  Lady  of  the  Lake." 

•  MS.:  "A  finer  form,  a  fairnr  face, 

Had  never  marble  Nymph  or  Grace 
That  boasts  the  Grecian  chisel's  trace." 

'  MS. :  "  The  accents  of  a  stranger  tongue." 

8  See  Note  on  canto  iii.  stanza  v. 


182 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XX. 

Impatient  of  the  silent  horn, 

Now  on  the  gale  her  voice  was  borne : — 

"  Father !"  she  cried ;  the  rocks  around 

Loved  to  prolong  the  gentle  sound. 

A  while  she  paused,  no  answer  came, — l 

"  Malcolm,  was  thine  the  blast?"  the  name 

Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 

The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 

"  A  stranger  I,"  the  Huntsman  said, 

Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 

The  maid,  alarm'd,  with  hasty  oar 

Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore, 

And  when  a  space  was  gain'd  between, 

Closer  she  drew  her  bosom's  screen ; 

(So  forth  the  startled  swan  would  swing,1 

So  turn  to  prune  his  ruffled  wing.) 

Then  safe,  though  fluttered  and  amazed, 

She  paused,  and  on  the  stranger  gazed. 

Not  his  the  form,  nor  his  the  eye, 

That  youthful  maidens  wont  to  fly. 

XXI. 

On  his  bold  visage  middle  age 

Had  slightly  press'd  its  signet  sage, 

Yet  had  not  quench'd  the  open  truth 

And  fiery  vehemence  of  youth  ; 

Forward  and  frolic  glee  was  there, 

The  will  to  do,  the  soul  to  dare, 

The  sparkling  glance,  soon  blown  to  fire, 

Of  hasty  love,  or  headlong  ire.       % 

His  limbs  were  cast  in  manly  mould, 

For  hardy  sports  or  contest  bold ; 

And  though  in  peaceful  garb  array'd, 

And  weaponless,  except  his  blade, 

His  stately  mien  as  well  implied 

A  high-born  heart,  a  martial  pride, 

As  if  a  Baron's  crest  he  wore, 

And  sheathed  in  armor  trod  the  shore. 

Slighting  the  petty  need  he  show'd, 

He  told  of  his  benighted  road ; 

His  ready  speech  flow'd  fair  and  free, 

In  phrase  of  gentlest  courtesy ; 

Yet  seem'd  that  tone,  and  gesture  bland, 

Less  used  to  sue  than  to  command. 

XXII. 

A  while  the  maid  the  stranger  eyed, 
And,  reassured,  at  length  replied, 
That  Highland  halls  were  open  still* 
To  wilder'd  wanderers  of  the  hill. 


1  MS. :  "  A  space  she  paused,  no  answer  came : 
'Alpine,  was  thine  the  blast?'  the  name 
Less  resolutely  utter'd  fell, 
The  echoes  could  not  catch  the  swell. 
'Nor  foe  nor  friend,'  the  stranger  said, 
Advancing  from  the  hazel  shade. 
The  startled  maid,  with  hasty  oar, 
Push'd  her  light  shallop  from  the  shore." 


"  Nor  think  you  unexpected  come 
To  yon  lone  isle,  our  desert  home  ; 
Before  the  heath  had  lost  the  dew, 
This  morn,  a  couch  was  pull'd  for  you ; 
On  yonder  mountain's  purple  head 
Have  ptarmigan  and  heath-cock  bled, 
And  our  broad  nets  have  swept  the  mere, 
To  furnish  forth  your  evening  cneer." — 
"  Now,  by  the  rood,  my  lovely  maid, 
Your  courtesy  has  err'd,"  he  said ; 
"  No  right  have  I  to  claim,  misplaced, 
The  welcome  of  expected  guest. 
A  wanderer,  here  by  fortune  tost, 
My  way,  my  friends,  my  courser  lost, 
I  ne'er  before,  believe  me,  fair, 
Have  ever  drawn  your  mountain  air, 
Till  on  this  lake's  romantic  strand* 
I  found  a  fay  in  fairy  land !" — 

XXIII. 

"  I  well  believe,"  the  maid  replied, 
As  her  light  skiff  approach'd  the  side,— 
"  I  well  believe  that  ne'er  before 
Your  foot  has  trod  Loch  Katrine's  shore ; 
But  yet,  as  far  as  yesternight, 
Old  Allan-bane  foretold  your  plight, — 
A  gray-hair'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  vision'd  future  bent.5 
He  saw  your  steed,  a  dappled  gray, 
Lie  dead  beneath  the  birchen  way ; 
Painted  exact  your  form  and  mien, 
Your  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 
That  tassell'd  horn  so  gayly  gilt, 
That  falchion's  crooked  blade  and  hilt, 
That  cap  with  heron  plumage  trim, 
And  yon  two  hounds  so  dark  and  grim. 
He  bade  that  all  should  ready  be 
To  grace  a  guest  of  fair  degree ; 
But  light  I  held  his  prophecy, 
And  deem'd  it  was  my  father's  horn 
Whose  echoes  o'er  the  lake  were  borne." 

XXIV. 

The  stranger  smiled : — "  Since  to  your  home 
A  destined  errant-knight  I  come, 
Announced  by  prophet  sooth  and  old, 
Doom'd  doubtless  for  achievement  bold, 
I'll  lightly  front  each  high  emprise, 
For  one  kind  glance  of  those  bright  eyes. 
Permit  me,  first,  the  task  to  guide 
Your  fairy  frigate  o'er  the  tide." 


2  MS. :  "  So  o'er  the  lake  the  swan  would  spring, 
Then  turn  to  prune  its  ruffled  wing." 


8  MS. 

*  MS. 

6  MS. 
Note  F, 


"  Her  father's  hall  ivas  open  still." 

"Till  on  this  lake's  enchanting  strand." 

"Is  often  on  the  future    bent." — See    Appendix, 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


183 


The  maid,  with  smile  suppress'd  and  sly, 
The  toil  unwonted  saw  him  try ; 
For  seldom  sure,  if  e'er  before, 
His  noble  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar  i1 
Yet  with  main  strength  his  strokes  he  drew, 
And  o'er  the  lake  the  shallop  flew  ; 
With  heads  erect,  and  whimpering  cry, 
The  hounds  behind  their  passage  ply. 
Nor  frequent  does  the  bright  oar  break 
The  darkening  mirror  of  the  lake, 
Until  the  rocky  isle  they  reach, 
And  moor  their  shallop  on  the  beach. 

XXV. 

The  stranger  view'd  the  shore  around ; 
'Twas  all  so  close  with  copsewood  bound, 
Nor  track  nor  pathway  might  declare 
That  human  foot  frequented  there, 
Until  the  mountain  maiden  show'd 
A  clambering  unsuspected  road, 
That  winded  through  the  tangled  screen, 
And  open'd  on  a  narrow  green, 
Where  weeping  birch  and  willow  round 
With  their  long  fibres  swept  the  ground. 
Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 
Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower.2 

XXVI. 

It  was  a  lodge  of  ample  size, 

But  strange  of  structure  and  device ; 

Of  such  materials  as  around 

The  workman's  hand  had  readiest  found. 

Lopp'd  of  their  boughs,  their  hoar  trunks  bared, 

And  by  the  hatchet  rudely  squared, 

To  give  the  wails  their  destined  height, 

The  sturdy  oak  and  ash  unite ; 

While  moss  and  clay  and  leaves  combined 

To  fence  each  crevice  from  the  wind. 

The  lighter  pine-trees,  overhead, 

Their  slender  length  for  rafters  spread, 

And  wither'd  heath  and  rushes  dry 

Supplied  a  russet  canopy. 

Due  westward,  fronting  to  the  green, 

A  rural  portico  was  seen, 

Aloft  on  native  pillars  borne, 

Of  mountain  fir,  with  bark  unshorn, 

Where  Ellen's  hand  had  taught  to  twine 

The  ivy  and  Idaean  vine, 

The  clematis,  the  favor'd  flower 

Which  boasts  the  name  of  virgin  bower, 

And  every  hardy  plant  could  bear 

Loch  Katrine's  keen  and  searching  air. 

An  instant  in  this  porch  she  staid, 

And  gayly  to  the  stranger  said, 


1  MS. :  "  This  gentle  hand  had  grasp'd  an  oar: 

Yet  with  main  strength  the  oars  he  drew." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

3  MS. :  "  Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died, 

There  hung  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide, 


"  On  heaven  and  on  thy  lady  call, 
And  enter  the  enchanted  hall !" — 

XXVII. 

"  My  hope,  my  heaven,  my  trust  must  be, 
My  gentle  guide,  in  following  thee." — 
He  cross'd  the  threshold — and  a  clang 
Of  angry  steel  that  instant  rang. 
To  his  bold  brow  his  spirit  rush'd, 
But  soon  for  vain  alarm  he  blush'd, 
When  on  the  floor  he  saw  display'd, 
Cause  of  the  din,  a  naked  blade 
Dropp'd  from  the  sheath,  that  careless  flung 
Upon  a  stag's  huge  antlers  swung  ; 
For  all  around,  the  walls  to  grace, 
Hung  trophies  of  the  fight  or  chase : 
A  target  there,  a  bugle  here, 
A  battle-axe,  a  hunting-spear, 
And  broadswords,  bows,  and  arrows  store, 
With  the  tusk'd  trophies  of  the  boar. 
Here  grins  the  wolf  as  when  he  died,2 
And  there  the  wild-cat's  brindled  hide 
The  frontlet  of  the  elk  adorns, 
Or  mantles  o'er  the  bison's  horns ; 
Pennons  and  flags  defaced  and  stain'd, 
That  blackening  streaks  of  blood  retain'd, 
And  deer-skins,  dappled,  dun,  and  white, 
With  otter's  fur  and  seal's  unite, 
In  rude  and  uncouth  tapestry  all, 
To  garnish  forth  the  sylvan  hall. 

XXVIII. 

The  wondering  stranger  round  him  gazed, 

And  next  the  fallen  weapon  raised : — 

Few  were  the  arms  whose  sinewy  strength 

Sufiiced  to  stretch  it  forth  at  length ; 

And  as  the  brand  he  poised  and  sway'd, 

"  I  never  knew  but  one,"  he  said, 

"  Whose  stalwart  arm  might  brook  to  wield 

A  blade  like  this  in  battle-field." 

She  sigh'd,  then  smiled,  and  took  the  word : 

"  You  see  the  guardian  champion's  sword ; 

As  light  it  trembles  in  his  hand 

As  in  my  grasp  a  hazel  wand ; 

My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 

Of  Ferragus  or  Ascabart  ;4 

But  in  the  absent  giant's  hold 

Are  women  now,  and  menials  old." 

XXIX. 

The  mistress  of  the  mansion  came, 
Mature  of  age,  a  graceful  dame  ; 
Whose  easy  step  and  stately  port 
Had  well  become  a  princely  court, 


Above  the  elk's  branch'd  brow  and  skull, 
And  frontlet  of  the  forest  bull." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 


184 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


To  whom,  though  more  than  kindred  knew, 

Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  due.1 

Meet  welcome  to  her  guest  she  made, 

And  every  courteous  rite  was  paid 

That  hospitality  could  claim, 

Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name.2 

Such  then  the  reverence  to  a  guest, 

That  fellest  foe  might  join  the  feast, 

And  from  his  deadliest  foeman's  door 

Unquestion'd  turn,  the  banquet  o'er. 

At  length  his  rank  the  stranger  names, — 

"  The  Knight  of  Snowdoun,  James  Fitz-James 

Lord  of  a  barren  heritage, 

Which  his  brave  sires,  from  age  to  age, 

By  their  good  swords  had  held  with  toil ; 

His  sire  had  fallen  in  such  turmoil, 

And  he,  God  wot,  was  forced  to  stand 

Oft  for  his  right  with  blade  in  hand. 

This  morning,  with  Lord  Moray's  train, 

He  chased  a  stalwart  stag  in  vain, 

Outstripp'd  his  comrades,  miss'd  the  deer, 

Lost  his  good  steed,  and  wander'd  here." 

XXX. 

Fain  would  the  Knight  in  turn  require 
The  name  and  state  of  Ellen's  sire. 
"Well  show'd  the  elder  lady's  mien3 
That  courts  and  cities  she  had  seen ; 
Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  display'd* 
The  simple  grace  of  sylvan  maid, 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  face, 
Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race. 
'Twere  strange,  in  ruder  rank,  to  find 
Such  looks,  such  manners,  and  such  mind. 
Each  hint  the  Knight  of  Snowdoun  gave, 
Dame  Margaret  heard  with  silence  grave ; 
Or  Ellen,  innocently  gay, 
Turn'd  all  inquiry  light  away : 
"  Weird  women  we !  by  dale  and  down 
We  dwell,  afar  from  tower  and  town. 
We  stem  the  flood,  we  ride  the  blast, 
On  wandering  knights  our  spells  we  cast; 
While  viewless  minstrels  touch  the  string, 
Tie  thus  our  charmed  rhymes  we  sing." 
She  sung,  and  still  a  harp  unseen 
Fill'd  up  the  symphony  between.6 

XXXI. 
JSonjj. 

"  Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking; 

1  MS. :  "  To  whom,  though  more  remote  her  claim, 
Young  Ellen  gave  a  mother's  name." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

3  MS.:  "Well  show'd  the  mother's  easy  mien." 

*  MS.:  "  Ellen,  though  more  her  looks  betray' d 

The  simple  lieart  of  mountain  maid, 
In  speech  and  gesture,  form  and  grace, 
Show'd  she  was  come  of  gentle  race; 
'Twas  strange,  in  birth  so  rude,  to  find 
Such  face,  such  maimers,  and  such  mind. 


Dream  of  battled  fields  no  more, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  waking. 
In  our  isle's  enchanted  hall, 

Hands  unseen  thy  couch  are  strewing, 
Fairy  strains  of  music  fall, 

Every  sense  in  slumber  dewing. 
Soldier,  rest !  thy  warfare  o'er, 
Dream  of  fighting  fields  no  more : 
Sleep  the  sleep  that  knows  not  breaking, 
Morn  of  toil,  nor  night  of  waking. 

"  No  rude  sound  shall  reach  thine  ear,6 

Armor's  clang,  or  war-steed  champing, 
Trump  nor  pibroch  summon  here 

Mustering  clan,  or  squadron  tramping. 
Yet  the  lark's  shrill  fife  may  come 

At  the  day-break  from  the  fallow, 
And  the  bittern  sound  his  drum, 

Booming  from  the  sedgy  shallow. 
Ruder  sounds  shall  none  be  near, 
Guards  nor  warders  challenge  here, 
Here's  no  war-steed's  neigh  and  champing, 
Shouting  clans,  or  squadrons  stamping." 

XXXII. 

She  paused — then,  blushing,  led  the  lay7 
To  grace  the  stranger  of  the  day. 
Her  mellow  notes  a  while  prolong 
The  cadence  of  the  flowing  song, 
Till  to  her  lips  in  measured  frame 
The  minstrel's  verse  spontaneous  came. 

Soncj  rontiniuiJ. 
"  Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done ; 

While  our  slumbrous  spells  assail  ye,8 
Dream  not  with  the  rising  sun 

Bugles  here  shall  sound  reveille. 
Sleep !  the  deer  is  in  his  den ; 

Sleep !  thy  hounds  are  by  thee  lying ; 
Sleep !  nor  dream  in  yonder  glen, 

How  thy  gallant  steed  lay  dying. 
Huntsman,  rest !  thy  chase  is  done  ; 
Think  not  of  the  rising  sun, 
For  at  dawning  to  assail  ye, 
Here  no  bugles  sound  reveille." 

XXXIII. 
The  hall  was  clear'd — the  stranger's  bed 
Was  there  of  mountain  heather  spread, 
Where  oft  a  hundred  guests  had  lain, 
And  dream'd  their  forest  sports  again.9 

Each  anxious  hint  the  stranger  gave, 
The  mother  heard  with  silence  grave." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

6  MS.:  "Noon  of  hunger,  night  of  waking. 

No  rude  sound  shall  rouse  thine  ear." 

7  MS. :  "  She  paused — but  waked  again  the  lay." 
'Slumber  sweet  our  spells  shall  deal  ye, 


8  MS.: 


Let  our  slumbrous  spells  (avail  ye>' 
Iheguil 


e  ye.' 


6  MS. :  "  And  dream'd  their  mountain  chase  again." 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


185 


But  vainly  did  the  heath-flower  shed 
Its  moorland  fragrance  round  his  head ; 
Not  Ellen's  spell  had  lull'd  to  rest 
The  fever  of  his  troubled  breast. 
In  broken  dreams  the  image  rose 
Of  varied  perils,  pains,  and  woes : 
His  steed  now  flounders  in  the  brake, 
Now  sinks  his  barge  upon  the  lake ; 
Now,  leader  of  a  broken  host, 
His  standard  falls,  his  honor's  lost. 
Then, — from  my  couch  may  heavenly  might 
Chase  that  worst  phantom  of  the  night ! — 
Again  return'd  the  scenes  of  youth, 
Of  confident  undoubting  truth ; 
Again  his  soul  he  interchanged 
'       With  friends  whose  hearts  were  long  estranged. 
They  come,  in  dim  procession  led, 
The  cold,  the  faithless,  and  the  dead ; 
As  warm  each  hand,  each  brow  as  gay, 
As  if  they  parted  yesterday. 
And  doubt  distracts  him  at  the  view : 
Oh,  were  his  senses  false  or  true ! 
Dream'd  he  of  death,  or  broken  vow, 
Or  is  it  all  a  vision  now  I1 

XXXIV. 

At  length,  with  Ellen  in  a  grove 

He  seem'd  to  walk,  and  speak  of  love ; 

She  listen'd  with  a  blush  and  sigh, 

His  suit  was  warm,  his  hopes  were  high ; 

He  sought  her  yielded  hand  to  clasp, 

And  a  cold  gauntlet  met  his  grasp : 

The  phantom's  sex  was  changed  and  gone, 

Upon  its  head  a  helmet  shone ; 

Slowly  enlarged  to  giant  size, 

With  darken'd  cheek  and  threatening  eyes, 

The  grisly  visage,  stern  and  hoar, 

To  Ellen  still  a  likeness  bore. — 

He  woke,  and*,  panting  with  affright, 

Recall'd  the  vision  of  the  night.2 

The  hearth's  decaying  brands  were  red, 

And  deep  and  dusky  lustre  shed, 

Half  showing,  half  concealing,  all 

The  uncouth  trophies  of  the  hall. 

Mid  those  the  stranger  fix'd  his  eye, 

Where  that  huge  falchion  hung  on  high, 

1  "  Ye  guardian  spirits,  to  whom  man  is  dear, 

From  these  foul  demons  shield  the  midnight  gloom ; 
Angels  of  fancy  and  of  love,  be  near, 

And  o'er  the  blank  of  sleep  diffuse  a  gloom; 
Evoke  the  sacred  shades  of  Greece  and  Rome, 

And  let  them  virtue  with  a  look  impart; 
But  chief,  a  while,  oh  lend  us  from  the  tomb 

Those  long-lost  friends  for  whom  in  love  we  smart, 
And  fill  with  pious  awe  and  joy-mixt  woe  the  heart. 

"  Or  are  you  sportive  ?— bid  the  morn  of  youth 
Rise  to  new  light,  and  beam  afresh  the  days 

Of  innocence,  simplicity,  and  truth, 
To  cares  estranged,  and  manhood's  thorny  ways. 

What  transport  to  retrace  our  boyish  plays, 
Our  easy  bliss,  wheD  each  thing  joy  supplied ; 


And  thoughts  on  thoughts,  a  countless  throng, 
Rush'd,  chasing  countless  thoughts  along, 
Until,  the  giddy  whirl  to  cure, 
He  rose,  and  sought  the  moonshine  pure. 

XXXV. 

The  wild-rose,  eglantine,  and  broom,3 

Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume : 

The  birch-trees  wept  in  fragrant  balm, 

The  aspens  slept  beneath  the  calm ; 

The  silver  light,  with  cpiivering  glance, 

Play'd  on  the  water's  still  expanse, — 

Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  sway 

Could  rage  beneath  the  sober  ray ! 

He  felt  its  calm,  that  warrior  guest, 

While  thus  he  communed  with  his  breast  :— 

"  Why  is  it,  at  each  turn  I  trace 

Some  memory  of  that  exiled  race  ? 

Can  I  not  mountain  maiden  spy, 

But  she  must  bear  tthe  Douglas  eye  ? 

Can  I  not  view  a  Highland  brand, 

But  it  must  match  the  Douglas  hand? 

Can  I  not  frame  a  fever'd  dream, 

But  still  the  Douglas  is  the  theme  ? 

I'll  dream  no  more — toy  manly  mind 

Not  even  in  sleep  is  will  resign'd. 

My  midnight  orisons  said  o'er, 

I'll  turn  to  rest,  and  dream  no  more." 

His  midnight  orisons  he  told, 

A  prayer  with  every  bead  of  gold, 

Consign'd  to  heaven  his  cares  and  woes, 

And  sunk  in  undisturb'd  repose ; 

Until  the  heath-cock  shrilly  crew, 

And  morning  dawn'd  on  Benvenue. 


€f>t  ILaTjij  of  tijc  Hafce. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


Z\t  IsIaniJ. 

I. 

At  morn  the  black-cock  trims  his  jetty  wing, 
'Tis  morning  prompts  the  linnet's  blithest  lay, 

All  Nature's  children  feel  the  matin  spring 
Of  life  reviving  with  reviving  day ; 

The  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  warbling  maze 
Of  the  wild  brooks !"— Castle  of  Indolence,  canto  i. 

2  "  Such  a  strange  and  romantic  dream  as  may  be  nat- 
urally expected  to  flow  from  the  extraordinary  events  of  the 
past  day.  It  might,  perhaps,  be  quoted  as  one  of  Mr.  Scott's 
most  successful  efforts  in  descriptive  poetry.  Some  few  lines 
of  it  are,  indeed,  unrivalled  for  delicacy  and  melancholy  ten- 
derness."— Critical  Review. 

i  ire-     »t>i„  ,a  ™  f  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 

3  MS. :     Play  d  on  j  ^  ^.^  ^  expanse) 

The  birch,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  broom, 
Wasted  around  their  rich  perfume :  .  .  .  . 
The  birch-trees  wept  in  balmy  dew ; 
The  aspen  slept  on  Benvenue ; 
Wild  were  the  heart  whose  passions'  power 
Defied  the  influence  of  the  hour." 


186 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


And  while  yon  little  bark  glides  down  the  bay, 
Wafting  the  Btraager  on  his  way  again, 

Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray, 
And  sweetly  o'er  the  lake  was  heard  thy  strain, 

Mix'd   with   the  sounding  harp,  O  white-hair'd 
Allan-bane  I1 

II. 

Song. 
"  Not  faster  yonder  rowers'  might 

Flings  from  their  oars  the  spray, 
Not  faster  yonder  rippling  bright, 
That  tracks  the  shallop's  course  in  light, 

Melts  in  the  lake  away, 
Than  men  from  memory  erase 
The  benefits  of  former  days ; 
Then,  stranger,  go !  good  speed  the  while, 
Nor  think  again  of  the  lonely  isle. 

"  High  place  to  thee  in  royal  court, 

High  place  in  battle  line, 
Good  hawk  and  hound  for  sylvan  sport, 
Where  beauty  sees  the  brave  resort,2 

The  honor'd  meed  be  thine ! 
True  be  thy  sword,  thy  friend  sincere, 
Thy  lady  constant,  kind,  and  dear, 
And  lost  in  love  and  friendship's  smile 
Be  memory  of  the  lonely  isle. 

III. 
Song  tontinucfr. 
"  But  if  beneath  yon  southern  sky 

A  plaided  stranger  roam, 
Whose  drooping  crest  and  stifled  sigh, 
And  sunken  cheek  and  heavy  eye, 

Pine  for  his  Highland  home ; 
Then,  warrior,  then  be  thine  to  show 
The  care  that  soothes  a  wanderer's  woe ; 
Remember  then  thy  hap  ere  while, 
A  stranger  in  the  lonely  isle. 

"  Or  if  on  life's  uncertain  main 

Mishap  shall  mar  thy  sail ; 
If  faithful,  wise,  and  brave  in  vain, 
Woe,  want,  and  exile  thou  sustain 

Beneath  the  fickle  gale ; 
Waste  not  a  sigh  on  fortune  changed, 
On  thankless  courts,  or  friends  estranged, 
But  come  where  kindred  worth  shall  smile, 
To  greet  thee  in  the  lonely  isle." 

IV. 

As  died  the  sounds  upon  the  tide, 
The  shallop  reach'd  the  mainland  side, 
And  ere  his  onward  way  he  took, 
The  stranger  cast  a  lingering  look, 
Where  easily  his  eye  might  reach 
The  Harper  on  the  islet  beach, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

*  MS. :  "  At  tourneys  where  the  brave  resort." 


Reclined  against  a  blighted  tree, 

As  wasted,  gray,  and  worn  as  he. 

To  minstrel  meditation  given, 

His  reverend  brow  was  raised  to  heaven, 

As  from  the  rising  sun  to  claim 

A  sparkle  of  inspiring  flame. 

His  hand,  reclined  upon  the  wire, 

Seem'd  watching  the  awakening  fire; 

So  still  he  sat,  as  those  who  wait 

Till  judgment  speak  the  doom  of  fate ; 

So  still,  as  if  no  breeze  might  dare 

To  lift  one  lock  of  hoary  hair ; 

So  still,  as  life  itself  were  fled, 

In  the  last  sound  his  harp  had  sped. 


Upon  a  rock  with  lichens  wild, 
Beside  him  Ellen  sat  and  smiled. — 
Smiled  she  to  see  the  stately  drake 
Lead  forth  his  fleet  upon  the  lake, 
While  her  vex'd  spaniel,  from  the  beach, 
Bay'd  at  the  prize  beyond  his  reach  ? 
Yet  tell  me,  then,  the  maid  who  knows, 
Why  deepen'd  on  her  cheek  the  rose  ? — 
Forgive,  forgive,  Fidelity ! 
Perchance  the  maiden  smiled  to  see 
Yon  parting  lingerer  wave  adieu, 
And  stop  and  turn  to  wave  anew ; 
And,  lovely  ladies,  ere  your  ire 
Condemn  the  heroine  of  my  lyre, 
Show  me  the  fair  would  scorn  to  spy, 
And  prize  such  conquest  of  her  eye ! 

VI. 

While  yet  he  loiter'd  on  the  spot, 
It  seem'd  as  Ellen  mark'd  him  not ; 
But  when  he  turn'd  him  to  the  glade, 
One  courteous  parting  sign  she  made ; 
And  after,  oft  the  knight  would  sayj 
That  not  when  prize  of  festal  day 
Was  dealt  him  by  the  brightest  fair 
Who  e'er  wore  jewel  in  her  hair, 
So  highly  did  his  bosom  swell 
As'at  that  simple  mute  farewell. 
Now  with  a  trusty  mountain  guide, 
And  his  dark  stag-hounds  by  his  side, 
lie  parts — the  maid,  unconscious  still, 
Watch'd  him  wind  slowly  round  the  hill; 
But  when  his  stately  form  was  hid, 
The  guardian  in  her  bosom  chid — 
"  Thy  Malcolm !  vain  and  selfish  maid !" 
'Twas  thus  upbraiding  conscience  said, — 
"  Not  so  had  Malcolm  idly  hung 
On  the  smooth  phrase  of  southern  tongue ; 
Not  so  had  Malcolm  strain'd  his  eye, 
Another  step  than  thine  to  spy.3 
Wake,  Allan-bane,"  aloud  she  cried, 
To  the  old  Minstrel  by  her  side, — 

3  MS. :  "  The  loveliest  Lowland  fair  to  spy.' 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


187 


"  Arouse  thee  from  thy  moody  dream ! 
I'll  give  thy  harp  heroic  theme, 
And  warm  thee  with  a  noble  name ; 
Pour  forth  the  glory  of  the  Graeme  I"1 
Scarce  from  her  lips  the  word  had  rush'd, 
When  deep  the  conscious  maiden  blush'd ; 
For  of  his  clan,  in  hall  and  bower, 
Young  Malcolm  Graeme  was  held  the  flower. 

VII. 

The  Minstrel  waked  his  harp — three  times 

Arose  the  well-known  martial  chimes, 

And  thrice  their  high  heroic  pride 

In  melancholy  murmurs  died. 

"  Vainly  thou  bidst,  oh,  noble  maid," 

Clasping  his  wither'd  hands,  he  said, 

"  Vainly  thou  bidst  me  wake  the  strain, 

Though  all  unwont  to  bid  in  vain. 

Alas !  than  mine  a  mightier  hand 

Has  tuned  my  harp,  my  strings  has  spann'd ! 

I  touch  the  chords  of  joy,  but  low 

And  mournful  answer  notes  of  woe ; 

And  the  proud  march,  which  victors  tread, 

Sinks  in  the  wailing  for  the  dead. 

Oh  well  for  me,  if  mine  alone 

That  dirge's  deep  prophetic  tone ! 

If,  as  my  tuneful  fathers  said, 

This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd,2 

Can  thus  its  master's  fate  foretell, 

Then  welcome  be  the  Minstrel's  knell ! 

VIII. 

"  But  ah !  dear  lady,  thus  it  sigh'd 

The  eve  thy  sainted  mother  died ; 

And  such  the  sounds  which,  while  I  strove 

To  wake  a  lay  of  war  or  love, 

Came  marring  all  the  festal  mirth, 

Appalling  me  who  gave  them  birth, 

And,  disobedient  to  my  call, 

Wail'd  loud  through  Bothwell's  bannered  hall, 

Ere  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven,3 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven. — 

Oh !  if  yet  worse  mishap  and  woe 

My  master's  house  must  undergo, 

Or  aught  but  weal  to  Ellen  fair 

Brood  in  these  accents  of  despair, 

No  future  bard,  sad  Harp !  shall  fling 

Triumph  or  rapture  from  thy  string ; 

One  short,  one  final  strain  shall  flow, 

Fraught  with  unutterable  woe, 

Then  shiver'd  shall  thy  fragments  lie, 

Thy  master  cast  him  down  and  die !" 

IX. 
Soothing  she  answer'd  him,  "  Assuage, 
Mine  honor'd  friend,  the  fears  of  age ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

*  MS. :  "  No  blither  dewdrop  cheers  the  rose  " 


All  melodies  to  thee  are  known, 

That  harp  has  rung,  or  pipe  has  blown, 

In  Lowland  vale  or  Highland  glen, 

From  Tweed  to  Spey — what  marvel,  then, 

At  times,  unbidden  notes  should  rise, 

Confusedly  bound  in  memory's  ties, 

Entangling,  as  they  rush  along, 

The  war-march  with  the  funeral  song  ? — 

Small  ground  is  now  for  boding  fear ; 

Obscure,  but  safe,  we  rest  us  here. 

My  sire,  in  native  virtue  great, 

Resigning  lordship,  lands,  and  state, 

Not  then  to  fortune  more  resign'd 

Than  yonder  oak  might  give  the  wind  ; 

The  graceful  foliage  storms  may  reave, 

The  noble  stem  they  cannot  grieve. 

For  me," — she  stoop'd,  and,  looking  round, 

Pluck'd  a  blue  harebell  from  the  ground, — 

"  For  me,  whose  memory  scarce  conveys 

An  image  of  more  splendid  days, 

This  little  flower,  that  loves  the  lea, 

May  well  my  simple  emblem  be ; 

It  drinks  heaven's  dew  as  blithe  as  rose4 

That  in  the  king's  own  garden  grows ; 

And  when  I  place  it  in  my  hair, 

Allan,  a  bard  is  bound  to  swear 

He  ne'er  saw  coronet  so  fair." 

Then  playfully  the  chaplet  wild 

She  wreath'd  in  her  dark  locks,  and  smiled. 

(X.) 
Her  smile,  her  speech,  with  winning  sway, 
Wiled  the  old  harper's  mood  away. 
With  such  a  look  as  hermits  throw, 
Wnen  angels  stoop  to  soothe  their  woe, 
He  gazed,  till  fond  regret  and  pride 
Thrill'd  to  a  tear,  then  thus  replied : 
"  Loveliest  and  best !  thou  little  know'st 
The  rank,  the  honors,  thou  hast  lost ! 
Oh  might  I  live  to  see  thee  grace, 
In  Scotland's  court,  thy  birth-right  place, 
To  see  my  favorite's  step  advance,5 
The  lightest  in  the  courtly  dance, 
The  cause  of  every  gallant's  sigh, 
And  leading  star  of  every  eye, 
And  theme  of  every  minstrel's  art, 
The  Lady  of  the  Bleeding  Heart !"— 6 

XL 

"Fair  dreams  are   these,"   the  maiden 

cried 
(Light  was  her  accent,  yet  she  sigh'd) ; 
"  Yet  is  this  mossy  rock  to  me 
Worth  splendid  chair  and  canopy  ;7 
Nor  would  my  footsteps  spring  more  gay 
In  courtly  dance  than  blithe  strathspey, 

5  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

6  The  well-known  cognizance  of  the  Douglas  family. 
1  MS. :  "  This  mossy  rock,  my  friend,  to  me 

Is  worth  gay  chair  and  canopy." 


188 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Nor  half  so  pleased  mine  ear  incline 
To  royal  minstrel's  lay  as  thine. 
And  then  for  suitors  proud  and  high, 
To  bend  before  my  conquering  eye, — 
Thou,  flattering  bard !  thyself  wilt  say, 
That  grim  Sir  Roderick  owns  its  sway. 
The  Saxon  scourge,  Clan-Aljrine's  pride, 
The  terror  of  Loch  Lomond's  aide, 
Would,  at  my  suit,  thou  know'st,  delay 
A  Lennox  foray — for  a  day." — 

XII. 

The  ancient  bard  his  glee  repress'd : 

"  111  hast  thou  chosen  theme  for  jest! 

For  who,  through  all  this  western  wild, 

Named  Black  Sir  Roderick  e'er,  and  smiled ! 

In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew  ;x 

I  saw,  when  back  the  dirk  he  drew, 

Courtiers  give  place  before  the  stride 

Of  the  undaunted  homicide  ;2 

And  since,  though  outlaw'd,  hath  his  hand 

Full  sternly  kept  his  mountain  land. 

Who  else  dared  give — ah !  woe  the  day,3 

That  I  such  hated  truth  should  say — 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 

Disown'd  by  every  noble  peer,4 

Even  the  rude  refuge  we  have  here  ? 

Alas,  this  wild  marauding  Chief 

Alone  might  hazard  our  relief, 

And,  now  thy  maiden  charms  expand, 

Looks  for  his  guerdon  in  thy  hand ; 

Full  soon  may  dispensation  sought, 

To  back  his  suit,  from  Rome  be  brought. 

Then,  though  an  exile  on  the  hill, 

Thy  father,  as  the  Douglas,  still 

Be  held  in  reverence  and  fear ; 

And  though  to  Roderick  thou'rt  so  dear, 

That  thou  mightst  guide  with  silken  thread, 

Slave  of  thy  will,  this  Chieftain  dread ; 

Yet,  oh,  loved  maid,  thy  mirth  refrain ! 

Thy  hand  is  on  a  lion's  mane." — 

,     XIII. 

"  Minstrel,"  the  maid  replied,  and  high 
Her  father's  soul  glanced  from  her  eye, 
"  My  debts  to  Roderick's  house  I  know : 
All  that  a  mother  could  bestow 
To  Lady  Margaret's  care  I  owe, 
Since  first  an  orphan  in  the  wild 
She  sorrow'd  o'er  her  sister's  child  ; 
To  her  brave  chieftain  son,  from  ire 
Of  Scotland's  king  who  shrouds  my  sire, 
A  deeper,  holier  debt  is  owed  ; 
And,  could  I  pay  it  with  my  blood, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

2  MS.:  "Courtiers  give  place  with  heartless  stride 

Of  the  retiring  homicide." 
8  MS. :  "  Who  else  dared  own  the  kindred  claim 

That  hound  him  to  thy  mother's  name? 

Who  else  dared  give,"  &c. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  Q.  6  ihid.  Note  R. 


Allan !  Sir  Roderick  should  command 
My  blood,  my  life, — but  not  my  hand. 
Rather  will  Ellen  Douglas  dwell 
A  votaress  in  Maronnan's  cell  ;5 
Bather  through  realms  beyond  the  sea, 
Seeking  the  world's  cold  charity, 
Where  ne'er  was  spoke  a  Scottish  word, 
And  ne'er  the  name  of  Douglas  heard, 
An  outcast  pilgrim  will  she  rove, 
Than  wed  the  man  she  cannot  love.6 

XIV. 
"  Thou  shakest,  good  friend,  thy  tresses  gray, — 
That  pleading  look,  what  can  it  say 
But  what  I  own  ? — I  grant  him  brave, 
But  wild  as  Bracklinn's  thundering  wave  f 
And  generous — save  vindictive  mood, 
Or  jealous  transport,  chafe  his  blood : 
I  grant  him  true  to  friendly  band 
As  his  claymore  is  to  his  hand ; 
But  oh !  that  very  blade  of  steel 
More  mercy  for  a  foe  would  feel : 
I  grant  him  liberal,  to  fling 
Among  his  clan  the  wealth  they  bring, 
When  back  by  lake  and  glen  they  wind, 
And  in  the  Lowland  leave  behind, 
Where  once  some  pleasant  hamlet  stood, 
A  mass  of  ashes  slaked  with  blood. 
The  hand  that  for  my  father  fought, 
I  honor,  as  his  daughter  ought ; 
But  can  I  clasp  it  reeking  red, 
From  peasants  slaughter'd  in  their  shed  ? 
No !  wildly  while  his  virtues  gleam, 
They  make  his  passions  darker  seem, 
And  flash  along  his  spirit  high 
Like  lightning  o'er  the  midnight  sky. 
While  yet  a  child, — and  children  know, 
Instinctive  taught,  the  friend  and  foe, — 
I  shudder'd  at  his  brow  of  gloom, 
His  shadowy  plaid,  and  sable  plume ; 
A  maiden  grown,  I  ill  could  bear 
His  haughty  mien  and  lordly  air : 
But,  if  thou  join'st  a  suitor's  claim, 
In  serious  mood,  to  Roderick's  name, 
I  thrill  with  anguish !  or,  if  e'er 
A  Douglas  knew  the  word,  with  fear. 
To  change  such  odious  theme  were  best, — 
What  think'st  thou  of  our  stranger  guest  ?" — 

XV. 

"  What  think  I  of  him  ?  woe  the  while 
That  brought  such  wanderer  to  our  isle ! 
Thy  father's  battle-brand,  of  yore 
For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore,8 

6  "  Ellen  is  most  exquisitely  drawn,  and  could  not  have 
heen  improved  by  contrast.  She  is  beautiful,  frank,  affec- 
tionate, rational,  and  playful,  combining  the  innocence  of  a 
child  with  the  elevated  sentiments  and  courage  of  a  her- 
oine."— Quarterly  Review. 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  T. 


THE   LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


189 


What  time  he  leagued,  no  longer  foes, 

His  Border  spears  with  Hotspur's  bows, 

Did,  self-unscabbarded,  foreshow 

The  footstep  of  a  secret  foe.1 

If  courtly  spy  hath  harbor'd  here, 

What  may  we  for  the  Douglas  fear  ? 

What  for  this  island,  deem'd  of  old 

Clan-Alpine's  last  and  surest  hold  ? 

If  neither  spy  nor  foe,  I  pray 

What  yet  may  jealous  Roderick  say  ? — 

Nay,  wave  not  thy  disdainful  head : 

Bethink  thee  of  the  discord  dread 

That  kindled  when  at  Beltane  game 

Thou  ledst  the  dance  with  Malcolm  Graeme ; 

Still,  though  thy  sire  the  peace  renew'd, 

Smoulders  in  Roderick's  breast  the  feud ; 

Beware ! — But  hark,  what  sounds  are  these  ?2 

My  dull  ears  catch  no  faltering  breeze, 

No  weeping  birch,  nor  aspens  wake, 

Nor  breath  is  dimpling  in  the  lake, 

Still  is  the  canna's3  hoary  beard, 

Yet,  by  my  minstrel  faith,  I  heard — 

And  hark  again !  some  pipe  of  war 

Sends  the  bold  pibroch  from  afar." 

XVI. 

Far  up  the  lengthen'd  lake  were  spied 
Four  darkening  specks  upon  the  tide, 
That,  slow  enlarging  on  the  view, 
Four  mann'd  and  masted  barges  grew, 
And,  bearing  downwards  from  Glengyle, 
Steer'd  full  upon  the  lonely  isle ; 
The  point  of  Brianchoil  they  pass'd, 
And,  to  the  windward  as  they  cast, 
Against  the  sun  they  gave  to  shine 
The  bold  Sir  Roderick's  banner'd  Pine. 
Nearer  and  nearer  as  they  bear, 
Spears,  pikes,  and  axes  flash  in  air. 
Now  might  you  see  the  tartans  brave, 
And  plaids  and  plumage  dance  and  wave : 
Now  see  the  bonnets  sink  and  rise, 
As  his  tough  oar  the  rower  plies ; 
See,  flashing  at  each  sturdy  stroke, 
The  wave  ascending  into  smoke ; 
See  the  proud  pipers  on  the  bow, 
And  mark  the  gaudy  streamers  flow 
From  their  loud  chanters*  down,  and  sweep 
The  furrow'd  bosom  of  the  deep, 
As,  rushing  through  the  lake  amain, 
They  plied  the  ancient  Highland  strain. 

XVII. 
Ever,  as  on  they  bore,  more  loud 
And  louder  rung  the  pibroch  proud. 
At  first  the  sound,  by  distance  tame, 
Mellow'd  along  the  waters  came, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

2  "  The  moving  picture — the  effect  of  the  sounds — and  the 
wild  character  and  strong  peculiar  nationality  of  the  whole 


And,  lingering  long  by  cape  and  bay, 

Wail'd  eveiy  harsher  note  away ; 

Then  bursting  bolder  on  the  ear, 

The  clan's  shrill  Gathering  they  could  hear ; 

Those  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 

Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight.5 

Thick  beat  the  rapid  notes,  as  when 

The  mustering  hundreds  shake  the  glen, 

And,  hurrying  at  the  signal  dread, 

The  batter'd  earth  returns  their  tread. 

Then  prelude  light,  of  livelier  tone, 

Express'd  their  merry  marching  on, 

Ere  peal  of  closing  battle  rose, 

With  mingled  outcry,  shrieks,  and  blows ; 

And  mimic  din  of  stroke  and  ward, 

As  broadsword  upon  target  jarr'd; 

And  groaning  pause,  ere  yet  again, 

Condensed,  the  battle  yell'd  amain; 

The  rapid  charge,  the  rallying  shout, 

Retreat  borne  headlong  into  rout, 

And  bursts  of  triumph,  to  declare 

Clan- Alpine's  conquest — all  were  there. 

Nor  ended  thus  the  strain ;  but  slow, 

Sunk  in  a  moan  prolong'd  and  low, 

And  changed  the  conquering  clarion  swell, 

For  wild  lament  o'er  those  that  fell. 

XVIII. 
The  war-pipes  ceased ;  but  lake  and  hill 
Were  busy  with  their  echoes  still ; 
And,  when  they  slept,  a  vocal  strain 
Bade  their  hoarse  chorus  wake  again, 
While  loud  a  hundred  clansmen  raise 
Their  voices  in  their  Chieftain's  praise. 
Each  boatman,  bending  to  his  oar, 
With  measured  sweep  the  burden  bore, 
In  such  wild  cadence  as  the  breeze 
Makes  through  December's  leafless  trees. 
The  chorus  first  could  Allan  know, 
"  Roderick  Vich  Alpine,  ho !  iro !" 
And  near  and  nearer  as  they  row'd, 
Distinct  the  martial  ditty  flow'd. 

XIX. 

33oat  Song. 

Hail  to  the  Chief  who  in  triumph  advances ! 

Honor'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  Pine ! 

Long  may  the  tree,  in  his  banner  that  glances, 

Flourish,  the  shelter  and  grace  of  our  line ! 

Heaven  send  it  happy  dew, 

Earth  lend  it  sap  anew, 
Gayly  to  bourgeon,  and  broadly  to  grow, 

While  every  Highland  glen 

Sends  our  shout  back  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe  !"6 

procession,  are  given  with  inimitable  spirit  and  power  of 
expression." — Jeffrey. 

3  Cotton-grass.  4  The  pipe  of  the  bagpipe. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  V.  6  Ibid.  Note  W. 


190 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Ours  is  no  sapling,  chance-sown  by  the  fountain, 

Blooming  al  Beltane,  in  winter  to  fade; 
When  the  whirlwind  has  stripp'd  every  leaf  on  the 
mountain, 
The  more  shall  Clan-Alpine  exult  in  her  shade. 
Moor'd  in  the  rifted  rock, 
Proof  to  the  tempest's  shock, 
Firmer  he  roots  him  the  ruder  it  blow ; 
Menteith  and  Breadalbane,  then, 
Echo  his  praise  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dim,  ho  !  ieroe !" 

XX. 

Proudly  our  pibroch  has  thrill'd  in  Glen  Fruin, 

And  Bannoehar's  groans  to  our  slogan  replied ; 
Glen  Luss  and  Ross-dhu,  they  are  smoking  in  ruin, 
And  the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side.1 
Widow  and  Saxon  maid 
Long  shall  lament  our  raid, 
Think  of  Clan-Alpine  with  fear  and  with  woe ; 
Lennox  and  Leven-glen 
Shake  when  they  hear  agen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe !" 

Row,  vassals,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands ! 

Stretch  to  your  oars,  for  the  ever-green  Pine ! 
Oli  that  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands 

Were  wreathed  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine ! 

Oh  that  some  seedling  gem, 

Worthy  such  noble  stem, 
Honor'd  and  bless'd  in  their  shadow  might  grow ! 

Loud  should  Clan-Alpine  then 

Ring  from  her  deepmost  glen, 
"  Roderigh  Vich  Alpine  dhu,  ho !  ieroe  !"2 

XXI. 

With  all  her  joyful  female  band 
Had  Lady  Margaret  sought  the  strand. 
Loose  on  the  breeze  their  tresses  flew, 
And  high  their  snowy  arms  they  threw, 
As  echoing  back  with  shrill  acclaim, 
And  chorus  wild,  the  Chieftain's  name  ;3 
While,  prompt  to  please,  with  mother's  art, 
The  darling  passion  of  his  heart, 
The  Dame  call'd  Ellen  to  the  strand, 
To  greet  her  kinsman  ere  he  land : 
"  Come,  loiterer,  come !  a  Douglas  thou, 
And  shun  to  wreathe  a  victor's  brow  ?" — 
Reluctantly  and  slow,  the  maid 
The  unwelcome  summoning  obey'd, 
And,  when  a  distant  bugle  rung, 
In  the  mid-path  aside  she  sprung: — 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 

2  "However  we  may  dislike  the  geographical  song  and 
chorus,  half  English  and  half  Erse,  which  is  sung  in  praise 
of  the  warrior,  we  must  allow  that  in  other  respects  the  hero 
of  a  poem  has  seldom,  if  ever,  been  introduced  with  finer 
effect,  or  in  a  manner  better  calculated  to  excite  the  expec- 
tations of  the  reader,  than  on  the  present  occasion."— Critical 
Review. 


"  List,  Allan-bane !  From  mainland  cast, 
I  hear  my  father's  signal  blast. 
Be  ours,"  she  cried,  "  the  skiif  to  guide, 
And  waft  him  from  the  mountain  side." 
Then,  like  a  sunbeam,  swift  and  bright, 
She  darted  to  her  shaUop  light, 
And,  eagerly  while  Roderick  scann'd, 
For  her  dear  form,  his  mother's  band, 
The  islet  far  behind  her  lay, 
And  she  had  landed  in  the  bay. 

XXII. 

Some  feelings  are  to  mortals  given 

With  less  of  earth  in  them  than  heaven : 

And  if  there  be  a  human  tear 

From  passion's  dross  refined  and  clear, 

A  tear  so  limpid  and  so  meek, 

It  would  not  stain  an  angel's  cheek, 

'Tis  that  which  pious  fathers  shed 

Upon  a  duteous  daughter's  head ! 

And  as  the  Douglas  to  his  breast 

His  darling  Ellen  closely  press'd, 

Such  holy  drops  her  tresses  steep'd, 

Though  'twas  a  hero's  eye  that  weep'd. 

Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue4 

Her  filial  welcomes  crowded  hung, 

Mark'd  she  that  fear  (affection's  proof) 

Still  held  a  graceful  youth  aloof; 

No !  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 

Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Grseme. 

XXIII. 

Allan,  with  wistful  look  the  while, 
Mark'd  Roderick  landing  on  the  isle ; 
His  master  piteously  he  eyed, 
Then  gazed  upon  the  Chieftain's  pride. 
Then  dash'd,  with  hasty  hand,  away 
From  his  dimm'd  eye  the  gathering  spray  ; 
And  Douglas,  as  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  shoulder,  kindly  said, 
"Canst  thou,  young  friend,  no  meaning 

spy 

In  my  poor  follower's  glistening  eye  ? 
I'll  tell  thee : — he  recalls  the  day 
When  in  my  praise  he  led  the  lay 
O'er  the  arch'd  gate  of  Bothwell  proud, 
While  many  a  minstrel  answer'd  loud, 
When  Percy's  Norman  pennon,  won 
In  bloody  field,  before  me  shone, 
And  twice  ten  knights,  the  least  a  name 
As  mighty  as  yon  Chief  may  claim, 
Gracing  my  pomp,  behind  me  came. 

8  MS. :  "  The  chorus  to  the  Chieftain's  fame." 
*  MS. :  "  Nor  while  on  Ellen's  faltering  tongue 
Her  filial  greetings  eager  hung, 
Mark'd  not  that  awe  (affection's  proof) 
Still  held  yon  gentle  youth  aloof; 
No!  not  till  Douglas  named  his  name, 
Although  the  youth  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 
Then,  with  flush' d  cheek  and  downcast  eye, 
Their  greeting  was  confused  and  shy." 


THE  LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


191 


Yet  trust  me,  Malcolm,  not  so  proud 
Was  I  of  all  that  marshall'cl  crowd, 
Though  the  waned  crescent  own'd  my  might, 
And  in  my  train  troop'd  lord  and  knight, 
Though  Blantyre  hymn'd  her  holiest  lays, 
And  Bothwell's  bards  flung  back  my  praise, 
As  when  this  old  man's  silent  tear, 
And  this  poor  maid's  affection  dear, 
A  welcome  give  more  kind  and  true 
Than  aught  my  better  fortunes  knew. 
Forgive,  my  friend,  a  father's  boast ; 
Oh,  it  out-beggars  all  I  lost !" 

XXIV. 

Delightful  praise ! — Like  summer  rose, 
That  brighter  in  the  dewdrop  glows, 
The  bashful  maiden's  cheek  appear'd, 
For  Douglas  spoke,  and  Malcolm  heard. 
The  flush  of  shamefaced  joy  to  hide, 
The  hounds,  the  hawk,  her  cares  divide ; 
The  loved  caresses  of  the  maid 
The  dogs  with  crouch  and  whimper  paid  j1 
And,  at  her  whistle,  on  her  hand 
The  falcon  took  his  favorite  stand, 
Closed  his  dark  wing,  relax'd  his  eye, 
Nor,  though  unhooded,  sought  to  fly. 
And  trust,  while  in  such  guise  she  stood, 
Like  fabled  goddess  of  the  wood,2 
That  if  a  father's  partial  thought 
O'erweigh'd  her  worth  and  beauty  aught, 
Well  might  the  lover's  judgment  fail 
To  balance  with  a  juster  scale ; 
For  with  each  secret  glance  he  stole, 
The  fond  enthusiast  sent  his  soul. 

XXV. 

Of  stature  tall,  and  slender  frame, 
.  But  firmly  knit,  was  Malcolm  Graeme. 
The  belted  jilaid  and  tartan  hose 
Did  ne'er  more  graceful  limbs  disclose ; 
His  flaxen  hair,  of  sunny  hue, 
Curl'd  closely  round  his  bonnet  blue. 
Train'd  to  the  chase,  his  eagle  eye 
The  ptarmigan  in  snow  could  spy : 
Each  pass,  by  mountain,  lake,  and  heath, 
He  knew,  through  Lennox  and  Menteith ; 
Vain  was  the  bound  of  dark-brown  doe 
When  Malcolm  bent  his  sounding  bow, 
And  scarce  that  doe,  though  wing'd  with  fear, 
Outstripp'd  in  speed  the  mountaineer : 
Bight  up  Benlomond  could  he  press, 
And  not  a  sob  his  toil  confess. 
His  form  accorded  with  a  mind 
Lively  and  ardent,  frank  and  kind ; 
A  blither  heart,  till  Ellen  came, 
Did  never  love  nor  sorrow  tame ; 
It  danced  as  lightsome  in  his  breast 
As  play'd  the  feather  on  his  crest. 

1  MS. :  "  Tlie  dogs  with  whimpering  notes  repaid." 


Yet  friends  who  nearest  knew  the  youth, 
His  scorn  of  wrong,  his  zeal  for  truth, 
And  bards,  who  saw  his  features  bold, 
When  kindled  by  the  tales  of  old, 
Said,  were  that  youth  to  manhood  grown, 
Not  long  should  Boderick  Dhu's  renown 
Be  foremost  voiced  by  mountain  fame, 
But  quail  to  that  of  Malcolm  Grseme. 

XXVI. 

Now  back  they  wend  their  watery  way ; 
And,  "  Oh,  my  sire  !"  did  Ellen  say, 
"  Why  urge  thy  chase  so  far  astray  ? 
And  why  so  late  return'd  ?  And  why" — 
The  rest  was  in  her  speaking  eye. 
"  My  child,  the  chase  I  follow  far, 
'Tis  mimicry  of  noble  war ; 
And  with  that  gallant  pastime  reft 
Were  all  of  Douglas  I  have  left. 
I  met  young  Malcolm  as  I  stray'd 
Far  eastward,  in  Glenfinlas'  shade, 
Nor  stray'd  I  safe ;  for,  all  around, 
Hunters  and  horsemen  scour'd  the  ground. 
This  youth,  though  still  a  royal  ward, 
Risk'd  life  and  land  to  be  my  guard, 
And  through  the  passes  of  the  wood 
Guided  my  steps,  not  unjmrsued  ; 
And  Boderick  shall  his  welcome  make, 
Despite  old  spleen,  for  Douglas'  sake. 
Then  must  he  seek  Strath-Endrick  glen, 
Nor  peril  aught  for  me  agen." 

XXVII. 
Sir  Boderick,  who  to  meet  them  came, 
Bedden'd  at  sight  of  Malcolm  Grseme, 
Yet  not  in  action,  word,  or  eye, 
Fail'd  aught  in  hospitality. 
In  talk  and  sport  they  whiled  away 
The  morning  of  that  summer  day ; 
But  at  high  noon  a  courier  light 
Held  secret  parley  with  the  knight, 
Whose  moody  aspect  soon  declared 
That  evil  were  the  news  he  heard. 
Deep  thought  seem'd  toiling  in  his 

head; 
Yet  was  the  evening  banquet  made, 
Ere  he  assembled  round  the  flame 
His  mother,  Douglas,  and  the  Graeme, 
And  Ellen  too ;  then  cast  around 
His  eyes,  then  fix'd  them  on  the  ground, 
As  studying  phrase  that  might  avail 
Best  to  convey  unpleasant  tale. 
Long  with  his  dagger's  hilt  he  play'd, 
Then  raised  his  haughty  brow,  and  said : — 

XXVIII. 

"  Short  be  my  speech ; — nor  time  affords, 
Nor  my  plain  temper,  glozing  words. 

2  MS. :  "  Like  fabled  huntress  of  the  wood." 


192 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Kinsman  and  father — if  such  name 

Douglas  vouchsafe  to  Roderick's  claim ; — 

Mine  honor'd  mother; — Ellen — why, 

My  cousin,  turn  away  thine  eye  ? — 

And  Gramme — in  whom  I  hope  to  know 

Full  soon  a  noble  friend  or  foe, 

When  age  shall  give  thee  thy  command 

And  leading  in  thy  native  land, — 

List  all ! — The  King's  vindictive  pride 

Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side,1 

Where  chiefs,  with  hound  and  hawk  who  came 

To  share  their  monarch's  sylvan  game, 

Themselves  in  bloody  toils  were  snared  ; 

And  when  the  banquet  they  prepared, 

And  wide  their  loyal  portals  flwng, 

O'er  their  own  gateway  struggling  hung. 

Loud  cries  their  blood  from  Meggat's  mead, 

From  Yarrow  braes,  and  banks  of  Tweed, 

Where  the  lone  streams  of  Ettrick  glide, 

And  from  the  silver  Teviot's  side ; 

The  dales,  where  martial  clans  did  ride,2 

Are  now  one  sheep-walk,  waste  and  wide. 

This  tyrant  of  the  Scottish  throne, 

So  faithless  and  so  ruthless  known, 

Now  hither  comes ;  his  end  the  same, 

The  same  pretext  of  sylvan  game. 

What  grace  for  Highland  Chiefs,  judge  ye 

By  fate  of  Border  chivalry.3 

Yet  more  :  amid  Glenfinlas  green, 

Douglas,  thy  stately  form  was  seen ; 

This  by  espial  sure  I  know : 

Your  counsel  in  the  streight  I  show." 

XXIX. 

Ellen  and  Margaret  fearfully 

Sought  comfort  in  each  other's  eye, 

Then  turn'd  their  ghastly  look,  each  one, 

This  to  her  sire — that  to  her  son. 

The  hasty  color  went  and  came 

In  the  bold  cheek  of  Malcolm  Grseme ; 

But  from  his  glance  it  well  appear'd 

'Twas  but  for  Ellen  that  he  fear'd ; 

While,  sorrowful  but  undismay'd, 

The  Douglas  thus  his  counsel  said : — 

"  Brave  Roderick,  though  the  tempest  roar, 

It  may  but  thunder  and  pass  o'er; 

Nor  will  I  here  remain  an  hour, 

To  draw  the  lightning  on  thy  bower; 

For  well  thou  know'st,  at  this  gray  head 

The  royal  bolt  were  fiercest  sped. 

For  thee,  who,  at  thy  King's  command, 

Canst  aid  him  with  a  gallant  band, 

Submission,  homage,  humbled  pride, 

Shall  turn  the  Monarch's  wrath  aside. 

Poor  remnants  of  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

Ellen  and  I  will  seek,  apart, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 

*  MS. :  "  The  dales  where  elans  were  wont  to  bide." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 


The  refuge  of  some  forest  cell, 
There,  like  the  hunted  quarry,  dwell, 
Till  on  the  mountain  and  the  moor 
The  stern  pursuit  be  pass'd  and  o'er." — 

XXX. 

"  No,  by  mine  honor,"  Roderick  said, 

"  So  help  me  Heaven,  and  my  good  blade! 

No,  never!     Blasted  be  yon  Pine, 

My  father's  ancient  crest  and  mine, 

If  from  its  shade  in  danger  part 

The  lineage  of  the  Bleeding  Heart ! 

Hear  my  blunt  speech :    grant  me  this 

maid 
To  wife,  thy  counsel  to  mine  aid ;  i_/ 

To  Douglas,  leagued  with  Roderick  Dhu, 
Will  friends  and  allies  flock  enow ; 
Like  cause  of  doubt,  distrust,  and  grief, 
Will  bind  to  us  each  Western  Chief. 
When  the  loud  pipes  my  bridal  tell, 
The  Links  of  Forth  shall  hear  the  knell, 
The  guards  shall  start  in  Stirling's  porch ; 
And,  when  I  light  the  nuptial  torch, 
A  thousand  villages  in  flames 
Shall  scare  the  slumbers  of  King  James ! 
— Nay,  Ellen,  blench  not  thus  away, 
And,  mother,  cease  these  signs,  I  pray ; 
I  meant  not  all  my  heart  might  say. — 
Small  need  of  inroad,  or  of  fight, 
When  the  sage  Douglas  may  unite 
Each  mountain  clan  in  friendly  band, 
To  guard  the  passes  of  their  land, 
Till  the  foil'd  King,  from  pathless  glen,4     , 
Shall  bootless  turn  him  home  agen." 

XXXI. 

There  are  who  have,  at  midnight  hour, 

In  slumber  scaled  a  dizzy  tower, 

And,  on  the  verge  that  beetled  o'er 

The  ocean-tide's  incessant  roar, 

Dream'd  calmly  out  their  dangerous  dream,6 

Till  waken'd  by  the  morning  beam ; 

When,  dazzled  by  the  eastern  glow, 

Such  startler  cast  his  glance  below, 

And  saw  unmeasured  depth  around, 

And  heard  unintermitted  sound, 

And  thought  the  battled  fence  so  frail, 

It  waved  like  cobweb  in  the  gale ; — 

Amid  his  senses'  giddy  wheel, 

Did  he  not  desperate  impulse  feel 

Headlong  to  plunge  himself  below, 

And  meet  the  worst  his  fears  foreshow  ? — 

Thus  Ellen,  dizzy  and  astound, 

As  sudden  ruin  yawn'd  around, 

By  crossing  terrors  wildly  toss'd, 

Still  for  the  Douglas  fearing  most, 

*  MS.:  "Till  the  foil'd  King,  from  hill  and  glen." 
6  MS.:  "Drcara'd  calmly  out  their  desperate  dream." 


THE   LADY   OF  THE   LAKE. 


193 


Could  scarce  the  desperate  thought  withstand, 
To  buy  his  safety  with  her  hand. 

XXXII. 

Such  purpose  dread  could  Malcolm  spy 

In  Ellen's  quivering  lip  and  eye, 

And  eager  rose  to  speak — but  ere 

His  tongue  could  hurry  forth  his  fear, 

Had  Douglas  mark'd  the  hectic  strife, 

Where  death  seem'd  combating  with  life ; 

For  to  her  cheek,  in  feverish  flood, 

One  instant  rush'd  the  throbbing  blood, 

Then  ebbing  back,  with  sudden  sway, 

Left  its  domain  as  wan  as  clay. 

"  Roderick,  enough !  enough !"  he  cried, 

"  My  daughter  cannot  be  thy  bride ; 

Not  that  the  blush  to  wooer  dear, 

Nor  paleness  that  of  maiden  fear. 

It  may  not  be — forgive  her,  Chief, 

Nor  hazard  aught  for  our  relief. 

Against  his  sovereign,  Douglas  ne'er 

Will  level  a  rebellious  spear. 

'Twas  I  that  taught  his  youthful  hand 

To  rein  a  steed  and  wield  a  brand : 

I  see  him  yet,  the  princely  boy ! 

Not  Ellen  more  my  pride  and  joy ; 

I  love  him  still,  despite  my  wrongs, 

By  hasty  wrath,  and  slanderous  tongues. 

Oh  seek  the  grace  you  well  may  find 

Without  a  cause  to  mine  combined." 

XXXIII. 
Twice  through  the  hall  the  Chieftain  strode ; 
The  waving  of  his  tartans  broad, 
And  darken'd  brow,  where  wounded  pride 
With  ire  and  disappointment  vied, 
Seem'd,  by  the  torch's  gloomy  light, 
Like  the  ill  Demon  of  the  night, 
Stooping  his  pinions'  shadowy  sway 
Upon  the  nighted  pilgrim's  way : 
But,  unrecpiited  Love !  thy  dart 
Plunged  deepest  its  envenom'd  smart, 
And  Roderick,  with  thine  anguish  stung, 
At  length  the  hand  of  Douglas  wrung, 
While  eyes,  that  mock'd  at  tears  before, 
With  bitter  drops  were  running  o'er. 
The  death-pangs  of  long-cherish'd  hope 
Scarce  in  that  ample  breast  had  scope, 
But,  struggling  with  his  spirit  proud, 
Convulsive  heaved  its  chequer'd  shroud, 
While  every  sob — so  mute  were  all — 
Was  heard  distinctly  through  the  hall. 

1  MS. :  "The  deep-toned  anguish  of  despair 

Flash'd,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air." 

2  "There  is  something  foppish  and  out  of  character  in 
Malcolm's  rising  to  lead  Ellen  out  from  her  own  parlor ;  and 
the  sort  of  wrestling  match  that  takes  place  between  the 
rival  chieftains  on  the  occasion  is  humiliating  and  indec- 
orous."— Jeffrey. 

3  MS. :  "  Thus  as  they  strove,  each  better  hand 

Grasp'd  for  the  dagger  or  the  brand." 
13 


The  son's  despair,  the  mother's  look, 
111  might  the  gentle  Ellen  brook ; 
She  rose,  and  to  her  side  there  came, 
To  aid  her  parting  steps,  the  Grseme. 

XXXIV. 

Then  Roderick  from  the  Douglas  broke — 
As  flashes  flame  through  sable  smoke, 
Kindling  its  wreaths,  long,  dark,  and  low, 
To  one  broad  blaze  of  ruddy  glow, 
So  the  deep  anguish  of  despair1 
Burst,  in  fierce  jealousy,  to  air. 
With  stalwart  grasp  his  hand  he  laid 
On  Malcolm's  breast  and  belted  plaid : 
"  Back,  beardless  boy !"  he  sternly  said, 
"Back,   minion!    holdst  thou  thus  at 

nought 
The  lesson  I  so  lately  taught? 
This  roof,  the  Douglas,  and  that  maid, 
Thank  thou  for  punishment  delay'd." 
Eager  as  greyhound  on  his  game, 
Fiercely  with  Roderick  grappled  Grseme.2 
"  Perish  my  name,  if  aught  afford 
Its  Chieftain  safety  save  his  sword !" 
Thus  as  they  strove,  their  desperate  hand3 
Griped  to  the  dagger  or  the  brand, 
And  death  had  been — but  Douglas  rose, 
And  thrust  between  the  struggling  foes 
His  giant  strength  : — "  Chieftains,  forego ! 
I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe. — 4 
Madmen,  forbear  your  frantic  jar ! 
What !  is  the  Douglas  fall'n  so  far, 
His  daughter's  hand  is  doom'd  the  spoil 
Of  such  dishonorable  broil !" 
Sullen  and  slowly  they  unclasp,5 
As  struck  with  shame,  their  desperate  grasp, 
And  each  upon  his  rival  glared, 
With  foot  advanced,  and  blade  half  bared. 

XXXV. 

Ere  yet  the  brands  aloft  were  flung, 
Margaret  on  Roderick's  mantle  hung, 
And  Malcolm  heard  his  Ellen's  scream, 
As  falter'd  through  terrific  dream. 
Then  Roderick  plunged  in  sheath  his  sword, 
And  veil'd  his  wrath  in  scornful  word. 
"  Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 
Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air  !6 
Then  mayest  thou  to  James  Stuart  tell, 
Roderick  will  keep  the  lake  and  fell, 
Nor  lackey,  with  his  freeborn  clan, 
The  pageant  pomp  of  earthly  man. 

4  The  author  has  to  apologize  for  the  inadvertent  appro- 
priation of  a  whole  line  from  the  tragedy  of  "  Douglas"— 
"  I  hold  the  first  who  strikes,  my  foe." 

Note  to  the  second  edition. 

6  MS. :  "  Sullen  and  slow  the  rivals  bold 

Loosed,  at  his  hest,  their  desperate  hold, 
But  either  still  on  other  glared,"  &c. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 


194 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


More  would  he  of  Clan-Alpine  know, 
Thou  canst  <>nr  strength  and  passes  show. — 
Malise,  what  ho!" — his  henchman  came;1 
"  Give  our  safe-conduct  to  the  Grseme." 
Younj:  .Malcolm  answer'd,  calm  and  bold, 
"Fear  nothing  for  thy  favorite  hold; 
The  spot,  an  angel  deign'd  to  grace, 
Is  bless'd,  though  robbers  haunt  the  place. 
Thy  churlish  courtesy  for  those 
Reserve,  who  fear  to  be  thy  foes. 
As  safe  to  me  the  mountain  way 
At  midnight  as  in  blaze  of  day, 
Though  with  his  boldest  at  his  back 
Even  Roderick  Dhu  beset  the  track. — 
Brave  Douglas, — lovely  Ellen, — nay, 
Nought  here  of  parting  will  I  say. 
Earth  does  not  hold  a  lonesome  glen 
So  secret,  but  we  meet  agen. — 
Chieftain !  we  too  shall  find  an  hour." — 
He  said,  and  left  the  sylvan  bower. 

XXXVI. 
Old  Allan  follow'd  to  the  strand 
'(Such  was  the  Douglas's  command), 
And  anxious  told  how,  ou  the  morn, 
The  stern  Sir  Roderick  deep  had  sworn 
The  Fiery  Cross  should  circle  o'er 
Dale,  glen,  and  valley,  down,  and  moor. 
Much  were  the  peril  to  the  Grseme 
From  those  who  to  the  signal  came ; 
Far  up  the  lake  'twere  safest  land, 
Himself  would  row  him  to  the  strand. 
He  gave  his  counsel  to  the  wind, 
While  Malcolm  did,  unheeding,  bind, 
Round  dirk  and  pouch  and  broadsword  roll'd, 
His  ample  plaid  in  tighten'd  fold, 
And  stripp'd  his  limbs  to  such  array 
As  best  might  suit  the  watery  way, — 

XXXVII. 

Then  spoke  abrupt :  "  Farewell  to  thee, 
Pattern  of  old  fidelity!" 
The  Minstrel's  hand  he  kindly  press'd, — 
" Oh !  could  I  point  a  place  of  rest! 
My  sovereign  holds  in  ward  my  land, 
My  uncle  leads  my  vassal  band ; 
To  tame  his  foes,  his  friends  to  aid, 
Poor  Malcolm  has  but  heart  and  blade. 
Yet,  if  there  be  one  faithful  Graeme 
Who  loves  the  Chieftain  of  his  name, 
Not  long  shall  honor'd  Douglas  dwell 
Like  hunted  stag  in  mountain  cell ; 
Nor,  ere  yon  pride-swoll'n  robber  dare, — 
I  may  not  give  the  rest  to  air ! 
Tell  Roderick  Dhu,  I  owed  him  nought, 
Not  the  poor  service  of  a  boat, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 
8  MS. :  "  He  spoke,  and  plunged  into  the  tide." 
3  "There  are  no  separate  Introductions  to  the  cantos  of 
this  poem  ;  hut  each  of  them  begins  with  one  or  two  stanzas 
in  the  measure  of  Spenser,  usually  containing  some  reflec- 


To  waft  me  to  yon  mountain  side." 
Then  plunged  he  in  the  flashing  tide.2 
Bold  o'er  the  flood  his  head  he  bore, 
And  stoutly  steer'd  him  from  the  shore ; 
And  Allan  strain'd  his  anxious  eye, 
Far  'mid  the  lake  his  form  to  spy. 
Darkening  across  each  puny  wave, 
To  which  the  moon  her  silver  gave, 
Fast  as  the  cormorant  could  skim, 
The  swimmer  plied  each  active  limb ; 
Then  landing  in  the  moonlight  dell, 
Loud  shouted  of  his  weal  to  tell. 
The  Minstrel  heard  the  far  halloo, 
And  joyful  from  the  shore  withdrew. 


Efit  Hatig  crt  tf)e  Eafce. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


©f)i  (Ecatfifrinij. 
I. 
Time  rolls  his  ceaseless  course.    The  race  of  yore,3 

Who  danced  our  infancy  upon  their  knee, 
And  told  our  marvelling  boyhood  legends  store 

Of  their  strange  ventures  happ'd  by  land  or  sea, 
How  are  they  blotted  from  the  things  that  be ! 

How  few,  all  weak  and  wither'd  of  their  force, 
Wait  on  the  verge  of  dark  eternity, 

Like  stranded  wrecks,  the  tide  returning  hoarse, 
To  sweep  them  from  our  sight !    Time  rolls  his  cease- 
less course. 

Yet  live  there  still  who  can  remember  well 

How,  when  a  mountain  chief  his  bugle  blew, 
Both  field  and  forest,  dingle,  cliff,  and  dell, 

And  solitary  heath,  the  signal  knew ; 
And  fast  the  faithful  clan  around  him  drew, 

What  time  the  warning  note  was  keenly  wound, 
What  time  aloft  their  kindred  banner  flew, 

While  clamorous  war-pipes  yell'd  the  gathering 
sound, 
And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor, 
round.* 

II. 

The  summer  dawn's  reflected  hue 
To  purple  changed  Loch  Katrine  blue ; 
Mildly  and  soft  the  western  breeze 
Just  kiss'd  the  lake,  just  stirr'd  the  trees, 
And  the  pleased  lake,  like  maiden  coy, 
Trembled  but  dimpled  not  for  joy; 
The  mountain  shadows  on  her  breast 
Were  neither  broken  nor  at  rest ; 

tions  connected  with  the  subject  about  to  be  entered  on, 
and  written,  for  the  most  part,  with  great  tenderness  and 
beauty.    The  following,  we  think,  is  among  the  most  strik- 
ing."— Jeffrey. 
4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


195 


In  bright  uncertainty  they  lie, 

Like  future  joys  to  Fancy's  eye. 

The  water-lily  to  the  light 

Her  chalice  rear'd  of  silver  bright ; 

The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemm'd  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn ; 

The  gray  mist  left1  the  mountain  side, 

The  torrent  show'd  its  glistening  pride ; 

Invisible  in  flecked  sky, 

The  lark  sent  down  her  revelry ; 

The  blackbird  and  the  speckled  thrush 

Good-morrow  gave  from  brake  and  bush  ;2 

In  answer  coo'd  the  cushat  dove 

Her  notes  of  peace,  and  rest,  and  love. 

III. 

No  thought  of  peace,  no  thought  of  rest, 
Assuaged  the  storm  in  Roderick's  breast. 
With  sheathed  broadsword  in  his  hand, 
Abrupt  he  paced  the  islet  strand, 
And  eyed  the  rising  sun,  and  laid 
His  hand  on  his  inpatient  blade. 
Beneath  a  rock,  his  vassals'  care3 
Was  prompt  the  ritual  to  prepare, 
With  deep  and  deathful  meaning  fraught ; 
For  such  Antiquity  had  taught 
Was  preface  meet,  ere  yet  abroad 
The  Cross  of  Fire  should  take  its  road. 
The  shrinking  band  stood  oft  aghast 
At  the  impatient  glance  he  cast ; — 
Such  glance  the  mountain  eagle  threw, 
As,  from  the  cliffs  of  Benvenue, 
She  spread  her  dark  sails  on  the  wind, 
And,  high  in  middle  heaven  reclined, 
With  her  broad  shadow  on  the  lake, 
Silenced  the  warblers  of  the  brake. 

IV. 

A  heap  of  wither'd  boughs  was  piled, 
Of  juniper  and  rowan  wild, 
Mingled  with  shivers  from  the  oak, 
Rent  by  the  lightning's  recent  stroke. 
Brian,  the  Hermit,  by  it  stood, 
Barefooted,  in  his  frock  and  hood. 

1  MS. :  "  The  doe  awoke,  and  to  the  lawn, 

Begemm'd  with  dewdrops,  led  her  fawn ; 
Invisible  in  fleecy  cloud, 
The  lark  sent  down  her  matins  loud ; 
The  light  mist  left,"  &c. 

2  "  The  green  hills 

Are  clothed  with  early  blossoms ;  through  the  grass 

The  quick-eyed  lizard  rustles,  and  the  bills 

Of  summer  birds  sing  welcome  as  ye  pass." — Childe  Harold. 

3  MS. :  "  Hard  by,  his  vassals'  early  care 

The  mystic  ritual  prepare." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

6  MS. :  "  While  the  bless'd  creed  gave  only  worse." 

6  MS. :  "  He  pray'd  with  many  a  cross  between, 

And  terror  took  devotion's  mien." 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

8  "There  is  something  of  pride  in  the  perilous  hour, 
Whate'er  be  the  shape  in  which  death  may  lower ; 


His  grisled  beard  and  matted  hair 

Obscured  a  visage  of  ^despair  ; 

His  naked  arms  and  legs,  seam'd  o'er, 

The  scars  of  frantic  penance  bore. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face,* 

The  impending  danger  of  his  race 

Had  drawn  from  deepest  solitude, 

Far  in  Benharrow's  bosom  rude. 

Not  his  the  mien  of  Christian  priest, 

But  Druid's,  from  the  grave  released, 

Whose  harden'd  heart  and  eye  might  brook 

On  human  sacrifice  to  look  ; 

And  much,  'twas  said,  of  heathen  lore 

Mix'd  in  the  charms  he  mutter'd  o'er. 

The  hallow'd  creed  gave  only  worse5 

And  deadlier  emphasis  of  curse ; 

No  peasant  sought  that  Hermit's  prayer, 

His  cave  the  pilgrim  shunn'd  with  care, 

The  eager  huntsman  knew  his  bound, 

And  in  mid  chase  call'd  off  his  hound ; 

Or  if,  in  lonely  glen  or  strath, 

The  desert  dweller  met  his  path, 

He  pray'd,  and  sign'd  the  cross  between, 

While  terror  took  devotion's  mien.6 

V. 

Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told.7 

His  mother  watch'd  a  midnight  fold, 

Built  deep  within  a  dreary  glen, 

Where  scatter'd  lay  the  bones  of  men, 

In  some  forgotten  battle  slain, 

And  bleach'd  by  drifting  wind  and  rain. 

It  might  have  tamed  a  warrior's  heart8 

To  view  such  mockery  of  his  art ! 

The  knot-grass  fetter'd  there  the  hand 

Which  once  could  burst  an  iron  band ; 

Beneath  the  broad  and  ample  bone, 

That  buckler'd  heart  to  fear  unknown, 

A  feeble  and  a  timorous  guest, 

The  field-fare  framed  her  lowly  nest ; 

There  the  slow  blind-worm  left  his  slime 

On  the  fleet  limbs  that  mock'd  at  time  ; 

And  there,  too,  lay  the  leader's  skull,9 

Still  wreathed  with  chaplet,  flush'd  and  full, 

For  Fame  is  there  to  say  who  bleeds, 

And  Honor's  eye  on  daring  deeds ! 

But  when  all  is  past,  it  is  humbling  to  tread 

O'er  the  weltering  field  of  the  tombless  dead, 

And  see  worms  of  the  earth,  and  fowls  of  the  air, 

Beasts  of  the  forest,  all  gathering  there ; 

All  regarding  man  as  their  prey, 

All  rejoicing  in  his  decay."— Byron.    Siege  of  Corinth. 

9  "  Remove  yon  skull  from  out  the  scatter'd  heaps. 
Is  that  a  temple  where  a  god  may  dwell? 
Why,  e'en  the  worm  at  last  disdains  her  shatter'd  cell ! 
Look  on  its  broken  arch,  its  ruin'd  wall, 

Its  chambers  desolate,  and  portals  foul; 
Yes,  this  was  once  ambition's  airy  hall, 

The  dome  of  thought,  the  palace  of  the  soul ; 
Behold  through  each  lack-lustre,  eyeless  hole, 

The  gay  recess  of  wisdom  and  of  wit, 


196 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL    WORKS. 


For  heath-bell,  with  her  purple  bloom, 
Supplied  the  bonnet  and  the  plume.1 
All  night,  in  this  .sail  glen,  the  maid 
Sat,  shrouded  in  her  mantle's  shade: 
— She  said,   no  .shepherd  sought  her 

side, 
No  hunter's  hand  her  snood  untied, 
Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 
The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear  ;2 
(imie  was  her  maiden  ylee  and  sport, 
Her  maiden  girdle  all  too  short, 
Nor  sought  she,  from  that  fatal  night, 
Or  holy  church  or  blessed  rite, 
But  lock'd  her  secret  iu  her  breast, 
And  died  in  travail,  uncoufcss'd. 

VI. 

Alone,  among  his  young  compeers, 
Was  Brian  from  his  infant  years ; 
A  moody  and  heart-broken  boy, 
Estranged  from  sympathy  and  joy, 
Bearing  each  taunt  which  careless  tongue 
On  his  mysterious  lineage  flung. 
Whole  nights  he  spent  by  moonlight  pale, 
To  wood  and  stream  his  hap  to  wail, 
Till,  frantic,  he  as  truth  received3 
What  of  his  birth  the  crowd  believed, 
And  sought,  in  mist  and  meteor  fire, 
To  meet  and  know  his  Phantom  Sire ! 
In  vain,  to  soothe  his  wayward  fate, 
The  cloister  oped  her  pitying  gate ; 
In  vain  the  learning  of  the  age 
Unclasp'd  the  sable-letter'd  page : 
Even  in  its  treasures  he  could  find 
Food  for  the  fever  of  his  mind. 
Eager  he  read  whatever  tells 
Of  magic,  cabala,  and  spells, 
And  every  dark  pursuit  allied 
To  curious  and  presumptuous  pride ; 
Till   with   fired  brain  and  nerves  o'er- 

strung, 
And  heart  with  mystic  horrors  wrung, 
Desperate  he  sought  Benharrow's  den, 
And  hid  him  from  the  haunts  of  men. 

VII. 

The  desert  gave  him  visions  wild, 
Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  child.* 
Where  with  black  cliffs  the  torrents  toil, 
He  watch'd  the  wheeling  eddies  boil, 
Till,  from  their  foam,  his  dazzled  eyes 
Beheld  the  River  Demon  rise  ; 


And  passion's  host,  that  never  brook'd  control: 
Can  all  saint,  sage,  or  sophist  ever  writ 
People  this  Lonely  tower,  this  tenement  refit?" 

Childe  Harold. 

1  "These  reflections  on  an  ancient  field  of  battle  afford 

the  most  remarkable  instance  of  false  taste  in  all  Mr.  Scott's 

Yi  t  the  brevity  and  variety  of  the  images  serve 

well  to  Bhow  thai  even  in  his  errors  there  are  traces  of  a 

powerful  genius." — Jeffrey. 


The  mountain  mist  took  form  and  limb, 

Of  noontide  hag,  or  goblin  grim; 

The  midnight  wind  came  wild  and  dread, 

Swell'd  with  the  voices  of  the  dead ; 

Far  on  the  future  battle-heath 

His  eye  beheld  the  ranks  of  death  : 

Thus  the  lone  Seer,  from  mankind  hurl'd, 

Shaped  forth  a  disembodied  world. 

One  lingering  sympathy  of  mind 

Still  bound  him  to  the  mortal  kind ; 

The  only  parent  he  could  claim 

Of  ancient  Alpine's  lineage  came. 

Late  had  he  heard,  in  prophet's  dream, 

The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream  ;5 

Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 

Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 

Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  might  ride  ;6 

The  thunderbolt  had  split  the  pine, — 

All  augur'd  ill  to  Alpine's  line. 

He  girt  his  loins,  and  came  to  show 

The  signals  of  impending  woe, 

And  now  stood  prompt  to  bless  or  ban, 

As  bade  the  Chieftain  of  his  clan. 

VIII. 

'Twas  all  prepared ; — and  from  the  rock, 
A  goat,  the  patriarch  of  the  flock, 
Before  the  kindling  pile  was  laid, 
And  pierced  by  Roderick's  ready  blade. 
Patient  the  sickening  victim  eyed 
The  life-blood  ebb  in  crimson  tide, 
Down  his  clogg'd  beard  and  shaggy  limb, 
Till  darkness  glazed  his  eyeballs  dim. 
The  grisly  priest,  with  murmuring  prayer, 
A  slender  crosslet  form'd  with  care, 
A  cubit's  length  in  measure  due  ; 
The  shaft  and  limbs  were  rods  of  yew, 
Whose  parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave7 
Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave, 
And,  answering  Lomond's  breezes  deep, 
Soothe  many  a  chieftain's  endless  sleep. 
The  Cross,  thus  form'd,  he  held  on  high, 
With  wasted  hand,  and  haggard  eye, 
And  strange  and  mingled  feelings  woke, 
While  his  anathema  he  spoke : 

IX. 

"  Woe  to  the  clansman  who  shall  view 
This  symbol  of  sepulchral  yew, 
Forgetful  that  its  branches  grew 
Where  weep  the  heavens  their  holiest  dew 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 

3  MS. :  "  Till,  driven  to  frenzy,  he  believed 

The  legend  of  his  birth  received." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 

6  MS.:  "The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  dismal  scream; 
And  seen  her  wrinkled  form,  the  sign 
Of  woe  and  death  to  Alpine's  line." 

—See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I.  »  Ibid.  Note  2  K. 


THE  LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


197 


On  Alpine's  dwelling  low ! 
Deserter  of  his  Chieftain's  trust, 
He  ne'er  shall  mingle  with  their  dust, 
But,  from  his  sires  and  kindred  thrust, 
Each  clansman's  execration  just 

Shall  doom  him  wrath  and  woe."1 
He  paused ; — the  word  the  vassals  took, 
With  forward  step  and  fiery  look, 
On  high  their  naked  brands  they  shook, 
Their  clattering  targets  wildly  strook ; 

And  first  in  murmur  low,2 
Then,  like  the  billow  in  his  course, 
That  far  to  seaward  finds  his  source, 
And  flings  to  shore  his  muster'd  force, 
Burst,  with  loud  roar,  their  answer  hoarse, 

"  Woe  to  the  traitor,  woe !" 
Ben-an's  gray  scalp  the  accents  knew, 
The  joyous  wolf  from  covert  drew, 
The  exulting  eagle  scream' d  afar, — 
They  knew  the  voice  of  Alpine's  war. 

X. 

The  shout  was  hush'd  on  lake  and  fell, — 
The  monk  resumed  his  mutter'd  spell : 
Dismal  and  low  its  accents  came, 
The  while  he  scathed  the  Cross  with  flame ; 
And  the  few  words  that  reach'd  the  air, 
Although  the  holiest  name  was  there,3 
Had  more  of  blasphemy  than  prayer. 
But  when  he  shook  above  the  crowd 
Its  kindled  points,  he  spoke  aloud : 
"  Woe  to  the  wretch  who  fails  to  rear 
At  this  dread  sign  the  ready  spear ! 
For,  as  the  flames  this  symbol  sear, 
His  home,  the  refuge  of  his  fear, 

A  kindred  fate  shall  know ; 
Far  o'er  its  roof  the  volumed  flame 
Clan- Alpine's  vengeance  shall  proclaim, 
While  maids  and  matrons  on  his  name 
Shall  call  down  wretchedness  and  shame, 

And  infamy  and  woe." 
Then  rose  the  cry  of  females,  shrill 
As  goss-hawk's  whistle  on  the  hill, 
Denouncing  misery  and  ill, 
Mingled  with  childhood's  babbling  trill 

Of  curses  stammer'd  slow  ; 
Answering,  with  imprecation  dread, 
"  Sunk  be  his  home  in  embers  red ! 
And  cursed  be  the  meanest  shed 
That  e'er  shall  hide  the  houseless  head 

We  doom  to  want  and  woe !" 
A  sharp  and  shrieking  echo  gave, 
Coir-Uriskin,  thy  goblin  cave ! 
And  the  gray  pass  where  birches  wave, 

On  Beala-nam-bo. 


1  MS. :  "  Our  warriors,  on  his  worthless  bust, 
Shall  speak  disgrace  and  woe." 

s  MS. :  "  Their  clattering  targets  hardly  strook ; 
And  first  they  mutter' d  low." 


XL 

Then  deeper  paused  the  priest  anew, 
And  hard  his  laboring  breath  he  drew, 
While  with  set  teeth  and  clenched  hand, 
And  eyes  that  glow'd  like  fiery  brand, 
He  meditated  curse  more  dread, 
And  deadlier,  on  the  clansman's  head 
Who,  summon'd  to  his  Chieftain's  aid, 
The  signal  saw  and  disobey'd. 
The  crosslet's  points  of  sparkling  wood 
He  quench'd  among  the  bubbling  blood, 
And,  as  again  the  sign  he  rear'd, 
Hollow  and  hoarse  his  voice  was  heard : 
"  When  flits  this  Cross  from  man  to  man, 
Vich-Alpine's  summons  to  his  clan, 
Burst  be  the  ear  that  fails  to  heed ! 
Palsied  the  foot  that  shuns  to  speed ! 
May  ravens  tear  the  careless  eyes, 
Wolves  make  the  coward  heart  their  prize ! 
As  sinks  that  blood-stream  in  the  earth, 
So  may  his  heart's  blood  drench  his  hearth ! 
As  dies  in  hissing  gore  the  spark, 
Quench  thou  his  light,  Destruction  dark ! 
And  be  the  grace  to  him  denied, 
Bought  by  this  sign  to  all  beside !" 
He  ceased ;  no  echo  gave  agen 
The  murmur  of  the  deep  Amen.* 

XII. 

Then  Roderick,  with  impatient  look, 

From  Brian's  hand  the  symbol  took : 

"  Speed,  Malise,  speed !"  he  said,  and  gave 

The  crosslet  to  his  henchman  brave. 

"  The  muster-place  be  Lanrick  mead — 5 

Instant  the  time — speed,  Malise,  speed!" 

Like  heath-bird  when  the  hawks  pursue, 

A  barge  across  Loch  Katrine  flew ; 

High  stood  the  henchman  on  the  prow ; 

So  rapidly  the  barge-men  row, 

The  bubbles,  where  they  launch'd  the  boat, 

Were  all  unbroken  and  afloat, 

Dancing  in  foam  and  ripple  still, 

When  it  had  near'd  the  mainland  hill  ; 

And  from  the  silver  beach's  side 

Still  was  the  prow  three  fathom  wide, 

When  lightly  bounded  to  the  land 

The  messenger  of  blood  and  brand. 

XIII. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  dun  deer's  hide 
On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied  ;6 
Speed,  Malise,  speed !  such  cause  of  haste 
Thine  active  sinews  never  braced. 
Bend  'gainst  the  steepy  hill  thy  breast, 
Burst  down  like  torrent  from  its  crest  ; 


3  MS. 

*  MS. 

*  MS. 


"Although  the  holy  name  was  there.' 
"  The  slowly^mutter'd  deep  Amen." 
"Murlagan  is  the  spot  decreed." 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 


198 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


With  short  and  springing  footstep  pass 
The  trembling  bog  and  false  morass  ; 
Across  the  brook  like  roebuck  bound, 
And  thread  the  brake  like  questing  hound; 
The  crag  is  high,  the  scaur  is  deep, 
Yet  shrink  not  from  the  desperate  leap : 
Parch'd  are  thy  burning  lips  and  brow, 
Yet  by  the  fountain  pause  not  now ; 
Herald  of  battle,  fate,  and  fear,1 
Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career ! 
The  wounded  hind  thou  track'st  not  now, 
Pursuest  not  maid  through  greenwood  bough, 
Nor  pliest  thou  now  thy  flying  pace 
With  rivals  in  the  mountain  race; 
But  danger,  death,  and  warrior  deed, 
Are  in  thy  course — speed,  Malise,  speed  I 

XIV. 
Fast  as  the  fatal  symbol  flies, 
la  arms  the  huts  and  hamlets  rise; 
From  winding  glen,  from  upland  brown, 
They  pour'd  each  hardy  tenant  down. 
Nor  slack'd  the  messenger  his  pace ; 
He  show'd  the  sign,  he  named  the  place, 
And,  pressing  forward  like  the  wind, 
Left  clamor  and  surprise  behind.2 
The  fisherman  forsook  the  strand, 
The  swarthy  smith  took  dirk  and  brand; 
"With  changed  cheer,  the  mower  blithe 
Left  in  the  half-cut  swathe  the  scythe ; 
The  herds  without  a  keeper  stray'd, 
The  plough  was  in  mid-furrow  staid, 
The  falc'ner  toss'd  his  hawk  away, 
The  hunter  left  the  stag  at  bay ; 
Prompt  at  the  signal  of  alarms, 
Each  son  of  Alpine  rush'd  to  arms ; 
So  swept  the  tumult  and  affray 
Along  tin-  margin  of  Achray. 
Alas,  thou  lovely  lake!  that  e'er 
Thy  banks  should  echo  sounds  of  fear  I 
The  rocks,  the  bosky  thickets,  sleep 
So  stilly  on  thy  bosom  deep, 
The  lark's  blithe  carol,  from  the  cloud, 
Seems  for  the  scene  too  gayly  loud.3 

XV. 

Speed,  Malise,  speed !  the  lake  is  past, 
Duncraggan's  huts  appear  at  last, 

1  MS. :  "  Dread  messenger  of  fate  and  fear,  \ 
"Herald  of  danger,  fate,  and  fear,    J 
Stretch  onward  in  thy  fleet  career! 
Thou  track'st  not  now  the  stricken  doe, 
Nor  maiden  coy  through  greenwood  hough." 
-  "The  description  of  the  starting  nf'tlie  'fiery  cross'  bears 
more  marks  of  labor  than  most  of  Mr.  Scott's  poetry,  and 
borders,  perhaps,  upon  straining  and  exaggeration;  yet  it 
shows  great  power." — Jeffrey. 

MS.:  "Seems  all  too  lively  and  too  loud." 

4  MS.:  "'Tis  woman's  scream, 'tis  childhood's  wail." 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

6  Or  corri — the  hollow  side  of  the  hill,  where  game  usually 
lies. 


And  peep,  like  moss-grown  rocks,  half  seen, 
Half  hidden  in  the  copse  so  green ; 
There  mayest  thou  rest,  thy  labor  done, 
Their  lord  shall  speed  the  signal  on. — 
As  stoops  the  hawk  upon  his  prey, 
The  henchman  shot  him  down  the  way. 
— What  woeful  accents  load  the  gale  ? 
The  funeral  yell,  the  female  wail  !4 
A  gallant  hunter's  sport  is  o'er, 
A  valiant  Avarrior  fights  no  more. 
Who,  in  the  battle  or  the  chase, 
At  Roderick's  side  shall  fill  his  place? — 
Within  the  hall,  where  torches'  ray 
Supplies  the  excluded  beams  of  day, 
Lies  Duncan  on  his  lowly  bier, 
And  o'er  him  streams  his  widow's  tear. 
His  stripling  son  stands  mournful  by, 
His  youngest  weeps,  but  knows  not  why ; 
The  village  maids  and  matrons  round 
The  dismal  coronach  resound.5 

XVI. 

(Corottari). 

He  is  gone  on  the  mountain, 

He  is  lost  to  the  forest, 
Like  a  summer-dried  fountain, 

When  our  need  was  the  sorest. 
The  font,  reappearing, 

From  the  raindrops  shall  borrow, 
But  to  us  comes  no  cheering, 

To  Duncan  no  morrow  1 
The  hand  of  the  reaper 

Takes  the  ears  that  are  hoary, 
But  the  voice  of  the  weeper 

Wails  manhood  in  glory. 
The  autumn  winds  rushing 

Waft  the  leaves  that  are  searest, 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing 

When  blighting  was  nearest. 

Fleet  foot  on  the  correi,6 

Sage  counsel  in  cumber, 
Red  hand  in  the  foray, 

How  sound  is  thy  slumber ! 
Like  the  dew  on  the  mountain, 

Like  the  foam  on  the  river, 
Like  the  bubble  on  the  fountain, 

Thou  art  gone,  and  for  ever  !7 

1  "  Mr.  Scott  is  such  a  master  of  versification  that  the  most 
complicated  metre  does  not  for  an  instant  arrest  the  progress 
of  hifl  imagination;  its  difficulties  usually  operate  as  a  salu- 
tary excitement  to  his  attention,  and  not  unfrequently  sug- 
gest to  him  new  and  unexpected  graces  of  expression.  If  a 
careless  rhyme  or  an  ill-constructed  phrase  occasionally 
escape  him  amidst  the  irregular  torrent  of  his  stanza,  the 
blemish  is  often  imperceptible  by  the  hurried  eye  of  the 
reader;  but  when  the  short  lines  are  yoked  in  pairs,  any 
dissonance  in  the  jingle  or  interruption  of  the  construction 
cannot  fail  to  give  offence.  We  learn  from  Horace  that  in 
the  course  of  a  long  work  a  poet  may  legitimately  indulge 
in  a  momentary  slumber — but  we  do  not  wish  to  hear  him 
snore." — Quarterly  Review. 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


199 


XVII. 

See  Stumah,1  who,  the  bier  beside, 
His  master's  corpse  with  wonder  eyed ; 
Poor  Stumah !  whom  his  least  halloo 
Could  send  like  lightning  o'er  the  dew, 
Bristles  his  crest,  and  points  his  ears, 
As  if  some  stranger  step  he  hears. 
'Tis  not  a  mourner's  muffled  tread, 
Who  comes  to  sorrow  o'er  the  dead, 
But  headlong  haste,  or  deadly  fear, 
Urge  the  precipitate  career. 
All  stand  aghast : — unheeding  all, 
The  henchman  bursts  into  the  hall  ; 
Before  the  dead  man's  bier  he  stood ; 
Held  forth  the  Cross  besmear'd  with  blood : 
"  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead ; 
Speed  forth  the  signal !  clansmen,  speed !" 

XVIII. 

Angus,  the  heir  of  Duncan's  line,2 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign. 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 

His  father's  dirk  and  broadsword  tied ; 

But  when  he  saw  his  mother's  eye 

Watch  him  in  speechless  agony, 

Back  to  her  open'd  arms  he  flew, 

Press'd  on  her  lips  a  fond  adieu — 

"  Alas !"  she  sobb'd, — "  and  yet  be  gone, 

And  speed  thee  forth  like  Duncan's  son !" 

One  look  he  cast  upon  the  bier, 

Dash'd  from  his  eye  the  gathering  tear, 

Breathed  deep  to  clear  his  laboring  breast, 

And  toss'd  aloft  his  bonnet  crest, 

Then,  like  the  high-bred  colt,  when,  freed, 

First  he  essays  his  fire  and  speed, 

He  vanish'd,  and  o'er  moor  and  moss 

Sped  forward  with  the  Fiery  Cross. 

Suspended  was  the  widow's  tear, 

While  yet  his  footsteps  she  could  hear; 

And  when  she  mark'd  the  henchman's  eye 

Wet  with  unwonted  sympathy, 

"  Kinsman,"  she  said,  "  his  race  is  run 

That  should  have  sped  thine  errand  on ; 

The  oak  has  fall'n, — the  sapling  bough 

Is  all  Duncraggan's  shelter  now. 

Yet  trust  I  well,  his  duty  done, 

The  orphan's  God  will  guard  my  son. — 

And  you,  in  many  a  danger  true, 

At  Duncan's  hest  your  blades  that  drew, 

To  arms,  and  guard  that  orphan's  head ! 

Let  babes  and  women  wail  the  dead." 

Then  weapon-clang,  and  martial  call, 

Resounded  through  the  funeral  hall, 

While  from  the  walls  the  attendant  band 

Snatch'd  sword  and  targe,  with  hurried  hand ; 

1  Faithful — the  name  of  a  dog. 

2  MS. :  "  Angus,  the  first  of  Duncan's  line, 

Sprung  forth  and  seized  the  fatal  sign, 
And  then  upon  his  kinsman's  bier 
Fell  Malise's  suspended  tear. 


And  short  and  flitting  energy 
Glanced  from  the  mourner's  sunken  eye, 
As  if  the  sounds  to  warrior  dear 
Might  rouse  her  Duncan  from  his  bier. 
But  faded  soon  that  borrow'd  force  ; 
Grief  claim'd  his  right,  and  tears  their 
course. 

XIX. 

Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 
It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire  ;3 
O'er  dale  and  hill  the  summons  flew, 
Nor  rest  nor  pause  young  Angus  knew ; 
The  tear  that  gather'd  in  his  eye 
He  left  the  mountain  breeze  to  diy  ; 
Until,  where  Teith's  young  waters  roll 
Betwixt  him  and  a  wooded  knoll,4 
That  graced  the  sable  strath  with  green, 
The  chapel  of  St.  Bride  was  seen. 
Swoln  was  the  stream,  remote  the  bridge, 
But  Angus  paused  not  on  the  edge ; 
Though  the  dark  waves  danced  dizzily, 
Though  reel'd  his  sympathetic  eye, 
He  dash'd  amid  the  torrent's  roar : 
His  right  hand  high  the  crosslet  bore, 
His  left  the  pole-axe  grasp'd,  to  guide 
And  stay  his  footing  in  the  tide. 
He  stumbled  twice — the  foam  splash'd  high, 
With  hoarser  swell  the  stream  raced  by ; 
And  had  he  fall'n, — for  ever  there 
Farewell  Duncraggan's  orphan  heir ! 
But  still,  as  if  in  parting  life, 
Firmer  he  grasp'd  the  Cross  of  strife, 
Until  the  opposing  bank  he  gaiu'd, 
And  uj>  the  chapel  j^athway  strain'd. 

XX. 

A  blithesome  rout,  that  morning  tide, 
Had  sought  the  chapel  of  Saint  Bride. 
Her  troth  Tombea's  Mary  gave 
To  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
And,  issuing  from  the  Gothic  arch, 
The  bridal  now  resumed  their  march. 
In  rude  but  glad  procession  came 
Bonneted  sire  and  coif-clad  dame; 
Ami  plaided  youth,  with  jest  and  jeer, 
Which  snooded  maiden  would  not  hear ; 
And  children,  that,  unwitting  why, 
Lent  the  gay  shout  their  shrilly  cry ; 
And  minstrels,  that  in  measures  vied 
Before  the  young  and  bonny  bride, 
Whose  downcast  eye  and  cheek  disclose 
The  tear  and  blush  of  morning  rose. 
With  virgin  step,  and  bashful  hand, 
She  held  the  'kerchief's  snowy  band ; 

In  haste  the  stripling  to  his  side 
His  father's  targe  and  falchion  tied." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 

4  MS. :  "And  where  a  steep  and  wooded  knoll 

Graced  the  dark  strath  with  emerald  green." 


200 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  gallant  bridegroom  by  her  side 
Beheld  his  prize  with  victor's  pride, 
And  the  glad  mother  in  her  ear 
Was  closely  whispering  word  of  cheer. 

XXI. 

Who  meets  them  at  the  churchyard  gate? 

The  messenger  of  fear  and  fate ! 

Haste  in  his  hurried  accent  lies, 

And  grief  is  swimming  in  his  eyes. 

All  dripping  from  the  recent  flood, 

Panting  and  travel-soil'd  he  stood, 

The  fatal  sign  of  fire  and  sword 

Held  forth,  and  spoke  the  appointed  word: 

"  The  muster-place  is  Lanrick  mead ; 

Speed  forth  the  signal !  Norman,  speed !" 

And  must  he  change  so  soon  the  hand,1 

Just  link'd  to  his  by  holy  band, 

For  the  fell  Cross  of  blood  and  brand  ? 

And  must  the  day,  so  blithe  that  rose, 

And  promised  rapture  in  the  close, 

Before  its  setting  hour,  divide 

The  bridegroom  from  the  plighted  bride? 

Oh  fatal  doom ! — it  must !  it  must ! 

Clan-Acme's  cause,  her  Chieftain's  trust, 

Her  summons  dread,  brook  no  delay ; 

Stretch  to  the  race — away !  away ! 

XXII. 

Yet  slow  he  laid  his  plaid  aside, 

And,  lingering,  eyed  his  lovely  bride, 

Until  he  saw  the  starting  tear 

Speak  woe  he  might  not  stop  to  cheer; 

Then,  trusting  not  a  second  look, 

In  haste  he  sped  him  up  the  brook, 

Nor  backward  glanced,  till  on  the  heath 

Where  Lubnaig's  lake  supplies  the  Teith. 

— What  in  the  racer's  bosom  stirr'd  ? 

The  sickening  pang  of  hope  deferr'd, 

And  memory,  with  a  torturing  train2 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain. 

Mingled  with  love's  impatience,  came 

The  manly  thirst  for  martial  fame; 

The  stormy  joy  of  mountaineers, 

Ere  yet  they  rush  upon  the  spears  ; 

And  zeal  for  Clan  and  ( ihieftain  burning, 

And  hope,  from  well-foughl  field  returning, 

With  war's  red  honors  on  his  crest, 

To  clasp  his  Mary  to  his  breast. 

Stung  by  such  thoughts,  o'er  hank  and  brae 

Like  fire  from  flint  he  glanced  away, 

While  high  resolve,  and  feeling  strong, 

Burst  into  voluntary  song. 

1  MS.:  "And  must  he  then  exchange  the  hand." 

2  MS.:  "And  memory  hromilil  the  torturing  train 

Of  all  his  morning  visions  vain; 
But  mingled  with  impatience  came 
The  manly  love  of  martial  fame." 

8  Bracken — tern. 

*  MS. :  "  I  may  not,  dare  not,  image  now." 


XXIII. 

Sons. 
The  heath  this  night  must  be  my  bed, 
The  bracken3  curtain  for  my  head, 
My  lullaby  the  warder's  tread, 

Far,  far,  from  love  and  thee,  Mary; 
To-morrow  eve,  more  stilly  laid, 
My  couch  may  be  my  bloody  plaid, 
My  vesper  song,  thy  wail,  sweet  maid! 

It  will  not  waken  me,  Mary  ! 

I  may  not,  dare  not,  fancy  now4 

The  grief  that  clouds  thy  lovely  brow, 

I  dare  not  think  upon  thy  vow, 

And  all  it  promised  me,  Mary. 
No  fond  regret  must  Norman  know ; 
When  bursts  Clan- Alpine  on  the  foe, 
His  heart  must  be  like  bended  bow, 

His  foot  like  arrow  free,  Mary. 

A  time  will  come  with  feeling  fraught, 
For,  if  I  fall  in  battle  fought, 
Thy  hapless  lover's  dying  thought 

Shall  be  a  thought  on  thee,  Mary.5 
And  if  return'd  from  conquer'd  foes, 
How  blithely  will  the  evening  close, 
How  sweet  the  linnet  sing  repose, 

To  my  young  bride  and  me,  Maiy ! 

XXIV. 

Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Bakpiidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze,8 
Rushing,  in  conflagration  strong, 
Thy  deep  ravines  and  dells  along, 
Wrapping  thy  cliffs  in  purjjle  glow, 
And  reddening  the  dark  lakes  below; 
Nor  faster  speeds  it,  nor  so  far, 
As  o'er  thy  heaths  the  voice  of  war.7 
The  signal  roused  to  martial  coil 
The  sullen  margin  of  Loch  Voil, 
Waked  still  Loch  Doine,  and  to  the  source 
Alarm'd,  Balvaig,  thy  swampy  course ; 
Thence  southward  turn'd  its  rapid  road 
Adown  Sfrath-Gartney's  valley  broad, 
Till  rose  in  arms  each  man  might  claim 
A  portion  in  Clan-Alpine's  name, 
From  the  gray  sire,  whose  trembling  hand 
Could  hardly  buckle  on  his  brand, 
To  the  raw  boy,  whose  shaft  and  bow 
Were  yet  scarce  terror  to  the  crow. 
Each  valley,  each  sequester'd  glen, 
Muster'd  its  little  horde  of  men, 
That  met  as  torrents  from  the  height 
In  Highland  dales  their  streams  unite, 

6  MS.:  "A  time  will  come  for  love  and  faith, 

For  should  thy  bridegroom  yield  his  breath, 
'Twill  cheer  him  in  the  hour  of  death, 
The  boasted  right  to  thee,  Mary !" 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  0. 

"  "The  eager  fidelity  with  which  this  fatal  signal  is  hur- 
ried  on  and  obeyed  is  represented  with  great  spirit  and 
felicity."— Jeffrey. 


THE   LADY   OF  THE   LAKE. 


201 


Still  gathering,  as  they  pour  along, 

A  voice  more  loud,  a  tide  more  strong, 

Till  at  the  rendezvous  they  stood 

By  hundreds  prompt  for  blows  and  blood ; 

Each  train'd  to  arms  since  life  began, 

Owning  no  tie  but  to  his  clan, 

No  oath  but  by  his  Chieftain's  hand, 

No  law  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.1 

XXV. 

That  summer  morn  had  Roderick  Dhu 

Survey'd  the  skirts  of  Benvenue, 

And  sent  his  scouts  o'er  hill  and  heath, 

To  view  the  frontiers  of  Menteith. 

All  backward  came  with  news  of  truce ; 

Still  lay  each  martial  Graeme  and  Bruce, 

In  Rednock  courts  no  horsemen  wait, 

No  banner  waved  on  Cardross  gate, 

On  Duchray's  towers  no  beacon  shone, 

Nor  scared  the  herons  from  Loch  Con ; 

All  seem'd  at  peace. — Now,  wot  ye  why 

The  Chieftain,  with  such  anxious  eye, 

Ere  to  the  muster  he  repair, 

This  western  frontier  scann'd  with  care  ? — 

In  Benvenue's  most  darksome  cleft, 

A  fair,  though  cruel,  pledge  was  left ; 

For  Douglas,  to  his  promise  true, 

That  morning  from  the  isle  withdrew, 

And  in  a  deep  sequester'd  dell 

Had  sought  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 

By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 

Has  Coir-nan-Uriskin  been  sung  ;2 

A  softer  name  the  Saxons  gave, 

And  call'd  the  grot  the  Goblin  Cave. 

XXVI. 
It  was  a  wild  and  strange  retreat, 
As  e'er  was  trod  by  outlaw's  feet. 
The  dell,  upon  the  mountain  crest, 
Yawn'd  like  a  gash  on  warrior's  breast; 
Its  trench  had  staid  full  many  a  rock, 
Hurl'd  by  primeval  earthquake  shock 
From  Benvenue's  gray  summit  wild, 
And  here,  in  random  ruin  piled, 
They  frown'd  incumbent  o'er  the  spot, 
And  forni'd  the  rugged  sylvan  grot.3 
The  oak  and  birch,  with  mingled  shade, 
At  noontide  there  a  twilight  made, 
Unless  when  short  and  sudden  shone 
Some  straggling  beam  on  cliff  or  stone, 
With  such  a  glimpse  as  prophet's  eye 
Gains  on  thy  depth,  Futurity. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 

3  "  After  landing  on  the  skirts  of  Benvenue,  we  reach  the 
cave  (or  more  properly  the  cove)  of  tfie  goblins  by  a  steep  and 
narrow  defile  of  a  few  hundred  yards  in  length.  It  is  a  deep 
circular  amphitheatre  of  at  least  600  yards  of  extent  in  its 
upper  diameter,  gradually  narrowing  towards  the  base,  hem- 
med in  all  round  by  steep  and  towering  rocks,  and  rendered 
impenetrable  to  the  rays  of  the  sun  by  a  close  covert  of  lux- 


No  murmur  waked  the  solemn  still, 
Save  tinkling  of  a  fountain  rill ; 
But  when  the  wind  chafed  with  the  lake, 
A  sullen  sound  would  upward  break, 
With  dashing  hollow  voice,  that  spoke 
The  incessant  war  of  wave  and  rock. 
Suspended  cliffs,  with  hideous  sway, 
Seem'd  nodding  o'er  the  cavern  gray. 
From  such  a  den  the  wolf  had  sprung, 
In  such  the  wild-cat  leaves  her  young ; 
Yet  Douglas  and  his  daughter  fair 
Sought  for  a  space  their  safety  there. 
Gray  Superstition's  whisper  dread 
Debarr'd  the  spot  to  vulgar  tread ; 
For  there,  she  said,  did  fays  resort, 
And  satyrs4  hold  their  sylvan  court, 
By  moonlight  tread  their  mystic  maze, 
And  blast  the  rash  beholder's  gaze. 

XXVII. 

Now  eve,  with  western  shadows  long, 

Floated  on  Katrine  bright  and  strong, 

When  Roderick,  with  a  chosen  few, 

Repass'd  the  heights  of  Benvenue. 

Above  the  goblin  cave  they  go, 

Through  the  wild  pass  of  Beal-nam-bo  :5 

The  prompt  retainers  speed  before, 

To  launch  the  shallop  from  the  shore, 

For  'cross  Loch  Katrine  lies  his  way 

To  view  the  passes  of  Achray, 

And  place  his  clansmen  in  array. 

Yet  lags  the  chief  in  musing  mind, 

Unwonted  sight,  his  men  behind. 

A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword, 

Alone  attended  on  his  lord  ;6 

The  rest  their  way  through  thickets  break, 

And  soon  await  him  by  the  lake. 

It  was  a  fair  and  gallant  sight, 

To  view  them  from  the  neighboring  height, 

By  the  low-levell'd  sunbeam's  light ! 

For  strength  and  stature,  from  the  clan 

Each  warrior  was  a  chosen  man, 

As  even  afar  might  well  be  seen, 

By  their  proud  step  and  martial  mien. 

Their  feathers  dance,  their  tartans  float, 

Their  targets  gleam,  as  by  the  boat 

A  wild  and  warlike  group  they  stand, 

That  well  became  such  mountain  strand. 

XXVIII. 

Their  Chief,  with  step  reluctant,  still 
Was  lingering  on  the  craggy  hill, 

uriant  trees.  On  the  south  and  west  it  is  bounded  by  the  pre- 
cipitous shoulder  of  Benvenue,  to  the  height  of  least  500  feet ; 
towards  the  east  the  rock  appears  at  some  former  period  to 
have  tumbled  down,  strewing  the  whole  course  of  its  fall  with 
immense  fragments,  which  now  serve  only  to  give  shelter  to 
foxes,  wild-cats,  and  badgers."— Dr.  Graham. 

4  The  brisk,  or  Highland  satyr.  See  Note  on  the  previous 
canto. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.  6  Ibid.  Note  2  S. 


202 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


Hard  by  where  turn'd  apart  the  road 
To  Douglas's  obscure  abode. 
It  was  but  with  that  dawning  morn 
That  Roderick  Dim  had  proudly  sworn 
To  drown  his  love  in  war's  wild  roar,1 
Nor  think  of  Ellen  Douglas  more ; 
But  he  who  stems  a  stream  with  sand, 
And  fetters  flame  with  flaxen  band, 
Has  yet  a  harder  task  to  prove — 
By  firm  resolve  to  conquer  love ! 
Eve  finds  the  Chief,  like  restless  ghost, 
Still  hovering  near  his  treasure  lost; 
For  though  his  haughty  heart  deny 
A  parting  meeting  to  his  eye, 
Still  fondly  strains  his  anxious  ear, 
The  accents  of  her  voice  to  hear, 
And  inly  did  he  curse  the  breeze 
That  waked  to  sound  the  rustling  trees. 
But  hark!  what  mingles  in  the  strain? 
It  is  the  harp  of  Allan-bane, 
That  wakes  its  measure  slow  and  high, 
Attuned  to  sacred  minstrelsy. 
What  melting  voice  attends  the  strings  ? 
'Tis  Ellen,  or  an  angel,  sings. 

XXIX. 

Ittcmit  to  tf)t  Virgin. 
Ave  Maria  !  maiden  mild ! 

Listen  to  a  maiden's  prayer ! 
Thou  canst  hear  though  from  the  wild, 

.Thou  canst  save  amid  despair.  ^ 

Safe  may  we  sleep  beneath  thy  care, 

Though  banish'd,  outcast,  and  reviled — 
Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer ; 

Mother !  hear  a  suppliant  child ! 

Ave  Maria  ! 

Ave  Maria  !  undefiled ! 

The  flinty  couch  we  now  must  share2 
Shall  seem  with  down  of  eider  piled,  ^ 

If  thy  protection  hover  there. 
The  murky  cavern's  heavy  air3 

Shall  breathe  of  balm  if  thou  hast  smiled ; 
Then,  Maiden !  hear  a  maiden's  prayer ; 

Mother!  list  a  suppliant  child ! 

Ave  Maria  ! 

Ave  Maria  !  stainless  styled ! 

Foul  demons  of  the  earth  and  air, 
From  this  their  wonted  haunt  exiled, 

Shall  flee  before  thy  presence  fair. 
We  bow  us  to  our  lot  of  care, 

Beneath  thy  guidance  reconciled ; 
Hear  for  a  maid  a  maiden's  prayer, 

And  for  a  father  hear  a  child ! 

Ave  Maria  ! 

1  MS.:  "To  drown  his  grief  in  war's  wild  roar, 

Nor  think  of  Iqve  and  Ellen  more." 

2  MS.:  "The  flinty  couch  my  sire  must  share." 
8  MS.:  "The  murky  grotto's  noxious  air." 


XXX. 

Died  on  the  harp  the  closing  hymn — 
Unmoved  in  attitude  and  limb, 
As  list'ning  still,  Clan-Alpine's  lord 
Stin id  leaning  on  his  heavy  sword, 
Until  the  page,  with  humble  sign, 
Twice  pointed  to  the  sun's  decline. 
Then  while  his  plaid  he  round  him  cast, 
"  It  is  the  last  time — 'tis  the  last," 
He  mutter'd  thrice, — "the  last  time  e'er 
That  angel  voice  shall  Roderick  hear!" 
It  was  a  goading  thought — his  stride 
Hied  hastier  down  the  mountain  side ; 
Sullen  he  flung  him  in  the  boat, 
And  instant  'cross  the  lake  it  shot. 
They  landed  in  that  silvery  bay, 
And  eastward  held  their  hasty  way, 
Till,  with  the  latest  beams  of  light, 
The  band  arrived  on  Lanrick  height, 
Where  muster'd,  in  the  vale  below,* 
Clan- Alpine's  men  in  martial  show. 

XXXI. 

A  various  scene  the  clansmen  made, 

Some  sat,  some  stood,  some  slowly  stray'd ; 

But  most,  with  mantles  folded  round, 

Were  couch'd  to  rest  upon  the  ground, 

Scarce  to  be  known  by  curious  eye 

From  the  deep  heather  where  they  lie, 

So  well  was  match'd  the  tartan  screen 

With  heath-bell  dark  and  brackens  green ; 

Unless  where,  here  and  there,  a  blade, 

Or  lance's  point,  a  glimmer  made, 

Like  glow-worm  twinkling  through  the  shade. 

But  when,  advancing  through  the  gloom, 

They  saw  the  Chieftain's  eagle  plume, 

Their  shout  of  welcome,  shrill  and  wide, 

Shook  the  steep  mountain's  steady  side. 

Thrice  it  arose,  and  lake  and  fell 

Three  times  return'd  the  martial  yell ; 

It  died  upon  Bochastle's  plain, 

And  Silence  claim'd  her  evening  reign. 


Cf)e  Hatifi  of  tfje  Hafce. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

"  The  rose  is  fairest  when  'tis  budding  new, 
And  hope  is  brightest  when  it  dawns  from  fears  ;5 

The  rose  is  sweetest  wash'd  with  morning  dew, 
And  love  is  loveliest  when  embalm'd  in  tears. 

*  MS. :  "  Where  broad  extending  far  below, 

Muster'd  Clan-Alpine's  martial  show." 

6  MS.:  "And  rapture  dearest  when  obscured  by  fears." 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


203 


0  wilding  rose,  whom  fancy  thus  endears, 
I  bid  your  blossoms  in  my  bonnet  wave, 
Emblem  of  hope  and  love  through  future  years !" 
Thus  spoke  young  Norman,  heir  of  Armandave, 
What  time  the  sun  arose  on  Vennachar's  broad  wave. 

II. 
Such  fond  conceit,  half  said,  half  sung, 
Love  prompted  to  the  bridegroom's  tongue. 
All  while  he  stripp'd  the  wild-rose  spray, 
His  axe  and  bow  beside  him  lay, 
For  on  a  pass  'twixt  lake  and  wood, 
A  wakeful  sentinel  he  stood. 
Hark !  on  the  rock  a  footstep  rung, 
And  instant  to  his  arms  he  sprung. 
"  Stand,  or  thou  diest ! — What,  Malise  ? — soon 
Art  thou  return'd  from  Braes  of  Doune. 
By  thy  keen  step  and  glance  I  know 
Thou  bring'st  us  tidings  of  the  foe." — 
(For  while  the  Fiery  Cross  hied  on, 
On  distant  scout  had  Malise  gone.) 
"  Where  sleeps  the  Chief?"  the  henchman  said. 
"  Apart,  in  yonder  misty  glade ; 
To  his  lone  couch  I'll  be  your  guide." — 
Then  call'd  a  slumberer  by  his  side, 
And  stirr'd  him  with  his  slacken'd  bow — 
"  Up,  up,  Glentarkin !  rouse  thee,  ho ! 
We  seek  the  Chieftain ;  on  the  track, 
Keep  eagle  watch  till  I  come  back." 

III. 

Together  up  the  pass  they  sped  : 

"  What  of  the  foemen  ?"  Norman  said. — 

"  Varying  reports  from  near  and  far ; 

This  certain, — that  a  band  of  war 

Has  for  two  days  been  ready  boune, 

At  prompt  command,  to  march  from  Doune ; 

King  James,  the  while,  with  princely  powers, 

Holds  revelry  in  Stirling  towers. 

Soon  will  this  dark  and  gathering  cloud 

Speak  on  our  glens  in  thunder  loud. 

Inured  to  bide  such  bitter  bout, 

The  warrior's  plaid  may  bear  it  out ; 

But,  Norman,  how  wilt  thou  provide 

A  shelter  for  thy  bonny  bride  ?" — 

"  What !  know  ye  not  that  Boderick's  care 

To  the  lone  isle  hath  caused  repair 

Each  maid  and  matron  of  the  clan, 

And  every  child  and  aged  man 

Unfit  for  arms ;  and  given  his  charge, 

Nor  skiff  nor  shallop,  boat  nor  barge, 

Upon  these  lakes  shall  float  at  large, 

But  all  beside  the  islet  moor, 

That  such  dear  pledge  may  rest  secure  ?" — 

IV. 

"  'Tis  well  advised — the  Chieftain's  plan1 
Bespeaks  the  father  of  his  clan. 

1  MS. :  "  'Tis  well  advised — a  prudent  plan, 
Worthy  the  father  of  his  elan." 


But  wherefore  sleeps  Sir  Roderick  Dhu 

Apart  from  all  his  followers  true  ?" — 

"  It  is  because  last  evening-tide 

Brian  an  augury  hath  tried, 

Of  that  dread  kind  which  must  not  be 

Unless  in  dread  extremity, 

The  Taghairm  call'd ;  by  which,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war.2 

Duncraggan's  milk-white  bull  they  slew." — 

MALISE. 
"  Ah !  well  the  gallant  brute  I  knew ! 
The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 
When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad.3 
His  hide  was  snow,  his  horns  were  dark, 
His  red  eye  glow'd  like  fiery  spark ; 
So  fierce,  so  tameless,  and  so  fleet, 
Sore  did  he  cumber  our  retreat, 
And  kept  our  stoutest  kernes  in  awe, 
Even  at  the  pass  of  Beal  'maha. 
But  steep  and  flinty  was  the  road, 
And  sharp  the  hurrying  pikeman's  goad, 
And  when  we  came  to  Dennan's  Row, 
A  child  might  scatheless  stroke  his  brow." — 

V. 

NOEMAN. 
"  That  bull  was  slain :  his  reeking  hide 
They  stretch'd  the  cataract  beside, 
Whose  waters  their  wild  tumult  toss 
Adown  the  black  and  craggy  boss 
Of  that  huge  cliff  whose  ample  verge 
Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe.4 
Couch'd  on  a  shelve  beneath  its  brink, 
Close  where  the  thundering  torrents  sink, 
Rocking  beneath  their  headlong  sway, 
And  drizzled  by  the  ceaseless  spray, 
Midst  groan  of  rock,  and  roar  of  stream, 
The  wizard  waits  prophetic  dream. 
Nor -distant  rests  the  Chief; — but  hush  ! 
See,  gliding  slow  through  mist  and  bush, 
The  hermit  gains  yon  rock,  and  stands 
To  gaze  upon  our  slumbering  bands. 
Seems  he  not,  Malise,  like  a  ghost, 
That  hovers  o'er  a  slaughter'd  host  ? 
Or  raven  on  the  blasted  oak, 
That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke,5 
His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  ?" 

MALISE. 

— "  Peace !  peace !  to  other  than  to  me, 

Thy  words  were  evil  augury ; 

But  still  I  hold  Sir  Roderick's  blade 

Clan-Alpine's  omen  and  her  aid, 

Not  aught  that,  glean'd  from  heaven  or  hell, 

Yon  fiend-begotten  monk  can  tell. 

The  Chieftain  joins  him,  see — and  now 

Together  they  descend  the  brow." 


2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 
4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 


3  Ibid.  Note  2  U. 
6  Ibid.  Note  2  W. 


204 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


VI. 
And,  as  they  oniric,  with  Alpine's  Lord 
The  Bermil  Monk  held  solemn  word : — 

"Roderick  !   it  is  a  fearful  strife, 

For  man  endow'd  with  mortal  life, 

Whose  shroud  of  sentient  clay  can  still 

Feel  feverish  pang  and  fainting  chill, 

Whose  eye  can  stare  in  stony  trance, 

Whose  hair  can  rouse  like  warrior's  lance, — 

'Tis  hard  for  such  to  view  unfurl'd 

The  curtain  of  the  future  world. 

Yet,  witness  every  quaking  limb, 

My  sunken  pulse,  my  eyeballs  dim, 

My  soul  with  harrowing  anguish  torn, — 

This  for  my  Chieftain  have  I  borne ! — 

The  shapes  that  sought  my  fearful  couch 

A  human  tongue  may  ne'er  avouch  ; 

No  mortal  man, — save  he  who,  bred 

Between  the  living  and  the  dead, 

Is  gifted  beyond  nature's  law, — 

Had  e'er  survived  to  say  he  saw. 

At  length  the  fatal  answer  came, 

In  characters  of  living  flame! 

Not  spoke  in  word,  nor  blazed  in  scroll, 

But  borne  and  branded  on  my  soul— 

Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life,1 

That  pabty  conquers  in  the  strife." — 2 

VII. 
"  Thanks,  Brian,  for  thy  zeal  and  care ! 
Good  is  thine  augury,  and  fair. 
Clan-Alpine  ne'er  in  battle  stood, 
But  first  our  broadswords  tasted  blood. 
A  surer  victim  still  I  know, 
Self-offer'd  to  the  auspfcious  blow : 
A  spy  has  sought  my  land  this  morn, — 
No  eve  shall  witness  his  return ! 
My  followers  guard  each  pass's  mouth, 
To  east,  to  westward,  and  to  south  ; 
Bed  Murdoch,  bribed  to  be  his  guide,3 
Has  charge  to  lead  his  steps  aside, 
Till,  in  deep  path  or  dingle  brown, 
He  light  on  those  shall  bring  him  down.* 
— But  see,  who  comes  his  news  to  show ! 
Malise !  what  tidings  of  the  foe  ?" — 

VIII. 

"  At  Doune,  o'er  many  a  spear  and  glaive 
Two  Barons  proud  their  banners  wave. 

1  MS.:  "  Which  foremost  spills  a  foeman's  life." 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 

3  MS.:  "The  clansman,  vainly  deem'd  his  guide." 

*  MS.:   "He  light  on  those  shall  stab  him  down." 

6  MS.  •-  " '  When  move  they  on  ?'—  j ,  f0Kjav     [  at  noon 

'Tia  said  will  see  them  march  from  Donne.' 

t  makes  •> 
'  To-morrow  then  -j  >  meeting  stern.' " 

•  Fbr  battle  bvune — ready  for  battle. 


I  saw  the  Moray's  silver  star, 

And  mark'd  the  sable  pale  of  Mar." — 

"  By  Alpine's  soul,  high  tidings  those! 

I  love  to  hear  of  worthy  foes. 

When  move  (hey  on?" — "  To-morrow's  noon5 

Will  sec  them  here  for  battle  boune." — 6 

"  Then  shall  it  sec  a  meeting  stern  ! — 

But,  for  the  place — say,  couhlst  thou  learn 

Nought  of  the  friendly  clans  of  Earn  ? 

Strengthen'd  by  them,  we  well  might  bide 

The  battle  on  Benledi's  side. 

Thou  couldst  not? — Well!  Clan- Alpine's  men 

Shall  man  the  Trosachs'  shaggy  glen ; 

Within  Loch  Katrine's  gorge  we'll  fight, 

All  in  our  maids'  and  matrons'  sight, 

Each  for  his  hearth  and  household  fire, 

Lai  her  for  child,  and  son  for  sire, — 

Lover  for  maid  beloved ! — But  why — 

Is  it  the  breeze  affects  mine  eye  ? 

Or  dost  thou  come,  ill-omen'd  tear ! 

A  messenger  of  doubt  or  fear  ? 

No !  sooner  may  the  Saxon  lance 

LTnfix  Benledi  from  his  stance, 

Than  doubt  or  terror  can  pierce  through 

The  unyielding  heart  of  Roderick  Dim ! 

'Tis  stubborn  as  his  trusty  targe. — 7 

Each  to  his  post ! — all  know  their  charge." 

The  pibroch  sounds,  the  bands  advance, 

The  broadswords  gleam,  the  banners  dance, 

Obedient  to  the  Chieftain's  glance. 

— I  turn  me  from  the  martial  roar, 

And  seek  Coir-Uriskin  once  more. 

IX. 

Where  is  the  Douglas  ? — he  is  gone ; 
And  Ellen  sits  on  the  gray  stone 
Fast  by  the  cave,  and  makes  her  moan; 
While  vainly  Allan's  words  of  cheer 
Are  pour'd  on  her  unheeding  ear. — 
"  He  will  return — Dear  lady,  trust ! — 
With  joy  return ; — he  will — he  must. 
Well  was  it  time  to  seek,  afar, 
Some  refuge  from  impending  war, 
When  e'en  Clan-Alpine's  rugged  swarm 
Are  cow'd  by  the  approaching  storm. 
I  saw  their  boats,  with  many  a  light, 
Floating  the  live-long  yesternight, 
Shifting  like  flashes  darted  forth8 
By  the  red  streamers  of  the  north  ; 


7  MS.:  "Tis  stubborn  as  his  Highland  targe." 

8  MS. :  "  Thick  as  the  flashes  darted  forth 

By  morrice-dancers  of  the  north ; 

i  barges  ride 
And  saw  at  morn  their  j  rMo  fl(.(,t 

Close  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side. 
Since  Ibis  rude  race  dare  not  abide 
Upon  their  native  mountain  side, 
'Tis  fit  that  Douglas  should  provide 
For  his  dear  child  some  safe  abode, 
And  soon  he  comes  to  point  the  road." 


THE   LADY   OF   THE  LAKE. 


205 


I  raark'd  at  morn  how  close  they  ride, 
Thick  moor'd  by  the  lone  islet's  side, 
Like  wild  ducks  couching  in  the  fen, 
When  stoops  the  hawk  upon  the  glen. 
Since  this  rude  race  dare  not  abide 
The  peril  on  the  mainland  side, 
Shall  not  thy  noble  father's  care 
Some  safe  retreat  for  thee  prepare  ?" — 

X. 

ELLEN. 
"  No,  Allan,  no  !  Pretext  so  kind1 
My  wakeful  terrors  could  not  blind. 
When  in  such  tender  tone,  yet  grave, 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave, 
The  tear  that  glisten'd  in  his  eye 
Drown'd  not  his  purpose  fix'd  on  high. 
My  soul,  though  feminine  and  weak, 
Can  image  his ;  e'en  as  the  lake, 
Itself  disturb'd  by  slightest  stroke,2 
Keflects  the  invulnerable  rock. 
He  hears  report  of  battle  rife, 
He  deems  himself  the  cause  of  strife. 
I  saw  him  redden  when  the  theme 
Turn'd,  Allan,  on  thine  idle  dream 
Of  Malcolm  Graeme  in  fetters  bound, 
Which  I,  thou  saidst,  about  him  wound. 
Think'st  thou  he  trow'd  thine  omen  aught? 
Oh  no !  'twas  apprehensive  thought 
For  the  kind  youth, — for  Roderick  too — 
(Let  me  be  just)  that  friend  so  true ; 
In  danger  both,  and  in  our  cause ! 
Minstrel,  the  Douglas  dare  not  pause. 
Why  else  that  solemn  warning  given, 
'  If  not  on  earth,  we  meet  in  heaven  1' 
Why  else,  to  Cambus-kenneth's  fane, 
If  eve  return  him  not  again, 
Am  I  to  hie,  and  make  me  known  ? 
Alas  !  he  goes  to  Scotland's  throne, 
Buys  his  friend's  safety  with  his  own ; — 
He  goes  to  do — what  I  had  done, 
Had  Douglas'  daughter  been  his  son !" — 

XL 

"  Nay,  lovely  Ellen ! — dearest,  nay ! 

If  aught  should  his  return  delay, 

He  only  named  yon  holy  fane 

As  fitting  place  to  meet  again. 

Be  sure  he's  safe ;  and  for  the  Graeme, — 

Heaven's  blessing  on  his  gallant  name ! — 

My  vision'd  sight  may  yet  prove  true, 

Nor  bode  of  ill  to  him  or  you. 

When  did  my  gifted  dream  beguile  ? 

Think  of  the  stranger  at  the  isle, 

1  MS. :  "  No,  Allan,  no !    His  words  so  kind 
Were  but  pretexts  my  fears  to  blind, 
When  in  such  solemn  tone,  and  grave 
Douglas  a  parting  blessing  gave." 

*  MS. :  "  Itself  disturb'd  by  slightest  shock, 
Reflects  the  adamantine  rock." 


And  think  upon  the  harpings  slow 
That  presaged  this  approaching  woe ! 
Sooth  was  my  prophecy  of  fear ; 
Believe  it  when  it  augurs  cheer. 
Would  we  had  left  this  dismal  spot ! 
Ill  luck  still  haunts  a  fairy  grot. 
Of  such  a  wondrous  tale  I  know — 
Dear  lady,  change  that  look  of  woe ; 
My  harp  was  wont  thy  grief  to  cheer." — 

ELLEN. 
"  Well,  be  it  as  thou  wilt ;  I  hear, 
But  cannot  stop  the  bursting  tear." 
The  Minstrel  tried  his  simple  art, 
Burt)  distant  far  was  Ellen's  heart. 

XII. 

a3allau.3 

ALICE   BRAND. 
Merry  it  is  in  the  good  greenwood, 

When  the  mavis4  and  merle5  are  singing, 
When  the  deer  sweeps  by,  and  the  hounds  are  in  cry, 

And  the  hunter's  horn  is  ringing. 

"  Oh,  Alice  Brand,  my  native  land 

Is  lost  for  love  of  you ; 
And  we  must  hold  by  wood  and  wold, 

As  outlaws  wont  to  do. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  'twas  all  for  thy  locks  so  bright, 

And  'twas  all  for  thine  eyes  so  blue, 
That  on  the  night  of  our  luckless  flight 

Thy  brother  bold  I  slew. 

"  Now  must  I  teach  to  hew  the  beech 

The  hand  that  held  the  glaive, 
For  leaves  to  spread  our  lowly  bed, 

And  stakes  to  fence  our  cave. 

"  And  for  vest  of  pall,  thy  fingers  small, 

That  wont  on  harp  to  stray, 
A  cloak  must  shear  from  the  slaughter'd  deer, 

To  keep  the  cold  away." — 

"  Oh,  Richard !  if  my  brother  died, 

'Twas  but  a  fatal  chance ; 
For  darkling  was  the  battle  tried, 

And  fortune  sped  the  lance.6 

"  If  pall  and  vair  no  more  I  wear, 

Nor  thou  the  crimson  sheen, 
As  warm,  we'll  say,  is  the  russet  gray, 

As  gay  the  forest-green. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

*  Thrush.  6  Blackbird. 

6  MS. :  "  'Twas  but  a  midnight  chance ; 

For  blindfold  was  the  battle  plied, 
And  fortune  held  the  lance." 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"And,  Richard,  if  our  lot  be  hard, 

And  lost  thy  native  land, 
Still  Alice  has  her  own  Richard, 

And  he  his  Alice  Brand." 

XIII. 

Ballal)  tontimufr. 
"Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

So  blithe  Lady  Alice  is  singing; 
On  the  beech's  pride,  and  oak's  brown  side, 

Lord  Richard's  axe  is  ringing. 

Up  spoke  the  moody  Elfin  King, 

Who  wonn'd  within  the  hill, — 1 
Like  wind  in  the  porch  of  a  ruin'd  church, 

His  voice  was  ghostly  shrill. 

"  Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ?2 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  ?3 
Or  who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies'  fatal  green  ?* 

"  Up,  Urgan,  up !  to  yon  mortal  hie, 

For  thou  wert  christen'd  man  ;5 
For  cross  or  sign  thou  wilt  not  fly, 

For  mutter'd  word  or  ban. 

"  Lay  on  him  the  curse  of  the  wither'd  heart, 

The  curse  of  the  sleepless  eye ; 
Till  he  wish  and  pray  that  his  life  would  part, 

Nor  yet  find  leave  to  die." 

XIV. 

Ballafr  £ontimu&. 
'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  good  greenwood, 

Though  the  birds  have  still'd  their  singing; 
The  evening  blaze  doth  Alice  raise, 

And  Richard  is  fagots  bringing. 

Up  Urgan  starts,  that  hideous  dwarf, 

Before  Lord  Richard  stands, 
And,  as  he  cross'd  and  bless'd  himself, 
"  I  fear  not  sign,"  quoth  the  grisly  elf, 

"  That  is  made  with  bloody  hands." 

But  out  then  spoke  she,  Alice  Brand, 

That  woman  void  of  fear, — 
"And  if  there's  blood  upon  his  hand, 

'Tis  but  the  blood  of  deer." — 

"  Now  loud  thy  liest,  thou  bold  of  mood  1 

It  cleaves  unto  his  hand, 
The  stain  of  thine  own  kindly  blood, 

The  blood  of  Ethert  Brand." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

2  MS.:  "Our  fairy  ringlets  screen." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 


Then  forward  stepp'd  she,  Alice  Brand, 

And  made  the  holy  sign, — 
"  And  if  there's  blood  on  Richard's  hand, 

A  spotless  hand  is  mine. 

"And  I  conjure  thee,  Demon  elf, 

By  Him  whom  Demons  fear, 
To  show  us  whence  thou  art  thyself, 

And  what  thine  errand  here  ?" — 

XV. 

BallalJ  tonttmuif. 
"  'Tis  merry,  'tis  merry,  in  Fairy-land, 

When  fairy  birds  are  singing, 
"When  the  court  doth  ride  by  their  monarch's  side, 

With  bit  and  bridle  ringing : 

"  And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy -land — 

But  all  is  glistening  show,6 
Like  the  idle  gleam  that  December's  beam 

Can  dart  on  ice  and  snow. 

"  And  fading,  like  that  varied  gleam, 

Is  our  inconstant  shape, 
Who  now  like  knight  and  lady  seem, 

And  now  like  dwarf  and  ape. 

"  It  was  between  the  night  and  day, 

When  the  Fairy  King  has  power, 
That  I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 
And,  'twixt  life  and  death,  was  snatch'd  away 

To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower.7 

"  But  wist  I  of  a  woman  bold 

Who  thrice  my  brow  durst  sign, 
I  might  regain  my  mortal  mould, 

As  fair  a  form  as  thine." 

She  cross'd  him  once — she  cross'd  him  twice — 

That  lady  was  so  brave ; 
The  fouler  grew  his  goblin  hue, 

The  darker  grew  the  cave. 

She  cross'd  him  thrice,  that  lady  bold ; 

He  rose  beneath  her  hand 
The  fairest  knight  on  Scottish  mould, 

Her  brother,  Ethert  Brand ! 

Merry  it  is  in  good  greenwood, 
When  the  mavis  and  merle  are  singing, 

But  merrier  were  they  in  Dunfermline  gray, 
When  all  the  bells  were  ringing. 

XVI. 

Just  as  the  minstrel  sounds  were  staid, 
A  stranger  climb'd  the  steepy  glade ; 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 
&  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  3D.  *  Ibid.  Note  3  E. 


THE    LADY  OF    THE    LAKE. 


207 


His  martial  step,  his  stately  mien, 

His  hunting  suit  of  Lincoln  green, 

His  eagle  glance,  remembrance  claims — 

Tis  Snowdoun's  Knight,  'tis  James  Fitz-James. 

Ellen  beheld  as  in  a  dream, 

Then,  starting,  scarce  suppress'd  a  scream : 

"  Oh,  stranger !  in  such  hour  of  fear, 

What  evil  hap  has  brought  thee  here  ?" — 

"  An  evil  hap  how  can  it  be, 

That  bids  me  look  again  on  thee  ? 

By  promise  bound,  my  former  guide 

Met  me  betimes  this  morning  tide, 

And  marshall'd,  over  bank  and  bourne, 

The  happy  path  of  my  return." — 

"  The  happy  path ! — what !  said  he  nought 

Of  war,  of  battle  to  be  fought, 

Of  guarded  pass  ?" — "  No,  by  my  faith  ! 

Nor  saw  I  aught  could  augur  scathe." — 

"  Oh  haste  thee,  Allan,  to  the  kern, 

— Yonder  his  tartans  I  discern ; 

Learn  thou  his  purpose,  and  conjure 

That  he  will  guide  the  stranger  sure  !- 

What  prompted  thee,  unhappy  man  ? 

The  meanest  serf  in  Roderick's  clan 

Had  not  been  bribed  by  love  or  fear, 

Unknown  to  him,  to  guide  thee  here." — 

XVII. 

"  Sweet  Ellen,  dear  my  life  must  be, 
Since  it  is  worthy  care  from  thee ; 
Yet  life  I  hold  but  idle  breath, 
When  love  or  honor's  weigh'd  with  death. 
Then  let  me  profit  by  my  chance, 
And  speak  my  purpose  bold  at  once. 
I  come  to  bear  thee  from  a  wild, 
Where  ne'er  before  such  blossom  smiled 
By  this  soft  hand  to  lead  thee  far 
From  frantic  scenes  of  feud  and  war 
Near  Bochastle  my  horses  wait  j1 
They  bear  us  soon  to  Stirling  gate. 
I'll  place  thee  in  a  lovely  bower, 
I'll  guard  thee  like  a  tender  flower" — 
"  Oh  hush,  Sir  Knight !  'twere  female  art 
To  say  I  do  not  read  thy  heart ; 
Too  much,  before,  my  selfish  ear 
Was  idly  soothed  my  praise  to  hear.2 
That  fatal  bait  hath  lured  thee  back, 
In  deathful  hour,  o'er  dangerous  track 
And  how,  oh  how,  can  I  atone 
The  wreck  my  vanity  brought  on ! — 
One  way  remains — I'll  tell  him  all — 
Yes !  struggling  bosom,  forth  it  shall ! 
Thou,  whose  light  folly  bears  the  blame, 
Buy  thine  own  pardon  with  thy  shame ! 
But  first- — my  father  is  a  man 
Outlaw'd  and  exiled,  under  ban  ; 


i  MS. 
2  MS. 
s  MS. 


"  By  Oambus^more  my  horses  wait." 
"Was  idly  fond  thy  praise  to  hear." 
"  This  ring  of  gold  the  Monarch  gave.' 


The  price  of  blood  is  on  his  head — 

With  me  'twere  infamy  to  wed. — 

Still  wouldst  thou  speak? — then  hear  the 

truth ! 
Fitz-James,  there  is  a  noble  youth, — 
If  yet  he  is  ! — exposed  for  me 
And  mine  to  dread  extremity. 
Thou  hast  the  secret  of  my  heart ; 
Forgive,  be  generous,  and  depart !" 

XVIII. 

Fitz-James  knew  every  wily  train 

A  lady's  fickle  heart  to  gain ; 

But  here  he  knew  and  felt  them  vain. 

There  shot  no  glance  from  Ellen's  eye 

To  give  her  steadfast  speech  the  lie ; 

In  maiden  confidence  she  stood, 

Though  mantled  in  her  cheek  the  blood, 

And  told  her  love  with  such  a  sigh 

Of  deep  and  hopeless  agony, 

As  death  had  seal'd  her  Malcolm's  doom, 

And  she  sat  sorrowing  on  his  tomb. 

Hope  vanish'd  from  Fitz- James's  eye, 

But  not  with  hope  fled  sympathy. 

He  proffer'd  to  attend  her  side, 

As  brother  would  a  sister  guide. — 

"  Oh,  little  know'st  thou  Roderick's  heart ! 

Safer  for  both  we  go  apart. 

Oh  haste  thee,  and  from  Allan  learn 

If  thou  may'st  trust  yon  wily  kern." 

With  hand  upon  his  forehead  laid, 

The  conflict  of  his  mind  to  shade, 

A  parting  step  or  two  he  made ; 

Then,  as  some  thought  had  cross'd  his  brain, 

He  paused,  and  turn'd,  and  came  again. 

XIX. 
"  Hear,  lady,  yet  a  parting  word ! — 
It  chanced  in  fight  that  my  poor  sword 
Preserved  the  life  of  Scotland's  lord. 
This  ring  the  grateful  Monarch  gave,3 
And  bade,  when  I  had  boon  to  crave, 
To  bring  it  back,  and  boldly  claim 
The  recompense  that  I  would  name.- 
Ellen,  I  am  no  courtly  lord, 
But  one  who  lives  by  lance  and  sword, 
Whose  castle  is  his  helm  and  shield, 
His  lordship  the  embattled  field. 
What  from  a  prince  can  I  demand, 
Who  neither  reck  of  state  nor  land  ? 
Ellen,  thy  hand— the  ring  is  thine  ;4 
Each  guard  and  usher  knows  the  sign. 
Seek  thou  the  King  without  delay  ;5 
This  signet  shall  secure  thy  way ; 
And  claim  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 
As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me." 

4  MS. :  "  Permit  this  hand— the  ring  is  thine." 
6  MS. :  "  '  Seek  thou  the  King,  and  on  thy  knee 
Put  forth  thy  suit,  whate'er  it  be, 
As  ransom  of  his  pledge  to  me : 


208 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


He  placed  the  golden  circlet  on, 

Paused — kiss'd  her  hand — and  then  was  gone. 

The  aged  Minstrel  stood  aghast, 

So  hastily  Fitz-James  shot  past. 

He  join'd  his  guide,  and  wending  down 

The  ridges  of  the  mountain  brown, 

Across  the  stream  they  took  their  way, 

That  joins  Loch  Katrine  to  Achray. 

XX. 

All  in  the  Trosachs'  glen  was  still, 
Noontide  was  sleeping  on  the  hill : 
Sudden  his  guide  whoop'd  loud  and  high — 
"  M  urdoch  !  was  that  a  signal  cry  ?" — 
He  stammer'd  forth, — "  I  shout  to  scare1 
Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare." 
He  look'd — he  knew  the  raven's  prey, 
His  own  brave  steed  : — "  Ah !  gallant  gray ! 
For  thee — for  me,  perchance — 'twere  well 
We  ne'er  had  seen  the  Trosachs'  dell. — 
Murdoch,  move  first — but  silently  ; 
Whistle  or  whoop,  and  thou  shalt  die !" 
Jealous  and  sullen,  on  they  fared, 
Each  silent,  each  upon  his  guard. 

XXI. 

Now  wound  the  path  its  dizzy  ledge 
Around  a  precipice's  edge, 
When  lo !  a  wasted  female  form, 
Blighted  by  wrath  of  sun  and  storm, 
In  tatter'd  weeds  and  wild  array,2 
Stood  on  a  cliff  beside  the  way, 
And  glancing  round  her  restless  eye, 
Upon  the  wood,  the  rock,  the  sky, 
Seem'd  nought  to  mark,  yet  all  to  spy' 
Her  brow  was  wreath'd  with  gaudy  broom ; 
With  gesture  wild  she  waved  a  plume 
Of  feathers,  which  the  eagles  fling 
To  crag  and  cliff  from  dusky  wing ; 
Such  spoils  her  desperate  step  had  sought 
Where  scarce  was  footing  for  the  goat. 
The  tartan  plaid  she  first  descried, 
And  shriek'd  till  all  the  rocks  replied  ; 
As  loud  she  laugh'd  when  near  they  drew, 
For  then  the  Lowland  garb  she  knew ; 
And  then  her  hands  she  wildly  wrung, 
And  then  she  wept,  and  then  she  sung — 
She  sung ! — the  voice,  in  better  time, 
Perchance  to  harp  or  lute  might  chime  ; 
And  now,  though  strain'd  and  roughen'd,  still 
Rung  wildly  sweet  to  dale  and  hill. 

My  name  and  this  shall  make  thy  way.' 
He  put  the  little  signet  on." 

1  MS. :  "He  stammer'd  forth  confused  reply: 

'Saxon,  ■) 

'  Sir  Knight,  J  *  shouted  but  t0  scare 

Yon  raven  from  his  dainty  fare.'" 

2  MS.:  "Wrapp'd  in  a  tatter'd  mantle  gray." 

3  The  Allan  and  Devan  are  two  beautiful  streams — the  lat- 


XXII. 

Song. 

They  bid  me  sleep,  they  bid  me  pray, 

They  say  my  brain  is  warp'd  and  wrung — 

I  cannot  sleep  on  Highland  brae, 
I  cannot  pray  in  Highland  tongue. 

But  were  I  now  where  Allan3  glides, 

Or  heard  my  native  Devan's  tides, 

So  sweetly  would  I  rest,  and  pray 

That  J  leaven  would  close  my  wintry  day! 

'Twas  thus  my  hair  they  bade  me  braid, 
They  made  me  to  the  church  repair  ; 

It  was  my  bridal  morn,  they  said, 
And  my  true  love  would  meet  me  there. 

But  woe  betide  the  cruel  guile 

That  drown'd  in  blood  the  morning  smile  1 

And  woe  betide  the  fairy  dream ! 

I  only  waked  to  sob  and  scream. 

XXIII. 
"  Who  is  this  maid  ?  what  means  her  lay  ? 
She  hovers  o'er  the  hollow  way, 
And  flutters  wide  her  mantle  gray, 
As  the  lone  heron  spreads  his  wing, 
By  twilight,  o'er  a  haunted  spring." — 
"  'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,"  Murdoch  said, 
"  A  crazed  and  captive  Lowland  maid,* 
Ta'en  on  the  morn  she  was  a  bride, 
When  Roderick  foray'd  Devan-side. 
The  gay  bridegroom  resistance  made, 
And  felt  our  Chief's  unconquer'd  blade. 
I  marvel  she  is  now  at  large, 
But  oft  she  'scapes  from  Maudlin's  charge. — 
Hence,  brain-sick  fool !" — He  raised  his  bow : — 
"  Now,  if  thou  strik'st  her  but  one  blow, 
I'll  pitch  thee  from  the  cliff  as  far 
As  ever  peasant  pitch'd  a  bar !" — 
"  Thanks,  champion,  thanks !"  the  Maniac  cried, 
And  press'd  her  to  Fitz-James's  side. 
"  See  the  gray  pennons  I  prepare,5 
To  seek  my  truedove  through  the  air ! 
I  will  not  lend  that  savage  groom,6 
To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume ! 
No ! — deep  amid  disjointed  stones, 
The  wolves  shall  batten  on  his  bones, 
And  then  shall  his  detested  plaid, 
By  bush  and  brier  in  mid  air  staid, 
Wave  forth  a  banner  fair  and  free, 
Meet  signal  for  their  revelry." — 

ter  celebrated  in  the  poetry  of  Burns— which  descend  from 
the  hill-  of  Perthshire  into  the  great  carse  or  plain  of  Stirling. 
*  MS.:  "'A  Saxon  born,  a  crazy  maid— 

'Tis  Blanche  of  Devan,'  Murdoch  said." 
&  MS. :  "  With  thee  these  pennons  will  I  share, 

Then  seek  my  true  love  through  the  air." 
8  MS. :  "  But  I'll  not,  lend  that  savage  groom, 

To  break  his  fall,  one  downy  plume! 

Deep,  dec]}  'mid  yn  disjointed  stones, 

The  wolf  shall  batten  on  his  bones." 


THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


209 


XXIV. 

"  Hush  thee,  poor  maiden,  and  be  still!" — 
"  Oh,  thou  look'st  kindly,  and  I  will. — 
Mine  eye  has  dried  and  wasted  been, 
But  still  it  loves  the  Lincoln  green ; 
And,  though  mine  ear  is  all  unstrung, 
Still,  still  it  loves  the  Lowland  tongue. 

"  For  oh  my  sweet  William  was  forester  true,1 
He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away ! 

His  coat  it  was  all  of  the  greenwood  hue, 
And  so  blithely  he  trill'd  the  Lowland  lay  ! 

"  It  was  not  that  I  meant  to  tell  .  .  . 
But  thou  art  wise,  and  guessest  well." 
Then,  in  a  low  and  broken  tone, 
And  hurried  note,  the  song  went  on. 
Still  on  the  Clansman,  fearfully, 
She  fix'd  her  apprehensive  eye ; 
Then  turn'd  it  on  the  Knight,  and  then 
Her  look  glanced  wildly  o'er  the  glen. 

XXV. 

"  The  toils  are  pitch'd,  and  the  stakes  are  set, 

Ever  sing  merrily,  merrily ; 
The  bows  they  bend,  and  the  knives  they  whet, 

Hunters  live  so  cheerily. 

"  It  was  a  stag,  a  stag  of  ten,2 

Bearing  its  branches  sturdily ; 
He  came  stately  down  the  glen, 

Ever  sing  hardily,  hardily. 

"  It  was  there  he  met  with  a  wounded  doe, 

She  was  bleeding  deathfully ; 
She  warn'd  him  of  the  toils  below, 

Oh  so  faithfully,  faithfully  ! 

"  He  had  an  eye,  and  he  could  heed, 
Ever  sing  warily,  warily ; 

He  had  a  foot,  and  he  could  speed- 
Hunters  watch  so  narrowly."3 

XXVI. 

Fitz-James's  mind  was  passion-toss'd, 
When  Ellen's  hints  and  fears  were  lost ; 
But  Murdoch's  shout  suspicion  wrought, 
And  Blanche's  song  conviction  brought. — 

1  MS.:  "Sweet  William  was  a  woodsman  true, 

He  stole  poor  Blanche's  heart  away ! 
His  coat  was  of  the  forest  hue, 
And  sweet  he  sung  the  Lowland  lay." 

2  Having  ten  branches  on  his  antlers. 

s  "  No  riachinery  can  be  conceived  more  clumsy  for  effect- 
ing the  rieliverance  of  a  distressed  hero  than  the  introduc- 
tion of  a.  mad  woman,  who,  without  knowing  or  caring  about 
the  wanderer,  warns  him,  by  a  song,  to  take  care  of  the  am- 
bush that  was  set  for  him.  The  maniacs  of  poetry  have 
indeed  had  a  prescriptive  right  to  be  musical  since  the  days 
of  Ophelia  downwards;  but  it  is  rather  a  rash  extension  of 
14 


Not  like  a  stag  that  spies  the  snare, 

But  lion  of  the  hunt  aware, 

He  waved  at  once  his  blade  on  high : 

"  Disclose  thy  treachery,  or  die !" 

Forth  at  full  speed  tbe  Clansman  flew,* 

But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  drew ; 

The  shaft  just  grazed  Fitz-James's  crest, 

And  thrill'd  in  Blanche's  faded  breast. — 

Murdoch  of  Alpine !  prove  thy  speed, 

For  ne'er  had  Alpine's  son  such  need ! 

With  heart  of  fire,  and  foot  of  wind, 

The  fierce  avenger  is  behind ! 

Fate  judges  of  the  rapid  strife — 

The  forfeit  death — the  prize  is  life ! 

Thy  kindred  ambush  lies  before, 

Close  couch'd  upon  the  heathery  moor ; 

Them  couldst  thou  reach  ! — it  may  not  be — 5 

Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  see, 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee ! 

— Resistless  speeds  the  deadly  thrust, 

As  lightning  strikes  the  pine  to  dust ; 

With  foot  and  hand  Fitz-James  must  strain 

Ere  he  can  win  his  blade  again. 

Bent  o'er  the  fall'n,  with  falcon  eye,8 

He  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die ; 

Then  slower  wended  back  his  way, 

Where  the  poor  maiden  bleeding  lay. 

XXVII. 

She  sat  beneath  the  birchen-tree, 
Her  elbow  resting  on  her  knee ; 
She  had  withdrawn  the  fatal  shaft, 
And  gazed  on  k,  and  feebly  laugh'd ; 
Her  wreath  of  broom  and  feathers  giay, 
Daggled  with  blood,  beside  her  lay. 
The  Knight  to  stanch  the  life-stream  tried, — 
"  Stranger,  it  is  in  vain !"  she  cried. 
"This  hour  of  death  has  given  me  more 
Of  reason's  power  than  years  before ; 
For,  as  these  ebbing  veins  decay, 
My  frenzied  visions  fade  away. 
A  helpless  injured  wretch  I  die,7 
And  something  tells  me  in  thine  eye, 
That  thou  wert  mine  avenger  born. — 
Seest  thou  this  tress? — Oh,  still  I've  worn 
This  little  tress  of  yellow  hair, 
Through  danger,  frenzy,  and  despair ! 
It  once  was  bright  and  clear  as  thine, 
But  blood  and  tears  have  dimm'd  its  shine. 

this  privilege  to  make  them  sing  good  sense,  and  to  make 
sensible  people  be  guided  by  them." — Jeffrey. 
4  MS. :  "  Forth  at  full  speed  the  Clansman  went ; 
But  in  his  race  his  bow  he  bent, 
Halted,  and  back  an  arrow  sent." 

6  MS. :  "  It  may  not  be — 

The  fiery  Saxon  gains  on  thee, 
Thine  ambush'd  kin  thou  ne'er  shalt  seel 
Resistless  as  the  lightning's  flame, 
The  thrust  betwixt  his  shoulders  came." 

6  MS. :  "  Then  o'er  him  hung,  with  falcon  eye, 

And  grimly  smiled  to  see  him  die." 

7  MS.:  "A  guiltless  injured  wretch  I  die." 


210 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


I  will  not  tell  thee  when  'twas  shred, 
Nor  from  what  guiltless  victim's  head— 
My  brain  would  turn !— but  it  shall  wave1 
Like  plumage  on  thy  helmet  brave, 
Till  sun  and  wind  shall  bleach  the  stain, 
And  thou  wilt  bring  it  me  again. — 
I  waver  still. — O  God !  more  bright 
Let  reason  beam  her  parting  light ! — 
Oh,  by  thy  knighthood's  honor'd  sign, 
And  for  thy  life  preserved  by  mine, 
When  thou  shalt  see  a  darksome  man, 
Who  boasts  him  Chief  of  Alpine's  Clan, 
With  tartans  broad  and  shadowy  plume, 
And  hand  of  blood,  and  brow  of  gloom, 
Be  thy  heart  bold,  thy  weapon  strong, 
And  wreak  poor  Blanche  of  Devan's  wrong ! 
They  watch  for  thee  by  pass  and  fell  .  .  . 
Avoid  the  path  .  .  .  O  God !  .  .  .  farewell." 

XXVIII. 

A  kindly  heart  had  brave  Fitz- James ; 

Fast  pour'd  his  eyes  at  pity's  claims, 

And  now,  with  mingled  grief  and  ire, 

He  saw  the  murder'd  maid  expire. 

"  God,  in  my  need,  be  my  relief,2 

As  I  wreak  this  on  yonder  Chief!" 

A  lock  from  Blanche's  tresses  fair 

He  blended  with  her  bridegroom's  hair ; 

The  mingled  braid  in  blood  he  dyed, 

And  placed  it  on  his  bonnet  side : 

"  By  Him  whose  word  is  truth !  I  swear, 

No  other  favor  will  I  wear, 

Till  this  sad  token  I  imbrue 

In  the  best  blood  of  Roderick  Dhu ! 

— But  bark !  what  means  yon  faint  halloo? 

The  chase  is  up, — but  they  shall  know, 

The  stag  at  bay's  a  dangerous  foe." 

Barr'd  from  the  known  but  guarded  way, 

Through  copse  and  cliffs  Fitz-James  must  stray, 

And  oft  must  change  his  desperate  track, 

By  stream  and  precipice  turn'd  back. 

Heartless,  fatigued,  and  faint,  at  length, 

From  lack  of  food  and  loss  of  strength, 

He  couch'd  him  in  a  thicket  hoar, 

And  thought  his  toils  and  perils  o'er: — 

"  Of  all  my  rash  adventures  past, 

This  frantic  feat  must  prove  the  last ! 

Who  e'er  so  mad  but  might  have  guess'd 

That  all  this  Highland  hornet's  nest 

Would  muster  up  in  swarms  so  soon 

As  e'er  they  heard  of  bands  at  Doune? — 

Like  blood-hounds  now  they  search  me  out, — 

Hark,  to  the  whistle  and  the  shout ! — 

If  farther  through  the  wilds  I  go, 

I  only  fall  upon  the  foe : 

1  MS.:  "But  now,  my  champion,  it  shall  wave." 

2  MS.:  "God,  in  my  need,  to  me  be  true, 

As  I  wreak  this  on  Roderick  Dhu." 
8  MS.:  "By  the  decaying  flame  was  laid 
A  warrior  in  his  Highland  plaid." 


I'll  couch  me  here  till  evening  gray, 
Then  darkling  try  my  dangerous  way." 

XXIX. 

The  shades  of  eve  come  slowly  down, 

The  woods  are  wrapt  in  deeper  brown, 

The  owl  awakens  from  her  dell, 

The  fox  is  heard  upon  the  fell ; 

Enough  remains  of  glimmering  light 

To  guide  the  wanderer's  steps  aright, 

Yet  not  enough  from  far  to  show 

His  figure  to  the  watchful  foe. 

With  cautious  step,  and  ear  awake, 

He  climbs  the  crag  and  threads  the  brake ; 

And  not  the  summer  solstice,  there, 

Temper'd  the  midnight  mountain  air, 

But  every  breeze  that  swept  the  wold 

Benumb'd  his  drenched  limbs  with  cold. 

In  dread,  in  danger,  and  alone, 

Famish'd  and  chill'd,  through  ways  unknown, 

Tangled  and  steep,  he  journey'd  on ; 

Till,  as  a  rock's  huge  point  he  turn'd, 

A  watch-fire  close  before  him  burn'd. 

XXX. 

Beside  its  embers  red  and  clear3 

Bask'd,  in  his  plaid,  a  mountaineer ; 

And  up  he  sprung  with  sword  in  hand, — 

"  Thy  name  and  purpose !  Saxon,  stand !" — 

"  A  stranger." — "  What  dost  thou  require?" — 

"  Rest  and  a  guide,  and  food  and  fire. 

My  life's  beset,  my  path  is  lost, 

The  gale  has  chill'd  my  limbs  with  frost." — 

"  Art  thou  a  friend  to  Roderick  ?" — "  No." — 

"  Thou  darest  not  call  thyself  a  foe  ?" — 

"  I  dare !  to  him  and  all  the  band* 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  hand." — 

"  Bold  words !  but,  though  the  beast  of  game 

The  privilege  of  chase  may  claim, 

Though  space  and  law  the  stag  we  lend, 

Ere  hound  we  slip,  or  bow  we  bend, 

Who  ever  reck'd  where,  how,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  ?5 

Thus  treacherous  scouts, — yet  sure  they  lie 

Who  say  thou  earnest  a  secret  spy !" — 

"  They  do,  by  heaven ! — Come  Roderick  Dhu, 

And  of  his  clan  the  boldest  two, 

And  let  me  but  till  morning  rest, 

I  write  the  falsehood  on  their  crest." — 

"  If  by  the  blaze  I  mark  aright, 

Thou  bear'st  the  belt  and  spur  of  Knight." — 

"  Then  by  these  tokens  may'st  thou  know 

Each  proud  oppressor's  mortal  foe." — 

"  Enough,  enough ;  sit  down  and  share 

A  soldier's  couch,  a  soldier's  fare." 

*  MS. :  "  I  dare  1  to  him  and  all  the  swarm 

He  brings  to  aid  his  murderous  arm." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 


THE  LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


211 


XXXI. 

He  gave  him  of  his  Highland  cheer, 

The  harden'd  flesh  of  mountain  deer  ;x 

Dry  fuel  on  the  fire  he  laid, 

And  bade  the  Saxon  share  his  plaid. 

He  tended  him  like  welcome  guest, 

Then  thus  his  further  speech  address'd : — 

"  Stranger,  I  am  to  Roderick  Dhu 

A  clansman  born,  a  kinsman  true ; 

Each  word  against  his  honor  spoke 

Demands  of  me  avenging  stroke ; 

Yet  more, — upon  thy  fate,  'tis  said, 

A  mighty  augury  is  laid. 

It  rests  with  me  to  wind  my  horn, — 

Thou  art  with  numbers  overborne  ; 

It  rests  with  me  here,  brand  to  brand, 

Worn  as  thou  art,  to  bid  thee  stand  : 

But  not  for  clan  nor  kindred's  cause 

Will  I  depart  from  honor's  laws ; 

To  assail  a  wearied  man  were  shame, 

And  stranger  is  a  holy  name ; 

Guidance  and  rest,  and  food  and  fire, 

In  vain  he  never  must  require. 

Then  rest  thee  here  till  dawn  of  day ; 

Myself  will  guide  thee  on  the  way, 

O'er  stock  and  stone,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Till  past  Clan- Alpine's  outmost  guard, 

As  far  as  Coilantogle's  ford  ; 

From  thence  thy  warrant  is  thy  sword." — 

"  I  take  thy  courtesy,  by  heaven, 

As  freely  as  'tis  nobly  given  !" — 

"  Well,  rest  thee ;  for  the  bittern's  cry 

Sings  us  the  lake's  wild  lullaby." 

With  that  he  shook  the  gather'd  heath, 

And  spread  his  plaid  upon  the  wreath ; 

And  the  brave  foemen,  side  by  side, 

Lay  peaceful  down,  like  brothers  tried, 

And  slept  until  the  dawning  beam2 

Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  stream. 


&J)e  Uatig  of  tf)t  Uafce. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


I. 

Fair  as  the  earliest  beam  of  eastern  light, 
When  first,  by  the  bewilder'd  pilgrim  spied, 

It  smiles  upon  the  dreary  brow  of  night, 
And  silvers  o'er  the  torrent's  foaming  tide, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G. 
8  MS. :  "  And  slept  until  the  dawning  streak 
Purpled  the  mountain  and  the  lake." 
8  MS. :  "  And  lights  the  fearful  way  along  its  side." 
*  The  Scottish  Highlander  calls  himself  Gael  or  Gaul,  and 
terms  the  Lowlanders  Sassenach  or  Saxons. 


And  lights  the  fearful  path  on  mountain  side ; — 3 
Fair  as  that  beam,  although  the  fairest  far, 

Giving  to  horror  grace,  to  danger  pride, 

Shine  martial  Faith,  and  Courtesy's  bright  star, 

Through  all  the  wreckful  storms  that  cloud  the  brow 
of  War. 

II. 

That  early  beam,  so  fair  and  sheen, 
Was  twinkling  through  the  hazel  screen, 
When,  rousing  at  its  glimmer  red, 
The  warriors  left  their  lowly  bed, 
Look'd  out  upon  the  dappled  sky, 
Mutter'd  their  soldier  matins  by, 
And  then  awaked  their  fire,  to  steal, 
As  short  and  rude,  their  soldier  meal. 
That  o'er,  the  Gael*  around  him  threw 
His  graceful  plaid  of  varied  hue, 
And,  true  to  promise,  led  the  way 
By  thicket  green  and  mountain  gray. 
A  wildering  path ! — they  winded  now 
Along  the  precipice's  brow, 
Commanding  the  rich  scenes  beneath, 
The  windings  of  the  Forth  and  Teith, 
And  all  the  vales  between  that  lie, 
Till  Stirling's  turrets  melt  in  sky ; 
Then,  sunk  in  copse,  their  farthest  glance 
Gain'd  not  the  length  of  horseman's  lance. 
'Twas  oft  so  steep,  the  foot  was  fain 
Assistance  from  the  hand  to  gain ; 
So  tangled  oft,  that,  bursting  through, 
Each  hawthorn  shed  her  showers  of  dew, — 
That  diamond  dew,  so  pure  and  clear, 
It  rivals  all  but  Beauty's  tear ! 

III. 

At  length  they  came  where,  stern  and  steep,5 
The  hill  sinks  down  upon  the  deep. 
Here  Vennachar  in  silver  flows, 
There,  ridge  on  ridge,  Benledi  rose ; 
Ever  the  hollow  path  twined  on, 
Beneath  steep  bank  and  threatening  stone ; 
An  hundred  men  might  hold  the  post 
With  hardihood  against  a  host. 
The  rugged  mountain's  scanty  cloak 
Was  dwarfish  shrubs  of  birch  and  oak,6 
With  shingles  bare,  and  cliffs  between, 
And  patches  bright  of  bracken  green, 
And  heather  black,  that  waved  so  high, 
It  held  the  copse  in  rivalry. 
But  where  the  lake  slept  deep  and  still, 
Dank  osiers  fringed  the  swamp  and  hill ; 
And  oft  both  path  and  hill  were  torn, 
Where  wintry  torrents  down  had  borne, 

5  MS. :  "At  length  they  paced  the  mountain's  side, 

And  saw  beneath  the  waters  wide." 

6  MS. :  "  The  rugged  mountain's  stunted  screen 

Was  dwarfish  {  S  \  with  cliffs  between." 

(.  copse  J 


■11-2 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Ami  heap'd  upon  the  cuinber'd  land 

Its  wreck  of  gravel,  rocks,  and  sand. 

So  toilsome  was  the  road  to  trace, 

The  guide,  abating  of  his  pace, 

Led  slowly  through  the  pass's  jaws, 

And  ask'd  Fitz-James  by  what  strange  cause 

He  sought  these  wilds,  traversed  by  few 

Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. 

IV. 

"  Brave  Gael,  my  pass,  in  danger  tried, 
Hangs  in  my  belt,  and  by  my  side; 
Yet,  sooth  to  tell,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  I  dreamt  not  now  to  claim  its  aid.1 
When  here,  but  three  days  since,  I  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  pursuit  of  game, 
All  seem'd  as  peaceful  and  as  still 
As  the  mist  slumbering  on  yon  hill  ; 
Thy  dangerous  Chief  was  then  afar, 
Nor  soon  expected  back  from  war. 
Thus  said,  at  least,  my  mountain  guide, 
Though  deep,  perchance,  the  villain  lied." — 
"  Yet  why  a  second  venture  try  ?" — 
"  A  warrior  thou,  and  ask  me  why ! — 
Moves  our  free  course  by  such  fix'd  cause 
As  gives  the  poor  mechanic  laws  ? 
Enough,  I  sought  to  drive  away 
The  lazy  hours  of  peaceful  day ; 
Slight  cause  will  then  suffice  to  guide 
A  Knight's  free  footsteps  far  and  wide, — * 
A  falcon  flown,  a  greyhound  stray'd, 
The  merry  glance  of  mountain  maid ; 
Or,  if  a  path  be  dangerous  known, 
The  danger's  self  is  lure  alone." — 


"  Thy  secret  keep,  I  urge  thee  not ; — 5 
Yet,  ere  again  ye  sought  this  spot, 
Say,  heard  ye  nought  of  Lowland  war, 
Against  Clan- Alpine,  raised  by  Mar  ?" — 
"  No,  by  my  word ; — of  bands  prepared 
To  guard  King  James's  sports  I  heard ; 
Nor  doubt  I  aught  but,  when  they  hear 
This  muster  of  the  mountaineer, 
Their  pennons  will  abroad  be  flung, 
Which  else  in  Doune  had  peaceful  hung." — * 
"  Free  be  they  flung ! — for  we  were  loth 
Their  silken  folds  should  feast  the  moth ; 
Free  be  they  flung ! — as  free  shall  wave 
Clan-Alpine's  Pine  in  banner  brave. 
But,  Stranger,  peaceful  since  you  came, 
Bewilder'd  in  the  mountain  game, 
Whence  the  bold  boast  by  which  you  show 
Vich-Alpine's  vow'd  and  mortal  foe  ?" — 
"  Warrior,  but  yester  morn  I  knew 
Nought  of  thy  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 


1  MS. :  "  I  dream'd  not  now  to  draw  my  blade." 
1  MS. :  "  My  errant  footsteps  ) 

"A  knight's  bold  wanderings}  far  and  wide" 


Save  as  an  outlaw'd  desperate  man, 
The  chief  of  a  rebellious  clan, 
Who,  in  the  Regent's  court  and  sight, 
With  ruffian  dagger  Btabb'd  a  knight: 
Yet  this  alone  might  from  his  part 
Sever  each  true  and  loyal  heart." 

VI. 

Wroth  ful  at  such  arraignment  foul, 
Dark  lower'd  the  Clansman's  sable  scowl. 
A  Bpace  he  paused,  then  sternly  said, 
"  And  heardst  thou  why  he  drew  his  blade  ? 
Heardst  thou  that  shameful  word  and  blow 
Brought  Roderick's  vengeance  on  his  foe? 
What  reck'd  the  Chieftain  if  he  stood 
On  Highland  heath,  or  Holy-Rood  ? 
He  rights  such  wrong  where  it  is  given, 
If  it  were  in  the  court  of  heaven." — 
"  Still  was  it  outrage ; — yet,  'tis  true, 
Not  then  claim'd  sovereignty  his  due ; 
While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 
Held  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command,5 
The  young  King,  mew'd  in  Stirling  tower, 
Was  stranger  to  respect  and  power. 
But  then,  thy  Chieftain's  robber  life ! — 
Winning  mean  prey  by  causeless  strife, 
Wrenching  from  ruin'd  Lowland  swain 
His  herds  and  harvest  rear'd  in  vain. — 
Methinks  a  soul  like  thine  should  scorn 
The  spoils  from  such  foul  foray  borne." 

VII. 

The  Gael  beheld  him  grim  the  while, 
And  answer'd  with  disdainful  smile, — 
"  Saxon,  from  yonder  mountain  high 
I  mark'd  thee  send  delighted  eye 
Far  to  the  south  and  east,  where  lay, 
Extended  in  succession  gay, 
Deep  waving  fields  and  pastures  green, 
With  gentle  slopes  and  groves  between : — 
These  fertile  plains,  that  soften'd  vale, 
Were  once  the  birthright  of  the  Gael ; 
The  stranger  came  with  iron  band, 
And  from  our  fathers  reft  the  land. 
Where  dwell  we  now!     See,  rudely  swell 
Crag  over  crag,  and  fell  o'er  fell. 
Ask  we  this  savage  hill  we  tread 
For  fatten'd  steer  or  household  bread, 
Ask  we  for  flocks  these  shingles  dry, 
And  well  the  mountain  might  reply, — 
'  To  you,  as  to  your  sires  of  yore, 
Belong  the  target  and  claymore ! 
I  give  you  shelter  in  my  breast, 
Your  own  good  blades  must  win  the  rest.' 
Pent  in  this  fortress  of  the  North, 
Think'st  thou  we  will  not  sally  forth 


»  MS. :  "Thy  secret  keep,  I  ask  it  not." 

*  MS.:  "Which  else  in  hall  had  peaceful  hung." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  H. 


THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


213 


To  spoil  the  spoiler  as  we  may, 
And  from  the  robber  rend  the  prey  ? 
Ay,  by  my  soul ! — While  on  yon  plain 
The  Saxon  rears  one  shock  of  grain, — 
While,  of  ten  thousand  herds,  there  strays 
But  one  along  yon  river's  maze, — 
The  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 
Shall  with  strong  hand  redeem  his  share.1 
Where  live  the  mountain  Chiefs  who  hold 
That  plundering  Lowland  field  and  fold 
Is  aught  but  retribution  true  ? 
Seek  other  cause  'gainst  Roderick  Dhu." 

VIII. 

Answer'd  Fitz-James, — "  And,  if  I  sought, 

Think'st  thou  no  other  could  be  brought  ? 

What  deem  ye  of  my  path  waylaid  ? 

My  life  given  o'er  to  ambuscade  ?" — 

"  As  of  a  meed  to  rashness  due : 

Hadst  thou  sent  warning  fair  and  true, 

I  seek  my  hound,  or  falcon  stray'd, — 

I  seek,  good  faith,  a  Highland  maid, — 

Free  hadst  thou  been  to  come  and  go ;  « 

But  secret  path  marks  secret  foe. 

Nor  yet,  for  this,  even  as  a  spy, 

Hadst  thou,  unheard,  been  doom'd  to  die, 

Save  to  fulfill  an  augury." — 

"  Well,  let  it  pass ;  nor  will  I  now 

Fresh  cause  of  enmity  avow, 

To  chafe  thy  mood  and  cloud  thy  brow. 

Enough,  I  am  by  promise  tied 

To  match  me  with  this  man  of  pride. 

Twice  have  I  sought  Clan-Alpine's  glen 

In  peace ;  but  when  I  come  agen, 

I  come  with  banner,  brand,  and  bow, 

As  leader  seeks  his  mortal  foe : 

For  love-lorn  swain,  in  lady's  bower, 

Ne'er  panted  for  the  appointed  hour, 

As  I,  until  before  me  stand 

This  rebel  Chieftain  and  his  band !" — J 

IX. 
"  Have,  then,  thy  wish !" — He  whistled  shrill, 
And  he  was  answer'd  from  the  hill ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

*  MS. :  "  This  dark  Sir  Roderick  )  and  Ms  band  „ 
"This  savage  Chieftain    ) 

3  MS. :  "  From  copse  to  copse  the  signal  flew. 

Instant,  through  copse  and  crags,  arose." 

4  MS. :  "  The^bracken  bush  shoots  forth  the  dart." 
6  MS. :  "  And  eacli  lone  tuft  of  broom  gives  life 

To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

That  whistle  mann'd  the  lonely  glen 

With  full  five  hundred  armed  men." 
6  The  Monthly  Reviewer  says : — "  We  now  come  to  the 
chef  (Fceuvre  of  Walter  Scott, — a  scene  of  more  vigor,  nature, 
and  animation  than  any  other  in  all  his  poetry."  Another 
anonymous  critic  of  the  poem  is  not  afraid  to  quote,  with 
reference  to  the  effect  of  this  passage,  the  sublime  language 
of  the  prophet  Ezekiel : — "Then  said  he  unto  me,  Prophesy 
unto  the  wind,  prophesy,  son  of  man,  and  say  to  the  wind, 
Thus  saith  the  Lord  God;  Come  from  the  four  winds,  O 


Wild  as  the  scream  of  the  curlew, 

From  crag  to  crag  the  signal  flew.3 

Instant,  through  copse  and  heath,  arose 

Bonnets  and  spears  and  bended  bows ; 

On  right,  on  left,  above,  below, 

Sprung  up  at  once  the  lurking  foe ; 

From  shingles  gray  their  lances  start, 

The  bracken  bush  sends  forth  the  dart,* 

The  rushes  and  the  willow  wand 

Are  bristling  into  axe  and  brand, 

And  every  tuft  of  broom  gives  life5 

To  plaided  warrior  arm'd  for  strife. 

That  whistle  garrison'd  the  glen 

At  once  with  full  five  hundred  men, 

As  if  the  yawning  hill  to  heaven 

A  subterranean  host  had  given.6 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will,7 

All  silent  there  they  stood,  and  still. 

Like  the  loose  crags  whose  threatening  mass 

Lay  tottering  o'er  the  hollow  pass, 

As  if  an  infant's  touch  could  urge 

Their  headlong  passage  down  the  verge, 

With  step  and  weapon  forward  flung, 

Upon  the  mountain  side  they  hung. 

The  Mountaineer  cast  glance  of  pride 

Along  Benledi's  living  side, 

Then  fix'd  his  eye  and  sable  brow 

Full  on  Fitz-James — "  How  say'st  thou  now  ? 

These  are  Clan-Alpine's  warriors  true ; 

And,  Saxon, — I  am  Roderick  Dhu !" 

X. 

Fitz-James  was  brave : — Though  to  his  heart 
The  life-blood  thrill'd  with  sudden  start, 
He  mann'd  himself  with  dauntless  air, 
Return'd  the  Chief  his  haughty  stare, 
His  back  against  a  rock  he  bore, 
And  firmly  placed  his  foot  before : — 
"  Come  one,  come  all !  this  rock  shall  fly 
From  its  firm  base  as  soon  as  I."8 
Sir  Roderick  mark'd — and  in  his  eyes 
Respect  was  mingled  with  surprise, 
And  the  stern  joy  which  warriors  feel 
In  foemen  worthy  of  their  steel. 

breath,  and  breathe  upon  these  slain,  that  they  may  live.  So 
I  prophesied  as  he  commanded  me,  and  the  breath  came  into 
them,  and  they  lived,  and  stood  up  upon  their  feet,  an  ex- 
ceeding great  army." — chap,  xxxvii.  v.  9,  10. 

7  MS. :  "  All  silent,  too,  they  stood,  and  still, 

Watching  their  leader's  beck  and  will, 
While  forward  step  and  weapon  show 
They  long  to  rush  upon  the  foe. 
Like  the  loose  crags  whose  tottering  mass 
Hung  threatening  o'er  the  hollow  pass." 

8  David  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole,  when  about  to  en- 
gage Sir  Andrew  Moray  at  the  battle  of  Kilblene,  in  1335,  in 
which  he  was  slain,  made  an  apostrophe  of  the  same  kind : — 

"  At  a  little  path  was  there 

All  samen  they  assembled  were 
Even  in  the  path  was  Earl  Davy 
And  to  a  great  stone  that  lay  by 


214 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


Short  space  he  stood — then  waved  his  hand : 
Down  sunk  the  disappearing  band ; 
Each  warrior  vanish'd  where  he  stood, 
In  broom  or  bracken,  heath  or  wood ; 
Sunk  brand  and  spear  and  bended  bow, 
In  osiers  pale  and  copses  low ; 
It  seem'd  as  if  their  mother  Earth 
Had  swallow'd  up  her  warlike  birth. 
The  wind's  last  breath  had  toss'd  in  air 
Pennon,  and  plaid,  and  plumage  fair, — 
The  next  but  swept  a  lone  hill-side, 
Where  heath  and  fern  were  waving  wide ; 
The  sun's  last  glance  was  glinted  back 
From  spear  and  glaive,  from  targe  and 

jack,— 
The  next,  all  unreflected,  shone 
On  bracken  green,  and  cold  gray  stone. 

XL 
Fitz-James  look'd  round — yet  scarce  believed 
The  witness  that  his  sight  received ; 
Such  apparition  well  might  seem 
Delusion  of  a  dreadful  dream. 
Sir  Roderick  in  suspense  he  eyed, 
And  to  his  look  the  Chief  replied, 
"  Fear  nought — nay,  that  I  need  not  say — 
But — doubt  not  aught  from  mine  array. 
Thou  art  my  guest ; — I  pledged  my  word 
As  far  as  Coilantogle  ford : 
Nor  would  I  call  a  clansman's  brand 
For  aid  against  one  valiant  hand,1 
Though  on  our  strife  lay  every  vale 
Rent  by  the  Saxon  from  the  Gael.2 
So  move  we  on ; — I  only  meant 
To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu."3 
They  moved. — I  said  Fitz-James  was  brave 
As  ever  knight  that  belted  glaive ; 
Yet  dare  not  say  that  now  his  blood 
Kept  on  its  wont  and  temper'd  flood, 
As,  following  Roderick's  stride,  he  drew 
That  seeming  lonesome  pathway  through, 
Which  yet,  by  fearful  proof,  was  rife 
With  lances  that,  to  take  his  life, 
Waited  but  signal  from  a  guide 
So  late  dishonor'd  and  defied. 
Ever  by  stealth  his  eye  sought  round 
The  vanish'd  guardians  of  the  ground, 
And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  deep, 
Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  peep,* 

He  said  by  God  his  face,  we  twa 
The  flight  on  us  shall  samen*  ta." 

»  At  the  same  time  or  together.  [Note  In  the  author's  MS.  not  affixed  to 
any  former  edition  of  the  poem.] 

1  MS.:  "For  aid  against  one  brave  man's  hand." 

2  "This  scene  is  excellently  described.  The  frankness  and 
high-souled  courage  of  the  two  warriors;  the  reliance  which 
the  Lowlander  places  on  the  word  of  the  Highlander  to  guide 


And  in  the  plover's  shrilly  strain 
The  signal  whistle  heard  again. 
Nor  breathed  he  free  till  far  behind 
The  pass  was  left ;  for  then  they  wind 
Along  a  wide  and  level  green, 
Where  neither  tree  nor  tuft  was  seen, 
Nor  rush  nor  bush  of  broom  was  near 
To  hide  a  bonnet  or  a  spear. 

XII. 

The  Chief  in  silence  strode  before, 

And  reach'd  that  torrent's  sounding  shore 

Which,  daughter  of  three  mighty  lakes, 

From  Vennachar  in  silver  breaks, 

Sweeps  through  the  plain,  and  ceaseless  mines 

On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines,5 

Where  Rome,  the  Empress  of  the  world, 

Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurl'd.6 

And  here  his  course  the  Chieftain  staid, 

Threw  down  his  target  and  his  plaid, 

And  to  the  Lowland  warrior  said — 

"  Bold  Saxon !  to  his  promise  just, 

Vich-Alpine  has  discharged  his  trust. 

This  murderous  Chief,  this  ruthless  man, 

This  head  of  a  rebellious  clan, 

Hath  led  thee  safe,  through  watch  and  ward, 

Far  past  Clan-Alpine's  outmost  guard. 

Now,  man  to  man,  and  steel  to  steel, 

A  Chieftain's  vengeance  thou  shalt  feel. 

See,  here  all  vantageless  I  stand, 

Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand  :7 

For  this  is  Coilantogle  ford, 

And  thou  must  keep  thee  with  thy  sword." 

XIII. 
The  Saxon  paused : — "  I  ne'er  delay'd 
When  foeman  bade  me  draw  my  blade ; 
Nay  more,  brave  Chief,  I  vow'd  thy  death : 
Yet  sure  thy  fair  and  generous  faith, 
And  my  deep  debt  for  life  preserved, 
A  better  meed  have  well  deserved. 
Can  nought  but  blood  our  feud  atone? 
Are  there  no  means  ?" — "  No,  Stranger,  none  t ' 
And  hear, — to  fire  thy  flagging  zeal, — 
The  Saxon  cause  rests  on  thy  steel ; 
For  thus  spoke  Fate,  by  prophet  bred 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead : 
'  Who  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 
His  party  conquers  in  the  strife.' " — 
"  Then,  by  my  word,"  the  Saxon  said, 
"  The  riddle  is  already  read. 

him  safely  on  his  way  the  next  morning,  although  he  has 
spoken  threatening  and  violent  words  against  Roderick, 
whose  kinsman  the  mountaineer  professes  himself  to  be,— 
these  circumstances  are  all  admirably  imagined  and  re- 
lated."— Monthly  Review. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

4  MS.:  "And  still,  from  copse  and  heather  bush, 

Fancy  saw  spear  and  broadsword  rush." 

5  MS. :  "  On  Bochastle  the  martial  lines." 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.  '  Ibid.  Note  3  M. 


THE  LADY   OF    THE    LAKE. 


215 


Seek  yonder  brake  beneath  the  cliff, — 
There  lies  Bed  Murdoch,  stark  and  stiff. 
Thus  Fate  hath  solved  her  prophecy, 
Then  yield  to  Fate,  and  not  to  me : 
To  James,  at  Stirling,  let  us  go, 
When,  if  thou  wilt  be  still  his  foe, 
Or  if  the  King  shall  not  agree 
To  grant  thee  grace  and  favor  free, 
I  plight  mine  honor,  oath,  and  word, 
Tbat,  to  thy  native  strengths  restored, 
With  each  advantage  shalt  thou  stand 
That  aids  thee  now  to  guard  thy  land." 

XIV. 
Dark  lightning  flash'd  from  Roderick's  eye — 
"Soars  thy  presumption,  then,  so  high, 
Because  a  wretched  kern  ye  slew, 
Homage  to  name  to  Roderick  Dim  ? 
He  yields  not,  he,  to  man  nor  Fate  !2 
Thou  addst  but  fuel  to  my  hate : — 
My  clansman's  blood  demands  revenge. 
Not  yet  prepared  ? — By  heaven,  I  change 
My  thought,  and  hold  thy  valor  light 
As  that  of  some  vain  carpet  knight, 
Who  ill  deserved  my  courteous  care, 
And  whose  best  boast  is  but  to  wear 
A  braid  of  his  fair  lady's  hair." — 
"  I  thank  thee,  Roderick,  for  the  word ! 
It  nerves  my  heart,  it  steels  my  sword ; 
For  I  have  sworn  this  braid  to  stain 
In  the  best  blood  that  warms  thy  vein. 
Now,  truce,  farewell !  and,  ruth,  begone ! — 
Yet  think  not  that  by  thee  alone, 
Proud  Chief!  can  courtesy  be  shown; 
Though  not  from  copse,  or  heath,  or  cairn, 
Start  at  my  whistle  clansmen  stern, 
Of  this  small  horn  one  feeble  blast 
Would  fearful  odds  against  thee  cast. 
But  fear  not — doubt  not — which  thou  wilt — 
We  try  this  quarrel  hilt  to  hilt." 
Then  each  at  once  his  falchion  drew, 
Each  on  the  ground  his  scabbard  threw, 
Each  look'd  to  sun,  and  stream,  and  plain, 
As  what  they  ne'er  might  see  again  ; 
Then  foot,  and  point,  and  eye  opposed, 
In  dubious  strife  they  darkly  closed.3 

XV. 

Ill  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw,* 


1  MS.:  "In  lightning  flash'd  the  Chief's  dark  eye." 
8  MS. :  "  He  stoops  not,  he,  to  James  nor  Fate." 
3  "The  two  principal  figures  are  contrasted  with  uncom- 
mon felicity.  Fitz-James,  who  more  nearly  resembles  the 
French  Henry  IV.  than  the  Scottish  James  V.,  is  gay,  amor- 
ous, fickle,  intrepid,  impetuous,  affectionate,  courteous,  grace- 
ful, and  dignified.  Roderick  is  gloomy,  vindictive,  arrogant, 
undaunted,  but  constant  in  his  affections,  and  true  to  his 
engagements ;  and  the  whole  passage  in  which  these  person- 
ages are  placed  in  opposition,  from  their  first  meeting  to  their 


Whose  brazen  studs  and  tough  bull-hide 
Had  death  so  often  dash'd  aside ; 
For,  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Fitz-James's  blade  was  sword  and  shield. 
He  practiced  every  pass  and  ward, 
To  thrust,  to  strike,  to  feint,  to  guard ; 
While  less  expert,  though  stronger  far, 
The  Gael  maintain'd  unequal  war.5 
Three  times  in  closing  strife  they  stood, 
And  thrice  the  Saxon  blade  drank  blood ; 
No  stinted  draught,  no  scanty  tide, 
The  gushing  flood  the  tartans  dyed. 
Fierce  Roderick  felt  the  fatal  drain, 
And  shower'd  his  blows  like  wintry  rain ; 
And,  as  firm  rock,  or  castle  roof, 
Against  the  winter  shower  is  proof, 
The  foe,  invulnerable  still, 
Foil'd  his  wild  rage  by  steady  skill ; 
Till,  at  advantage  ta'en,  his  brand 
Forced  Roderick's  weapon  from  his  hand, 
And,  backward  borne  upon  the  lea, 
Brought  the  proud  Chieftain  to  his  knee.6 

XVI. 

"  Now  yield  thee,  or  by  Him  who  made 

The  world,  thy  heart's  blood  dyes  my  blade  1"- 

"  Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy ! 

Let  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die."T 

— Like  adder  darting  from  his  coil, 

Like  wolf  that  dashes  through  the  toil, 

Like  mountain  cat  who  guards  her  young, 

Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung  ;8 

Received,  but  reck'd  not  of,  a  wound, 

And  lock'd  his  arms  his  foeman  round.- 

Now,  gallant  Saxon,  hold  thine  own ! 

No  maiden's  hand  is  round  thee  thrown ! 

That  desperate  grasp  thy  frame  might  feel 

Through  bars  of  brass  and  triple  steel ! — 

They  tug,  they  strain !  down,  down  they  go, 

The  Gael  above,  Fitz-James  below. 

The  Chieftain's  gripe  his  throat  compress'd, 

His  knee  was  planted  on  his  breast ; 

His  clotted  locks  he  backward  threw, 

Across  his  brow  his  hand  he  drew, 

From  blood  and  mist  to  clear  his  sight, 

Then  gleam'd  aloft  his  dagger  bright ! — 

— But  hate  and  fury  ill  supplied 

The  stream  of  life's  exhausted  tide, 

And  all  too  late  the  advantage  came 

To  turn  the  odds  of  deadly  game  ; 


final  conflict,  is  conceived  and  written  with  a  sublimity  which 
has  been  rarely  equalled."— Quarterly  Review,  1810. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N. 

5  MS. :  "  Not  Roderick  thus,  though  stronger  far, 

More  tall,  and  more  inured  to  war." 

6  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 
"•  See  Appendix,  Note  3  O. 

8  MS. :  " '  Yield  they  alone  who  fear  to  die !' 

Like  mountain  cat  who  guards  her  young, 
Full  at  Fitz-James's  throat  he  sprung." 


216 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


For,  while  the  dagger  gleam'd  on  high, 
Reel'd  soul  and  sense,  reel'd  brain  and  eye. 
Down  came  the  blow !  but  in  the  heath 
The  erring  blade  found  bloodless  sheath. 
The  struggling  foe  may  now  unclasp 
The  fainting  I  hief 's  relaxing  grasp; 
Unwounded  from  the  dreadful  close, 
But  breathless  all,  Fitz-James  arose.1 

XVII. 
He  falter'd  thanks  to  Heaven  for  life, 
Redeem'd,  unhoped,  from  desperate  strife  ;3 
Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  cast, 
Whose  every  gasp  appear'd  his  last ; 
In  Roderick's  gore  he  dipp'd  the  braid, — 
"  Poor  Blanche !  thy  wrongs  are  dearly  paid : 
Yet  with  thy  foe  must  die,  or  live, 
The  praise  that  faith  and  valor  give." 
With  that  he  blew  a  bugle-note, 
Undid  the  collar  from  his  throat, 
Unbonneted,  and  by  the  wave 
Sat  doAvn  his  brow  and  hands  to  lave. 
Then  faint  afar  are  heard  the  feet* 
Of  rushing  steeds  in  gallop  fleet ; 
The  sounds  increase,  and  now  are  seen 
Four  mounted  squires  in  Lincoln  green  ; 
Two  who  bear  lance,  and  two  who  lead, 
By  loosen'd  rein,  a  saddled  steed ; 
Each  onward  held  his  headlong  course, 
And  by  Fitz-James  rein'd  up  his  horse, — 
With  wonder  view'd  the  bloody  spot — 
— "  Exclaim  not,  gallants !  question  not. — 
You,  Herbert  and  Luffness,  alight, 
And  bind  the  wounds  of  yonder  knight; 
Let  the  gray  palfrey  bear  his  weight, 
We  destined  for  a  fairer  freight, 
And  bring  him  on  to  Stirling  straight; 
I  will  before  at  better  speed, 
To  seek  fresh  horse  and  fitting  weed. 
The  sun  rides  high  ; — I  must  be  boune 
To  see  the  archer-game  at  noon ; 
But  lightly  Bayard  clears  the  lea. — 
De  Vaux  and  Herries,  follow  me. 

XVIII. 
"  Stand,  Bayard,  stand !" — the  steed  obey'd, 
With  arching  neck  and  bended  head, 
And  glancing  eye  and  quivering  ear, 
As  if  he  loved  his  lord  to  hear. 


1  MS.:  "Panting  and  breathless  on  the  sands, 
But  all  unwounded,  now  he  stands." 

*  MS. :  "  Redeem'd,  unhoped,  from  deadly  strife ; 

Next  on  his  foe  his  look  he  {  ,cast' 
(  threw, 

Whose  every  breath  app<ar'd  his  last." 

3  MS.:  "Faint  and  afar  an-  heard  the  feet." 

4  The  ruins  of  Doune  Castle,  formerly  the  residence  of  the 
Earls  of  Menteith,  now  the  property  of  the  Karl  of  Moray, 
are  situated  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ardoi-h  ami  the  Teith. 

*  MS.:  "  Blair-Druiuinoud  saw  their  hoofs  of  fire." 


No  foot  Fitz-James  in  stirrup  staid, 

No  grasp  upon  the  saddle  laid, 

But  wreath'd  his  left  hand  in  the  mane, 

And  lightly  bounded  from  the  plain, 

Turn'd  on  the  horse  his  armed  heel, 

And  stirr'd  his  courage  with  the  steel. 

Bounded  the  fiery  steed  in  air, 

The  rider  sat  erect  and  fair, 

Then  like  a  bolt  from  steel  crossbow 

Forth  launch'd,  along  the  plain  they  go. 

They  dash'd  that  rapid  torrent  through, 

And  up  Carhonie's  hill  they  flew ; 

Still  at  the  gallop  prick'd  the  Knight, 

His  merry-men  follow'd  as  they  might. 

Along  thy  banks,  swift  Teith  !  they  ride, 

And  in  the  race  they  mock  thy  tide ; 

Torry  and  Lendrick  now  are  past, 

And  Deanstown  lies  behind  them  cast  ; 

They  rise,  the  banner'd  towers  of  Doune,* 

They  sink  in  distant  woodland  soon ; 

Blair-Drummond  sees  the  hoofs  strike  fire,5 

They  sweep  like  breeze  through  Ochtertyre ; 

They  mark  just  glance  and  disappear 

The  lofty  brow  of  ancient  Kier ; 

They  bathe  their  coursers'  sweltering  sides, 

Dark  Forth !  amid  thy  sluggish  tides, 

And  on  the  opposing  shore  take  ground, 

With  plash,  with  scramble,  and  with  bound. 

Right-hand  they  leave  thy  cliffs,  Craig- Forth  !6 

And  soon  the  bulwark  of  the  North, 

Gray  Stirling,  with  her  towers  and  town, 

Upon  their  fleet  career  look'd  down. 

XIX. 

As  up  the  flinty  path  they  strain'd,7 

Sudden  his  steed  the  leader  rein'd ; 

A  signal  to  his  squire  he  flung, 

Who  instant  to  his  stirrup  sprung : — 

"  Seest  thou,  De  Vaux,  yon  woodsman  gray, 

Who  townward  holds  the  rocky  way, 

Of  stature  tall  and  poor  array  ? 

Mark'st  thou  the  firm  yet  active  stride 

With  which  he  scales  the  mountain  side  ?8 

Know'st  thou  from  whence  he  comes,  or  whom  ?"- 

"  No,  by  my  word ; — a  burly  groom 

He  seems,  who  in  the  field  or  chase 

A  baron's  train  would  nobly  grace." — 

"  Out,  out,  De  Vaux !  can  fear  supply, 

And  jealousy,  no  sharper  eye  ? 


6  It  may  he  worth  noting  that  the  poet  marks  the  progress 
of  the  king  by  naming  in  succession  places  familiar  and  dear 
to  his  own  early  recollections— Blair-Drummond,  the  seat  of 
the  Homes  of  Kaimes;  Kier,  that  of  the  principal  family  of 
the  name  of  Stirling;  Ochtertyre,  that  of  John  Ramsay,  the 
well-known  antiquary,  and  correspondent  of  Burns;  and 
Cralgforth,  that  of  the  Callenders  of  Craigforth,  almost  under 
the  walls  of  Stirling  Castle,— all  hospitable  roofs,  under  which 
he  had  spent  many  of  his  younger  days. — Ed. 

7  MS.:  "As  up  the  sleepy  path  they  strain'd." 

8  MS.:  "With  which  he  gains  the  mountain  side." 


THE   LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


217 


Afar,  ere  to  the  hill  he  drew, 

That  stately  form  and  step  I  knew ; 

Like  form  in  Scotland  is  not  seen, 

Treads  not  such  step  on  Scottish  green. 

'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  Saint  Serle  I1 

The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Earl. 

Away,  away,  to  court,  to  show 

The  near  approach  of  dreaded  foe : 

The  King  must  stand  upon  his  guard ; 

Douglas  and  he  must  meet  prepared." 

Then  right-hand  wheel'd  their  steeds,  and  straight 

They  won  the  castle's  postern  gate. 

XX. 

The  Douglas,  who  had  bent  his  way 

From  Cambus-kenneth's  abbey  gray, 

Now,  as  he  climb'd  the  rocky  shelf, 

Held  sad  communion  with  himself: — 

"  Yes !  all  is  true  my  fears  could  frame ; 

A  prisoner  lies  the  noble  Graeme, 

And  fiery  Roderick  soon  will  feel 

The  vengeance  of  the  royal  steel. 

I,  only  I,  can  ward  their  fate, — 

God  grant  the  ransom  come  not  late ! 

The  Abbess  hath  her  promise  given, 

My  child  shall  be  the  bride  of  Heaven ; — 

— Be  pardon'd  one  repining  tear ! 

For  He  who  gave  her  knows  how  dear, 

How  excellent, — but  that  is  by, 

And  now  my  business  is — to  die. 

— Ye  towers !  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled ; 

And  thou,  O  sad  and  fatal  mound  !2 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound, 

As  on  the  noblest  of  the  land 

Fell  the  stern  headsman's  bloody  hand, — 

The  dungeon,  block,  and  nameless  tomb 

Prepare — for  Douglas  seeks  his  doom !     ■ 

— But  hark !  what  blithe  and  jolly  peal 

Makes  the  Franciscan  steeple  reel? 

And  see  !  upon  the  crowded  street, 

In  motley  groups  what  masquers  meet! 

Banner  and  pageant,  pipe  and  drum, 

And  merry  morrice-dancers  come. 

1  guess,  by  all  this  quaint  array, 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day.3 
James  will  be  there ;  he  loves  such  show, 
Where  the  good  yeoman  bends  his  bow, 
And  the  tough  wrestler  foils  his  foe, 

1  The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  remarks  on  "that  unhappy 
couplet,  where  the  King  himself  is  in  such  distress  for  a  rhyme 
as  to  be  obliged  to  supply  one  of  the  obscurest  saints  in  the 
calendar."    The  reading  of  the  MS.  is — 

"  'Tis  James  of  Douglas,  by  my  word, 

The  uncle  of  the  banish'd  Lord." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P.  3  Ibid.  Note  3  Q. 
*  MS. :  "  King  James  and  all  his  nobles  went  .  .  . 

Ever  the  King  was  bending  low 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Doffing  his  cap  to  burgher  dame, 

Who  smiling  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame." 


As  well  as  where,  in  proud  career, 

The  high-born  tilter  shivers  spear. 

I'll  follow  to  the  Castle-park, 

And  play  my  prize ; — King  James  shall  mark 

If  age  has  tamed  these  sinews  stark, 

Whose  force  so  oft,  in  happier  days, 

His  boyish  wonder  loved  to  praise." 

XXI. 

The  Castle  gates  were  open  flung, 

The  quivering  drawbridge  rock'd  and  rung, 

And  echo'd  loud  the  flinty  street 

Beneath  the  coursers'  clattering  feet, 

As  slowly  down  the  steep  descent 

Fair  Scotland's  King  and  nobles  went,* 

While  all  along  the  crowded  way 

Was  jubilee  and  loud  huzza. 

And  ever  James  was  bending  low 

To  his  white  jennet's  saddle-bow, 

Doffing  his  cap  to  city  dame, 

Who  smiled  and  blush'd  for  pride  and  shame ; 

And  well  the  simperer  might  be  vain, — 

He  chose  the  fairest  of  the  train. 

Gravely  he  greets  each  city  sire, 

Commends  each  pageant's  quaint  attire, 

Gives  to  the  dancers  thanks  aloud, 

And  smiles  and  nods  upon  the  crowd, 

Who  rend  the  heavens  with  their  acclaims, 

"  Long  live  the  Commons'  King,  King  James !" 

Behind  the  King  throng'd  peer  and  knight, 

And  noble  dame  and  damsel  bright, 

Whose  fiery  steeds  ill  brook'd  the  stay 

Of  the  steep  street  and  crowded  way. 

— But  in  the  train  you  might  discern 

Dark  lowering  brow  and  visage  stern ; 

There  nobles  mourn'd  their  pride  restrain'd,5 

And  the  mean  burgher's  joys  disdain'd ; 

And  chiefs,  who,  hostage  for  their  clan, 

Were  each  from  home  a  banish'd  man, 

There  thought  upon  their  own  gray  tower, 

Their  waving  woods,  their  feudal  power, 

And  deem'd  themselves  a  shameful  part 

Of  pageant  which  they  cursed  in  heart. 

XXII. 
Now,  in  the  Castle-park,  drew  out 
Their  chequer'd  bands  the  joyous  rout. 
There  morricers,  with  bell  at  heel, 
And  blade  in  hand,  their  mazes  wheel  ;6 

6  MS.:  "Nobles  who  mourn'd  their  power  restrain'd, 
And  the  poor  burgher's  joys  disdain'd ; 
Dark  chief,  who,  hostage  for  his  clan, 
Was//wra  his  home  a  banish'd  man, 
Who  thought  upon  his  own  gray  tower, 
The  waving  woods,  his  feudal  bower, 
And  deem'd  himself  a  shameful  part 
Of  pageant  that  he  cursed  in  heart." 

«  The  MS.  adds: 

"  With  awkward  stride  there  city  groom 
Would  part  of  fabled  knight  assume." 


218 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  chief,  beside  the  butts,  there  stand 
Bold  Robin  Hood1  and  all  his  band,— 
Friar  Tuck  with  quarterstaff  and  cowl, 
Old  Scathelocke  with  his  surly  scowl, 
Maid  Marion,  fair  as  ivory  bone, 
Scarlet,  and  Mutch,  and  Little  John ; 
Their  bugles  challenge  ali  that  will 
In  archery  to  prove  their  skill. 
The  Douglas  bent  a  bow  of  might, — 
His  first  shaft  centred  in  the  white, 
And  when  in  turn  he  shot  again, 
His  second  split  the  first  in  twain. 
From  the  King's  hand  must  Douglas  take 
A  silver  dart,  the  archer's  stake ; 
Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye,2 
Some  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 
No  kind  emotion  made  reply ! 
Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 
The  Monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright.3 

XXIII. 

Now,  clear  the  ring!  for,  hand  to  hand, 
The  manly  wrestlers  take  their  stand. 
Two  o'er  the  rest  superior  rose, 
And  proud  demanded  mightier  foes ; 
Nor  call'd  in  vain, — for  Douglas  came. 
— For  life  is  Hugh  of  Larbert  lame ; 
Scarce  better  John  of  Alloa's  fare, 
Whom  senseless  home  his  comrades  bear. 
Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring,4 
While  coldly  glanced  his  eye.  of  blue, 
As  frozen  drop  of  wintry  dew. 
Douglas  would  speak,  but  in  his  breast 
His  struggling  soul  his  words  suppress'd ; 
Indignant  then  he  turn'd  him  where 
Their  arms  the  brawny  yeomen  bare, 
To  hurl  the  massive  bar  in  air. 
When  each  his  utmost  strength  had  shown, 
The  Douglas  rent  an  earth-fast  stone 
From  its  deep  bed,  then  heaved  it  high, 
And  sent  the  fragment  through  the  sky, 
A  rood  beyond  the  farthest  mark ; — 
And  still  in  Stirling's  royal  park, 
The  gray-hair'd  sires,  who  know  the  past, 
To  strangers  point  the  Douglas  cast, 
And  moralize  on  the  decay 
Of  Scottish  strength  in  modern  day.5 

XXIV. 
The  vale  with  loud  applauses  rang, 
The  Ladies'  Rock  sent  back  the  clang; 
The  King,  with  look  unmoved,  bestow'd 
A  purse  well  fill'd  with  pieces  broad.6 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

2  MS.:  "Fondly  he  watch'd,  with  watery  eye, 

For  answering  glance  of  sympathy, — 
Bnt  no  emotion  made  reply ! 
Indifferent  as  to  unknown    i 
Cold  as  to  unknown  yeoman  /  wl^>     • 
The  King  gave  forth  the  arrow  bright." 


Indignant  smiled  the  Douglas  proud, 
And  threw  the  gold  among  the  crowd,7 
Who  now,  with  anxious  wonder,  scan, 
And  sharper  glance,  the  dark  gray  man ; 
Till  whispers  rose  among  the  throng, 
That  heart  so  free,  and  hands  so  strong, 
Must  to  the  Douglas  blood  belong  ; 
The  old  men  mark'd,  and  shook  the  head1, 
To  see  his  hair  with  silver  spread, 
And  wink'd  aside,  and  told  each  son 
Of  feats  upon  the  English  done, 
Ere  Douglas  of  the  stalwart  hand8 
Was  exiled  from  his  native  land. 
The  women  praised  his  stately  form, 
Though  wreck'd  by  many  a  winter's  storm  ;9 
The  youth  with  awe  and  wonder  saw 
His  strength  surpassing  Nature's  law. 
Thus  judged,  as  is  their  wont,  the  crowd, 
Till  murmur  rose  to  clamors  loud. 
But  not  a  glance  from  that  proud  ring 
Of  peers  who  circled  round  the  King 
With  Douglas  held  communion  kind, 
Or  call'd  the  banish'd  man  to  mind  ;10 
No,  not  from  those  who,  at  the  chase, 
Once  held  his  side  the  honor'd  place, 
Begirt  his  board,  and,  in  the  field, 
Found  safety  underneath  his  shield ; 
For  he  whom  royal  eyes  disown, 
When  was  his  form  to  courtiers  known ! 

XXV. 

The  Monarch  saw  the  gambols  flag, 

And  bade  let  loose  a  gallant  stag, 

Whose  pride,  the  holiday  to  crown, 

Two  favorite  greyhounds  should  pull  down, 

That  venison  free,  and  Bordeaux  wine, 

Might  serve  the  archery  to  dine. 

But  Lufra, — whom  from  Douglas'  side 

Nor  bribe  nor  threat  could  e'er  divide, 

The  fleetest  hound  in  all  the  North, — 

Brave  Lufra  saw,  and  darted  forth. 

She  left  the  royal  hounds  mid-way, 

And,  dashing  on  the  antler'd  prey, 

Sunk  her  sharp  muzzle  in  his  flank, 

And  deep  the  flowing  life-blood  drank. 

The  King's  stout  huntsman  saw  the  sport 

By  strange  intruder  broken  short, 

Came  up,  and  with  his  leash  unbound, 

In  anger  struck  the  noble  hound. 

— The  Douglas  had  endured,  that  morn, 

The  King's  cold  look,  the  nobles'  scorn, 

And  last,  and  worst  to  spirit  proud, 

Had  borne  the  pity  of  the  crowd; 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S.  *  Ibid.  Note  3  T. 

6  MS.:  "Of  mortal  strength  in  modern  day." 

•  MS.:  "A  purse  weigh' d  dorm  with  pieces  broad." 
»  MS. :  "ScaUer'd  the  gold  among  the  crowd." 

8  MS. :  "  Ere  James  of  Douglas?  stalwart  hand." 

*  MS.:  "Though  worn  by  many  a  winter  storm." 
1(>  MS. :  "  Or  call'd  his  stately  form  to  mind." 


THE   LADY  OF   THE   LAKE. 


219 


But  Lufra  had  been  fondly  bred, 
To  share  bis  board,  to  watch  his  bed, 
And  oft  would  Ellen  Lufra's  neck 
In  maiden  glee  with  garlands  deck ; 
They  were  such  playmates,  that  with  name 
Of  Lufra,  Ellen's  image  came. 
His  stifled  wrath  is  brimming  high, 
In  darken'd  brow  and  flashing  eye ; 
As  waves  before  the  bark  divide, 
The  crowd  gave  way  before  his  stride ; 
Needs  but  a  buffet  and  no  more, 
The  groom  lies  senseless  in  his  gore : 
Such  blow  no  other  hand  could  deal, 
Though  gauntleted  in  glove  of  steel. 

XXVI. 
Then  clamor'd  loud  the  royal  train,1 
And  brandish'd  swords  and  staves  amain. 
But  stern  the  Baron's  warning — "Back!2 
Back,  on  your  lives,  ye  menial  pack ! 
Beware  the  Douglas. — Yes !  behold, 
King  James  !  the  Douglas,  doom'd  of  old, 
And  vainly  sought  for  near  and  far, 
A  victim  to  atone  the  war, 
A  willing  victim,  now  attends, 
Nor  craves  thy  grace  but  for  his  friends." — 
"  Thus  is  my  clemency  repaid? 
Presumptuous  Lord !"  the  Monarch  said ; 
"  Of  thy  misproud  ambitious  clan, 
Thou,  James  of  Bothwell,  wert  the  man, 
The  only  man,  in  whom  a  foe 
My  woman-mercy  would  not  know : 
But  shall  a  Monarch's  presence  brook3 
Injurious  blow,  and  haughty  look? — 
What  ho !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard ! 
Give  the  offender  fitting  ward. — 
Break  off  the  sports!" — for  tumult 

rose, 
And  yeomen  'gan  to  bend  their  bows, — 
"  Break  off  the  sports !"  he  said,  and 

frown'd, 
"  And  bid  our  horsemen  clear  the  ground." 

XXVII. 

Then  uproar  wild  and  misarray 
Marr'd  the  fair  form  of  festal  day. 
The  horsemen  prick'd  among  the  crowd, 
Repell'd  by  threats  and  insult  loud  ;4 
To  earth  are  borne  the  old  and  weak, 
The  timorous  fly,  the  women  shriek ; 
With  flint,  with  shaft,  with  staff,  with  bar, 
The  hardier  urge  tumultuous  war. 
At  once  round  Douglas  darkly  sweep 
The  royal  spears  in  circle  deep, 
And  slowly  scale  the  pathway  steep ; 


i  MS. 
*  MS. 
a  MS. 


"  Clamor'd  his  comrades  of  the  train." 
"  But  stern  the  warrior's  warning — '  Back !' ' 
"But  in  my  court  injurious  blow, 
And  bearded  thus,  and  thus  out-dared? 
What  ho !  the  Captain  of  our  Guard !" 


While  on  the  rear  in  thunder  pour 
The  rabble  with  disorder'd  roar. 
With  grief  the  noble  Douglas  saw 
The  Commons  rise  against  the  law, 
And  to  the  leading  soldier  said, — 
"  Sir  John  of  Hyndford !  'twas  my  blade 
That  knighthood  on  thy  shoulder  laid ; 
For  that*good  deed,  permit  me  then 
A  word  with  these  misguided  men. 

XXVIII. 

"  Hear,  gentle  friends !  ere  yet  for  me 

Ye  break  the  bands  of  fealty : 

My  life,  my  honor,  and  my  cause, 

I  tender  free  to  Scotland's  laws. 

Are  these  so  weak  as  must  require 

The  aid  of  your  misguided  ire  ? 

Or,  if  I  sutler  causeless  wrong, 

Is  then  my  selfish  rage  so  strong, 

My  sense  of  public  weal  so  low, 

That,  for  mean  vengeance  on  a  foe, 

Those  cords  of  love  I  should  unbind 

Which  knit  my  country  and  my  kind? 

Oh  no !     Believe,  in  yonder  tower 

It  will  not  soothe  my  captive  hour 

To  know  those  spears  our  foes  should  dread 

For  me  in  kindred  gore  are  red ; 

To  know,  in  fruitless  brawl  begun, 

For  me  that  mother  wails  her  son ; 

For  me  that  widow's  mate  expires ; 

For  me  that  orphans  weep  their  sires ; 

That  patriots  mourn  insulted  laws, 

And  curse  the  Douglas  for  the  cause. 

Oh  let  your  patience  ward  such  ill, 

And  keep  your  right  to  love  me  still  I" 

XXIX. 

The  crowd's  wild  fury  sunk  again5 

In  tears,  as  tempests  melt  in  rain. 

With  lifted  hands  and  eyes,  they  pray'd 

For  blessings  on  his  generous  head, 

Who  for  his  country  felt  alone, 

And  prized  her  blood  beyond  his  own. 

Old  men,  upon  the  verge  of  life, 

Bless'd  him  who  staid  the  civil  strife ; 

And  mothers  held  their  babes  on  high, 

The  self-devoted  Chief  to  spy, 

Triumphant  over  wrongs  and  ire, 

To  whom  the  prattlers  owed  a  sire. 

Even  the  rough  soldier's  heart  was  moved ; 

As  if  behind  some  bier  beloved, 

With  trailing  arms  and  drooping  head, 

The  Douglas  up  the  hill  he  led, 

And  at  the  Castle's  battled  verge 

With  sighs  resign'd  his  honor'd  charge. 

*  MS. :  "  Their  threats  repell'd  by  insults  loud.' 

&  MS. :  "  The  crowd's  wild  fury  ebb'd  amain 
In  tears,  as  tempests  sink  in  rain." 


220 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXX. 

The  offended  Monarch  rode  apart, 
With  bitter  thought  and  swelling  heart, 
And  would  not  now  vouchsafe  again 
Through  Stirling  streets  to  lead  his  train. 
"  Oh,  Lennox,  who  would  wish  to  rule 
This  changeling  crowd,  this  common  fool  ? 
Hear'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  the  loud  acclaim 
With  which  they  shout  the  Douglas  name  ? 
With  like  acclaim,  the  vulgar  throat 
Strain'd  for  King  James  their  morning  note ; 
With  like  acclaim  they  hail'd  the  day 
When  first  I  broke  the  Douglas'  sway ; 
And  like  acclaim  would  Douglas  greet 
If  he  could  hurl  me  from  my  seat. 
Who  o'er  the  herd  would  wish  to  reign, 
Fantastic,  fickle,  fierce,  and  vain  ! 
Vain  as  the  leaf  upon  the  stream,1 
And  fickle  as  a  changeful  dream ; 
Fantastic  as  a  woman's  mood, 
And  fierce  as  Frenzy's  fever'd  blood. 
Thou  many-headed  monster  thing,2 
Oh  who  would  wish  to  be  thy  king ! 

XXXI. 

"  But  soft !  what  messenger  of  speed 

Spurs  hitherward  his  panting  steed  ? 

I  guess  his  cognizance  afar — 

What  from  our  cousin,  John  of  Mar  ?" — 

"  He  prays,  my  liege,  your  sports  keep  bound 

Within  the  safe  and  guarded  ground : 

For  some  foul  purpose  yet  unknown, — 

Most  sure  for  evil  to  the  throne, — 

The  outlaw'd  Chieftain,  Roderick  Dhu, 

Has  summon'd  his  rebellious  crew ; 

'Tis  said,  in  James  of  Bothwell's  aid 

These  loose  banditti  stand  array'd. 

The  Earl  of  Mar,  this  morn,  from  Doune 

To  break  their  muster  march'd,  and  soon 

Your  grace  will  hear  of  battle  fought ; 

But  earnestly  the  Earl  besought, 

Till  for  such  danger  he  provide, 

With  scanty  train  you  will  not  ride." — 3 

XXXII. 

"  Thou  warn'st  me  I  have  done  amiss, — 
I  should  have  earlier  look'd  to  this: 
I  lost  it  in  this  bustling  day. 
— Retrace  with  speed  thy  former  way ; 
Spare  not  for  spoiling  of  thy  steed, 
The  best  of  mine  shall  be  thy  meed. 
Say  to  our  faithful  Lord  of  Mar, 
We  do  forbid  the  intended  war : 

1  MS. :  "  Vain  as  the  sick  man's  idle  dream." 

2 "  Who  deserves  greatness, 

Deserves  your  hate ;  and  your  affections  are 

A  sick  man's  appetite,  who  desires  most  that 

Which  would  Increase  his  evil.    He  that  depends 

Upon  your  favors,  swims  with  fins  of  lead, 

And  hews  down  oaks  with  rushes.    Hang  ye !    Trust  ye ! 


Roderick,  this  morn,  in  single  fight, 
Was  made  our  prisoner  by  a  knight ; 
And  Douglas  hath  himself  and  cause 
Submitted  to  our  kingdom's  laws. 
The  tidings  of  their  leader  lost 
Will  soon  dissolve  the  mountain  host, 
Nor  would  we  that  the  vulgar  feel, 
For  their  Chief's  crimes,  avenging  steel. 
Bear  Mar  our  message,  Braco :  fly !" — 
He  turn'd  his  steed, — "  My  liege,  I  hie, — 
Yet,  ere  I  cross  this  lily  lawn, 
I  fear  the  broadswords  will  be  drawn." 
The  turf  the  flying  courser  spurn'd, 
And  to  his  towers  the  King  return'd. 

XXXIII. 

Ill  with  King  James's  mood  that  day 

Suited  gay  feast  and  minstrel  lay ; 

Soon  were  dismiss'd  the  courtly  throng, 

And  soon  cut  short  the  festal  song. 

Nor  less  upon  the  sadden'd  town 

The  evening  sunk  in  sorrow  down. 

The  burghers  spoke  of  civil  jar, 

Of  rumor'd  feuds  and  mountain  war, 

Of  Moray,  Mar,  and  Roderick  Dhu, 

All  up  in  arms : — the  Douglas  too, 

They  mourn'd  him  pent  within  the  hold 

"  Where  stout  Earl  William  was  of  old  " — * 

And  there  his  word  the  speaker  staid, 

And  finger  on  his  lip  he  laid, 

Or  pointed  to  his  dagger  blade. 

But  jaded  horsemen,  from  the  west, 

At  evening  to  the  Castle  press'd ; 

And  busy  talkers  said  they  bore 

Tidings  of  fight  on  Katrine's  shore ; 

At  noon  the  deadly  fray  begun, 

And  lasted  till  the  set  of  sun. 

Thus  giddy  rumor  shook  the  town, 

Till  closed  the  Night  her  pennons  brown. 


£!)*  &atJ»  of  *f)e  Hafee. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


&f)f  (Kuart-room. 

I. 

The  sun,  awakening,  through  the  smoky  air 
Of  the  dark  city  casts  a  sullen  glance, 

Rousing  each  caitiff  to  his  task  of  care, 
Of  sinful  man  the  sad  inheritance ; 

With  every  minute  you  do  change  a  mind. 
And  call  him  nohle  that  was  now  your  hate, 
Him  vile  that  was  your  garland." 

Coriolanus,  act  i.  scene  1. 

8  MS. :  "  On  distant  chase  you  will  not  ride." 

*  Stahbed  by  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle. 


THE    LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


221 


Summoning  revellers  from  the  lagging  dance, 
Scaring  the  prowling  robber  to  his  den ; 

Gilding  on  battled  tower  the  warder's  lance, 
And  warning  student  pale  to  leave  his  pen, 

And  yield  his  drowsy  eyes  to  the  kind  nurse  of  men. 

What  various  scenes,  and,  oh !  what  scenes  of  woe, 

Are  witness'd  by  that  red  and  struggling  beam ! 
The  fever'd  patient,  from  his  pallet  low, 

Through  crowded  hospital  beholds  its  stream ; 
The  ruin'd  maiden  trembles  at  its  gleam, 

The  debtor  wakes  to  thought  of  gyve  and  jail, 
The  love-lorn  wretch  starts  from  tormenting  dream ; 

The  wakeful  mother,  by  the  glimmering  pale, 
Trims  her  sick  infant's  couch,  and  soothes  his  feeble 
wail. 

II. 

At  dawn  the  towers  of  Stirling  rang 

With  soldier  step  and  weapon  clang, 

While  drums,  with  rolling  note,  foretell 

Relief  to  weary  sentinel. 

Through  narrow  loop  and  casement  barr'd,1 

The  sunbeams  sought  the  Court  of  Guard, 

And,  struggling  with  the  smoky  air, 

Deaden'd  the  torches'  yellow  glare. 

In  comfortless  alliance  shone2 

The  lights  through  arch  of  blacken'd  stone, 

And  show'd  wild  shapes  in  garb  of  war, 

Faces  deform'd  with  beard  and  scar, 

All  haggard  from  the  midnight  watch, 

And  fever'd  with  the  stern  debauch ; 

For  the  oak  table's  massive  board, 

Flooded  with  wine,  with  fragments  stored, 

And  beakers  drain'd,  and  cups  o'erthrown, 

Show'd  in  what  sport  the  night  had  flown. 

Some,  weary,  snored  on  floor  and  bench ; 

Some  labor'd  still  their  thirst  to  quench ; 

Some,  chill'd  with  watching,  spread  their  hands 

O'er  the  huge  chimney's  dying  brands, 

While  round  them  or  beside  them  flung, 

At  every  step  their  harness  rung. 

III. 

These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
Nor  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leader's  name ; 
Adventurers  they,  from  far  who  roved, 
To  live  by  battle  which  they  loved.3 
There  the  Italian's  clouded  face, 
The  swarthy  Spaniard's  there  you  trace ; 
The  mountain-loving  Switzer  there 
More  freely  breathed  in  mountain  air ; 
The  Fleming  there  despised  the  soil, 
That  paid  so  ill  the  laborer's  toil ; 

1  MS. :  "  Through  blacken'd  arch  and  casement  barr'd." 

s  MS. :  "  The  lights  in  strange  alliance  shone 
Beneath  the  arch  of  blacken'd  stone." 


There  rolls  show'd  French  and  German  name ; 

And  merry  England's  exiles  came, 

To  share,  with  ill  conceal'd  disdain, 

Of  Scotland's  pay  the  scanty  gain. 

All  brave  in  arms,  well  train'd  to  wield 

The  heavy  halberd,  brand,  and  shield ; 

In  camps  licentious,  wild,  and  bold ; 

In  pillage  fierce  and  uncontroll'd ; 

And  now,  by  holytide  and  feast, 

From  rules  of  discipline  released. 

IV. 
They  held  debate  of  bloody  fray 
Fought  'twixt  Loch  Katrine  and  Achray. 
Fierce  was  their  speech,  and,  'mid  their  words, 
Their  hands  oft  grappled  to  their  swords ; 
Nor  sunk  their  tone  to  spare  the  ear 
Of  wounded  comrades  groaning  near, 
Whose  mangled  limbs,  and  bodies  gored, 
Bore  token  of  the  mountain  sword, 
Though,  neighboring  to  the  Court  of  Guard, 
Their  prayers  and  feverish  wails  were  heard — 
Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  joke, 
And  savage  oath  by  fury  spoke ! — 4 
At  length  up  started  John  of  Brent, 
A  yeoman  from  the  banks  of  Trent ; 
A  stranger  to  respect  or  fear, 
In  peace  a  chaser  of  the  deer, 
In  host  a  hardy  mutineer, 
But  still  the  boldest  of  the  crew 
When  deed  of  danger  was  to  do. 
He  grieved,  that  day,  their  games  cut  short, 
And  marr'd  the  dicers'  brawling  sport, 
And  shouted  loud,  "  Renew  the  bowl ! 
And,  while  a  merry  catch  I  troll, 
Let  each  the  buxom  chorus  bear, 
Like  brethren  of  the  brand  and  spear." 


Solbur's  Sons. 
Our  vicar  still  preaches  that  Peter  and  Poule 
Laid  a  swinging  long  curse  on  the  bonny  brown  bowl ; 
That  there's  wrath  and  despair  in  the  jolly  black-jack, 
And  the  seven  deadly  sins  in  a  flagon  of  sack. 
Yet  whoop,  Barnaby !  ofi°  with  thy  liquor, 
Drink  upsees5  out,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 

Our  vicar  he  calls  it  damnation  to  sip 

The  ripe  ruddy  dew  of  a  woman's  dear  lip  ; 

Says  that  Beelzebub  lurks  in  her  kerchief  so  sly, 

And  Apollyon  shoots  darts  from  her  merry  black  eye. 

Yet  whoop,  Jack !  kiss  Gillian  the  quicker, 

Till  she  bloom  like  a  rose,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar ! 

Our  vicar  thus  preaches— and  why  should  he  not? 
For  the  dues  of  his  cure  are  the  placket  and  pot ; 


8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U. 

*  MS. :  "  Sad  burden  to  the  ruffian  jest, 

And  rude  oaths  vented  by  the  rest." 
5  Bacchanalian  interjection,  borrowed  from  the  Dutch. 


222 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  'tis  right  of  his  office  poor  laymen  to  lurch, 
Who  infringe  the  domains  of  our  good  Mother  Church. 
Yet  whoop,  bully  boys !  off  with  your  liquor, 
Sweet  Marjorie's  the  word,  and  a  fig  for  the  vicar!1 

VI. 

The  warder's  challenge,  heard  without, 

Staid  in  mid-roar  the  merry  shout. 

A  soldier  to  the  portal  went, — 

"  Here  is  old  Bertram,  sirs,  of  Ghent; 

And, — beat  for  jubilee  the  drum ! — 

A  maid  and  minstrel  with  him  come." 

Bertram,  a  Fleming,  gray  and  scarr'd, 

Was  entering  now  the  Court  of  Guard, 

A  harper  with  him,  and  in  plaid 

All  muffled  close,  a  mountain  maid, 

Who  backward  shrunk  to  'scape  the  view 

Of  the  loose  scene  and  boisterous  crew. 

"  What  news  ?"  they  roar'd. — "  I  only  know, 

From  noon  till  eve  we  fought  with  foe 

As  wild  and  as  untamable 

As  the  rude  mountains  where  they  dwell ; 

On  both  sides  store  of  blood  is  lost, 

Nor  much  success  can  either  boast." — 

"  But  whence  thy  captives,  friend  ?  such  spoil 

As  theirs  must  needs  reward  thy  toil.2 

Old  dost  thou  wax,  and  wars  grow  sharp ; 

Thou  now  hast  glee-maiden  and  harp ! 

Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 

The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." — 3 

VII. 

"  No,  comrade ; — no  such  fortune  mine. 
After  the  fight  these  sought  our  line, 
That  aged  harper  and  the  girl, 
And,  having  audience  of  the  Earl, 
Mar  bade  I  should  purvey  them  steed, 
And  bring  them  hitherward  with  speed. 
Forbear  your  mirth  and  rude  alarm, 
For  none  shall  do  them  shame  or  harm." — 
"  Hear  ye  his  boast?"  cried  John  of  Brent, 
Ever  to  strife  and  jangling  bent ; 


l  "  The  greatest  blemish  in  the  poem  is  the  ribaldry  and 
dull  vulgarity  which  is  put  into  the  mouths  of  the  soldiery 
in  the  guard-room.  Mr.  Scott  has  condescended  to  write  a 
song  for  them  which  will  be  read  with  pain,  we  are  per- 
suaded, even  by  his  warmest  admirers;  and  his  whole  genius, 
and  even  his  power  of  versification,  seems  to  desert  him  when 
he  attempts  to  repeat  their  conversation.  Here  is  some  of 
the  stuff  which  has  dropped,  in  this  inauspicious  attempt, 
from  the  pen  of  one  of  the  first  of  poets  of  his  age  or  coun- 
try," Ac.  &c. — Jeffrey. 

"The  '  Lady  of  the  Lake'  is  said  to  be  inferior,  as  a  poem, 
to  Walter  Scott's  former  productions,  but  really  one  hardly 
knows  how  to  examine  such  compositions  as  poems.  All  that 
one  can  look  for  is  to  find  beautiful  passages  in  them,  and  I 
own  that  there  are  some  parts  of  the  'Lady  of  the  Lake' 
which  please  me  more  than  anything  in  Walter  Scott's  for- 
mer poems.  He  has  a  great  deal  of  imagination,  and  is  cer- 
tainly a  very  skillful  painter.  The  meeting  between  Douglas 
and  his  daughter,  the  king  descending  from  Stirling  Castle  to 


"  Shall  he  strike  doe  beside  our  lodge, 
And  yet  the  jealous  niggard  grudge 
To  pay  the  forester  his  fee  ? 
I'll  have  my  share,  howe'er  it  be, 
Despite  of  Moray,  Mar,  or  thee." 
Bertram  his  forward  step  withstood  ;* 
And,  burning  in  his  vengeful  mood, 
Old  Allan,  though  unfit  for  strife, 
Laid  hand  upon  his  dagger  knife ; 
But  Ellen  boldly  stepp'd  between, 
And  dropp'd  at  once  the  tartan  screen  :-*• 
So,  from  his  morning  cloud,  appears 
The  sun  of  May,  through  summer  tears. 
The  savage  soldiery,  amazed,5 
As  on  descended  angel  gazed ; 
Even  hardy  Brent,  abash'd  and  tamed, 
Stood  half  admiring,  half  ashamed. 

VIII. 

Boldly  she  spoke, — "  Soldiers,  attend ! 

My  father  was  the  soldier's  friend ; 

Cheer'd  him  in  camps,  in  marches  led, 

And  with  him  in  the  battle  bled. 

Not  from  the  valiant,  or  the  strong, 

Should  exile's  daughter  suffer  wrong." — * 

Answer 'd  De  Brent,  most  forward  still 

In  every  feat  or  good  or  ill, — 

"  I  shame  me  of  the  part  I  play'd : 

And  thou  an  outlaw's  child,  poor  maid ! 

An  outlaw  I  by  forest  laws, 

And  merry  Needwood  knows  the  cause. 

Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now," — 7 

He  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow, — 

"  Must  bear  such  age,  I  think,  as  thou. 

Hear  ye,  my  mates — I  go  to  call 

The  Captain  of  our  watch  to  hall : 

There  lies  my  halberd  on  the  floor; 

And  he  that  steps  my  halberd  o'er, 

To  do  the  maid  injurious  part, 

My  shaft  shall  quiver  in  his  heart ! — 

Beware  loose  speech,  or  jesting  rough : 

Ye  all  know  John  de  Brent.    Enough." 


assist  at  the  festival  of  the  townsmen  (though  borrowed  in 
a  considerable  degree  from  Dryden's  'Palamon  and  Arcite'), 
and  the  guard-room  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  canto,  all 
show  extraordinary  powers  of  description.  If  he  wrote  less 
and  more  carefully,  he  would  be  a  very  considerable  poet." — 
Sir  Samuel  Romilly  [Oct.  1810].  Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  342. 
2  The  MS.  reads  after  this : 

"  Get  thee  an  ape,  and  then  at  once 
Thou  may'st  renounce  the  warder's  lance, 
And  trudge  through  borough  and  through  land, 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  band." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 

*  "  Bertram  \  I  violence  withstood." 

I  such  ) 

6  MS. :  "  While  the  rude  soldiery,  amazed." 

*  MS. :  "  Should  Ellen  Douglas  suffer  wrong." 

'  MS. :  " '  My  Rose,' — he  wiped  his  iron  eye  and  brow,— 
'  Poor  Rose, — if  Rose  be  living  now.' " 


THE   LADY   OF  THE   LAKE. 


223 


IX. 

Their  Captain  came,  a  gallant  young 

(Of  Tullibardine's  house  he  sprung), 

Nor  wore  he  yet  the  spurs  of  knight; 

Gay  was  his  mien,  his  humor  light, 

And,  though  by  courtesy  controll'd, 

Forward  his  speech,  his  bearing  bold. 

The  high-born  maiden  ill  could  brook 

The  scanning  of  his  curious  look 

And  dauntless  eye ; — and  yet,  in  sooth, 

Young  Lewis  was  a  generous  youth ; 

But  Ellen's  lovely  face  and  mien, 

111  suited  to  the  garb  and  scene, 

Might  lightly  bear  construction  strange, 

And  give  loose  fancy  scope  to  range. 

"  Welcome  to  Stirling  towers,  fair  maid ! 

Come  ye  to  seek  a  champion's  aid, 

On  palfrey  white,  with  harper  hoar, 

Like  errant  damosel  of  yore  ? 

Does  thy  high  quest  a  knight  require, 

Or  may  the  venture  suit  a  squire  ?" 

Her  dark  eye  flash'd ; — she  paused  and  sigh'd,- 

"  Oh  what  have  I  to  do  with  pride ! — 

Through  scenes  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  strife, 

A  suppliant  for  a  father's  life, 

I  crave  an  audience  of  the  King. 

Behold,  to  back  my  suit,  a  ring, 

The  royal  pledge  of  grateful  claims, 

Given  by  the  Monarch  to  Fitz-James."1 


The  signet-ring  young  Lewis  took, 

With  deep  respect  and  alter'd  look ; 

And  said, — "  This  ring  our  duties  own ; 

And  pardon,  if  to  worth  unknown, 

In  semblance  mean  obscurely  veil'd, 

Lady,  in  aught  my  folly  fail'd. 

Soon  as  the  day  flings  wide  his  gates, 

The  King  shall  know  what  suitor  waits. 

Please  you,  meanwhile,  in  fitting  bower 

Repose  you  till  his  waking  hour ; 

Female  attendance  shall  obey 

Your  hest,  for  service  or  array. 

Permit  I  marshal  you  the  way." 

But,  ere  she  followed,  with  the  grace 

And  open  bounty  of  her  race, 

She  bade  her  slender  purse  be  shared 

Among  the  soldiers  of  the  guard. 

The  rest  with  thanks  their  guerdon  took ; 

But  Brent,  with  shy  and  awkward  look, 

On  the  reluctant  maiden's  hold 

Forced  bluntly  back  the  proffer'd  gold ; — 

"  Forgive  a  haughty  English  heart, 

And  oh,  forget  its  ruder  part ! 

The  vacant  purse  shall  be  my  share,2 

Which  in  my  barret-cap  I'll  bear, 


i  MS. :  "  The  Monarch  gave  to  James  Fitz-James." 
*  MS. :  "  The  silken  purse  shall  serve  for  me, 
And  in  my  barret-cap  shall  flee." 


Perchance,  in  jeopardy  of  war, 
Where  gayer  crests  may  keep  afar." 
With  thanks — 'twas  all  she  could — the  maid 
His  rugged  courtesy  repaid. 

XL 
When  Ellen  forth  with  Lewis  went, 
Allan  made  suit  to  John  of  Brent : — 
"  My  lady  safe,  oh  let  your  grace 
Give  me  to  see  my  master's  face ! 
His  minstrel  I, — to  share  his  doom 
Bound  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb. 
Tenth  in  descent,  since  first  my  sires 
Waked  for  his  noble  house  their  lyres, 
Nor  one  of  all  the  race  was  known 
But  prized  its  weal  above  their  own. 
With  the  Chief's  birth  begins  our  care ; 
Our  harp  must  soothe  the  infant  heir, 
Teach  the  y«uth  tales  of  fight,  and  grace 
His  earliest  feat  of  field  or  chase ; 
In  peace,  in  war,  our  rank  we  keep, 
We  cheer  his  board,  we  soothe  his  sleep, 
Nor  leave  him  till  we  pour  our  verse — 
A  doleful  tribute  ! — o'er  his  hearse. 
Then  let  me  share  his  captive  lot ; 
It  is  my  right — deny  it  not!" — 
"  Little  we  reck,"  said  John  of  Brent, 
"  We  Southern  men,  of  long  descent ; 
Nor  wot  we  how  a  name — a  word — 
Makes  clansmen  vassals  to  a  lord : 
Yet  kind  my  noble  landlord's  part, — 
God  bless  the  house  of  Beaudesert ! 
And,  but  I  loved  to  drive  the  deer 
More  than  to  guide  the  laboring  steer, 
I  had  not  dwelt  an  outcast  here. 
Come,  good  old  Minstrel,  follow  me ; 
Thy  Lord  and  Chieftain  thou  shalt  see." 

XII. 

Then,  from  a  rusted  iron  hook, 
A  bunch  of  ponderous  keys  he  took, 
Lighted  a  torch,  and  Allan  led 
Through  grated  arch  and  passage  dread. 
Portals  they  pass'd,  where,  deep  within, 
Spoke  prisoner's  moan,  and  fetters'  din ; 
Through  rugged  vaults,3  where,  loosely 

stored, 
Lay  wheel,  and  axe,  and  headsman's  sword, 
And  many  a  hideous  engine  grim, 
For  wrenching  joint,  and  crushing4  limb, 
By  artist  form'd  who  deem'd  it  shame 
And  sin  to  give  their  work  a  name. 
They  halted  at  a  low-brow'd  porch, 
And  Brent  to  Allan  gave  the  torch, 
While  bolt  and  chain  he  backward  roll'd, 
And  made  the  bar  unhasp  its  hold. 


»  MS.: 
*  MS.: 


"  low  broad  vaults." 
"  stretching." 


224 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


They  enter'd  : — 'twas  a  prison-room 

Of  stern  security  and  gloom, 

Yet  not  a  dungeon ;  for  the  day 

Through  lofty  gratings  found  its  way, 

And  rude  and  antique  garniture 

Deck'd  the  sad  walls  and  oaken  floor1 

Such  as  the  rugged  days  of  old 

Deem'd  fit  for  captive  noble's  hold. 

"  Here,"  said  De  Brent,  "  thou  may'st  remain2 

Till  the  Leech  visit  him  again. 

Strict  is  his  charge,  the  warders  tell, 

To  tend  the  noble  prisoner  well." 

Retiring  then,  the  bolt  he  drew, 

And  the  lock's  murmurs  growl'd  anew. 

Roused  at  the  sound,  from  lowly  bed 

A  captive  feebly  raised  his  head ; 

The  wondering  Minstrel  look'd,  and  knew — 

Not  his  dear  lord,  but  Roderick  Dhu ! 

For,  come  from  where  Clan-Alpine  fought, 

They,  erring,  deem'd  the  Chief  he  sought. 

XIII. 

As  the  tall  ship,  whose  lofty  prore 

Shall  never  stem  the  billows  more, 

Deserted  by  her  gallant  band, 

Amid  the  breakers  lies  astrand, — 

So,  on  his  couch,  lay  Roderick  Dhu  I 

And  oft  his  fever'd  limbs  he  threw 

In  toss  abrupt,  as  when  her  sides 

Lie  rocking  in  the  advancing  tides, 

That  shake  her  frame  with  ceaseless  beat, 

Yet  cannot  heave  her  from  her  seat ; — 

Oh,  how  unlike  her  course  at  sea,3 

Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  lea ! — 

Soon  as  the  Minstrel  he  could  scan, 

"  What  of  thy  lady?— of  my  clan?— 

My  mother? — Douglas? — tell  me  all! 

Have  they  been  ruin'd  in  my  fall  ? 

Ah,  yes !  or  wherefore  art  thou  here? 

Yet  speak, — speak  boldly, — do  not  fear." — 

(For  Allan,  who  his  mood  well  knew, 

Was  choked  with  grief  and  terror  too.) — 

"  Who  fought— who  fled  ?— Old  man,  be  brief  ;- 

Some  might — for  they  had  lost  their  Chief. 

Who  basely  live  ? — who  bravely  died  ?" — 

"Oh  calm  thee,  Chief!"  the  Minstrel  cried; 

"  Ellen  is  safe ;" — "  For  that  thank  Heaven  !"— 

"  And  hopes  are  for  the  Douglas  given ; — 

The  Lady  Margaret,  too,  is  well ; 

And,  for  thy  clan, — on  field  or  fell, 

Has  never  harp  of  minstrel  told4 

Of  combat  fought  so  true  and  bold. 

Thy  stately  Pine  is  yet  unbent, 

Though  many  a  goodly  bough  is  rent." 


i  MS. 


2  MS.: 


"flinty  floor." 


' '  thou  may'st  remain,' 


And  then,  retiring,  bolt  and  chain, 
And  rusty  bar,  he  drew  again. 
Kousi'd  at  the  sound,"  <tc. 


XIV. 

The  Chieftain  rear'd  his  form  on  high, 

And  fever's  fire  was  in  his  eye ; 

But  ghastly,  pale,  and  livid  streaks 

Chequer'd  his  swarthy  brow  and  cheeks. 

— "  Hark,  Minstrel !  I  have  heard  thee  play. 

With  measure  bold,  on  festal  day, 

In  yon  lone  isle,  .  .  .  again  where  ne'er 

Shall  harper  play,  or  warrior  hear !  .  .  . 

That  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high 

O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 

Strike  it!5 — and  then  (for  well  thou  canst), 

Free  from  thy  minstrel-spirit  glanced, 

Fling  me  the  picture  of  the  fight, 

When  met  my  clan  the  Saxon  might. 

I'll  listen,  till  my  fancy  hears 

The  clang  of  swords,  the  crash  of  spears ! 

These  grates,  these  walls,  shall  vanish  then, 

For  the  fair  field  of  fighting  men, 

And  my  free  spirit  burst  away, 

As  if  it  soar'd  from  battle  fray." 

The  trembling  Bard  with  awe  obey'd, — 

Slow  on  the  harp  his  hand  he  laid ; 

But  soon  remembrance  of  the  sight 

He  witness'd  from  the  mountain's  height, 

With  what  old  Bertram  told  at  night,6 

Awaken'd  the  full  power  of  song, 

And  bore  him  in  career  along ; — 

As  shallop  launch'd  on  river's  tide, 

That  slow  and  fearful  leaves  the  side, 

But,  when  it  feels  the  middle  stream, 

Drives  downward  swift  as  lightning's  beam. 

XV. 

3SattU  of  Bcal'  ait  ;0uuu.7 
"  The  Minstrel  came  once  more  to  view 
The  eastern  ridge  of  Benvenue, 
For,  ere  he  parted,  he  would  say 
Farewell  to  lovely  Loch  Achray ; — 
Where  shall  he  find,  in  foreign  land, 
So  lone  a  lake,  so  sweet  a  strand  ! 
There  is  no  breeze  upon  the  fern, 

Nor  ripple  on  the  lake, 
Upon  her  eyry  nods  the  erne, 

The  deer  has  sought  the  brake ; 
The  small  birds  will  not  sing  aloud, 

The  springing  trout  lies  still, 
So  darkly  glooms  yon  thunder  cloud, 
That  swathes,  as  with  a  purple  shroud, 

Beuledi's  distant  hill. 
Is  it  the  thunder's  solemn  sound 
That  mutters  deep  and  dread, 
Or  echoes  from  the  groaning  ground 
The  warrior's  measured  tread  ? 

8  MS.:  "Oh,  how  unlike  her  course  on  main, 

Or  his  free  step  on  hill  and  plain !" 
*  MS. :  "  Shall  never  harp  of  minstrel  tell 

Of  combat  fought  so  fierce  and  well." 
■<  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 
o  The  MS.  has  not  this  line.      7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 


THE    LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


225 


Is  it  the  lightning's  quivering  glance 

That  on  the  thicket  streams, 
Or  do  they  flash  on  spear  and  lance 
The  sun's  retiring  beams  ? 
— I  see  the  dagger-crest  of  Mar, 
I  see  the  Moray's  silver  star, 
Wave  o'er  the  cloud  of  Saxon  war, 
That  up  the  lake  comes  winding  far ! 
To  hero  bound  for  battle-strife, 

Or  bard  of  martial  lay, 
'Twere  worth  ten  years  of  peaceful  life, 
One  glance  at  their  array ! 

XVI. 

"  Their  light-arm'd  archers  far  and  near 

Survey'd  the  tangled  ground, 
Their  centre  ranks,  with  pike  and  spear, 

A  twilight  forest  frown'd, 
Their  barbed  horsemen,  in  the  rear, 

The  stern  battalia  crown'd. 
No  cymbal  clash'd,  no  clarion  rang, 

Still  were  the  pipe  and  drum ; 
Save  heavy  tread,  and  armor's  clang, 

The  sullen  march  was  dumb. 
There  breathed  no  wind  their  crests  to  shake, 

Or  wave  their  flags  abroad ; 
Scarce  the  frail  aspen  seem'd  to  quake, 

That  shadow'd  o'er  their  road. 
Their  vanward  scouts  no  tidings  bring, 

Can  rouse  no  lurking  foe, 
Nor  spy  a  trace  of  living  thing, 

Save  when  they  stirr'd  the  roe ; 
The  host  moves,  like  a  deep-sea  wave, 
Where  rise  no  rocks  its  pride  to  brave, 
High-swelling,  dark,  and  slow. 
The  lake  is  pass'd,  and  now  they  gain 
A  narrow  and  a  broken  plain, 
Before  the  Trosachs'  rugged  jaws ; 
And  here  the  horse  and  spearmen  pause, 
While,  to  explore  the  dangerous  glen, 
Dive  through  the  pass  the  archer-men. 

XVII. 

"  At  once  there  rose  so  wild  a  yell 

Within  that  dark  and  narrow  dell, 

As  all  the  fiends  from  heaven  that  fell 

Had  peal'd  the  banner-cry  of  hell ! 
Forth  from  the  pass  in  tumult  driven, 
Like  chaff  before  the  wind  of  heaven, 

The  archery  appear ; 
For  life !  for  life !  their  plight  they  ply — 
And  shriek,  and  shout,  and  battle-cry, 
And  plaids  and  bonnets  waving  high, 
And  broadswords  flashing  to  the  sky, 
Are  maddening  in  the  rear. 

1  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

2  A  circle  of  sportsmen,  who,  by  surrounding  a  great  space 
and  gradually  narrowing,  brought  immense  quantities  of 
deer  together,  which  usually  made  desperate  efforts  to  break 
through  the  Tinchel, 

15 


Onward  they  drive,  in  dreadful  race, 

Pursuers  and  pursued ; 
Before  that  tide  of  flight  and  chase, 
How  shall  it  keep  its  rooted  place, 

The  spearmen's  twilight  wood  ? — 
'Down,  down,'  cried  Mar,  'your  lances 
down ! 

Bear  back  both  friend  and  foe !' — 
Like  reeds  before  the  tempest's  frown, 
That  serried  grove  of  lances  brown 

At  once  lay  levell'd  low ; 
And  closely  shouldering  side  to  side, 
The  bristling  ranks  the  onset  bide. — 1 
'  We'll  quell  the  savage  mountaineer, 

As  their  Tinchel2  cows  the  game ! 
They  come  as  fleet  as  forest  deer, 

We'll  drive  them  back  as  tame.' — 

XVIII. 
"  Bearing  before  them,  in  their  course, 
The  relics  of  the  archer  force, 
Like  wave  with  crest  of  sparkling  foam, 
Right  onward  did  Clan-Alpine  come. 
Above  the  tide,  each  broadsword  bright 
Was  brandishing  like  beam  of  light, 

Each  targe  was  dark  below ; 
And  with  the  ocean's  mighty  swing, 
When  heaving  to  the  tempest's  wing, 
They  hurl'd  them  on  the  foe. 
I  heard  the  lance's  shivering  crash, 
As  when  the  whirlwind  rends  the  ash, 
I  heard  the  broadsword's  deadly  clang, 
As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang ! 
But  Moray  wheel'd  his  rearward  rank 
Of  horsemen  on  Clan- Alpine's  flank, 
— '  My  banner-man,  advance ! 
I  see,'  he  cried,  '  their  column  shake. — 
Now,  gallants !  for  your  ladies'  sake, 

Upon  them  with  the  lance !' — 
The  horsemen  dash'd  among  the  rout, 

As  deer  break  through  the  broom ; 
Their  steeds  are  stout,  their  swords  are  out, 

They  soon  make  lightsome  room. 
Clan- Alpine's  best  are  backward  borne — 

Where,  where  was  Roderick  then ! 
One  blast  upon  his  bugle-horn 

Were  worth  a  thousand  men ! 
And  refluent  through  the  pass  of  fear3 

The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
Vanish'd  the  Saxon's  struggling  spear,. 

Vanish'd  the  mountain  sword. 
As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep,. 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 
Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in, 


s  MS. :  "  And  refluent  down  the  darksome  pass- 
The  battle's  tide  was  pour'd ; 
There  toil'd  the  spearman's  struggling  spear, 
There  raged  the  mountain  sword." 


226 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass : 
None  linger  now  upon  the  plain 
Save  those  who  ne'er  shall  tight  again. 

XIX. 

"  Now  westward  rolls  the  battle's  din, 
That  deep  and  doubling  pass  within. 
— Minstrel,  away !  the  work  of  fate1 
Is  bearing  on :  its  issue  wait 
Where  the  rude  Trosachs'  dread  defile 
Opens  on  Katrine's  lake  and  isie. — 
Gray  Benvenue  I  soon  repass'd, 
Loeh  Katrine  lay  beneath  me  cast. 

The  sun  is  set; — the  clouds  are  met, 
The  lowering  scowl  of  heaven 

An  inky  hue  of  livid  blue 
To  the  deep  lake  has  given ; 
Strange  gusts  of  wind  from  mountain  glen 
Swept  o'er  the  lake,  then  sunk  agen. 
I  heeded  not  the  eddying  surge, 
Mine  eye  but  saw  the  Trosachs'  gorge, 
Mine  ear  but  heard  the  sullen  sound 
Which  like  an  earthquake  shook  the  ground, 
And  spoke  the  stern  and  desperate  strife 
That  parts  not  but  with  parting  life,2 
Seeming,  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll3 
The  dirge  of  many  a  passing  soul. 
Nearer  it  comes — the  dim-wood  glen 
The  martial  flood  disgorged  agen, 

But  not  in  mingled  tide ; 
The  plaided  warriors  of  the  North 
High  on  the  mountain  thunder  forth, 

And  overhang  its  side ; 
While  by  the  lake  below  appears 
Tbe  dark'ning  cloud  of  Saxon  spears.4 
At  weary  bay  each  shatter'd  band, 
Eyeing  their  foemen,  sternly  stand ; 
Their  banners  stream  like  tatter'd  sail, 
That  flings  its  fragments  to  the  gale, 
And  broken  arms  and  disarray 
Mark'd  the  fell  havoc  of  the  day. 

XX. 

"Viewing  the  mountain's  ridge  askance, 
The  Saxon  stood  in  sullen  trance, 
Till  Moray  pointed  with  his  lance, 

And  cried — '  Behold  yon  isle ! — 
See !  none  are  left  to  guard  its  strand, 
But  women  weak,  that  wring  the  hand : 
'Tis  there  of  yore  the  robber  band 

Their  booty  wont  to  pile ; — 


1  MS. :  "  Away !  away !  the  work  of  fate !" 


■  "the  loveliness  in  death 


That  parts  not  quite  with  parting  breath." 

Byron's  Giaour. 

1  MS. :  "  And  seem'd,  to  minstrel  ear,  to  toll 
The  parting  dirge  of  many  a  soul." 


My  purse,  with  bonnet-pieces  store, 
To  him  will  swim  a  bowshot  o'er, 
And  loose  a  shallop  from  the  shore. 
Lightly  we'll  tame  the  war-wolf  then, 
Lords  of  his  mate,  and  brood,  and  den.' 
Forth  from  the  ranks  a  spearman  sprung, 
On  earth  his  casque  and  corselet  rung, 

lie  plunged  him  in  the  wave : — 
All  saw  the  deed,  the  purpose  knew, 
And  to  their  clamors  Benvenue 

A  mingled  echo  gave; 
The  Saxons  shout  their  mate  to  cheer, 
The  helpless  females  scream  for  fear, 
And  yells  for  rage  the  mountaineer. 
'Twas  then,  as  by  the  outcry  riven, 
Pour'd  down  at  once  the  lowering  heaven ; 
A  whirlwind  swept  Loch  Katrine's  breast, 
Her  billows  rear'd  their  snowy  crest. 
Well  for  the  swimmer  swell'd  they  high, 
To  mar  the  Highland  marksman's  eye ; 
For  round  him  shower'd,  'mid  rain  and 

hail, 
The  vengeful  arrows  of  the  Gael. — 
In  vain — He  nears  the  isle — and  lo ! 
His  hand  is  on  a  shallop's  bow. 
— Just  then  a  flash  of  lightning  came, 
It  tinged  the  waves  and  strand  with  flame  ;• 
I  mark'd  Duncraggan's  widow'd  dame, 
Behind  an  oak  I  saw  her  stand, 
A  naked  dirk  gleam'd  in  her  hand : 
It  darken'd, — but,  amid  the  moan 
Of  waves,  I  heard  a  dying  groan  ; 
Another  flash ! — the  spearman  floats 
A  weltering  corse  beside  the  boats, 
And  the  stern  matron  o'er  him  stood, 
Her  hand  and  dagger  streaming  blood. 

XXI. 

"'Revenge!  revenge!'  the  Saxons  cried, 

The  Gaels'  exulting  shout  replied. 

Despite  the  elemental  rage, 

Again  they  hurry  to  engage ; 

But,  ere  they  closed  in  desperate  fight, 

Bloody  with  spurring  came  a  knight, 

Sprung  from  his  horse,  and,  from  a  crag, 

Waved  'twixt  the  hosts  a  milk-white  flag. 

Clarion  and  trumpet  by  his  side 

Rung  forth  a  truce-note  high  and  wide, 

While,  in  the  Monarch's  name,  afar 

A  herald's  voice  forbade  the  war, 

For  Bothwell's  lord,  and  Roderick  bold, 

Were  both,  he  said,  in  captive  hold." 


4  MS.:  "While  by  the  darken'd  lake  below 
File  out  the  spearmen  of  the  foe." 

6  The  MS.  reads— 

"It  tinged  the  boats  and  lake  with  flame." 

The  eight  closing  lines  of  the  stanza  are  interpolated  on  a 
slip  of  paper. 


THE    LADY   OF    THE   LAKE. 


227 


— But  here  the  lay  made  sudden  stand ; 

The  harp  escaped  the  Minstrel's  hand ! — 

Oft  had  he  stolen  a  glance,  to  spy 

How  Roderick  brook'd  his  minstrelsy : 

At  first,  the  Chieftain,  to  the  chime, 

With  lifted  hand,  kept  feeble  time ; 

That  motion  ceased, — yet  feeling  strong 

Varied  his  look  as  changed  the  song  j1 

At  length,  no  more  his  deafen'd  ear 

The  minstrel  melody  can  hear ; 

His  face  grows  sharp,— his  hands  are  clench'd, 

As  if  some  pang  his  heart-strings  wrench'd ; 

Set  are  his  teeth,  his  fading  eye2 

Is  sternly  fix'd  on  vacancy ; 

Thus,  motionless  and  moanless,  drew 

His  parting  breath  stout  Roderick  Dhu  ! — s 

Old  Allan-bane  look'd  on  aghast, 

While  grim  and  still  his  spirit  pass'd ; 

But  when  he  saw  that  life  was  fled, 

He  pour'd  his  wailing  o'er  the  dead. 

XXII. 
Hlamcnt. 
"  And  art  thou  cold  and  lowly  laid,4 
Thy  foemen's  dread,  thy  people's  aid, 
Breadalbane's  boast,  Clan-Alpine's  shade ! 
For  thee  shall  none  a  requiem  say  ? — ■ 
For  thee, — who  loved  the  minstrel's  lay, 
For  thee,  of  Bothwell's  house  the  stay, 
The  shelter  of  her  exiled  line, — 5 
E'en  in  this  prison-house  of  thine, 
I'll  wail  for  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine ! 

"  What  groans  shall  yonder  valleys  fill ! 
What  shrieks  of  grief  shall  rend  yon  hill ! 
What  tears  of  burning  rage  shall  thrill, 
When  mourns  thy  tribe  thy  battles  done, 
Thy  fall  before  the  race  was  won, 
Thy  sword  ungirt  ere  set  of  sun ! 
There  breathes  not  clansman  of  thy  line 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. — 
Oh,  woe  for  Alpine's  honor'd  Pine  ! 

"  Sad  was  thy  lot  on  mortal  stage ! — 
The  captive  thrush  may  brook  the  cage, 
The  prison'd  eagle  dies  for  rage. 

1  MS. :  "  Glow'd  in  his  look,  as  swell'd  the  song." 

2  MS. : "  his  j  SlazinS  )  eye." 

(.    fiery    ) 

3  "  Rob  Roy,  while  on  his  deathbed,  learned  that  a  person 
with  whom  he  was  at  enmity  proposed  to  visit  him.  '  Raise 
me  from  my  bed,'  said  the  invalid;  'throw  my  plaid  around 
me,  and  bring  me  my  claymore,  dirk,  and  pistols,— it  shall 
never  be  said  that  a  foeman  saw  Rob  Roy  MacGregor  defence- 
less and  unarmed.'  His  foeman,  conjectured  to  be  one  of  the 
Maclarens  before  and  after  mentioned,  entered  and  paid  his 
compliments,  inquiring  after  the  health  of  his  formidable 
neighbor.  Rob  Roy  maintained  a  cold,  haughty  civility  dur- 
ing their  short  conference;  and  so  soon  as  he  had  left  the 
house, '  Now,'  he  said, '  all  is  over — let  the  piper  play  Ha  til 
mi  lulidh'  [we  return  no  more];  and  he  is  said  to  have  ex- 


Brave  spirit,  do  not  scorn  my  strain ! 
And,  when  its  notes  awake  again, 
Even  she,  so  long  beloved  in  vain, 
Shall  with  my  harp  her  voice  combine, 
And  mix  her  woe  and  tears  with  mine, 
To  wail  Clan-Alpine's  honor'd  Pine." — 8 

XXIII. 

Ellen,  the  while,  with  bursting  heart, 

Remain'd  in  lordly  bower  apart, 

Where  play'd,  with  many-color'd  gleams, 

Through  storied  pane  the  rising  beams. 

In  vain  on  gilded  roof  they  fall, 

And  lighten'd  up  a  tapestried  wall, 

And  for  her  use  a  menial  train 

A  rich  collation  spread  in  vain. 

The  banquet  proud,  the  chamber  gay,7 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  astray ; 

Or,  if  she  look'd,  'twas  but  to  say, 

With  better  omen  dawn'd  the  day 

In  that  lone  isle,  where  waved  on  high 

The  dun  deer's  hide  for  canopy ; 

Where  oft  her  noble  father  shared 

The  simple  meal  her  care  prepared, 

While  Lufra,  crouching  by  her  side, 

Her  station  claim'd  with  jealous  pride, 

And  Douglas,  bent  on  woodland  game,8 

Spoke  of  the  chase  to  Malcolm  Graeme, 

"Whose  answer,  oft  at  random  made, 

The  wandering  of  his  thoughts  betray'd. — 

Those  who  such  simple  joys  have  known 

Are  taught  to  prize  them  when  they're  gone. 

But  sudden,  see,  she  lifts  her  head  ! 

The  window  seeks  with  cautious  tread. 

What  distant  music  has  the  power 

To  win  her  in  this  woeful  hour ! 

'Twas  from  a  turret  that  o'erhung 

Her  latticed  bower,  the  strain  was  sung. 

XXIV. 

5.aj  of  t\)t  Imprisoned  huntsman. 

"  My  hawk  is  tired  of  perch  and  hood, 
My  idle  greyhound  loathes  his  food, 
My  horse  is  weary  of  his  stall, 
And  I  am  sick  of  captive  thrall. 

pired  before  the  dirge  was  finished." — Introduction  to  Rob  Roy. 
Waverley  Novels,  vol.  vii.  p.  85. 
*  MS. :  "  'And  art  thou  gone,'  "  the  Minstrel  said. 

5  MS. :  "  The  mightiest  of  a  mighty  line." 

6  MS.:  To  the  Printer. — "I  havie  three  pages  ready  to  he 
copied ;  you  may  send  for  them  in  about  an  hour.  The  rest 
of  my  flax  is  on  the  spindle,  but  not  yet  twisted  into  proper 
yarn.  I  am  glad  you  like  the  battle  of  Beal'  an  Duine.  It  is 
rather  too  long,  but  that  was  unavoidable.  I  hope  you  will 
push  on  the  notes.  To  save  time  I  shall  send  the  copy  when 
ready  to  St.  John  street. — W.  S." 

1  MS. :  "  The  banquet  gay,  the  chamber's  pride, 

Scarce  drew  one  curious  glance  aside." 
8  MS. : "  earnest  on  his  game." 


228 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


I  wish  I  were,  as  I  have  been, 
Hunting  the  hart  in  forest  green, 
With  bended  bow  and  blood-hound  free, 
For  that's  the  life  is  meet  for  me.1 
I  hate  to  learn  the  ebb  of  time 
From  yon  dull2  steeple's  drowsy  chime, 
Or  mark  it  as  the  sunbeams  crawl, 
Inch  after  inch,  along  the  wall. 
The  lark  was  wont  my  matins  ring,3 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sing ; 
These  towers,  although  a  king's  they  be, 
Have  not  a  hall  bf  joy  for  me.4 
No  more  at  dawning  morn  I  rise 
And  sun  myself  in  Ellen's  eyes, 
Drive  the  fleet  deer  the  forest  through, 
And  homeward  wend  with  evening  dew; 
A  blithesome  welcome  blithely  meet, 
And  lay  my  trophies  at  her  feet, 
While  fled  the  eve  on  wing  of  glee, — 
That  life  is  lost  to  love  and  me !" 

XXV. 

The  heart-sick  lay  was  hardly  said, 

The  list'ner  had  not  turn'd  her  head, 

It  trickled  still,  the  starting  tear, 

When  light  a  footstep  struck  her  ear, 

And  Snowdoun's  graceful  Knight  was  near. 

She  turn'd  the  hastier,  lest  again 

The  prisoner  should  renew  his  strain. — 

"Oh  welcome,  bi-ave  Fitz-James  !"  she  said  : 

"  How  may  an  almost  orphan  maid 

Pay  the  deep  debt" "  Oh,  say  not  so ! 

To  me  no  gratitude  you  owe. 
Not  mine,  alas !  the  boon  to  give, 
And  bid  thy  noble  father  live ; 
I  can  but  be  thy  guide,  sweet  maid, 
With  Scotland's  King  thy  suit  to  aid. 
No  tyrant  he,  though  ire  and  pride 
May  lay  his  better  mood  aside. 
Come,  Ellen,  come !  'tis  more  than  time, 
He  holds  his  court  at  morning  prime." 
With  beating  heart,  and  bosom  wrung, 
As  to  a  brother's  arm  she  clung. 
Gently  he  dried  the  falling  tear, 
And  gently  whisper'd  hope  and  cheer; 
Her  faltering  steps  half  led,  half  staid, 
Through  gallery  fair,  and  high  arcade, 
Till,  at  his  touch,  its  wings  of  pride 
A  portal  arch  unfolded  wide. 

XXVI. 

Within  'twas  brilliant  all  and  light,5 
A  thronging  scene  of  figures  bright; 
It  glow'd  on  Ellen's  dazzled  sight, 


"  was  meant  for  me." 


1  MS.:  

2  MS. :  "  From  darken'd  steeple's." 

8  MS.:  "The  lively  lark  my  matins  rung, 
The  sable  rook  my  vespers  sung." 
*  MS.-.  "Have  not  a  hall  should  harbor  me." 


As  when  the  setting  sun  has  given 
Ten  thousand  hues  to  summer  even, 
And  from  their  tissue,  fancy  frames 
Atrial  knights  and  fairy  dames. 
Still  by  Fitz-James  her  footing  staid ; 
A  few  faint  steps  she  forward  made, 
Then  slow  her  drooping  head  she  raised, 
And  fearful  round  the  presence  gazed ; 
For  him  she  sought,  who  own'd  this  state,6 
The  dreaded  prince  whose  will  was  fate. 
She  gazed  on  many  a  princely  port, 
Might  well  have  ruled  a  royal  court; 
On  many  a  splendid  garb  she  gazed, 
^Then  turn'd  bewilder'd  and  amazed, 
For  all  stood  bare ;  and,  in  the  room, 
Fitz-James  alone  wore  cap  and  plume. 
To  him  each  lady's  look  was  lent ; 
On  him  each  courtier's  eye  was  bent ; 
Midst  furs,  and  silks,  and  jewels  sheen, 
He  stood,  in  simple  Lincoln  green, 
The  centre  of  the  glittering  ring, 
And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King  !7 

XXVII. 

As  wreath  of  snow  on  mountain  breast 

Slides  from  the  rock  that  gave  it  rest, 

Poor  Ellen  glided  from  her  stay,8 

And  at  the  Monarch's  feet  she  lay ; 

No  word  her  choking  voice  commands, — 

She  show'd  the  ring,  she  clasp'd  her  hands. 

Oh,  not  a  moment  could  he  brook, 

The  generous  Prince,  that  suppliant  look ! 

Gently  he  raised  her ;  and,  the  while, 

Check'd  with  a  glance  the  circle's  smile ; 

Graceful,  but  grave,  her  brow  he  kiss'd, 

And  bade  her  terrors  be  dismiss'd : — 

"Yes,  Fair;  the  wandering  poor  Fitz-James 

The  fealty  of  Scotland  claims. 

To  him  thy  woes,  thy  wishes,  bring ; 

He  will  redeem  his  signet  ring. 

Ask  nought  for  Douglas ;  yester  even, 

His  Prince  and  he  have  much  forgiven. 

Wrong  hath  he  had  from  slanderous  tongue, 

I,  from  his  rebel  kinsmen,  wrong. 

We  would  not,  to  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Yield  what  they  craved  with  clamor  loud ; 

Calmly  we  heard  and  judged  his  cause, 

Our  council  aided,  and  our  laws. 

I  stanch'd  thy  father's  death-feud  stern 

With  stout  De  Vaux  and  Gray  Glencairn ; 

And  Both  well's  Lord  henceforth  we  own 

The  friend  and  bulwark  of  our  throne. 

But,  lovely  infidel,  how  now  ? 

What  clouds  thy  misbelieving  brow? 


&  MS.:  "Within  'twas  brilliant  all,  and  bright 

The  vision  glow'd  on  Ellen's  sight." 
6  MS. :  "  For  him  who  own'd  this  royal  state." 
i  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 
8  MS. :  "  shrinking,  quits  her  stay." 


THE   LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


229 


Lord  James  of  Douglas,  lend  thine  aid ; 
Thou  must  confirm  this  doubting  maid." 

XXVIII. 
Then  forth  the  noble  Douglas  sprung, 
And  on  his  neck  his  daughter  hung. 
The  Monarch  drank,  that  happy  hour, 
The  sweetest,  holiest  draught  of  Power, — 
When  it  can  say,  with  godlike  voice, 
Arise,  sad  Virtue,  and  rejoice ! 
Yet  would  not  James  the  general  eye 
On  Nature's  raptures  long  should  pry ; 
He  stepp'd  between — "  Nay,  Douglas,  nay, 
Steal  not  my  proselyte  away ! 
The  riddle  "tis  my  right  to  read, 
That  brought  this  happy  chance  to  speed. 
Yes,  Ellen,  when  disguised  I  stray 
In  life's  more  low  but  happier  way,1 
'Tis  under  name  which  veils  my  power, 
Nor  falsely  veils — for  Stirling's  tower 
Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims,2 
And  Normans  call  me  James  Fitz-James. 
Thus  watch  I  o'er  insulted  laws, 
Thus  learn  to  right  the  injured  cause." — 
Then,  in  a  tone  apart  and  low,— 
"  Ah,  little  traitress !  none  must  know 
What  idle  dream,  what  lighter  thought, 
What  vanity  full  dearly  bought, 
Join'd  to  thine  eye's  dark  witchcraft,  drew 
My  spell-bound  steps  to  Benvenue,3 
In  dangerous  hour,  and  all  but  gave 
Thy  Monarch's  life  to  mountain  glaive !" — 
Aloud  he  spoke — "  Thou  still  dost  hold 
That  little  talisman  of  gold, 
Pledge  of  my  faith,  Fitz-James's  ring — * 
What  seeks  fair  Ellen  of  the  King  ?" 


XXIX. 

Full  well  the  conscious  maiden  guess'd 
He  probed  the  weakness  of  her  breast ; 


1  MS. :  "  In  lowly  life's  more  happy  way." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 

3  MS. :  "  Thy  sovereign  back    j  to  Benvemie.„ 

"  Thy  sovereign's  steps  > 
*  MS. :  "  Pledge  of  Fitz-James's  faith,  the  ring." 
6  MS.:  "And  in  her  breast  strove  maiden  shame; 
More  deep  she  deem'd  the  Monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  hini  who,  for  her  sire, 
Against  his  Sovereign  broadsword  drew; 
And,  with  a  pleading  warm  and  true, 
She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dhu." 
e  "  Malcolm  Graeme  has  too  insignificant  a  part  assigned 
him,  considering  the  favor  in  which  he  is  held  by  both  Ellen 
and  the  author;  and  in  bringing  out  the  shaded  and  imper- 
fect character  of  Roderick  Dhu,  as  a  contrast  to  the  purer 
virtue  of  his  rival,  Mr.  Scott  seems  to  have  fallen  into  the 
common  error  of  making  him  more  interesting  than  him 
whose  virtues  he  was  intended  to  set  otf,  and  converted  the 
villain  of  the  piece  in  some  measure  into  its  hero.    A  modern 
poet,  however,  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  an  error  of  which 
Milton  himself  is  thought  not  to  have  kept  clear,  and  for 
which  there  seems  so  natural  a  cause  in  the  difference  be- 
tween poetical  and  amiable  characters." — Jeffrey. 


But,  with  that  consciousness,  there  came 
A  lightening  of  her  fears  for  Graeme, 
And5  more  she  deem'd  the  Monarch's  ire 
Kindled  'gainst  him  who,  for  her  sire, 
Rebellious  broadsword  boldly  drew  ; 
Aud,  to  her  generous  feeling  true, 
She  craved  the  grace  of  Roderick  Dhu. 
"  Forbear  thy  suit : — the  King  of  kings 
Alone  can  stay  life's  parting  wings. 
I  know  his  heart,  I  know  his  hand, 
Have  shared  his  cheer,  and  proved  his  brand : — 
My  fairest  earldom  would  I  give 
To  bid  Clan-Alpine's  Chieftain  live ! — 
Hast  thou  no  other  boon  to  crave  ? 
/No  other  captive  friend  to  save  ?" 
Blushing,  she  turn'd  her  from  the  King, 
And  to  the  Douglas  gave  the  ring, 
As  if  she  wish'd  her  sire  to  speak 
The  suit  that  stain'd  her  glowing  cheek. — 
"  Nay,  then,  my  pledge  has  lost  its  force, 
And  stubborn  justice  holds  her  course. — 
Malcolm,  come  forth  !" — and,  at  the  word, 
Down  kneel'd  the  Grseme6  to  Scotland's  Lord. 
"  For  thee,  rash  youth,  no  suppliant  sues, 
From  thee  may  Vengeance  claim  her  dues, 
Who,  nurtured  underneath  our  smile, 
Hast  paid  our  care  by  treacherous  wile, 
And  sought  amid  thy  faithful  clan 
A  refuge  for  an  outlaw 'd  man, 
Dishonoring  thus  thy  loyal  name. — 
Fetters  and  warder  for  the  Graeme !" — 
His  chain  of  gold  the  King  unstrung, 
The  links  o'er  Malcolm's  neck  he  flung, 
Then  gently  drew  the  glittering  band, 
And  laid  the  clasp  on  Ellen's  hand.7 


Harp  of  the  North,  farewell  !8    The  hills  grow  dark, 
On  purple  peaks  a  deeper  shade  descending  ; 

In  twilight  copse  the  glow-worm  lights  her  spark, 
The  deer,  half-seen,  are  to  the  covert  wending. 

7  "And  now,  waiving  myself,  let  me  talk  to  you  of  the 

Prince  Regent.  He  ordered  me  to  be  presented  to  him  at  a 
ball ;  and  after  some  sayings  peculiarly  pleasing  from  royal 
lips  as  to  my  own  attempts,  he  talked  to  me  of  you  and  your 
immortalities ;  he  preferred  you  to  every  bard  past  and  pres- 
ent, and  asked  which  of  your  works  pleased  me  most.  It  was 
a  difficult  question.  I  answered,  I  thought  the  'Lay.'  He 
said  his  own  opinion  was  nearly  similar.  In  speaking  of  the 
others,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  you  more  particularly  the 
poet  of  Princes,  as  they  never  appeared  more  fascinating  than 
in  '  Marmion'  and  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  He  was  pleased 
to  coincide,  and  to  dwell  on  the  description  of  your  Jameses 
as  no  less  royal  than  poetical.  He  spoke  alternately  of  Homer 
and  yourself,  and  seemed  well  acquainted  with  both,"  &c. — 
Letter  from  Lord  Byron  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  July  6,  1812. — 
Byron's  Life  and  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  156. 

8  MS. :  To  the  Printer. — "  I  send  the  grand  finale,  and  so 
exit  the  '-  Lady  of  the  Lake'  from  the  head  she  has  tormented 
for  six  months.  In  canto  vi.  stanza  21, — stern  and  still,  read 
grim  and  still ;  sternly  occurs  four  lines  higher.  For  a  similar 
reason,  stanza  24 — dun  deer,  read  fleet  deer.  I  will  probably 
call  this  morning. — Yours  truly,  W.  S." 


230 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Resume  thy  wizard  elm !  the  fountain  lending, 
And  the  wild  breeze,  thy  wilder  minstrelsy; 

Tliv  numbers  sweet  with  nature's  vespers  blending, 
With  distant  echo  from  the  fold  and  lea, 

And  herd-boy's  evening  pipe,  and  hum  of  housing  bee. 

Yet  once  again,  farewell,  thou  Minstrel  harp ! 

Yet  once  again,  forgive  my  feeble  sway, 
And  little  reck  I  of  the  censure  sharp 

May  idly  cavil  at  an  idle  lay. 
Much  have  I  owed  thy  strains  on  life's  long  way, 

Through  secret  woes  the  world  has  never  known, 
When  on  the  wean-  night  dawn'd  wearier  day, 


1  "  On  a  comparison  of  the  merits  of  this  poem  with  the  two 
former  productions  of  the  same  unquestioned  genius,  we  are 
inclined  to  bestow  on  it  a  very  decided  preference  over  both. 
It  would  perhaps  be  difficult  to  select  any  one  passage  of  such 
genuine  inspiration  as  one  or  two  that  might  be  pointed  out 
in  the  '  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel ;'  and  perhaps,  in  strength  and 
discrimination  of  character,  it  may  fall  short  of  '  Marmion  ;' 
although  we  are  loth  to  resign  either  the  rude  and  savage 
generosity  of  Roderick,  the  romantic  chivalry  of  James,  or 
the  playful  simplicity,  the  affectionate  tenderness,  the  modest 
courage  of  Ellen  Douglas,  to  the  claims  of  any  competitors  in 
the  last-mentioned  poem.  But,  for  interest  and  artificial 
management  in  the  story,  for  general  ease  and  grace  of  versi- 
fication, and  correctness  of  language,  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake ' 
must  be  universally  allowed,  we  think,  to  excel,  and  very  far 
excel,  either  of  her  predecessors." — Critical  Review. 

"There  is  nothing  in  Mr.  Scott  of  the  severe  and  majestic 
style  of  Milton — or  of  the  terse  and  fine  composition  of  Pope — 
or  of  the  elaborate  elegance  and  melody  of  Campbell — or 
even  of  the  flowing  and  redundant  diction  of  Southey, — but 
there  is  a  medley  of  bright  images  and  glowing,  set  carelessly 
and  loosely  together — a  diction  tinged  successively  with  the 
careless  richness  of  Shakespeare — the  harshness  and  antique 
simplicity  of  the  old  romances — the  homeliness  of  vulgar  bal- 
lads and  anecdotes — and  the  sentimental  glitter  of  the  most 
modern  poetry, — passing  from  the  borders  of  the  ridiculous 
to  those  of  the  sublime — alternately  minute  and  energetic — 
sometimes  artificial,  and  frequently  negligent,  but  always  full 


And  bitterer  was  the  grief  devour'd  alone. 
That  I  o'erlive  such  woes,  Enchantress !  is  thine  own. 

Hark  !  as  my  lingering  footsteps  slow  retire, 

Some  Spirit  of  the  Air  lias  waked  thy  string! 
'Tis  now  a  seraph  bold,  with  touch  of  fire, 

'Tis  now  the  brush  of  fairy's  frolic  wing. 
Receding  now,  the  dying  numbers  ring 

Fainter  and  fainter  down  the  rugged  dell, 
And  now  the  mountain  breezes  scarcely  bring 

A  wandering  witch-note  of  the  distant  spell — 
And  now,  'tis  silent  all! — Enchantress,  fare  thee 
well  I1 


of  spirit  and  vivacity — abounding  in  images  that  are  striking 
at  first  sight  to  minds  of  every  contexture — and  never  express- 
ing a  sentiment  which  it  can  cost  the  most  ordinary  reader 
any  exertion  to  comprehend.  Upon  the  whole,  we  are  in- 
clined to  think  more  highly  of  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake '  than  of 
either  of  its  author's  former  publications.  We  are  more  sure, 
however,  that  it  has  fewer  faults  than  that  it  has  greater 
beauties;  and  as  its  beauties  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to 
those  with  which  the  public  has  been  already  made  familiar 
in  these  celebrated  works,  we  should  not  be  surprised  if  its 
popularity  were  less  splendid  and  remarkable.  For  our  own 
parts,  however,  we  are  of  opinion  that  it  will  be  oftener  read 
hereafter  than  either  of  them ;  and  that,  if  it  had  appeared 
first  in  the  series,  their  reception  would  have  been  less  favor- 
able than  that  which  it  has  experienced.  It  is  more  polished 
in  its  diction,  and  more  regular  in  its  versification ;  the  story 
is  constructed  with  infinitely  more  skill  and  address ;  there  is 
a  greater  proportion  of  pleasing  and  tender  passages,  with 
much  less  antiquarian  detail ;  and,  upon  the  whole,  a  larger 
variety  of  characters,  more  artfully  and  judiciously  contrasted. 
There  is  nothing  so  fine,  perhaps,  as  the  battle  in  '  Marmion,' 
or  so  picturesque  as  some  of  the  scattered  sketches  in  the 
'  Lay ;'  but  there  is  a  richness  and  a  spirit  in  the  whole  piece 
which  does  not  pervade  either  of  these  poems — a  profusion  of 
incident,  and  a  shifting  brilliancy  of  coloring,  that  reminds 
us  of  the  witchery  of  Ariosto — and  a  constant  elasticity  and 
occasional  energy,  which  seem  to  belong  more  peculiarly  to 
the  author  now  before  us." — Jkffkey. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

•  the  heights  of  Uam-  Var, 


And  roused  the  cavern  where.  'lis  told, 
A  giant  made  his  den  of  old. — P.  178. 

Ua-var,  as  the  name  is  pronounced,  or  more  properly 
Uaighmor,  is  a  mountain  to  the  north-east  of  the  village  of 
Callender  in  Menteith,  deriving  its  name,  which  signifies  the 
great  den,  or  cavern,  from  a  sort  of  retreat  among  the  rocks 
on  the  south  side,  said,  by  tradition,  to  have  been  the  abode 
of  a  giant.  In  latter  times,  it  was  the  refuge  of  robbers  and 
banditti,  who  have  been  only  extirpated  within  these  forty 
or  fifty  years.  Strictly  speaking,  this  stronghold  is  not  a  cave, 
as  the  name  would  imply,  but  a  sort  of  small  enclosure,  or 
recess,  surrounded  with  large  rocks,  and  open  above  head. 
It  may  have  been  originally  designed  as  a  toil  for  deer,  who 
might  get  in  from  the  outside,  but  would  find  it  difficult  to 
return.  This  opinion  prevails  among  the  old  sportsmen  and 
deer-stalkers  in  the  neighborhood. 


Note  B. 


Tiro  dogs  of  black  Saint  Hubert's  breed, 
Unmatched  for  courage,  breath,  and  speed. — P.  179. 

"The  hounds  which  we  call  Saint  Hubert's  hounds,  are 
commonly  all  blacke,  yet  neuertheless,  the  race  is  so  mingled 
at  these  days,  that  we  find  them  of  all  colours.  These  are  the 
hounds  which  the  abbots  of  Saint  Hubert  haue  always  kept 
some  of  their  race  or  kind,  in  honour  or  remembrance  of  the 
saint,  which  was  a  hunter  with  S.  Eustace.  Whereupon  we 
may  conceiue  that  (by  the  grace  of  God)  all  good  huntsmen 
shall  follow  them  into  paradise.  To  return  vnto  my  former 
purpose,  this  kind  of  dogges  hath  bene  dispersed  through  the 
counties  of  Henault,  Lorayne,  Flanders,  and  Burgoyne.  They 
are  mighty  of  body,  neuertheless  their  legges  are  low  and 
short,  likewise  they  are  not  swift,  although  they  be  very  good 
of  sent,  hunting  chaces  which  are  farre  straggled,  fearing 
neither  water  nor  cold,  and  doe  more  couet  the  chaces  that 
smell,  as  foxes,  "bore,  and  such  like,  than  other,  because  they 
find  themselves  neither  of  swiftness  nor  courage  to  hunt  and 
kill  the  chaces  that  are  lighter  and  swifter.  The  bloodhounds 
of  this  colour  proue  good,  especially  those  that  are  cole  blacke, 
but  I  made  no  great  account  to  breed  on  them,  or  to  keepe 
the  kind,  and  yet  I  found  a  book  which  a  hunter  did  dedicate 
to  a  prince  of  Lorayne,  which  seemed  to  loue  hunting  much, 
wherein  was  a  blason  which  the  same  hunter  gaue  to  his 
bloodhound,  called  Souyllard,  which  was  white : — 

'  My  name  came  first  from  holy  Hubert's  race, 
Souyllard  my  sire,  a  hound  of  singular  grace.' 

Whereupon  we  may  presume  that  some  of  the  kind  proue 
white  sometimes,  but  they  are  not  of  the  kind  of  the  Greffiers 


or  Bouxes,  which  we  haue  at  these  dayes." — The  noble  Art  of 
Venerie  or  Hunting,  translated  and  collected  for  the  Use  of  ail 
Noblemen  and  Gentlemen.    Lond.  1611,  4to,  p.  1& 


Note  C. 

For  the  death-wound  and  death-halloo, 
Musler'd  his  breath,  his  whinyard  drew. — P.  179. 

When  the  stag  turned  to  bay,  the  ancient  hunter  had  the 
perilous  task  of  going  in  upon  and  killing  or  disabling  the 
desperate  animal.  At  certain  times  of  the  year  this  was  held 
particularly  dangerous,  a  wound  received  from  a  stag's  horn 
being  then  deemed  poisonous,  and  more  dangerous  than  one 
from  the  tusks  of  a  boar,  as  the  old  rhyme  testifies : — 

"If  thou  be  hurt  with  hart,  it  brings  thee  to  thy  bier, 
But  barber's  hand  will  boar's  hurt  heal,  therefore  thou 
needst  not  fear." 

At  all  times,  however,  the  task  was  dangerous,  and  to  be  ad- 
ventured upon  wisely  and  warily,  either  by  getting  behind 
the  stag  while  he  was  gazing  on  the  hounds,  or  by  watching 
an  opportunity  to  gallop  roundly  in  upon  him,  and  kill  him 
with  the  sword.  See  many  directions  to  this  purpose  in  the 
Booke  of  Hunting,  chap.  41.  Wilson  the  historian  has  record- 
ed a  providential  escape  which  befell  him  in  this  hazardous 
sport,  while  a  youth  and  follower  of  the  Earl  of  Essex : — 

"  Sir  Peter  Lee,  of  Lime,  in  Cheshire,  invited  my  lord  one 
summer  to  hunt  the  stagg.  And  having  a  great  stagg  in  chase, 
and  many  gentlemen  in  the  pursuit,  the  stagg  took  soyle.  And 
divers,  whereof  I  was  one,  alighted,  and  stood  with  swords 
drawne,  to  have  a  cut  at  him,  at  his  coming  out  of  the  water. 
The  staggs  there  being  wonderfully  fierce  and  dangerous, 
made  us  youths  more  eager  to  be  at  him.  But  he  escaped  us 
all.  And  it  was  my  misfortune  to  be  hindered  of  my  coming 
nere  him,  the  way  being  sliperie,  by  a  falle ;  which  gave  oc- 
casion to  some,  who  did  not  know  mee,  to  speak  as  if  I  had 
falne  for  feare.  Which  being  told  mee,  I  left  the  stagg,  and 
followed  the  gentleman  who  [first]  spake  it.  But  I  found  him 
of  that  cold  temper,  that  it  seems  his  words  made  an  escape 
from  him ;  as  by  his  denial  and  repentance  it  appeared.  But 
this  made  mee  more  violent  in  the  pursuit  of  the  stagg,  to  re- 
cover my  reputation.  And  I  happened  to  be  the  only  horse- 
man in,  when  the  dogs  sett  him  up  at  bay ;  and  approaching 
nere  him  on  horsebacke,  he  broke  through  the  dogs,  and  run 
at  mee,  and  tore  my  horse's  side  with  his  homes,  close  by  my 
thigh.  Then  I  quitted  my  horse,  and  grew  more  cunning  (for 
the  dogs  had  sette  him  up  againe),  stealing  behind  him  with 
my  sword,  and  cut  his  hamstrings ;  and  then  got  upon  his 
back,  and  cut  his  throate ;  which,  as  I  was  doing,  the  com- 
pany came  in,  and  blamed  my  rashness  for  running  such  a 
hazard." — Peck's  Desiderata  Curiosa,  ii.  464. 

(231) 


232 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  D. 

And  note,  to  issue  from  the  glen, 
No  pathway  meets  tlie  wanderer's  ken, 
Unlet!  he  climb,  with  footing  nice, 
A  far  projecting  precipice. — P.  180. 

Until  the  present  road  was  made  through  the  romantic 
pass  which  I  have  presumptuously  attempted  to  describe  in 
the  preceding  stanzas,  there  was  no  mode  of  issuing  out  of 
the  defile  called  the  Trosachs,  excepting  by  a  sort  of  ladder, 
composed  of  the  branches  and  roots  of  trees. 


Note  E. 


To  meet  with  Highland  plunderers  here 
Were  worse  than  loss  of  steed  or  deer. — P.  181. 

The  clans  who  inhabited  the  romantic  regions  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Loch  Katrine  were,  even  until  a  late  period, 
much  addicted  to  predatory  excursions  upon  their  Lowland 
neighbors.  "In  former  times,  those  parts  of  this  district 
which  are  situated  beyond  the  Grampian  range  were  rendered 
almost  inaccessible  by  strong  barriers  of  rocks  and  mountains 
and  lakes.  It  was  a  border  country,  and,  though  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  low  country,  it  was  almost  totally  sequestered 
from  the  world,  and,  as  it  were,  insulated  with  respect  to 
society.  'Tis  well  known  that  in  the  Highlands  it  was,  in 
former  times,  accounted  not  only  lawful,  but  honorable, 
among  hostile  tribes,  to  commit  depredations  on  one  another; 
and  these  habits  of  the  age  were  perhaps  strengthened  in  this 
district  by  the  circumstances  which  have  been  mentioned. 
It  bordered  on  a  country  the  inhabitants  of  which,  while 
they  were  richer,  were  less  warlike  than  they,  and  widely 
differenced  by  language  and  manners."— Graham's  Sketches 
of  Scenery  in  Perthshire.  Edin.  1806,  p.  97.  The  reader  will 
therefore  be  pleased  to  remember  that  the  scene  of  this  poem 
is  laid  in  a  time 

"  When  tooming  faulds,  or  sweeping  of  a  glen, 
Had  still  been  held  the  deed  of  gallant  men." 


Note  F. 


A  gray-hnir'd  sire,  whose  eye  intent 
Was  on  the  vision' d  future  bent. — P.  182. 

If  force  of  evidence  could  authorize  us  to  believe  facts  in- 
consistent with  the  general  laws  of  nature,  enough  might  be 
produced  in  favor  of  the  existence  of  the  second-sight.  It  is 
called  in  Gaelic  Taishitaraugh,  from  Taiih,  an  unreal  or  sha- 
dowy appearance;  and  those  possessed  of  the  faculty  are 
called  Taisfiatrin,  which  may  be  aptly  translated  visionaries. 
Martin,  a  steady  believer  in  the  second-sight,  gives  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  it : — 

"The  second-sight  is  a  singular  faculty,  of  seeing  an  other- 
wise invisible  object,  without  any  previous  means  used  by  the 
person  that  used  it  for  that  end:  the  vision  makes  such  a 
lively  impression  upon  the  seers,  that  they  neither  see,  nor 
think  of  anything  else,  except  the  vision,  as  long  as  it  con- 
tinues; and  then  they  appear  pensive  or  jovial,  according  to 
the  object  that  was  represented  to  them. 


"At  the  sight  of  a  vision,  the  eyelids  of  the  person  arc 
erected,  and  the  eyes  continue  staring  until  the  object  vanish. 
This  is  obvious  to  others  who  are  by,  when  the  person  hap- 
pens to  see  a  vision,  and  occurred  more  than  once  to  my  own 
observation,  and  to  others  that  were  with  me. 

"There  is  one  in  Skie,  of  whom  his  acquaintance  observed, 
that  when  he  sees  a  vision,  the  inner  part  of  his  eyelids  turns 
so  far  upwards,  that,  after  the  object  disappears,  he  mustdraw 
them  down  with  his  fingers,  and  sometimes  employ  others  to 
draw  thriii  down,  which  he  finds  to  be  the  much  easier  way. 

"  This  faculty  of  the  second-sight  does  not  lineally  descend 
in  a  family,  as  some  imagine,  for  I  know  several  parents  who 
are  endowed  with  it,  but  their  children  not,  and  vice  versa; 
neither  is  it  acquired  by  any  previous  compact.  And,  after 
a  strict  inquiry,  I  could  never  learn  that  this  faculty  was 
communicable  any  way  whatsoever. 

"The  seer  knows  neither  the  object,  time,  nor  place  of  a 
vision,  before  it  appears ;  and  the  same  object  is  often  seen  by 
different  persons  living  at  a  considerable  distance  from  one 
another.  The  true  way  of  judging  as  to  the  time  and  circum- 
stance of  an  object,  is  by  observation  ;  for  several  persons  of 
judgment,  without  this  faculty,  are  more  capable  to  judge  of 
the  design  of  a  vision,  than  a  novice  that  is  a  seer.  If  an 
object  appear  in  the  day  or  the  night,  it  will  come  to  pass 
sooner  or  later  accordingly. 

"  If  an  object  is  seen  early  in  the  morning  (which  is  not 
frequent),  it  will  be  accomplished  in  a  few  hours  afterwards. 
If  at  noon,  it  will  commonly  be  accomplished  that  very  day. 
If  in  the  evening,  perhaps  that  night;  if  after  candles  be 
lighted,  it  will  be  accomplished  that  night :  the  later  always 
in  accomplishment,  by  weeks,  months,  and  sometimes  years, 
according  to  the  time  of  night  the  vision  is  seen. 

"  When  a  shroud  is  perceived  about  one,  it  is  a  sure  prog- 
nostic of  death ;  the  time  is  judged  according  to  the  height 
of  it  about  the  person ;  for  if  it  is  seen  above  the  middle,  death 
is  not  to  be  expected  for  the  space  of  a  year,  and  perhaps  some 
months  longer ;  and  as  it  is  frequently  seen  to  ascend  higher 
towards  the  head,  death  is  concluded  to  be  at  hand  within  a 
few  days,  if  not  hours,  as  daily  experience  confirms.  Exam- 
ples of  this  kind  were  shewn  me,  when  the  persons  of  whom 
the  observations  were  then  made,  enjoyed  perfect  health. 

"One  instance  was  lately  foretold  by  a  seer,  that  was  a 
novice,  concerning  the  death  of  one  of  my  acquaintance ;  this 
was  communicated  to  a  few  only,  and  with  great  confidence : 
I  being  one  of  the  number,  did  not  in  the  least  regard  it,  until 
the  death  of  the  person,  about  the  time  foretold,  did  confirm 
me  of  the  certainty  of  the  prediction.  The  novice  mentioned 
above,  is  now  a  skillful  seer,  as  appears  from  many  late  in- 
stances ;  he  lives  in  the  parish  of  St.  Mary's,  the  most  north- 
ern in  Skie. 

"  If  a  woman  is  seen  standing  at  a  man's  left  hand,  it  is  a 
presage  that  she  will  be  his  wife,  whether  they  be  married  to 
others,  or  unmarried  at  the  time  of  the  apparition. 

"  If  two  or  three  women  are  seen  at  once  near  a  man's  left 
hand,  she  that  is  next  him  will  undoubtedly  be  his  wife  first, 
and  so  on,  whether  all  three,  or  the  man,  be  single  or  mar- 
ried at  the  time  of  the  vision  or  not ;  of  which  there  are 
several  late  instances  among  those  of  my  acquaintance.  It 
is  an  ordinary  thing  for  them  to  see  a  man  that  is  to  come 
to  the  house  shortly  after:  and  if  he  is  not  of  the  seer's 
acquaintance,  yet  he  gives  such  a  lively  description  of  his 
stature,  complexion,  habit,  &c,  that  upon  his  arrival  he 
answers  the  character  given  him  in  all  respects. 

"  If  the  person  so  appearing  be  one  of  the  seer's  acquaint- 
ance, he  will  tell  his  name,  as  well  as  other  particulars;  and 
he  can  tell  by  his  countenance  whether  he  comes  in  a  good 
or  bad  humour. 

"I  have  been  seen  thus  myself  by  seers  of  both  sexes,  at 
some  hundred  miles'  distance ;  some  that  saw  me  in  this  man- 
ner had  never  seen  me  personally,  and  it  happened  according 
to  their  vision,  without  any  previous  design  of  mine  to  go  to 
those  places,  my  coming  there  being  purely  accidental. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


233 


"  It  is  ordinary  with  them  to  see  houses,  gardens,  and  trees, 
in  places  void  of  all  three;  and  this  in  progress  of  time  uses 
to  be  accomplished :  as  at  Mogshot,  in  the  Isle  of  Skie,  where 
there  were  but  a  few  sorry  cowhouses,  thatched  with  straw, 
yet  in  a  very  few  years  after,  the  vision,  which  appeared  often, 
was  accomplished,  by  the  building  of  several  good  houses  on 
the  very  spot  represented  by  the  seers,  and  by  the  planting 
of  orchards  there. 

"  To  see  a  spark  of  fire  fall  upon  one's  arm  or  breast,  is  a 
forerunner  of  a  dead  child  to  be  seen  in  the  arms  of  those 
persons ;  of  which  there  are  several  fresh  instances. 

"  To  see  a  seat  empty  at  the  time  of  one  sitting  in  it,  is  a 
presage  of  that  person's  death  soon  after. 

"  When  a  novice,  or  one  that  has  lately  obtained  the  second- 
sight,  sees  a  vision  in  the  night-time  without  doors,  and  he 
be  near  a  fire,  he  presently  falls  into  a  swoon. 

"  Some  find  themselves  as  it  were  in  a  crowd  of  people, 
having  a  corpse  which  they  carry  along  with  them ;  and  after 
such  visions,  the  seers  come  in  sweating,  and  describe  the 
people  that  appeared:  if  there  be  any  of  their  acquaintance 
among  'em,  they  give  an  account  of  their  names,  as  also  of 
the  bearers,  but  they  know  nothing  concerning  the  corpse. 

"  All  those  who  have  the  second-sight  do  not  always  see 
these  visions  at  once,  though  they  be  together  at  the  time. 
But  if  one  who  has  this  faculty,  designedly  touch  his  fellow- 
seer  at  the  instant  of  a  vision's  appearing,  then  the  second 
sees  tt  as  well  as  the  first ;  and  this  is  sometimes  discerned  by 
those  that  are  near  them  on  such  occasions." — Martin's  De- 
scription of  the  Western  Islands,  1716,  8vo,  p.  300,  el  seq. 

To  these  particulars  innumerable  examples  might  be  added, 
all  attested  by  grave  and  credible  authors.  But,  in  despite 
of  evidence  which  neither  Bacon,  Boyle,  nor  Johnson  was 
able  to  resist,  the  Taisch,  with  all  its  visionary  properties, 
seems  now  to  be  universally  abandoned  to  the  use  of  poetry. 
The  exquisitely  beautiful  poem  of  "  Lochiel "  will  at  once 
occur  to  the  recollection  of  every  reader. 


Note  G. 


Here,  for  retreat  in  dangerous  hour, 

Some  chief  had  framed  a  rustic  bower. — P.  183. 

The  Celtic  chieftains,  whose  lives  were  continually  exposed 
to  peril,  had  usually,  in  the  most  retired  spot  of  their  domains, 
some  place  of  retreat  for  the  hour  of  necessity,  which,  as  cir- 
cumstances would  admit,  was  a  tower,  a  cavern,  or  a  rustic 
hut,  in  a  strong  and  secluded  situation.  One  of  these  last 
gave  refuge  to  the  unfortunate  Charles  Edward,  in  his  peril- 
ous wanderings  after  the  battle  of  Culloden. 

"It  was  situated  in  the  face  of  a  very  rough,  high,  and 
rocky  mountain,  called  Letternilichk,  still  a  part  of  Benalder, 
full  of  great  stones  and  crevices,  and  some  scattered  wood 
interspersed.  The  habitation  called  the  Cage,  in  the  face  of 
that  mountain,  was  within  a  small  thick  bush  of  wood.  There 
were  first  some  rows  of  trees  laid  down,  in  order  to  level  the 
floor  for  a  habitation  ;  and  as  the  place  was  steep,  this  raised 
the  lower  side  to  an  equal  height  with  the  other :  and  these 
trees,  in  the  way  of  joists  or  planks,  were  levelled  with  earth 
and  gravel.  There  were  betwixt  the  trees,  growing  naturally 
on  their  own  roots,  some  stakes  fixed  in  the  earth,  which, 
with  the  trees,  were  interwoven  with  ropes,  made  of  heath 
and  birch  twigs,  up  to  the  top  of  the  Cage,  it  being  of  a  round 
or  rather  oval  shape;  and  the  whole  thatched  and  covered 
over  with  fog.  The  whole  fabric  hung,  as  it  were,  by  a  large 
tree,  which  reclined  from  the  one  end,  all  along  the  roof,  to 
the  other,  and  which  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Cage;  and  by 
chance  there  happened  to  be  two  stones  at  a  small  distance 

1  Found,  proved.  —  2  Had.  —  3  Measured.  —  *  Breadth.  — 
6  Were.— 6  Black.—?  Fully.— 8  Rough.— 9  His.— w  Give.— 


from  one  another,  in  the  side  next  the  presepice,  resembling 
the  pillars  of  a  chimney,  where  the  fire  was  placed.  The 
smoke  had  its  vent  out  here,  all  along  the  fall  of  the  rock, 
which  was  so  much  of  the  same  color,  that  one  could  dis- 
cover no  difference  in  the  clearest  day." — Home's  History  of 
the  Rebellion.    Loud.  1802,  4to,  p.  381. 


Note  H. 


My  sire's  tall  form  might  grace  the  part 
Of  Ferragus  or  Ascdbarl. — P.  183. 

These  two  sons  of  Anak  flourished  in  romantic  fable.  The 
first  is  well  known  to  the  admirers  of  Ariosto  by  the  name  of 
Ferrau.  He  was  an  antagonist  of  Orlando,  and  was  at  length 
slain  by  him  in  single  combat.  There  is  a  romance  in  the 
Auchinleck  MS.,  in  which  Ferragus  is  thus  described : — 

"  On  a  day  come  tiding 
Unto  Charls  the  King, 

Al  of  a  doughti  knight 
Was  comen  to  Navers, 
Stout  he  was  and  fers, 

Vernagu  he  hight. 
Of  Babiloun  the  souden 
Thider  him  sende  gan, 

With  King  Charls  to  fight. 
So  hard  he  was  to  fond1 
That  no  dint  of  brond 

No  greued  him,  aplight. 
He  hadde  twenti  men  strengths 
And  forti  fet  of  lengthe, 

Thilke  painim  hede,2 
And  four  feet  in  the  face, 
Y-meten3  in  the  place, 

And  fifteen  in  brede.* 
His  nose  was  a  fot  and  more ; 
His  brow,  as  bristles  wore  ;5 

He  that  it  seighe  it  sede. 
He  loked  lotheliche, 
And  was  swart6  as  any  piche, 

Of  him  men  might  adrede." 

Romance  of  Charlemagne,  1.  461-484. 
Auchinleck  MS.,  folio  265. 

Ascapart,  or  Ascabart,  makes  a  very  material  figure  in  the 
History  of  Bevis  of  Hampton,  by  whom  he  was  conquered. 
His  effigies  may  be  seen  guarding  one  side  of  a  gate  at  South- 
ampton, while  the  other  is  occupied  by  Sir  Bevis  himself. 
The  dimensions  of  Ascabart  were  little  inferior  to  those  of 
Ferragus,  if  the  following  description  be  correct : — 

"  They  metten  with  a  geaunt, 
With  a  lotheliche  semblaunt. 
He  was  wonderliche  strong, 
Borne7  thretti  fote  long. 
His  berd  was  bot  gret  and  rowe  ;8 
A  space  of  a  fot  betweene  is9  browe ; 
His  dob  was,  to  yeue10  a  strok, 
A  lite  bodi  of  an  oak.11 

"  Beues  hadde  of  him  wonder  gret, 
And  askede  him  what  a  het,12 
And  yaf13  men  of  his  contre 
Were  ase  meche14  ase  was  he. 
'  Me  name,'  a  sede,15  '  is  Ascopard, 
Garci  me  sent  hiderward, 

11  The  stem  of  a  little  oak-tree. — 12  He  hight,  was  called. — 
13  I£_i4  Great.—15  He  said. 


234 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


For  to  bring  this  quene  ayen, 
And  the  Beues  her  of-slen.1 
Icham  Garci  is-  champlonn, 

And  was  i-driue  out  of  me3  toun 
Al  for  that  ich  was  so  lite.-* 
Eaeri  man  me  wolde  smite, 
Ich  was  so  lite  and  so  merugh,5 
Eueri  man  me  clepedfi  dwerugh,8 
And  now  icham  in  this  londe, 
I  wax  mor7  ich  undcrstonde, 
And  stranger  than  other  tene;8 
And  that  schel  on  us  be  sene.'  " 

Sir  Bevis  of  Hampton,  1.  2512. 
Auchinleck  MS.,  fol.  1S9. 


Note  I. 


Though  all  unask'd  his  birth  and  name. — P.  184. 

The  Highlanders,  who  carried  hospitality  to  a  punctilious 
excess,  are  said  to  have  considered  it  as  churlish  to  ask  a 
stranger  his  name  or  lineage  before  he  had  taken  refresh- 
ment. Feuds  were  so  frequent  among  them  that  a  contrary 
rule  would  in  many  cases  have  produced  the  discovery  of 
some  circumstance  which  might  have  excluded  the  guest 
from  the  benefit  of  the  assistance  he  stood  in  need  of. 


Note  K. 


■  and  still  a  harp  unseen 


FiWd  up  the  symphony  between. — P.  184. 

"They"  (meaning  the  Highlanders)  "delight  much  in 
musicke,  but  chiefly  in  harps  and  clairschoes  of  their  own 
fashion.  The  strings  of  the  clairschoes  are  made  of  brass 
wire,  and  the  strings  of  the  harps,  of  sinews;  which  strings 
they  strike  either  with  their  nayles,  growing  long,  or  else 
with  an  instrument  appointed  for  that  use.  They  take  great 
pleasure  to  decke  their  harps  and  clairschoes  with  silver  and 
precious  stones ;  the  poore  ones  that  cannot  attayne  hereunto, 
decke  them  with  christall.  They  sing  verses  prettily  com- 
pound, contayning  (for  the  most  part)  prayses  of  valiant  men. 
There  is  not  almost  any  other  argument,  whereof  their  rhymes 
intreat.  They  speak  the  ancient  French  language  altered  a 
little."9 — "The  harp  and  clairschoes  are  now  only  heard  of 
in  the  Highlands  in  ancient  song.  At  what  period  these  in- 
struments ceased  to  be  used  is  not  on  record ;  and  tradition 
is  silent  on  this  head.  But,  as  Irish  harpers  occasionally 
visited  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  till  lately,  the  harp 
might  have  been  extant  so  late  as  the  middle  of  the  last 
century.  Thus  far  we  know,  that  from  remote  times  down 
to  the  present,  harpers  were  received  as  welcome  guests,  par- 
tieularly  in  the  Highlands  of  .Scotland;  and  so  late  as  the  lat- 
ter end  of  the  sixteenth  century,  as  appears  by  the  above 
quotation,  the  harp  was  in  common  use  among  the  natives  of 
Che  \\  estern  Isles.  How  it  happened  that  the  noisy  and  un- 
hannoniona  bagpipe  banished  the  soft  and  expressive  harp, 
we  cannot  say ;  but  certain  it  is  that  the  bagpipe  is  now  the 
only  instrument  that  obtains  universally  in  the  Highland 
districta." — Campbell's  Journey  through  North  Britain.  Lond. 
1808,  4to,  I.  175. 

Mr.  Gunn,  of  Edinburgh,  has  lately  published  a  curious 
Essay  upon  the  Harp  and  Harp  Music  "f  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland.     That  the  instrument  was  once  in  common  use 

1  Slay.  — 2  His.  — »  My.—*  Little.—*  Lean.— «  Dwarf.— 
'  Greater,  taller.— a  Ten. 


there  is  most  certain.  Clelland  numbers  an  acquaintance 
with  it  among  the  few  accomplishments  which  his  satire 
allows  to  the  Highlanders: — 

"  In  nothing  they're  accounted  sharp, 
Except  in  bagpipe  or  in  harp." 


Note  L. 


Morn's  genial  influence  roused  a  minstrel  gray. — P.  186. 

That  Highland  chieftains,  to  a  late  period,  retained  in  their 
service  the  bard,  as  a  family  officer,  admits  of  very  easy  proof. 
The  author  of  the  Letters  from  the  North  of  Scotland,  an  officer 
of  engineers,  quartered  at  Inverness  about  1720,  who  certainly 
cannot  be  deemed  a  favorable  witness,  gives  the  following 
account  of  the  office,  and  of  a  bard  whom  he  heard  exercise 
his  talent  of  recitation: — "The  bard  is  skilled  in  the  geneal- 
ogy of  all  the  Highland  families,  sometimes  preceptor  to  the 
young  laird,  celebrates  in  Irish  verse  the  original  of  the  tribe, 
the  famous  warlike  actions  of  the  successive  heads,  and  sings 
his  own  lyricks  as  an  opiate  to  the  chief  when  indisposed  for 
sleep ;  but  poets  are  not  equally  esteemed  and  honoured  in 
all  countries.  I  happened  to  be  a  witness  of  the  dishonour 
done  to  the  muse  at  the  house  of  one  of  the  chiefs,  where  two 
of  these  bards  were  set  at  a  good  distance,  at  the  lower  end 
of  a  long  table,  with  a  parcel  of  Highlanders  of  no  extraordi- 
nary appearance,  over  a  cup  of  ale.  Poor  inspiration !  They 
were  not  asked  to  drink  a  glass  of  wine  at  our  table,  though 
the  whole  company  consisted  only  of  the  great  man,  one  of 
his  near  relations,  and  myself.  After  some  little  time,  the 
chief  ordered  one  of  them  to  sing  me  a  Highland  song.  The 
bard  readily  obeyed,  and  with  a  hoarse  voice,  and  in  a  tune 
of  few  various  notes,  began,  as  I  was  told,  one  of  his  own 
lyricks ;  and  when  he  had  proceeded  to  the  fourth  or  fifth 
stanza,  I  perceived,  by  the  names  of  several  persons,  glens, 
and  mountains,  which  I  had  known  or  heard  of  before,  that 
it  was  an  account  of  some  clan  battle.  But  in  his  going  on, 
the  chief  (who  piques  himself  upon  his  school-learning),  at 
some  particular  passage,  bid  him  cease,  and  cried  out, 
'There's  nothing  like  that  in  Virgil  or  Homer.'  I  bowed, 
and  told  him  I  believed  so.  This  you  may  believe  was  very 
edifying  and  delightful." — Letters,  ii.  167. 


Note  M. 


the  Grceme.—P.  187. 

The  ancient  and  powerful  family  of  Graham  (which,  for 
metrical  reasons,  is  here  spelt  after  the  Scottish  pronuncia- 
tion) held  extensive  possessions  in  the  counties  of  Dumbarton 
ami  .Stirling.  Few  families  can  boast  of  more  historical  re- 
nown, having  claim  to  three  of  the  most  remarkable  charac- 
ters in  the  Scottish  annals.  Sir  John  the  I  rrceme,  the  faithful 
and  undaunted  partaker  of  the  labors  and  patriotic  warfare 
of  Wallace,  fell  in  the  unfortunate  field  of  Falkirk,  in  1298. 
The  celebrated  Marquis  of  Montrose,  in  whom  I)e  Retz  saw 
realized  his  abstract  idea  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity,  was  the 
second  of  these  worthies.  And,  notwithstanding  the  severity 
of  his  temper,  and  the  rigor  with  which  he  executed  the 
oppressive  mandates  of  the  princes  whom  he  served,  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  name  as  a  third,  John  Gramme  of  Claverhouse, 
Viscount  of  Dundee,  whose  heroic  death  in  the  arms  of 
\  ictory  may  be  allowed  to  cancel  the  memory  of  his  cruelty 
to  the  non-conformists,  during  the  reigns  of  Charles  II.  and 
James  II. 

*  Vide  Cerlayne  Matters  concerning  the  Realme  of  Scotland, 
&c.  as  they  were  Anno  Domini  1597.    Loud.  1G0;J,  4to. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


235 


Note  N. 

This  harp,  which  erst  Saint  Modan  sway'd.—'P.  187. 

I  am  not  prepared  to  show  that  Saint  Modan  was  a  per- 
former on  the  harp.  It  was,  however,  no  unsaintly  accom- 
plishment ;  for  Saint  Dunstan  certainly  did  play  upon  that 
instrument,  which  retaining,  as  was  natural,  a  portion  of  the 
sanctity  attached  to  its  master's  character,  announced  future 
events  by  its  spontaneous  sound.  "But  labouring  once  in 
these  mechanic  arts  for  a  devout  matrone  that  had  sett  him 
on  work,  his  violl,  that  hung  by  him  on  the  wall,  of  its  own 
accord,  without  anie  man's  helpe,  distinctly  sounded  this  an- 
thime: — Gaudenl  in  calls  animce  sanctorum  qui  Christi  vestigia 
sunt  seculi;  el  quia  pro  eius  amore  sanguinem  suum  fuderuni, 
ideo  cum  Christo  gaudenl  aeternum.  Whereat  all  the  companie 
being  much  astonished,  turned  their  eyes  from  beholding 
him  working,  to  looke  on  that  strange  accident."  *  *  * 
"Not  long  after,  manie  of  the  court  that  hitherunto  had 
borne  a  kind  of  fayned  friendship  towards  him,  began  now 
greatly  to  envie  at  his  progress  and  rising  in  goodness,  using 
manie  crooked,  backbiting  meanes  to  diffame  his  vertues  with 
the  black  maskes  of  hypocrisie.  And  the  better  to  authorize 
their  calumnie,  they  brought  in  this  that  happened  in  the 
violl,  affirming  it  to  have  been  done  by  art  magick.  What 
more?  This  wicked  rumour  encreased  dayly,  till  the  king 
and  others  of  the  nobilitie  taking  hould  thereof,  Dunstan  grew 
odious  in  their  sight.  Therefore  he  resolued  to  leaue  the 
court  and  go  to  Elphegus,  surnamed  the  Bauld,  then  Bishop 
of  Winchester,  who  was  his  cozen.  Which  his  enemies  under- 
standing, they  layd  wayt  for  him  in  the  way,  and  hauing 
throwne  him  off  his  horse,  beate  him,  and  dragged  him  in  the 
durt  in  the  most  miserable  manner,  meaning  to  haye  slaine 
him,  had  not  a  companie  of  mastiue  dogges  that  came  unlookt 
uppon  thorn  defended  and  redeemed  him  from  their  crueltie. 
When  with  sorrow  he  was  ashamed  to  see  dogges  more  hu- 
mane than  they.  And  giuing  thankes  to  Almightie  God,  he 
sensibly  againe  pcrceiued  that  the  tunes  of  his  violl  had  giuen 
him  a  warning  of  future  accidents." — Floiver  of  the  Lives  of 
the  most  renowned  Saincts  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  by 
the  B.  Father  Hieeome  Porter.  Doway,  1632,  4to,  tome  i. 
p.  438. 

The  same  supernatural  circumstance  is  alluded  to  by  the 
anonymous  author  of  "  Grim,  the  Collier  of  Croydon." 

" [Dnnstan's  harp  sounds  on  the.  wall.} 

"  Forest.  Hark,  hark,  my  lords,  the  holy  abbot's  harp 

Sounds  by  itself  so  hanging  on  the  wall ! 
"  Dunstan.  Unhallow'd  man,  that  scorn'st  the  sacred  rede, 

Hark,  how  the  testimony  of  my  truth 

Sounds  heavenly  music  with  an  angel's  hand, 

To  testify  Dunstan's  integrity, 

And  prove  thy  active  boast  of  no  effect." 


Note  O. 


Ere  Douglases,  to  ruin  driven, 

Were  exiled  from  their  native  heaven. — P.  187. 

|  The  downfall  of  the  Douglases  of  the  house  of  Angus  during 
the  reign  of  James  V.  is  the  event  alluded  to  in  the  text.  The 
Earl  of  Angus,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  married  the  queen 
dowager,  and  availed  himself  of  the  right  which  he  thus  ac- 
quired, as  well  as  of  his  extensive  power,  to  retain  the  king  in 
a  sort  of  tutelage,  which  approached  very  near  to  captivity. 
Several  open  attempts  were  made  to  rescue  James  from  this 
thraldom,  with  which  he  was  well  known  to  be  deeply  dis- 
gusted ;  but  the  valor  of  the  Douglases  and  their  allies  gave 


them  the  victory  in  every  conflict.  At  length  the  king,  while 
residing  at  Falkland,  contrived  to  escape  by  night  out  of  his 
own  court  and  palace,  and  rode  full  speed  to  Stirling  Castle, 
where  the  governor,  who  was  of  the  opposite  faction,  joyfully 
received  him.  Being  thus  at  liberty,  James  speedily  sum- 
moned around  him  such  peers  as  he  knew  to  be  most  inimical 
to  the  domination  of  Angus,  and  laid  his  complaint  before 
them,  says  Pitscottie,  "  with  great  lamentations ;  showing  to 
them  how  he  was  holden  in  subjection,  thir  years  bygone,  by 
the  Earl  of  Angus  and  his  kin  and  friends,  who  oppressed  the 
whole  country  and  spoiled  it,  under  the  pretence  of  justice 
and  his  authority ;  and  had  slain  many  of  his  lieges,  kinsmen, 
and  friends,  because  they  would  have  had  it  mended  at  their 
hands,  and  put  him  at  liberty,  as  he  ought  to  have  been,  at 
the  counsel  of  his  whole  lords,  and  not  have  been  subjected 
and  corrected  with  no  particular  men,  by  the  rest  of  his 
nobles.  Therefore,  said  he,  I  desire,  my  lords,  that  I  may  be 
satisfied  of  the  said  earl,  his  kin,  and  friends ;  for  I  avow  that 
Scotland  shall  not  hold  us  both  while  [i.  e.  till]  I  be  revenged 
on  him  and  his. 

"  The  lords,  hearing  the  king's  complaint  and  lamentation, 
and  also  the  great  rage,  fury,  and  malice  that  he  bore  toward 
the  Earl  of  Angus,  his  kin  and  friends,  they  concluded  all, 
and  thought  it  best  that  he  should  be  summoned  to  underly 
the  law ;  if  he  found  no  caution,  nor  yet  compear  himself,  that 
he  should  be  put  to  the  horn,  with  all  his  kin  and  friends,  so 
many  as  were  contained  in  the  letters.  And  farther,  the  lords 
ordained,  by  advice  of  his  majesty,  that  his  brother  and  friends 
should  be  summoned  to  find  caution  to  underly  the  law  within 
a  certain  day,  or  else  be  put  to  the  horn.  But  the  earl  ap- 
peared not,  nor  none  for  him ;  and  so  he  was  put  to  the  horn, 
with  all  his  kin  and  friends :  so  many  as  were  contained  in 
the  summons  that  compeared  not  were  banished,  and  holden 
traitors  to  the  king." 


Note  P. 


In  Holy-Rood  a  knight  he  slew. — P.  188. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  uncommon  occurrence  in  the 
Court  of  Scotland;  nay,  the  presence  of  the  sovereign  himself 
scarcely  restrained  the  ferocious  and  inveterate  feuds  which 
were  the  perpetual  source  of  bloodshed  among  the  Scottish 
nobility.  The  following  instance  of  the  murder  of  Sir  William 
Stuart  of  Ochiltree,  called  The  Bloody,  by  the  celebrated 
Francis,  Earl  of  Bothwell,  may  be  produced  among  many ; 
but  as  the  offence  given  in  the  royal  court  will  hardly  bear  a 
vernacular  translation,  I  shall  leave  the  story  in  Johnstone's 
Latin,  referring  for  further  particulars  to  the  naked  simplicity 
of  Birrel's  Diary,  30th  July,  1588. 

"Mors  improbi  hominis  non  tarn  ipsa  immerita,  quam  pes 
simo  exemplo  in  publicum,  fadl  perpetrata.  Gulielmus  Sluar- 
lus  Alkiltrius,  Arani  frater,  naturd  ac  moribus,  cvjus  swpius 
memini,  vulgo  propter  silem  sanguinis  sanguinarius  dictus,  & 
Bothvelio,  in  Sanctce  Crucis  Regid,  exardescente  ird,  mendacii 
probro  lacessitus,  obsccenum  osculum  liberius  retorquebat;  Both- 
veKus  hanc  conlumeliam  tacitus  tulit,  sed  ingentum  irarum 
molem  animo  concepit.  Utrinque  postridie  Edinburgi  conven- 
ium,  tolidem  numero  comilibus  armalis,  prasidii  causa,  et  acriter 
pugnalum  est;  easterns  amicis  el  clientibus  melu  lorpenlibus, 
aut  vi  absterrilis,  ipse  Stuartus  fortissimh  dimical ;  tandem 
excusso  gladio  d  Bothvelio,  Scylhicd  feritate  iransfoditur,  sine 
cujusquam  misericordid ;  habuil  itaque  quern  debml  exilum. 
Dignus  erat  Stuartus  qui  pateretur;  Bothvelius  qui  faceret. 
Vulgus  sanguinem  sanguine  prcedicabit,  et  horum  cruore  inno- 
cuorum  manibus  egregiS  parentalnm."- J Ohnstoni  Histona 
Rerum  Britannicarum,  ab  anno  1572  ad  annum  1628.  Amste- 
lodami,  1655,  fol.  p.  135. 


236 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Note  Q. 

The  Douglas,  like  a  stricken  deer, 
Disoicn'd  by  every  noble  peer. — P.  18S. 

The  exiled  state  of  this  powerful  race  is  not  exaggerated  in 
this  and  subsequent  passages.  The  hatred  of  James  against 
the  race  of  Douglas  was  so  inveterate  thai  numerous  as  their 
allies  were,  and  disregarded  as  the  regal  authority  had  usually 
been  in  similar  cases,  their  nearest  friends,  even  in  the  most 
remote  parts  of  Scotland,  durst  not  entertain  them,  unless 
under  the  strictest  and  closest  disguise.  James  Douglas,  son 
of  the  banished  Earl  of  Angus,  afterwards  well  known  by  the 
title  of  Earl  of  Morton,  lurked,  during  the  exile  of  his  family, 
in  the  north  of  Scotland,  under  the  assumed  name  of  James 
Iunes,  otherwise  James  the  Grieve  (i,  e.  Reve  or  Bailiff).  "And 
as  he  bore  the  name,"  says  Godseroft,  "  so  did  he  also  execute 
the  office  of  a  grieve  or  overseer  of  the  lands  and  rents,  the 
corn  and  cattle  of  him  with  whom  he  lived."  From  the  habits 
of  frugality  and  observation  which  he  acquired  in  his  humble 
situation,  the  historian  traces  that  intimate  acquaintance  with 
popular  character  which  enabled  him  to  rise  so  high  in  the 
state,  and  that  honorable  economy  by  which  he  repaired  and 
established  the  shattered  estates  of  Angus  and  Morton. — His- 
tory of 'the  House  of  Douglas.    Edinburgh,  1743,  vol.  ii.  p.  160. 


Note  R. 


•  Maronnan's  cell. — P.  188. 


The  parish  of  Kilmaronock,  at  the  eastern  extremity  of 
Loch  Lomond,  derives  its  name  from  a  cell  or  chapel,  dedi- 
cated to  Saint  Maronock,  or  Marnock,  or  Maronnan,  about 
whose  sanctity  very  little  is  now  remembered.  There  is  a 
fountain  devoted  to  him  in  the  same  parish  ;  but  its  virtues, 
like  the  merits  of  its  patron,  have  fallen  into  oblivion. 


Note  S. 


Brackliyui's  thundering  wave. — P.  188. 


This  is  a  beautiful  cascade  made  by  a  mountaim  stream 
called  the  Keltic,  at  a  place  called  the  Bridge  of  Bracklinn, 
about  a  mile  from  the  village  of  Callendcr  in  Menteith.  Above 
a  chasm,  where  the  brook  precipitates  itself  from  a  height  of 
at  least  fifty  feet,  there  is  thrown,  for  the  convenience  of  the 
neighborhood,  a  rustic  footbridge,  of  about  three  feet  in 
breadth,  and  without  ledges,  which  is  scarcely  to  be  crossed 
by  a  stranger  without  awe  and  apprehension. 


Note  T. 


For  Tine-man  forged  by  fairy  lore.—V.  188. 

Archibald,  the  third  Earl  of  Douglas,  was  so  unfortunate 
in  all  his  enterprises  that  he  acquired  the  epithet  of  Tinij- 
MAN,  because  he  lined,  or  lost,  his  followers  in  every  battle 
which  he  fought.  He  was  vanquished,  as  every  reader  must 
remember,  in  the  bloody  battle  of  Ilomildon-hill,  near  Wooler, 
where  he  himself  lost  an  eye,  and  was  made  prisoner  by  Hot- 
spur.    He  was  no  less  unfortunate  when  allied  with  Percy, 


being  wounded  and  taken  at  the  battle  of  Shrewsbury.  He 
was  so  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  besiege  Roxburgh  Castle 
thai  it  was  called  the  Foul  Baid,  or  disgraceful  expedition. 
His  ill  fortune  left  him  indeed  at  the  battle  of  BeaugJj,  in 
France;  but  it  was  only  to  return  with  double  emphasis  at 
the  subsequent  action  of  Vernoil,  the  last  and  most  unlucky 
of  his  encounters,  in  which  he  fell,  with  the  flower  of  the 
ScottiBh  chivalry,  then  serving  as  auxiliaries  in  France,  and 
about  two  thousand  common  soldiers,  A.  D.  1424. 


Note  U. 


Did,  self-unscabbarded,  foreshow 
The  footsteps  of  a  secret  foe. — P.  189. 

The  ancient  warriors,  whose  hope  and  confidence  rested 
chiefly  in  their  blades,  were  accustomed  to  deduce  omens 
from  them,  especially  from  such  as  were  supposed  to  have 
been  fabricated  by  enchanted  skill,  of  which  we  have  various 
instances  in  the  romances  and  legends  of  the  time.  The  won- 
derful sword  Skofnung,  wielded  by  the  celebrated  Hrolf 
Kraka,  was  of  this  description.  It  was  deposited  in  the  tomb 
of  the  monarch  at  his  death,  and  taken  from  thence  by  Skeg- 
go,  a  celebrated  pirate,  who  bestowed  it  upon  his  son-in-law, 
Kormak,  with  the  following  curious  directions: — "'The 
manner  of  using  it  will  appear  strange  to  you.  A  small  bag 
is  attached  to  it,  which  take  heed  not  to  violate.  Let  not  the 
rays  of  the  sun  touch  the  upper  part  of  the  handle,  nor  un- 
sheathe it,  unless  thou  art  ready  for  battle.  But  when  thou 
comest  to  the  place  of  fight,  go  aside  from  the  rest,  grasp  and 
extend  the  sword,  and  breathe  upon  it.  Then  a  small  worm 
will  creep  out  of  the  handle ;  lower  the  handle,  that  he  may 
more  easily  return  into  it.'  Kormak,  after  having  received 
the  sword,  returned  home  to  his  mother.  He  showed  the 
sword,  and  attempted  to  draw  it,  as  unnecessarily  as  ineffec- 
tually, for  he  could  not  pluck  it  out  of  the  sheath.  His 
mother,  Dalla,  exclaimed,  '  Do  not  despise  the  counsel  given 
to  thee,  my  son.'  Kormak,  however,  repeating  his  efforts, 
pressed  down  the  handle  with  his  feet,  and  tore  off  the  bag, 
when  Skofnung  emitted  a  hollow  groan ;  but  still  he  could  not 
unsheathe  the  sword.  Kormak  then  went  out  with  Bessus, 
whom  he  had  challenged  to  fight  with  him,  and  drew  apart 
at  the  place  of  combat.  He  sat  down  upon  the  ground,  and 
ungirding  the  sword,  which  he  bore  above  his  vestments,  did 
not  remember  to  shield  the  hilt  from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  In 
vain  he  endeavored  to  draw  it,  till  he  placed  his  foot  against 
the  hilt ;  then  the  worm  issued  from  it.  But  Kormak  did 
not  rightly  handle  the  weapon,  in  consequence  whereof  good 
fortune  deserted  it.  As  he  unsheathed  Skofnung,  it  emitted 
a  hollow  murmur." — Bartholini,  De  Causis  Conlemptce a  Danis 
adhuc  Gentilibus  Mortis,  Libri  Tres.    Hofnise,  1689,  4to,  p.  574. 

To  the  history  of  this  sentient  and  prescient  weapon,  I  beg 
leave  to  add,  from  memory,  the  following  legend,  for  which  I 
cannot  produce  any  better  authority.  A  young  nobleman,  of 
high  hopes  and  fortune,  chanced  to  lose  his  way  in  the  town 
which  he  inhabited,  the  capital,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  a  German 
province.  He  had  accidentally  involved  himself  among  the 
narrow  and  winding  streets  of  a  suburb  inhabited  by  the  low- 
est order  of  the  people,  and  an  approaching  thunder-shower 
determined  him  to  ask  a  short  refuge  in  the  most  decent 
habitation  that  was  near  him.  He  knocked  at  the  door,  which 
was  opened  by  a  tall  man,  of  a  grisly  and  ferocious  aspect, 
and  sordid  dress.  The  stranger  was  readily  ushered  to  a 
chamber,  where  swords,  scourges,  and  machines,  which  seemed 
to  be  implements  of  torture,  were  suspended  on  the  wall.  One 
of  these  swords  dropped  from  its  scabbard,  as  the  nobleman, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation,  crossed  the  threshold.    His  host 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


237 


immediately  stared  at  him  with  such  a  marked  expression 
that  the  young  man  could  not  help  demanding  his  name  and 
business,  and  the  meaning  of  his  looking  at  him  so  fixedly. 
"  I  am,"  answered  the  man,  "  the  public  executioner  of  this 
city;  and  the  incident  you  have  observed  is  a  sure  augury 
that  I  shall,  in  discharge  of  my  duty,  one  day  cut  off  your 
head  with  the  weapon  which  has  just  now  spontaneously  un- 
sheathed itself."  The  nobleman  lost  no  time  in  leaving  his 
place  of  refuge;  but,  engaging  in  some  of  the  plots  of  the 
period,  was  shortly  after  decapitated  by  that  very  man  and 
instrument. 

Lord  Lovat  is  said,  by  the  author  of  the  Letters  from  Scot- 
land, to  have  affirmed  that  a  number  of  swords  that  hung  up 
in  the  hall  of  the  mansion-house  leaped  of  themselves  out  of 
the  scabbard  at  the  instant  he  was  born.  The  story  passed 
current  among  his  clan,  but,  like  that  of  the  story  I  have  just 
quoted,  proved  an  unfortunate  omen. — Letters  from  Scotland, 
vol.  ii.  p.  214. 


Note  V. 


Those  thrilling  sounds,  that  call  the  might 
Of  old  Clan-Alpine  to  the  fight.— P.  189. 

The  connoisseurs  in  pipe-music  affect  to  discover  in  a  well- 
composed  pibroch  the  imitative  sounds  of  march,  conflict, 
flight,  pursuit,  and  all  the  "  current  of  a  heady  fight."  To  this 
opinion  Dr.  Beattie  has  given  his  suffrage,  in  the  following 
elegant  passage : — "  A  pibroch  is  a  species  of  tune,  peculiar,  I 
think,  to  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles  of  Scotland.  It  is 
performed  on  a  bagpipe,  and  differs  totally  from  all  other 
music.  Its  rhythm  is  so  irregular,  and  its  notes,  especially  in 
the  quick  movement,  so  mixed  and  huddled  together,  that  a 
stranger  finds  it  impossible  to  reconcile  his  ear  to  it,  so  as  to 
perceive  its  modulation.  Some  of  these  pibrochs,  being  in- 
tended to  represent  a  battle,  begin  with  a  grave  motion  re- 
sembling a  march ;  then  gradually  quicken  into  the  onset ; 
run  off  with  noisy  confusion  and  turbulent  rapidity  to  imi- 
tate the  conflict  and  pursuit ;  then  swell  into  a  few  flourishes 
of  triumphant  joy ;  and  perhaps  close  with  the  wild  and  slow 
wailings  of  a  funeral  procession." — Essay  on  Laughter  and 
Ludicrous  Composition,  chap.  iii.  Note. 


Note  W. 


Soderigh  Vich  Alpin%  dhu,  ho  !  ieroe  ! — P.  189. 

Besides  his  ordinary  name  and  surname,  which  were  chiefly 
used  in  the  intercourse  with  the  Lowlands,  every  Highland 
chief  had  an  epithet  expressive  of  his  patriarchal  dignity  as 
head  of  the  clan,  and  which  was  common  to  all  his  predeces- 
sors and  successors,  as  Pharaoh  to  the  kings  of  Egypt  or  Ar- 
saces  to  those  of  Parthia.  This  name  was  usually  a  patrony- 
mic, expressive  of  his  descent  from  the  founder  of  the  family. 
Thus  the  Duke  of  Argyle  is  called  MacCallum  More,  or  the 
son  of  Colin  the  Great.  Sometimes,  however,  it  is  derived  from 
armorial  distinctions,  or  the  memory  of  some  great  feat; 
thus  Lord  Seaforth,  as  chief  of  the  Mackenzies,  or  Clan-Ken- 
net,  bears  the  epithet  of  Caber-fae,  or  Buck's  Head,  as  repre- 
sentative of  Colin  Fitzgerald,  founder  of  the  family,  who 
saved  the  Scottish  king  when  endangered  by  a  stag.  But  be- 
sides this  title,  which  belonged  to  his  office  and  dignity,  the 
chieftain  had  usually  another  peculiar  to  himself,  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  the  chieftains  of  the  same  race.  This 
was  sometimes  derived  from  complexion,  as  dhu  or  roy ;  some- 
times from  size,  as  beg  or  more;  at  other  times  from  some 


peculiar  exploit,  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit  or  appear- 
ance.   The  line  of  the  text  therefore  signifies, 

Black  Roderick,  the  descendant  of  Alpine. 

The  song  itself  is  intended  as  an  imitation  of  the  jorrams, 
or  boat  songs,  of  the  Highlanders,  which  were  usually  com- 
posed in  honor  of  a  favorite  chief.  They  are  so  adapted  as 
to  keep  time  with  the  sweep  of  the  oars,  and  it  is  easy  to  dis- 
tinguish between  those  intended  to  be  sung  to  the  oars  of  a 
galley,  where  the  stroke  is  lengthened  or  doubled,  as  it 
were,  and  those  which  were  timed  to  the  rowers  of  an  ordi- 
nary boat. 


Note  X. 


the  best  of  Loch  Lomond  lie  dead  on  her  side. — P.  190. 

The  Lennox,  as  the  district  is  called,  which  encircles  the 
lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond,  was  peculiarly  exposed  to 
the  incursions  of  the  mountaineers,  who  inhabited  the  inac- 
cessible fastnesses  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake,  and  the 
neighboring  district  of  Loch  Katrine.  These  were  often 
marked  by  circumstances  of  great  ferocity,  of  which  the  noted 
conflict  of  Glen-fruin  is  a  celebrated  instance.  This  was  a 
clan-battle,  in  which  the  Macgregors,  headed  by  Allaster 
Macgregor,  chief  of  the  clan,  encountered  the  sept  of  Colqu- 
houns,  commanded  by  Sir  Humphrey  Colquhoun  of  Luss.  It 
is  on  all  hands  allowed  that  the  action  was  desperately  fought, 
and  that  the  Colquhouns  were  defeated  with  great  slaughter, 
leaving  two  hundred  of  their  name  dead  upon  the  field.  But 
popular  tradition  has  added  other  horrors  to  the  tale.  It  is 
said  that  Sir  Humphrey  Colquhoun,  who  was  on  horseback, 
escaped  to  the  castle  of  Benechra,  or  Banochar,  and  was  next 
day  dragged  out  and  murdered  by  the  victorious  Macgregors 
in  cold  blood.  Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  however,  speaks  of  his 
slaughter  as  a  subsequent  event,  and  as  perpetrated  by  the 
Macfarlanes.  Again,  it  is  reported  that  the  Macgregors  mur- 
dered a  number  of  youths,  whom  report  of  the  intended  bat- 
tle had  brought  to  be  spectators,  and  whom  the  Colquhouns, 
anxious  for  their  safety,  had  shut  up  in  a  barn  to  be  out  of 
danger.  One  account  of  the  Macgregors  denies  this  circum- 
stance entirely  ;  another  ascribes  it  to  the  savage  and  blood- 
thirsty disposition  of  a  single  individual,  the  bastard  brother 
of  the  laird  of  Macgregor,  who  amused  himself  with  this 
second  massacre  of  the  innocents,  in  express  disobedience  of 
the  chief,  by  whom  he  was  left  their  guardian  during  the  pur- 
suit of  the  Colquhouns.  It  is  added  that  Macgregor  bitterly 
lamented  this  atrocious  action,  and  prophesied  the  ruin  which 
it  must  bring  upon  their  ancient  clan.  The  following  account 
of  the  conflict,  which  is  indeed  drawn  up  by  a  friend  of  the 
Clan-Gregor,  is  altogether  silent  on  the  murder  of  the  youths : 
"In  the  spring  of  the  year  1602,  there  happened  great  dissen- 
sions and  troubles  between  the  laird  of  Luss,  chief  of  the  Col- 
quhouns, and  Alexander,  laird  of  Macgregor.  The  original 
of  these  quarrels  proceeded  from  injuries  and  provocations 
mutually  given  and  received,  not  long  before.  Macgregor, 
however,  wanting  to  have  them  ended  in  friendly  conferences, 
marched  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  of  his  clan  to  Leven, 
which  borders  on  Luss,  his  country,  with  a  view  of  settling 
matters  by  the  mediation  of  friends ;  but  Luss  had  no  such 
intentions,  and  projected  his  measures  with  a  different  view; 
for  he  privately  drew  together  a  body  of  300  horse  and  500 
foot,  composed  partly  of  his  own  clan  and  their  followers, 
and  partly  of  the  Buchanans,  his  neighbors,  and  resolved  to 
cut  off  Macgregor  and  his  party  to  a  man,  in  case  the  issue 
of  the  conference  did  not  answer  his  inclination.  But  mat- 
ters fell  otherwise  than  he  expected ;  and  though  Macgregor 
had  previous  information  of  his  insidious  design,  yet  disseni- 


238 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Wine  hifl  resentment,  he  kept  the  appointment,  and  parted 
good  friends  in  appearance. 

"No  sooner  was  he  gone,  than  Luss,  thinking  to  surprise 
him  and  his  party  in  fall  security,  and  without  any  dread  or 
apprehension  of  his  treachery,  followed  with  all  speed,  and 
came  up  with  him  at  a  place  called  (ilenfroon.  Macgregor, 
upon  the  alarm,  divided  his  men  into  two  parties,  the  great- 
est part  whereof  he  commanded  himself,  and  the  other  he 
committed  to  the  care  of  his  hrother  John,  who,  by  his  orders, 
led  them  about  another  way,  and  attacked  the  Colquhouns 
in  flank.  Here  it  was  fought  with  great  bravery  on  both 
sides  for  a  considerable  time;  and,  notwithstanding  the  vast 
disproportion  of  numbers,  Macgregor,  in  the  end,  obtained 
an  absolute  victory.  So  great  was  the  rout,  that  200  of  the 
Colquhouns  were  left  dead  upon  the  spot,  most  of  the  leading 
men  were  killed,  and  a  multitude  of  prisoners  taken.  But 
what  seemed  most  surprising  and  incredible  in  this  defeat, 
was,  that  none  of  the  Macgregors  were  missing,  except  John, 
the  laird's  brother,  and  one  common  fellow,  though  indeed 
many  of  them  were  wounded."— Professor  Boss's  History  of 
the  Family  of  Sutherland,  1631. 

The  consequences  of  the  battle  of  Glen-fruin  were  very 
calamitous  to  the  family  of  Macgregor,  who  had  already  been 
considered  as  an  unruly  clan.  The  widows  of  the  slain  Col- 
quhouns, sixty,  it  is  said,  in  number,  appeared  in  doleiul  pro- 
cession before  the  king  at  Stirling,  each  riding  upon  a  white 
palfrey,  and  bearing  in  her  hand  the  bloody  shirt  of  her  hus- 
band displayed  upon  a  pike.  James  VI.  was  so  much  moved 
by  the  complaints  of  this  "  choir  of  mourning  dames"  that 
he  let  loose  his  vengeance  against  the  Macgregors,  without 
either  bounds  or  moderation.  The  very  name  of  the  clan 
was  proscribed,  and  those  by  whom  it  had  been  borne  were 
given  up  to  sword  and  fire,  and  absolutely  hunted  down  by 
blood-hounds  like  wild  beasts.  Argyle  and  the  Campbells,  on 
the  one  hand,  Montrose,  with  the  Grahames  and  Buchanans, 
on  the  other,  are  said  to  have  been  the  chief  instruments  in 
suppressing  this  devoted  clan.  The  laird  of  Macgregor  sur- 
rendered  to  the  former,  on  condition  that  he  would  take  him 
out  of  Scottish  ground.  But  to  use  Birrel's  expression,  he 
kepi  "a  Highlandman's  promise;"  and,  although  he  fulfilled 
his  word  to  the  letter,  by  carrying  him  as  far  as  Berwick,  he 
afterwards  brought  him  back  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  was 
executed  with  eighteen  of  his  clan. — Birrel's  Diary,  2d 
Oct.  1603.  The  Clan-Gregor,  being  thus  driven  to  utter 
despair,  seem  to  have  renounced  the  laws  from  the  benefit  of 
which  they  were  excluded,  and  their  depredations  produced 
new  acts  of  council,  confirming  the  severity  of  their  proscrip- 
tion, which  had  only  the  effect  of  rendering  them  still  more 
united  and  desperate.  It  is  a  most  extraordinary  proof  of 
the  ardent  and  invincible  spirit  of  clanship,  that  notwith- 
standing the  repeated  proscriptions  providently  ordained  by 
the  legislature,  "  for  the  Hmeous  preventing  the  disorders  and 
oppressions  that  may  fall  out  by  the  said  name  and  clan 
of  Macgregors  and  their  followers,"  they  were  in  1715  and 
1745  a  potent  clan,  and  continue  to  subsist  as  a  distinct  and 
numerous  race. 


Note  Y. 


The  King's  vindictive  pride 


Boasts  to  have  tamed  the  Border-side. — P.  192. 

In  1529,  James  V.  made  a  convention  at  Edinburgh  for  the 
purpose  of  considering  the  best  mode  of  quelling  the  Border 
robbers,  who,  during  the  license  of  his  minority,  and  the 
troubles  which  followed,  had  committed  many  exorbitances. 
Accordingly,  he  assembled  a  flying  army  of  ten  thousand 
men,  consisting  of  bis  principal  nobility  and  their  followers, 
who  were  directed  to  bring  their  hawks  and  dogs  with  them, 


that  the  monarch  might  refresh  himself  with  sport  during  the 
intervals  of  military  execution.  With  this  array  he  swept 
through  Ettrick  Forest,  where  he  hanged  over  the  gate  of  his 
own  castle  Piers  Cockburn  of  Henderland,  who  had  prepared, 
according  to  tradition,  a  feast  for  his  reception.  He  caused 
Adam  Scott  of  Tushielaw  also  to  be  executed,  who  was  dis- 
tinguish' d  by  the  title  of  King  of  the  Border.  But  the  most 
DOted  victim  of  justice,  during  that  expedition,  was  John 
Armstrong  of  Gilnockie,1  famous  in  Scottish  song,  who,  con- 
fiding in  his  own  supposed  innocence,  met  the  king  with  a 
retinue  of  thirty-six  persons,  all  of  whom  were  hanged  at 
Carlenrig,  near  the  source  of  the  Teviot.  The  effect  of  this 
severity  was  such  that,  as  the  vulgar  expressed  it,  "the  rush- 
bush  kept  the  cow,"  and  "thereafter  was  great  peace  and 
rest  a  long  time,  wherethrough  the  king  had  great  profit ;  for 
he  had  ten  thousand  sheep  going  in  the  Ettriek  Forest  in 
keeping  by  Andrew  Bell,  who  made  the  king  as  good  count 
of  them  as  they  had  gone  in  the  bounds  of  Fife." — Pitscwt- 
TLE'S  History,  p.  153. 


Note  Z. 


What  grace  for  Highland  Cliiefs,  judge  ye 
By  fate  of  Border  chivalry. — P.  192. 

James  was  in  fact  equally  attentive  to  restrain  rapine  and 
feudal  oppression  in  every  part  of  his  dominions.  "  The 
king  past  to  the  Isles,  and  there  held  justice  courts,  and  pun- 
ished both  thief  and  traitor  according  to  their  demerit.  And 
also  he  caused  great  men  to  show  their  holdings,  where- 
through he  found  many  of  the  said  lands  in  non-entry ;  the 
which  he  confiscate  and  brought  home  to  his  own  use,  and 
afterwards  annexed  them  to  the  crown,  as  ye  shall  hear. 
Syne  brought  many  of  the  great  men  of  the  Isles  captive 
with  him,  such  as  Mudyart,  M'Connel,  M'Loyd  of  the  Lewes, 
M'Keil,  M'Lane,  M'Intosh,  John  Mudyart,  M'Kay,  M'Kenzie, 
with  many  other  that  I  cannot  rehearse  at  this  time.  Some 
of  them  he  put  in  ward  and  some  in  court,  and  some  he  took 
pledges  for  good  rule  in  time  coming.  So  he  brought  the 
Isles,  both  north  and  south,  in  good  rule  and  peace ;  where- 
fore he  had  great  profit,  service,  and  obedience  of  people  a 
long  time  thereafter ;  and  as  long  as  he  had  the  heads  of  the 
country  in  subjection,  they  lived  in  great  peace  and  rest, 
and  there  was  great  riches  and  policy  by  the  king's  justice."— 
Pitscottie,  p.  152. 


Note  2  A. 


Rest  safe  till  morning ;  pity  'twere 

Such  cheek  should  feel  the  midnight  air. — P.  193. 

Hardihood  was  in  every  respect  so  essential  to  the  charac- 
ter of  a  Highlander  that  the  reproach  of  effeminacy  was  the 
most  bitter  which  could  be  thrown  upon  him.  Yet  it  was 
sometimes  hazarded  on  what  we  might  presume  to  think 
slight  grounds.  It  is  reported  of  Old  Sir  Ewen  Cameron  of 
Lochiel,  when  upwards  of  seventy,  that  he  was  surprised  by 
night  on  a  hunting  or  military  expedition.  He  wrapped  him 
in  his  plaid,  and  lay  contentedly  down  upon  the  snow,  with 
which  the  ground  happened  to  be  covered.  Among  his  attend- 
ants, who  were  preparing  to  take  their  rest  in  the  same  man- 
ner, he  observed  that  one  of  his  grandsons,  for  his  better 
accommodation,  had  rolled  a  large  snow-ball,  and  placed  it 
below  his  head.  The  wrath  of  the  ancient  chief  was  awakened 
by  a  symptom  of  what  he  conceived  to  be  degenerate  luxury. 

1  See  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  i.  p.  392. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


239 


"  Out  upon  thee !"  said  he,  kicking  the  frozen  holster  from 
the  head  which  it  supported ;  "  art  thou  so  effeminate  as  to 
need  a  pillow?"  The  officer  of  engineers,  whose  curious  let- 
ters from  the  Highlands  have  been  more  than  once  quoted, 
tells  a  similar  story  of  Macdonald  of  Keppoch,  and  subjoins 
the  following  remarks: — "This  and  many  other  stories  are 
romantick ;  but  there  is  one  thing,  that  at  first  thought  might 
seem  very  romantick,  of  which  I  have  been  credibly  assured, 
that  when  the  Highlanders  are  constrained  to  lie  among  the 
hills,  in  cold  dry  windy  weather,  they  sometimes  soak  the 
plaid  in  some  river  or  burn  (i.  e.  brook),  and  then,  holding  up 
a  corner  of  it  a  little  above  their  heads,  they  turn  themselves 
round  and  round,  till  they  are  enveloped  by  the  whole  man- 
tle. They  then  lay  themselves  down  on  the  heath,  upon  the 
leeward  side  of  some  hill,  where  the  wet  and  the  warmth  of 
their  bodies  make  a  steam  like  that  of  a  boiling  kettle.  The 
wet,  they  say,  keeps  them  warm  by  thickening  the  stuff,  and 
keeping  the  wind  from  penetrating.  I  must  confess  I  should 
have  been  apt  to  question  this  fact,  had  I  not  frequently  seen 
them  wet  from  morning  to  night,  and,  even  at  the  beginning 
of  the  rain,  not  so  much  as  stir  a  few  yards  to  shelter,  but 
continue  in  it  without  necessity,  till  they  were,  as  we  say,  wet 
through  and  through.  And  that  is  soon  effected  by  the  loose- 
ness and  spunginess  of  the  plaiding ;  but  the  bonnet  is  fre- 
quently taken  off  and  wrung  like  a  dish-clout,  and  then  put 
on  again.  They  have  been  accustomed  from  their  infancy  to 
be  often  wet,  and  to  take  the  water  like  spaniels,  and  this  is 
become  a  second  nature,  and  can  scarcely  be  called  a  hardship 
to  them,  insomuch  that  I  used  to  say,  they  seemed  to  be  of 
the  duck  kind,  and  to  love  water  as  well.  Though  I  never 
saw  this  preparation  for  sleep  in  windy  weather,  yet  setting 
out  early  in  a  morning  from  one  of  the  huts,  I  have  seen  the 
marks  of  their  lodging,  where  the  ground  has  been  free  from 
rime  or  snow,  which  remained  all  round  the  spot  where  they 
had  lain." — Letters  from  Scotland.    Lond.  1754,  8vo,  ii.  p.  108. 


Note  2  B. 


■  his  henchman  came. — P.  194. 


"  This  officer  is  a  sort  of  secretary,  and  is  to  be  ready,  upon 
all  occasions,  to  venture  his  life  in  defence  of  his  master ;  and 
at  drinking-bouts  he  stands  behind  his  seat,  at  his  haunch, 
from  whence  his  title  is  derived,  and  watches  the  conversa- 
tion, to  see  if  any  one  offends  his  patron.  An  English  officer 
being  in  company  with  a  certain  chieftain,  and  several  other 
Highland  gentlemen,  near  Killichumen,  had  an  argument 
with  the  great  man;  and  both  being  well  warmed  with  usky,1 
at  last  the  dispute  grew  very  hot.  A  youth  who  was  hench- 
man, not  understanding  one  word  of  English,  imagined  his 
chief  was  insulted,  and  thereupon  drew  his  pistol  from  his 
side,  and  snapped  it  at  the  officer's  head :  but  the  pistol  missed 
fire,  otherwise  it  is  more  than  probable  he  might  have  suffered 
death  from  the  hands  of  that  little  vermin.  But  it  is  very 
disagreeable  to  an  Englishman  over  a  bottle,  with  the  High- 
landers, to  see  every  one  of  them  have  his  gilly,  that  is,  his 
servant,  standing  behind  him  all  the  while,  let  what  will  be 
the  subject  of  conversation." — Letters  from  Scotland,  ii.  159. 


Note  2  C. 

And  while  the  Fiery  Cross  glanced,  like  a  meteor,  round. — P.  194. 

When  a  chieftain  designed  to  summon  his  clan,  upon  any 
sudden  or  important  emergency,  he  slew  a  goat,  and  making 
a  cross  of  any  light  wood,  seared  its  extremities  in  the  fire, 
and  extinguished  them  in  the  blood  of  the  animal.  This  was 
called  the  Fiery  Cross,  also  Crean   Tarigh,  or  the  Cross  of 

1  Whisky. 


Shame,  because  disobedience  to  what  the  symbol  implied  in- 
ferred infamy.  It  was  delivered  to  a  swift  and  trusty  messen- 
ger, who  ran  full  speed  with  it  to  the  next  hamlet,  where  he 
presented  it  to  the  principal  person,  with  a  single  word,  im- 
plying the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  who  received  the  symbol 
was  bound  to  send  it  forward,  with  equal  dispatch,  to  the 
next  village;  and  thus  it  passed  with  incredible  celerity 
through  all  the  district  which  owed  allegiance  to  the  chief, 
and  also  among  his  allies  and  neighbors,  if  the  danger  was 
common  to  them.  At  sight  of  the  Fiery  Cross,  every  man, 
from  sixteen  years  old  to  sixty,  capable  of  bearing  arms,  was 
obliged  instantly  to  repair,  in  his  best  arms  and  accoutre- 
ments, to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  He  who  failed  to  appear 
suffered  the  extremities  of  fire  and  sword,  which  were  em- 
blematically denounced  to  the  disobedient  by  the  bloody  and 
burnt  marks  upon  this  warlike  signal.  During  the  civil  war 
of  1745-6,  the  Fiery  Cross  often  made  its  circuit ;  and  upon 
one  occasion  it  passed  through  the  whole  district  of  Breadal- 
bane,  a  tract  of  thirty-two  miles,  in  three  hours.  The  late 
Alexander  Stewart,  Esq.,  of  Invernahyle,  described  to  me  his 
having  sent  round  the  Fiery  Cross  through  the  district  of  Ap- 
pine,  during  the  same  commotion.  The  coast  was  threatened 
by  a  descent  from  two  English  frigates,  and  the  flower  of  the 
young  men  were  with  the  army  of  Prince  Charles  Edward, 
then  in  England ;  yet  the  summons  was  so  effectual  that  even 
old  age  and  childhood  obeyed  it ;  and  a  force  was  collected  in 
a  few  hours,  so  numerous  and  so  enthusiastic  that  all  attempt 
at  the  intended  diversion  upon  the  country  of  the  absent 
warriors  was  in  prudence  abandoned,  as  desperate. 

This  practice,  like  some  others,  is  common  to  the  High- 
landers with  the  ancient  Scandinavians,  as  will  appear  by  the 
following  extract  from  Olaus  Magnus : — 

"When  the  enemy  is  upon  the  sea-coast,  or  within  the 
limits  of  northern  kingdomes,  then  presently,  by  the  command 
of  the  principal  governours,  with  the  counsel  and  consent  of 
the  old  soldiers,  who  are  notably  skilled  in  such  like  business, 
a  staff  of  three  hands  length,  in  the  common  sight  of  them 
all,  is  carried,  by  the  speedy  running  of  some  active  young 
man,  unto  that  village  or  city,  with  this  command, — that  on 
the  third,  fourth,  or  eighth  day,  one,  two,  or  three,  or  else 
every  man  in  particular,  from  fifteen  years  old,  shall  come 
with  his  arms,  and  expenses  for  ten  or  twenty  days,  upon 
pain  that  his  or  their  houses  shall  be  burnt  (which  is  intimated 
by  the  burning  of  the  staff,)  or  else  the  master  to  be  hanged 
(which  is  signified  by  the  cord  tied  to  it,)  to  appear  speedily  on 
such  a  bank,  or  field,  or  valley,  to  hear  the  cause  he  is  called, 
and  to  hear  orders  from  the  said  provincial  governours  what 
he  shall  do.  Wherefore  that  messenger,  swifter  than  any 
post  or  waggon,  having  done  his  commission,  comes  slowly 
back  again,  bringing  a  token  with  him  that  he  hath  done  all 
legally,  and  every  moment  one  or  another  runs  to  every  vil- 
lage, and  tells  those  places  what  they  must  do."  ....  "  The 
messengers,  therefore,  of  the  footmen,  that  are  to  give  warning 
to  the  people  to  meet  for  the  battail,  run  fiercely  and  swiftly ; 
for  no  snow,  no  rain,  nor  heat  can  stop  them,  nor  night  hold 
them ;  but  they  will  soon  run  the  race  they  undertake.  The 
first  messenger  tells  it  to  the  next  village,  and  that  to  the 
next;  and  so  the  hubbub  runs  all  over  till  they  all  know  it 
in  that  stift  or  territory,  where,  when  and  wherefore  they 
must  meet." — Olaus  Magnus'  History  of  the  Goths,  Englished 
by  J.  S.    Lond.  1658,  book  iv.  chap.  3,  4. 


Note  2  D. 

That  monk,  of  savage  form  and  face. — P.  195. 

The  state  of  religion  in  the  middle  ages  afforded  considerable 
facilities  for  those  whose  mode  of  life  excluded  them  from 
regular  worship  to  secure,  nevertheless;  the  ghostly  assistance 
of  confessors,  perfectly  willing  to  adapt  the  nature  of  their 


240 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


doctrine  to  the  necessities  and  peculiar  circumstances  of  their 
flock.  Robin  Hood,  it  is  well  known,  had  his  celebrated  do- 
mestic chaplain,  Friar  Tuck.  And  that  same  curtal  friar  was 
probably  matched  in  manners  and  appearance  by  the  ghostly 
fathers  of  the  Tynedale  robbers,  who  are  thus  described  in  an 
excommunication  fulminated  against  their  patrons  by  Richard 
Fox,  Bishop  of  Durham,  tempore  Henrici  VIII.  "  We  have 
further  understood,  that  there  are  many  chaplains  in  the  said 
territories  of  Tynedale  and  Redesdale,  who  are  public  and 
open  maintainers  of  concubinage,  irregular,  suspended,  ex- 
communicated, and  interdicted  persons,  and  withal  so  utterly 
ignorant  of  letters,  that  it  has  been  found  by  those  who 
objected  this  to  them,  that  there  were  some  who,  having  cele- 
brated mass  for  ten  years,  were  still  unable  to  read  the  sacra- 
mental service.  We  have  also  understood  there  are  persons 
among  them  who,  although  not  ordained,  do  take  upon  them 
the  offices  of  priesthood ;  and,  in  contempt  of  God,  celebrate 
the  divine  and  sacred  rites,  and  administer  the  sacraments 
not  only  in  sacred  and  dedicated  places,  but  in  those  which 
are  profane  and  interdicted,  and  most  wretchedly  ruinous; 
they  themselves  being  attired  in  ragged,  torn,  and  most 
filthy  vestments,  altogether  unfit  to  be  used  in  divine,  or 
even  in  temporal  offices.  The  which  said  chaplains  do  ad- 
minister sacraments  and  sacramental  rights  to  the  aforesaid 
manifest  and  infamous  thieves,  robbers,  depredators,  receiv- 
ers of  stolen  goods,  and  plunderers,  and  that  without  restitu- 
tion, or  intention  to  restore,  as  evinced  by  the  act ;  and  do 
also  openly  admit  them  to  the  rites  of  ecclesiastical  sepulchre, 
without  exacting  security  for  restitution,  although  they  are 
prohibited  from  doing  so  by  the  sacred  canons,  as  well  as  by 
the  institutes  of  the  saints  and  fathers.  All  which  infers  the 
heavy  peril  of  their  own  souls,  and  is  a  pernicious  example 
to  the  other  believers  in  Christ,  as  well  as  no  slight,  but  an 
aggravated  injury,  to  the  numbers  despoiled  and  plundered 
of  their  goods,  gear,  herds,  and  chattels."1 

To  this  lively  and  picturesque  description  of  the  confessors 
and  churchmen  of  predatory  tribes,  there  may  be  added  some 
curious  particulars  respecting  the  priests  attached  to  the 
several  septs  of  native  Irish  during  the  reign  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth. These  friars  had  indeed  to  plead  that  the  incursions, 
which  they  not  only  pardoned,  hut  even  encouraged,  were 
made  upon  those  hostile  to  them,  as  well  in  religion  as  from 
national  antipathy ;  but  by  Protestant  writers  they  are  uni- 
formly alleged  to  be  the  chief  instruments  of  Irish  insurrec- 
tion, the  very  well-spring  of  all  rebellion  towards  the  English 
government.  Lithgow,  the  Scottish  traveller,  declares  the 
Irish  wood-kerne,  or  predatory  tribes,  to  be  but  the  hounds 
of  their  hunting  priests,  who  directed  their  incursions  by 
their  pleasure,  partly  for  sustenance,  partly  to  gratify  ani- 
mosity, partly  to  foment  general  division,  and  always  for  the 
better  security  and  easier  domination  of  the  friars.2  Derrick, 
the  liveliness  and  minuteness  of  whose  descriptions  may  fre- 
quently apologize  for  his  doggerel  verses,  after  describing  an 
Irish  feast,  and  the  encouragement  given,  by  the  songs  of  the 
bards,  to  its  termination  in  an  incursion  upon  the  parts  of 
the  country  more  immediately  under  the  dominion  of  the 
English,  records  the  no  less  powerful  arguments  used  by  the 
friar  to  excite  their  animosity : — 

"  And  more  t'  augment  the  flame, 

and  rancour  of  their  harte, 
The  frier,  of  his  counsells  vile, 

to  rebelles  doth  imparte, 
Affirming  that  it  is 

an  almose  deede  to  God, 

1  The  "Monition  against  the  Robbers  of  Tynedale  and  Re- 
desdale," with  which  I  was  favored  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Surtees 
of  Mainsforth,  may  be  found  in  the  original  Latin,  in  the 
Appendix  to  the  Introduction  to  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  No. 
VII.  vol.  i.  p.  274. 

8  Lithgow's  Travels,  first  edition,  p.  431. 


To  make  the  English  subjectes  taste 

the  Irish  rebells'  rodde. 
To  spoile,  to  kill,  to  burne, 

this  frier's  counsell  is; 
And  for  the  doing  of  the  same, 

he  warrantes  heavenlie  blisse. 
He  tells  a  holie  tale ; 

the  white  he  tournes  to  black  ; 
And  through  the  pardons  in  his  male, 

he  workes  a  knavishe  knacke." 

The  wreck  ful  invasion  of  a  part  of  the  English  pale  is  then 
described  with  some  spirit ;  the  burning  of  houses,  driving  off 
cattle,  and  all  pertaining  to  such  predatory  inroads,  are  illus- 
trated by  a  rude  cut.  The  defeat  of  the  Irish,  by  a  party  of 
English  soldiers  from  the  next  garrison,  is  then  commemo- 
rated, and  in  like  manner  adorned  with  an  engraving,  in 
which  the  friar  is  exhibited  mourning  over  the  slain  chief- 
tain ;  or,  as  the  rubric  expresses  it, 

"  The  frier  then,  that  treacherous  knave ;  with  ough,  ough- 

hone  lament, 
To  see  his  cousin  Devill's-son  to  have  so  foul  event." 

The  matter  is  handled  at  great  length  in  the  text,  of  which 
the  following  verses  are  more  than  sufficient  sample : — 

"  The  frier  seyng  this, 

laments  that  lucklesse  parte, 
And  curseth  to  the  pitte  of  hell 

the  death  man's  sturdie  hearte ; 
Yet  for  to  quight  them  with 

the  frier  taketh  paine, 
For  all  the  synnes  that  ere  he  did 

remission  to  obtaine. 
And  therefore  serves  his  booke, 

the  candell  and  the  bell ; 
But  thinke  you  that  such  apishe  toies 

brings  damned  souls  from  hell  ? 
It  'longs  not  to  my  parte 

infernall  things  to  knowe; 
But  I  beleve  till  later  daie, 

thei  rise  not  from  belowe. 
Yet  hope  that  friers  give 

to  this  rebellious  rout, 
If  that  their  souls  should  chaunce  in  hell, 

to  bringe  them  quicklie  out, 
Doeth  make  them  lead  suche  lives, 

as  neither  God  nor  man, 
Without  revenge  for  their  desartes, 

permitte  or  suffer  can. 
Thus  friers  are  the  cause, 

the  fountain,  and  the  spring, 
Of  hurleburles  in  this  lande, 

of  eche  unhappie  thing. 
Thei  cause  them  to  rebell 

against  their  soveraigne  quene, 
And  through  rebellion  often  tymes, 

their  lives  do  vanish  clene. 
So  as  by  friers  meanes, 

in  whom  all  follie  swimme, 
The  Irisbe  karne  doe  often  lose 

the  life,  with  hedde  and  limme."3 

As  the  Irish  tribes,  and  those  of  the  Scottish  Highlands, 

8  This  curious  picture  of  Ireland  was  inserted  by  the  author 
in  the  republication  of  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.,  in  which  the 
plates  have  been  also  inserted,  from  the  only  impressions 
known  to  exist,  belonging  to  the  copy  in  the  Advocates' 
Library.    See  Somers'  Tracts,  vol.  i.  pp.  591,  594. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


241 


are  much  more  intimately  allied,  by  language,  manners,  dress, 
and  customs,  than  the  antiquaries  of  either  country  have  been 
willing  to  admit,  I  flatter  myself  I  have  here  produced  a 
strong  warrant  for  the  character  sketched  in  the  text.  The 
following  picture,  though  of  a  different  kind,  serves  to  estab- 
lish the  existence  of  ascetic  religionists,  to  a  comparatively 
late  period,  in  the  Highlands  and  Western  Isles.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  simplicity  in  the  description,  for  which,  as  for 
much  similar  information,  I  am  obliged  to  Dr.  John  Martin, 
who  visited  the  Hebrides  at  the  suggestion  of  Sir  Robert  Sib- 
bald,  a  Scottish  antiquarian  of  eminence,  and  early  in  the 
eighteenth  century  published  a  description  of  them,  which 
procured  him  admission  into  the  Royal  Society.  He  died  in 
London  about  1719.  His  work  is  a  strange  mixture  of  learn- 
ing, observation,  and  gross  credulity. 

"  I  remember,"  says  this  author,  "  I  have  seen  an  old  lay- 
capuchin  here  (in  the  island  of  Benbecula),  called  in  their 
language  Brahir-bocht,  that  is,  Poor  Brother ;  which  is  literally 
true ;  for  he  answers  this  character,  having  nothing  but  what 
is  given  him ;  he  holds  himself  fully  satisfied  with  food  and 
rayment,  and  lives  in  as  great  simplicity  as  any  of  his  order; 
his  diet  is  very  mean,  and  he  drinks  only  fair  water;  his 
habit  is  no  less  mortifying  than  that  of  his  brethren  else- 
where :  he  wears  a  short  coat,  which  comes  no  farther  than 
his  middle,  with  narrow  sleeves  like  a  waistcoat :  he  wears  a 
plad  above  it,  girt  about  the  middle,  which  reaches  to  his 
knee:  the  plad  is  fastened  on  his  breast  with  a  wooden  pin, 
his  neck  bare,  and  his  feet  often  so  too :  he  wears  a  hat  for 
ornament,  and  the  string  about  it  is  a  bit  of  a  fisher's  line, 
made  of  horse-hair.  This  plad  he  wears  instead  of  a  gown, 
worn  by  those  of  his  order  in  other  countries.  I  told  him  he 
wanted  the  flaxen  girdle  that  men  of  his  order  usually  wear ; 
he  answered  me,  that  he  wore  a  leathern  one,  which  was  the 
same  thing.  Upon  the  matter,  if  he  is  spoke  to  when  at  meat, 
he  answers  again ;  which  is  contrary  to  the  custom  of  his 
order.  This  poor  man  frequently  diverts  himself  with  angling 
of  trouts ;  he  lies  upon  straw,  and  has  no  bell  (as  others  have) 
to  call  him  to  his  devotions,  but  only  his  conscience,  as  he 
told  me." — Martin's  Description  of  the  Western  Highlands, 
p.  82. 


Note  2  E. 


Of  Brian's  birth  strange  tales  were  told. — P.  195. 

The  legend  which  follows  is  not  of  the  author's  invention. 
It  is  possible  he  may  differ  from  modern  critics  in  supposing 
that  the  records  of  human  superstition,  if  peculiar  to  and 
characteristic  of  the  country  in  which  the  scene  is  laid,  are  a 
legitimate  subject  of  poetry.  He  gives,  however,  a  ready  as- 
sent to  the  narrower  proposition  which  condemns  all  attempts 
of  an  irregular  and  disordered  fancy  to  excite  terror  by  accu- 
mulating a  train  of  fantastic  and  incoherent  horrors,  whether 
borrowed  from  all  countries  and  patched  upon  a  narrative 
belonging  to  one  which  knew  them  not,  or  derived  from  the 
author's  own  imagination.  In  the  present  case,  therefore,  I 
appeal  to  the  record  which  I  have  transcribed,  with  the  vari- 
ation of  a  very  few  words,  from  the  geographical  collections 
made  by  the  laird  of  Macfarlane.  I  know  not  whether  it  be 
necessary  to  remark  that  the  miscellaneous  concourse  of 
youth  and  maidens  on  the  night  and  on  the  spot  where  the 
miracle  is  said  to  have  taken  place  might,  even  in  a  credu- 
lous age,  have  somewhat  diminished  the  wonder  which  ac- 
companied the  conception  of  Gilli-'Doir-Magrevollich. 

"  There  is  bot  two  myles  from  Inverloghie,  the  church  of 
Kilmalee,  in  Lochyeld.  In  ancient  tymes  there  was  ane 
church  builded  upon  ane  hill,  which  was  above  this  church, 
which  doeth  now  stand  in  this  toune ;  and  ancient  men  doeth 
say,  that  there  was  a  battell  foughten  on  ane  little  hill  not  the 
tenth  part  of  a  myle  from  this  church,  be  certaine  men  which 

16 


they  did  not  know  what  they  were.  And  long  tyme  there- 
after, certaine  herds  of  that  toune,  and  of  the  next  toune, 
called  Unnatt,  both  wenches  and  youthes,  did  on  a  tyme  con- 
vene with  others  on  that  hill ;  and  the  day  being  somewhat 
cold,  did  gather  the  bones  of  the  dead  men  that  were  slayne 
long  tyme  before  in  that  place,  and  did  make  a  fire  to  warm 
them.  At  last  they  did  all  remove  from  the  fire,  except  one 
maid  or  wench,  which  was  verie  cold,  and  she  did  remaine 
there  for  a  space.  She  being  quyetlie  her  alone,  without  anie 
other  companie,  took  up  her  cloaths  above  her  knees,  or 
thereby,  to  warm  her ;  a  wind  did  come  and  cast  the  ashes 
upon  her,  and  she  was  conceived  of  ane  man-chyld.  Severall 
tymes  thereafter  she  was  verie  sick,  and  at  last  she  was  knowne 
to  be  with  chyld.  And  then  her  parents  did  ask  at  her  the 
matter  heiroff,  which  the  wench  could  not  weel  answer  which 
way  to  satisfie  them.  At  last  she  resolved  them  with  ane 
answer.  As  fortune  fell  upon  her  concerning  this  marvellous 
miracle,  the  chyld  being  borne,  his  name  was  called  Giii-doir 
MaghrevoUich,  that  is  to  say,  the  Black  Child,  Son  to  the  Bones. 
So  called,  his  grandfather  sent  him  to  school,  and  so  he  was  a 
good  schollar,  and  godlie.  He  did  build  this  church  which 
doeth  now  stand  in  Lochyeld,  called  Kilmalie." — Macfar- 
lane, ut  supra,  ii.  188. 


Note  2  F. 


Yet  ne'er  again  to  braid  her  hair 

The  virgin  snood  did  Alice  wear. — P.  196. 

The  snood,  or  ribbon,  with  which  a  Scottish  lass  braided 
her  hair,  had  an  emblematical  signification,  and  applied  to 
her  maiden  character.  It  was  exchanged  for  the  curch,  toy, 
or  coif,  when  she  passed,  by  marriage,  into  the  matron  state. 
But  if  the  damsel  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  lose  pretensions  to 
the  name  of  maiden,  without  gaining  a  right  to  that  of 
matron,  she  was  neither  permitted  to  use  the  snood,  nor 
advanced  to  the  graver  dignity  of  the  curch.  In  old  Scottish 
songs  there  occur  many  sly  allusions  to  such  misfortune;  as 
in  the  old  words  to  the  popular  tune  of  "Ower  the  muir 
amang  the  heather:" 

"  Down  amang  the  broom,  the  broom, 
Down  amang  the  broom,  my  dearie, 

The  lassie  lost  her  silken  snood, 
That  gard  her  greet  till  she  was  wearie." 


Note  2  G. 


The  desert  gave  him,  visions  wild, 

Such  as  might  suit  the  spectre's  eh ild. — P.  196. 

In  adopting  the  legend  concerning  the  birth  of  the  founder 
of  the  church  of  Kilmalie,  the  author  has  endeavored  to 
trace  the  effects  which  such  a  belief  was  likely  to  produce,  in 
a  barbarous  age,  on  the  person  to  whom  it  related.  It  seems 
likely  that  he  must  have  become  a  fanatic  or  an  impostor,  or 
that  mixture  of  both  which  forms  a  more  frequent  character 
than  either  of  them  as  existing  separately.  In  truth,  mad 
persons  are  frequently  more  anxious  to  impress  upon  others 
a  faith  in  their  visions  than  they  are  themselves  confirmed  in 
their  reality ;  as,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  difficult  for  the  most 
cool-headed  impostor  long  to  personate  an  enthusiast,  without 
in  some  degree  believing  what  he  is  so  eager  to  have  believed. 
It  was  a  natural  attribute  of  such  a  character  as  the  supposed 
hermit,  that  he  should  credit  the  numerous  superstitions  with 
which  the  minds  of  ordinary  Highlanders  are  almost  always 
imbued.    A  few  of  these  are  slightly  alluded  to  in  this  stanza. 


242 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  River  Demon,  or  River-horse— for  it  is  that  form  which 
he  commonly  assumes — is  the  Kelpy  of  the  Lowlands,  an  evil 
and  malicious  spirit,  delighting  to  forbode  and  to  witness 
calamity.  He  frequents  most  Highland  lakes  and  rivers;  and 
one  of  his  most  memorable  exploits  was  performed  upon  the 
banks  of  Loch  Vennachar,  in  the  very  district  which  forms 
the  scene  of  our  action:  it  consisted  in  the  destruction  of  a 
funeral  procession  with  all  its  attendants.  The  "noontide 
hag,"  called  in  Gaelic  Glas-lich,  a  tall,  emaciated,  gigantic 
female  figure,  is  supposed  in  particular  to  haunt  the  district 
of  Knoidart.  A  goblin,  dressed  in  antique  armor,  and  having 
one  hand  covered  with  blood,  called  from  that  circumstance 
Lham-dearg,  or  Red-hand,  is  a  tenant  of  the  forests  of  Glen- 
more  or  Rothiemurcus.  Other  spirits  of  the  desert,  all  fright- 
ful in  shape  and  malignant  in  disposition,  are  believed  to 
frequent  different  mountains  and  glens  of  the  Highlands, 
where  any  unusual  appearance,  produced  by  mist,  or  the 
strange  lights  that  are  sometimes  thrown  upon  particular 
objects,  never  fails  to  present  an  apparition  to  the  imagination 
of  the  solitary  and  melancholy  mountaineer. 


Note  2  II. 


The  fatal  Ben-Shie's  boding  scream. — P.  196. 

Most  great  families  in  the  Highlands  were  supposed  to  have 
a  tutelar,  or  rather  a  domestic,  spirit  attached  to  them,  who 
took  an  interest  in  their  prosperity,  and  intimated,  by  its 
wailings,  any  approaching  disaster.  That  of  Grant  of  Grant 
was  called  May  Moullach,  and  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  girl, 
who  had  her  arm  covered  with  hair.  Grant  of  Rothiemurcus 
had  an  attendant  called  Bodach-an-dun,  or  the  Ghost  of  the 
Hill ;  and  many  other  examples  might  be  mentioned.  The 
Ban-Schie  implies  a  female  fairy,  whose  lamentations  were 
often  supposed  to  precede  the  death  of  a  chieftain  of  particu- 
lar families.  When  she  is  visible,  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  old 
woman,  with  a  blue  mantle  and  streaming  hair.  A  supersti- 
tion of  the  same  kind  is,  I  believe,  universally  received  by 
the  inferior  ranks  of  the  native  Irish. 

The  death  of  the  head  of  a  Highland  family  is  also  some- 
times supposed  to  be  announced  by  a  chain  of  lights  of  differ- 
ent colors,  called  Dr'eug,  or  death  of  the  Druid.  The  direc- 
tion which  it  takes  marks  the  place  of  the  funeral.  [See  the 
"  Essay  on  Fairy  Superstitions"  in  the  Border  Minstrelsy. 


Note  2  I. 


Sounds,  too,  had  come  in  midnight  blast, 

Of  charging  steeds,  careering  fast 
Along  Benharrow's  shingly  side, 

Where  mortal  horseman  ne'er  migM  ride.— P.  196. 

A  presage  of  the  kind  alluded  to  in  the  text  is  still  believed 
to  announce  death  to  the  ancient  Highland  family  of  M'Lean 
of  Lochbuy.  The  spirit  of  an  ancestor  slain  in  battle  is  heard 
to  gallop  along  a  stony  bank,  and  then  to  ride  thrice  around 
the  family  residence,  ringing  his  fairy  bridle,  and  thus  inti- 
mating the  approaching  calamity.  How  easily  the  eye,  as  well 
as  the  ear,  may  be  deceived  upon  such  occasions,  is  evident 
from  the  stories  of  armies  in  the  air,  and  other  spectral  phe- 
nomena with  which  history  abounds.  Such  an  apparition  is 
said  to  have  been  witnessed  upon  the  side  of  South  fell  moun- 
tain, between  Penrith  and  Keswick,  upon  the  2M  June,  1744, 
by  two  persons,  William  Lancaster  of  Blakehills  and  Daniel 
Stricket,  his  servant,  whose  attestation  to  the  fact,  with  a  full 
account  of  the  apparition,  dated  the  21st  July,  174-5,  is  printed 
in  Clarice's  Survey  of  the  Lakes.    The  apparition  consisted  of 


several  troops  of  horses  moving  in  regular  order,  with  a  steady 
rapid  motion,  making  a  curved  sweep  around  the  fell,  and 
seeming  to  the  spectators  to  disappear  over  the  ridge  of  the 
mountain.  Many  persons  witnessed  this  phenomenon,  and 
observed  the  last,  or  last  but  one,  of  the  supposed  troop  occa- 
sionally leave  his  rank,  and  pass  at  a  gallop  to  the  front, 
when  he  resumed  the  same  steady  pace.  This  curious  appear- 
ance, making  the  necessary  allowance  for  imagination,  may 
be  perhaps  sufficiently  accounted  for  by  optical  delusion. — 
Survey  of  the  Lakes,  p.  25. 

Supernatural  intimations  of  approaching  fate  are  not,  I  be- 
lieve, confined  to  Highland  families.  Howe]  mentions  having 
seen  at  a  lapidary's,  in  1632,  a  monumental  stone,  prepared 
for  four  persons  of  the  name  of  Oxenham,  before  the  death  of 
each  of  whom  the  inscription  stated  a  white  bird  to  have 
appeared  and  fluttered  around  the  bed  while  the  patient  was 
in  the  last  agony. — Familiar  Letters,  edit.  1726,  247.  Glan- 
ville  mentions  one  family,  the  members  of  which  received 
this  solemn  sign  by  music,  the  sound  of  which  floated  from 
the  family  residence,  and  seemed  to  die  in  a  neighboring 
wood ;  another,  that  of  Captain  Wood  of  Bampton,  to  whom 
the  signal  was  given  by  knocking.  But  the  most  remarkable 
instance  of  the  kind  occurs  in  the  MS.  Memoirs  of  Lady  Fan- 
shaw,  so  exemplary  for  her  conjugal  affection.  Her  husband, 
Sir  Richard,  and  she  chanced,  during  their  abode  in  Ireland, 
to  visit  a  friend,  the  head  of  a  sept,  who  resided  in  his  ancient 
baronial  castle,  surrounded  with  a  moat.  At  midnight  she 
was  awakened  by  a  ghastly  and  supernatural  scream,  and, 
looking  out  of  bed,  beheld,  by  the  moonlight,  a  female  face 
and  part  of  the  form  hovering  at  the  window.  The  distance 
from  the  ground,  as  well  as  the  circumstance  of  the  moat, 
excluded  the  possibility  that  what  she  beheld  was  of  this 
world.  The  face  was  that  of  a  young  and  rather  handsome 
woman,  but  pale ;  and  the  hair,  which  was  reddish,  was  loose 
and  dishevelled.  The  dress,  which  Lady  Fanshaw's  terror 
did  not  prevent  her  remarking  accurately,  was  that  of  the 
ancient  Irish.  This  apparition  continued  to  exhibit  itself  for 
some  time,  and  then  vanished  with  two  shrieks,  similar  to 
that  which  had  first  excited  Lady  Fanshaw's  attention.  In 
the  morning,  with  infinite  terror,  she  communicated  to  her 
host  what  she  had  witnessed,  and  found  him  prepared  not 
only  to  credit  but  to  account  for  the  apparition.  "A  near 
relation  of  my  family,"  said  he,  "expired  last  night  in  this 
castle.  We  disguised  our  certain  expectation  of  the  event  from 
you,  lest  it  should  throw  a  cloud  over  the  cheerful  reception 
which  was  due  you.  Now,  before  such  an  event  happens  in 
this  family  and  castle,  the  female  spectre  whom  you  have  seen 
always  is  visible.  She  is  believed  to  be  the  spirit  of  a  woman 
of  inferior  rank,  whom  one  of  my  ancestors  degraded  himself 
by  marrying,  and  whom  afterwards,  to  expiate  the  dishonor 
done  his  family,  he  caused  to  be  drowned  in  the  castle  moat." 


Note  2  K. 


Wlwse parents  in  Inch-Cailliach  wave 

Their  shadows  o'er  Clan-Alpine's  grave. — P.  196. 

Inch-Cailliach,  the  Isle  of  Nuns,  or  of  Old  Women,  is  a  most 
beautiful  island  at  the  lower  extremity  of  Loch  Lomond.  The 
church  belonging  to  the  former  nunnery  was  long  used  as  the 
place  of  worship  for  the  parish  of  Buchanan,  but  scarce  any 
vestiges  of  it  now  remain.  The  burial-ground  continues  to  be 
used,  and  contains  the  family  places  of  sepulture  of  several 
neighboring  elans.  The  monuments  of  the  lairds  of  Macgre- 
gor,  and  of  other  families  claiming  a  descent  from  the  old 
Scottish  King  Alpine,  are  most  remarkable.  The  Highland- 
ers are  as  zealous  of  their  rights  of  sepulture  as  may  be  ex- 
pected from  a  people  whose  whole  laws  and  government,  if 
clanship  can  be  called  so,  turned  upon  the  single  principle  of 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


243 


family  descent.  "  May  his  ashes  be  scattered  on  the  water," 
was  one  of  the  deepest  and  most  solemn  imprecations  which 
they  used  against  an  enemy.  [See  a  detailed  description  of 
the  funeral  ceremonies  of  a  Highland  chieftain  in  the  "Fair 
Maid  of  Perth."  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  43,  chaps,  x.  and  xi. 
edit.  1834.] 


Note  2  L. 


■  the  dun  deer's  hide 


On  fleeter  foot  was  never  tied. — P.  197. 

The  present  brogue  of  the  Highlanders  is  made  of  half-dried 
leather,  with  holes  to  admit  and  let  out  the  water ;  for  walk- 
ing the  moors  dry-shod  is  a  matter  altogether  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  ancient  buskin  was  still  ruder,  being  made  of  un- 
dressed deer's  hide,  with  the  hair  outwards ;  a  circumstance 
which  procured  the  Highlanders  the  well-known  epithet  of 
Redshanks,  The  process  is  very  accurately  described  by  one 
Elder  (himself  a  Highlander)  in  the  project  for  a  union  between 
England  and  Scotland,  addressed  to  Henry  VOT.  ""We  go 
a-hunting,  and  after  that  we  have  slain  red-deer,  we  flay  off 
the  skin  by-and-by,  and  setting  of  our  bare  foot  on  the  inside 
thereof,  for  tvant  of  cunning  shoemakers,  by  your  grace's  par- 
don, we  play  the  cobblers,  compassing  and  measuring  so  much 
thereof  as  shall  reach  up  to  our  ankles,  pricking  the  upper 
part  thereof  with  holes,  that  the  water  may  repass  where  it 
enters,  and  stretching  it  up  with  a  strong  thong  of  the  same 
above  our  said  ankles.  So,  and  please  your  noble  grace,  we 
make  our  shoes.  Therefore,  we  using  such  manner  of  shoes, 
the  rough  hairy  side  outwards,  in  your  grace's  dominions  of 
England,  we  be  called  Roughfooled  Scots."— Pinkebton's  Mis- 
lory,  vol.  ii.  p.  397. 


Note  2  M. 


The  dismal  coronach. — P.  193. 

The  Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  like  the  Ulalatus  of  the 
Romans,  and  the  Ululoo  of  the  Irish,  was  a  wild  expression  of 
lamentation,  poured  forth  by  the  mourners  over  the  body  of 
a  departed  friend.  When  the  words  of  it  were  articulate,  they 
expressed  the  praises  of  the  deceased,  and  the  loss  the  clan 
would  sustain  by  his  death.  The  following  is  a  lamentation  of 
this  kind,  literally  translated  from  the  Gaelic,  to  some  of  the 
ideas  of  which  the  text  stands  indebted.  The  tune  is  so 
popular  that  it  has  since  become  the  war-march  or  Gathering 
of  the  clan : 

Coronach  on  Sir  Lauchlan,  Chief  of  Maclean. 

"  Which  of  all  the  Scnachies 

Can  trace  thy  line  from  the  root  up  to  Paradise, 

But  Macvuirih,  the  son  of  Fergus? 

No  sooner  had  thine  ancient  stately  tree 

Taken  firm  root  in  Albion, 

Than  one  of  thy  forefathers  fell  at  Harlaw. — 

'Twas  then  we  lost  a  chief  of  deathless  name. 

"  'Tis  no  base  weed — no  planted  tree, 

Nor  a  seedling  of  last  Autumn ; 

Nor  a  sapling  planted  at  Beltain  j1 

Wide,  wide  around  were  spread  its  lofty  branches — 

But  the  topmost  bough  is  lowly  laid  ! 

Thou  hast  forsaken  us  before  Sawaine.2 


Bell's  fire,  or  Whitsunday. 


"  Thy  dwelling  is  the  winter  house ; — 
Loud,  sad,  sad,  and  mighty  is  thy  death  song! 
Oh,  courteous  champion  of  Montrose ! 
Oh,  stately  warrior  of  the  Celtic  Isles ! 
Thou  shalt  buckle  thy  harness  on  no  more!" 

The  coronach  has  for  some  years  past  been  superseded  at 
funerals  by  the  use  of  the  bagpipe;  and  that  also  is,  like 
many  other  Highland  peculiarities,  falling  into  disuse,  unless 
in  remote  districts. 


Note  2  N. 


Benledi  saw  the  Cross  of  Fire, 

It  glanced  like  lightning  up  Strath-Ire. — P.  199. 

Inspection  of  the  provincial  map  of  Perthshire,  or  any  large 
map  of  Scotland,  will  trace  the  progress  of  the  signal  through 
the  small  district  of  lakes  and  mountains,  which,  in  exercise 
of  my  poetical  privilege,  I  have  subjected  to  the  authority  of 
my  imaginary  chieftain,  and  which,  at  the  period  of  my  ro- 
mance, was  really  occupied  by  a  clan  who  claimed  a  descent 
from  Alpine ;  a  clan  the  most  unfortunate  and  most  perse- 
cuted, but  neither  the  least  distinguished,  least  powerful,  nor 
least  brave,  of  the  tribes  of  the  Gael. 

"  Slioch  non  rioghridh  duchaisach 
Bha-shios  an  Dun-Staiobhinish 
Aig  an  roubh  crun  na  Halba  othus 
'Stag  a  cheil  duchas  fast  ris." 

The  first  stage  of  the  Fiery  Cross  is  to  Duncraggan,  a  place 
near  the  Brigg  of  Turk,  where  a  short  stream  divides  Loch 
Achray  from  Loch  Vennachar.  From  thence  it  passes  to- 
wards Callender,  and  then,  turning  to  the  left  up  the  pass  of 
Leny,  is  consigned  to  Norman  at  the  chapel  of  Saint  Bride, 
which  stood  on  a  small  and  romantic  knoll  in  the  middle  of 
the  valley  called  Strath-Ire.  Tombea  and  Arnandave,  or 
Ardmandave,  are  names  of  places  in  the  vicinity.  The  alarm 
is  then  supposed  to  pass  along  the  lake  of  Lubnaig,  and 
through  the  various  glens  in  the  district  of  Balquidder, 
including  the  neighboring  tracts  of  Glenfinlas  and  Strath- 
gartney. 


Note  2  O. 


Not  faster  o'er  thy  heathery  braes, 
Balquidder,  speeds  the  midnight  blaze.- 


-P.  200. 


It  may  be  necessary  to  inform  the  southern  reader  that  the 
heath  on  the  Scottish  moorlands  is  often  set  fire  to,  that  the 
sheep  may  have  the  advantage  of  the  young  herbage  pro- 
duced, in  room  of  the  tough  old  heather  plants.  This  custom 
(execrated  by  sportsmen)  produces  occasionally  the  most 
beautiful  nocturnal  appearances,  similar  almost  to  the  dis- 
charge of  a  volcano.  This  simile  is  not  new  to  poetry.  The 
charge  of  a  warrior,  in  the  fine  ballad  of  Hardyknute,  is  said 
to  be  "  like  fire  to  heather  set." 


Note  2  P. 

No  oath  but  by  his  Chieftain's  hand, 

No  law  but  Roderick  Dhu's  command.— P.  201. 

The  deep  and  implicit  respect  paid  by  the  Highland  clans- 
men to  their  chief  rendered  this  both  a  common  and  a  sol- 


•  Hallowe'en. 


244 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


emn  oath.  In  other  respects  they  were  like  most  Bavage 
nations,  capricious  in  their  ideas  concerning  the  obligatory 
power  of  oaths.  One  solemn  mode  of  swearing  was  by  kissing 
the  dirk,  imprecating  upon  themselves  death  by  that,  or  a 
.similar  weapon,  if  they  broke  their  vow.  But  for  oaths  in  the 
usual  form  they  are  said  to  have  bad  little  respect.  As  for 
the  reverence  due  to  the  chief,  it  may  be  guessed  from  the 
following  odd  example  of  a  Highland  point  of  honor: 

"The  clan  whereto  the  above-mentioned  tribe  belongs  is 
the  only  one  I  have  heard  of  which  is  without  a  chief;  that 
is,  being  divided  into  families,  under  several  chieftains,  with- 
out any  particular  patriarch  of  the  whole  name.  And  this  is 
a  great  reproach,  as  may  appear  from  an  affair  that  fell  out 
at  my  table,  in  the  Highlands,  between  one  of  that  name  and 
a  Cameron.  The  provocation  given  by  the  latter  was  'Name 
your  chief.'  The  return  of  it  at  once  was,  'You  are  a  fool.' 
They  went  out  next  morning,  but  having  early  notice  of  it,  I 
sent  a  small  party  of  soldiers  after  them,  which,  in  all  proba- 
bility, prevented  some  barbarous  mischief  that  might  have 
ensued:  for  the  chiefless  Highlander,  who  is  himself  a  petty 
chieftain,  was  going  to  the  place  appointed  with  a  smallsword 
and  pistol,  whereas  the  Cameron  (an  old  man)  took  with  him 
only  his  broadsword,  according  to  the  agreement. 

"  When  all  was  over,  and  I  had,  at  least  seemingly,  recon- 
ciled them,  I  was  told  the  words,  of  which  I  seemed  to  think 
hut  slightly,  were,  to  one  of  the  clan,  the  greatest  of  all  prov- 
ocations."— Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  221. 


Note  2  Q. 


■  a  low  and  lonely  cell. 


By  many  a  bard,  in  Celtic  tongue, 

Has  Coir-nan-L'riskin  been  sung. — P.  201. 

This  is  a  very  steep  and  most  romantic  hollow  in  the  moun- 
tain of  Benvenue,  overhanging  the  southeastern  extremity 
of  Loch  Katrine.  It  is  surrounded  with  stupendous  rocks, 
and  overshadowed  with  birch-trees,  mingled  with  oaks,  the 
spontaneous  production  of  the  mountain,  even  where  its  cliffs 
appear  denuded  of  soil.  A  dale  in  so  wild  a  situation,  and 
amid  a  people  whose  genius  bordered  on  the  romantic,  did 
not  remain  without  appropriate  deities.  The  name  literally 
implies  the  Corri,  or  Den,  of  the  Wild  or  Shaggy  men.  Per- 
haps this,  as  conjectured  by  Mr.  Alexander  Campbell,1  may 
have  originally  only  implied  its  being  the  haunt  of  a  ferocious 
banditti.  But  tradition  has  ascribed  to  the  Urisk,  who  gives 
name  to  the  cavern,  a  figure  between  a  goat  and  a  man ;  in 
short,  however  much  the  classical  reader  may  be  startled, 
precisely  that  of  the  Grecian  satyr.  The  Urisk  seems  not  to 
have  inherited,  with  the  form,  the  petulance  of  the  sylvan 
deity  of  the  classics:  his  occupation,  on  the  contrary,  resem- 
bled those  of  Milton's  Lubbar  Fiend,  or  of  the  Scottish  Brow- 
nie, though  he  differed  from  both  in  name  and  appearance. 
"  The  Urisks,"  says  Dr.  Graham,  "  were  a  set  of  lubberly  super- 
naturals,  who,  like  the  Brownies,  could  be  gained  over  by 
kind  attention  to  perform  the  drudgery  of  the  farm,  and  it 
was  believed  that  many  of  the  families  in  the  Highlands  had 
one  of  the  order  attached  to  it.  They  were  supposed  to  be 
dispersed  over  the  Highlands,  each  in  his  own  wild  recess, 
but  the  solemn  stated  meetings  of  the  order  were  regularly 
held  in  this  Cave  of  Benvenue.  This  current  superstition,  no 
doubt,  alludes  to  some  circumstance  in  the  ancient  history  of 
this  country." — Scenery  on  the  Southern  Confines  of  Perthshire, 
p.  19,  1806.  It  must  be  owned  that  the  Coir,  or  Den,  does  not, 
in  its  present  state,  meet  our  ideas  of  a  subterraneous  grotto 
or  cave,  being  only  a  small  and  narrow  cavity,  among  huge 
fragments  of  rocks  rudely  piled  together.  But  such  a  scene 
is  liable  to  convulsions  of  nature  which  a  Lowlander  cannot 

1  Journey  from  Edinburgh,  1802,  p.  109. 


estimate,  and  which  may  have  choked  up  what  was  originally 
a  cavern.  At  least  the  name  and  tradition  warrant  the 
author  of  a  fictitious  tale  to  assert  its  having  been  such  at 
the  remote  period  in  which  this  scene  is  laid. 


Note  2  R. 

the  xcildpass  of  Beal-nam-bo. — P.  201. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  or  the  pass  of  cattle,  is  a  most  magnificent 
glade,  overhung  with  aged  birch-trees,  a  little  higher  up  the 
mountain  than  the  Coir-nan-Uriskin,  treated  of  in  a  former 
note.  The  whole  composes  the  must  sublime  piece  of  scenery 
that  imagination  can  conceive. 


Note  2  S. 


A  single  page,  to  bear  his  sword, 
Alone  attended  on  his  lord. — P.  201. 

A  Highland  chief,  being  as  absolute  in  his  patriarchal  au- 
thority as  any  prince,  had  a  corresponding  number  of  officers 
attached  to  his  person.  He  had  his  body-guards,  called 
Luichitach,  picked  from  his  clan  for  strength,  activity,  and 
entire  devotion  to  his  person.  These,  according  to  their  de- 
serts, were  sure  to  share  abundantly  in  the  rude  profusion  of 
his  hospitality.  It  is  recorded,  for  example,  by  tradition,  that 
Allan  MacLean,  chief  of  that  clan,  happened  upon  a  time  to 
hear  one  of  these  favorite  retainers  observe  to  his  comrade 
that  their  chief  grew  old.  "  Whence  do  you  infer  that  ?" 
replied  the  other.  "When  was  it,"  rejoined  the  first,  "that 
a  soldier  of  Allan's  was  obliged,  as  I  am  now,  not  only  to  eat 
the  flesh  from  the  bone,  but  even  to  tear  oft"  the  inner  skin,  or 
filament  ?"  The  hint  was  quite  sufficient,  and  MacLean  next 
morning,  to  relieve  his  followers  from  such  dire  necessity, 
undertook  an  inroad  on  the  mainland,  the  ravage  of  which 
altogether  effaced  the  memory  of  his  former  expeditions  for 
the  like  purpose. 

Our  officer  of  Engineers,  so  often  quoted,  has  given  us  a 
distinct  list  of  the  domestic  officers  who,  independent  of 
Luichitach,  or  gardes  de  corps,  belonged  to  the  establishment 
of  a  Highland  chief.  These  are,  1.  The  Henchman.  See 
these  Notes,  p.  239.  2.  The  Bard.  See  p.  234.  3.  Bladier,  or 
spokesman.  4.  Gillie^more,  or  sword-bearer,  alluded  to  in  the 
text.  5.  Gillie-casflue,  who  carried  the  chief,  if  on  foot,  over 
the  fords.  0.  Gillie-comstraine,  who  leads  the  chiefs  horse. 
7.  Gillie-trushanarinsh,  the  baggage  man.  8.  The  piper.  0. 
The  piper's  gillie  or  attendant,  who  carVies  the  bagpipe.2 
Although  this  appeared,  naturally  enough,  very  ridiculous  to 
an  English  officer,  who  considered  the  master  of  such  a  retinue 
as  no  more  than  an  English  gentleman  of  £500  a  year,  yet  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  chief,  whose  strength  and  import- 
ance consisted  in  the  number  and  attachment  of  his  followers, 
it  was  of  the  last  consequence,  in  point  of  policy,  to  have  in 
his  gift  subordinate  offices,  which  called  immediately  round 
his  person  those  who  were  most  devoted  to  him,  and,  being  of 
value  in  their  estimation,  were  also  the  means  of  rewarding 
them. 


Note  2  T. 


The  Taghairm  caWd;  by  which,  afar, 

Our  sires  foresaw  the  events  of  war. — P.  203. 

The  Highlanders,  like  all  rude  people,  had  various  super- 
stitious modes  of  inquiring  into  futurity.    One  of  the  most 

2  Letters  from  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  15. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


245 


noted  was  the  Taghairm,  mentioned  in  the  text.  A  person 
was  wrapped  up  in  the  skin  of  a  newly-slain  bullock,  and 
deposited  beside  a  waterfall,  or  at  the  bottom  of  a  precipice, 
or  in  some  other  strange,  wild,  and  unusual  situation,  where 
the  scenery  around  him  suggested  nothing  but  objects  of  hor- 
ror. In  this  situation,  he  revolved  in  his  mind  the  question 
proposed;  and  whatever  was  impressed  upon  him  by  his 
exalted  imagination  passed  for  the  inspiration  of  the  disem- 
bodied spirits  who  haunt  the  desolate  recesses.  In  some  of 
the  Hebrides,  they  attributed  the  same  oracular  power  to  a 
large  black  stone  by  the  sea-shore,  which  they  approached 
with  certain  solemnities,  and  considered  the  first  fancy  which 
came  into  their  own  minds,  after  they  did  so,  to  be  the  un- 
doubted dictate  of  the  tutelar  deity  of  the  stone,  and,  as  such, 
to  be,  if  possible,  punctually  complied  with.  Martin  has  re- 
corded the  following  curious  modes  of  Highland  augury,  in 
which  the  Taghairm,  and  its  effects  upon  the  person  who  was 
subjected  to  it,  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  text : — 

"  It  was  an  ordinary  thing  among  the  over-curious  to  con- 
sult an  invisible  oracle  concerning  the  fate  of  families  and 
battles,  &c.  This  was  performed  three  different  ways:  the 
first  was  by  a  company  of  men,  one  of  whom,  being  detached 
by  lot,  was  afterwards  carried  to  a  river,  which  was  the  boun- 
dary between  two  villages ;  four  of  the  company  laid  hold  on 
him,  and,  having  shut  his  eyes,  they  took  him  by  the  legs 
and  arms,  and  then,  tossing  him  to  and  again,  struck  his  hips 
with  force  against  the  bank.  One  of  them  cried  out,  What  is 
it  you  have  got  here?  another  answers,  A  log  of  birch-wood. 
The  other  cries  again,  Let  his  invisible  friends  appear  from 
all  quarters,  and  let  them  relieve  him  by  giving  an  answer  to 
our  present  demands ;  and  in  a  few  minutes  after,  a  number 
of  little  creatures  came  from  the  sea,  who  answered  the  ques- 
tion, and  disappeared  suddenly.  The  man  was  then  set  at 
liberty,  and  they  all  returned  home,  to  take  their  measures 
according  to  the  prediction  of  their  false  prophets;  but  the 
poor  deluded  fools  were  abused,  for  their  answer  was  still 
ambiguous.  This  was  always  practiced  in  the  night,  and  may 
literally  be  called  the  works  of  darkness. 

"  I  had  an  account  from  the  most  intelligent  and  judicious 
men  in  the  Isle  of  Skye,  that  about  sixty-two  years  ago,  the 
oracle  was  thus  consulted  only  once,  and  that  was  in  the 
parish  of  Kilmartin,  on  the  east  side,  by  a  wicked  and  mis- 
chievous race  of  people,  who  are  now  extinguished,  both  root 
and  branch. 

"The  second  way  of  consulting  the  oracle  was  by  a  party 
of  men,  who  first  retired  to  solitary  places,  remote  from  any 
house,  and  there  they  singled  out  one  of  their  number,  and 
wrapt  him  in  a  big  cow's  hide,  which  they  folded  about  him ; 
his  whole  body  was  covered  with  it,  except  his  head,  and  so 
left  in  this  posture  all  night,  until  his  invisible  friends  re- 
lieved him,  by  giving  a  proper  answer  to  the  question  in  hand ; 
which  he  received,  as  he  fancied,  from  several  persons  that 
he  found  about  him  all  that  time.  His  consorts  returned  to 
him  at  the  break  of  day,  and  then  he  communicated  his  news 
to  them ;  which  often  proved  fatal  to  those  concerned  in  such 
unwarrantable  inquiries. 

"  There  was  a  third  way  of  consulting,  which  was  a  confir- 
mation of  the  second  above  mentioned.  The  same  company 
who  put  the  man  into  the  hide  took  a  live  cat  and  put  him 
on  a  spit ;  one  of  the  number  was  employed  to  turn  the  spit, 
and  one  of  his  consorts  inquired  of  him,  What  are  you  doing  ? 
he  answered,  I  roast  this  cat  until  his  friends  answer  the 
question ;  which  must  be  the  same  that  was  proposed  by  the 
man  shut  up  in  the  hide.  And  afterwards,  a  very  big  cat1 
comes,  attended  by  a  number  of  lesser  cats,  desiring  to  relieve 
the  cat  turned  upon  the  spit,  and  then  answers  the  question. 


1  The  reader  may  have  met  with  the  story  of  the  "  King  of 
the  Cats,"  in  Lord  Littleton's  Letters.  It  is  well  known  in 
the  Highlands  as  a  nursery  tale. 

2  This  anecdote  was,  ia  former  editions,  inaccurately  as- 


If  this  answer  proved  the  same  that  was  given  to  the  man  in 
the  hide,  then  it  was  taken  as  a  confirmation  of  the  other, 
which,  in  this  case,  was  believed  infallible. 

"Mr.  Alexander  Cooper,  present  minister  of  North-Vist, 
told  me  that  one  John  Erach,  in  the  Isle  of  Lewis,  assured 
him,  it  was  his  fate  to  have  been  led  by  his  curiosity  with 
some  who  consulted  this  oracle,  and  that  he  was  a  night 
within  the  hide,  as  above  mentioned;  during  which  time  he 
felt  and  heard  such  terrible  things  that  he  could  not  express 
them;  the  impression  it  made  on  him  was  such  as  could 
never  go  off,  and  he  said,  for  a  thousand  worlds  he  would 
never  again  be  concerned  in  the  like  performance,  for  this 
had  disordered  him  to  a  high  degree.  He  confessed  it  inge- 
nuously, and  with  an  air  of  great  remorse,  and  seemed  to  be 
very  penitent  under  a  just  sense  of  so  great  a  crime:  he 
declared  this  about  five  years  since,  and  is  still  living  in  the 
Lewis  for  anything  I  know." — Description  of  the  Western  Isles, 
p.  110.    See  also  Penn ant's  Scottish  Tour,  vol.  iL  p.  36L 


Note  2  U. 


The  choicest  of  the  prey  we  had, 

When  swept  our  merry-men  Gallangad. — P.  203. 

I  know  not  if  it  be  worth  observing  that  this  passage  is 
taken  almost  literally  from  the  mouth  of  an  old  Highland 
Kern  or  Ketteran,  as  they  were  called.  He  used  to  narrate 
the  merry  doings  of  the  good  old  time  when  he  was  follower 
of  Rob  Roy  MacGregor.  This  leader,  on  one  occasion,  thought 
proper  to  make  a  descent  upon  the  lower  part  of  the  Loch 
Lomond  district,  and  summoned  all  the  heritors  and  farmers 
to  meet  at  the  Kirk  of  Drymen,  to  pay  him  black-mail,  i.  e., 
tribute  for  forbearance  and  protection.  As  this  invitation 
was  supported  by  a  band  of  thirty  or  forty  stout  fellbws,  only 
one  gentleman,  an  ancestor,  if  I  mistake  not,  of  the  present 
Mr.  Grahame  of  Gartmore,  ventured  to  decline  compliance. 
Rob  Roy  instantly  swept  his  land  of  all  he  could  drive  away, 
and  among  the  spoil  was  a  bull  of  the  old  Scottish  wild  breed, 
whose  ferocity  occasioned  great  plague  to  the  Ketterans. 
"  But  ere  we  had  reached  the  Row  of  Dennan,"  said  the  old 
man,  "  a  child  might  have  scratched  his  ears."2  The  circum- 
stance is  a  minute  one,  but  it  paints  the  times  when  the  poor 
beeve  was  compelled 

"  To  hoof  it  o'er  as  many  weary  miles, 

With  goading  pikemen  hollowing  at  his  heels, 

As  e'er  the  bravest  antler  of  the  woods." 

Ethwald. 


Note  2  V. 


thai  huge  cliff  whose  ample  verge 

Tradition  calls  the  Hero's  Targe. — P.  203. 

There  is  a  rock  so  named  in  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas,  by 
which  a  tumultuary  cataract  takes  its  course.  This  wild  place 
is  said  in  former  times  to  have  afforded  refuge  to  an  outlaw, 
who  was  supplied  with  provisions  by  a  woman,  who  lowered 
them  down  from  the  brink  of  the  precipice  above.  His  water 
he  procured  for  himself,  by  letting  down  a  flagon  tied  to  a 
string,  into  the  black  pool  beneath  the  fall. 


cribed  to  Gregor  MacGregor  of  Glengyle,  called  Ghlune  Dhu, 
or  Black-knee,  a  relation  of  Rob  Roy,  but,  as  I  have  been 
assured,  not  addicted  to  his  predatory  excesses.— iVote  to  Third 
Edition. 


246 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


Note  2  W. 


Or  raven 

That,  watching  while  the  deer  is  broke, 

His  morsel  claims  with  sullen  croak  f — P.  203. 

Broke,  quartered.  Everything  belonging  to  the  chase  was 
matter  of  solemnity  among  our  ancestors;  but  nothing  was 
more  so  than  the  mode  of  cutting  up,  or,  as  it  was  technically 
called,  breaking,  the  slaughtered  stag.  The  forester  had  his 
allotted  portion ;  the  hounds  had  a  certain  allowance ;  and,  to 
make  the  division  as  general  as  possible,  the  very  birds  had 
their  share  also.  "There  is  a  little  gristle,"  says  Tuberville, 
"  which  is  upon  the  spoone  of  the  brisket,  which  we  call  the 
raven's  bone ;  and  I  have  seen  in  some  places  a  raven  so  wont 
and  accustomed  to  it,  that  she  would  never  fail  to  croak  and 
cry  for  it  all  the  time  you  were  in  breaking  up  of  the  deer, 
and  would  not  depart  till  she  had  it."  In  the  very  ancient 
metrical  romance  of  Sir  Tristrem,  that  peerless  knight,  who  is 
said  to  have  been  the  very  deviser  of  all  rules  of  chase,  did  not 
omit  the  ceremony : — 

"  The  rauen  he  yaue  his  yiftes 
Sat  on  the  fourched  tre." 

Sir  Tristrem. 

The  raven  might  also  challenge  his  rights  by  the  Book  of 
St.  Albans ;  for  thus  says  Dame  Juliana  Berners :— 

"Slitteth  anon 


The  bely  to  the  side,  from  the  corbyn  bone ; 
That  is  corbyn's  fee,  at  the  death  he  will  be." 

Jonson,  in  "  The  Sad  Shepherd,"  gives  a  more  poetical  ac- 
count of  the  same  ceremony  : — 

"  Marian. — He  that  undoes  him, 
Doth  cleave  the  brisket  bone,  upon  the  spoon 
Of  which  a  little  gristle  grows — you  oall  it — 

Robin  Hood. — The  raven's  bone. 

Marian. — Now  o'er  head  sat  a  raven 
On  a  sere  bough,  a  grown,  great  bird,  and  hoarse, 
Who,  all  the  while  the  deer  was  breaking  up, 
So  croak'd  and  cried  for't,  as  all  the  huntsmen, 
Especially  old  Scathlock,  thought  it  ominous." 


Note  2  X. 


Which  spills  the  foremost  foeman's  life, 
That  parly  conquers  in  the  strife. — P.  204. 

Though  this  be  in  the  text  described  as  a  response  of  the 
Taghairm,  or  Oracle  of  the  Hide,  it  was  of  itself  an  augury 
frequently  attended  to.  The  fate  of  the  battle  was  often  an- 
ticipated in  the  imagination  of  the  combatants,  by  observing 
which  party  first  shed  blood.  It  is  said  that  the  Highlanders 
under  Montrose  were  so  deeply  imbued  with  this  notion  that, 
on  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Tippermoor,  they  murdered  a 
defenceless  herdsman,  whom  they  found  in  the  fields,  merely 
to  secure  an  advantage  of  so  much  consequence  to  their 
party. 


Note  2  Y. 

Alice  Brand— P  205. 

This  little  fairy  tale  is  founded  upon  a  very  curious  Danish 
ballad,  which  occurs  in  the  Karmpe   Viser,  a  collection  of 


heroic  songs,  first  published  in  1591,  and  reprinted  in  1695, 
inscribed  by  Anders  Sofrensen,  the  collector  and  editor,  to 
Sophia,  Queen  of  Denmark.  I  have  been  favored  with  a 
literal  translation  of  the  original,  by  my  learned  friend  Mr. 
Robert  Jamieson,  whose  deep  knowledge  of  Scandinavian 
antiquities  will,  I  hope,  one  day  be  displayed  in  illustration  of 
the  history  of  Scottish  Ballad  and  Song,  for  which  no  man 
possesses  more  ample  materials.  The  story  will  remind  the 
readers  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy  of  the  tale  of  Young  Tam- 
lane.  But  this  is  only  a  solitary  and  not  very  marked  in- 
stance of  coincidence,  whereas  several  of  the  other  ballads  in 
the  same  collection  find  exact  counterparts  in  the  Karmpe 
Viser.  Which  may  have  been  the  originals  will  be  a  question 
for  future  antiquaries.  Mr.  Jamieson,  to  secure  the  power  of 
literal  translation,  has  adopted  the  old  Scottish  idiom,  which 
approaches  so  near  to  that  of  the  Danish  as  almost  to  give 
word  for  word,  as  well  as  line  for  line,  and  indeed  in  many 
verses  the  orthography  alone  is  altered.  As  Wester  Haf,  men- 
tioned in  the  first  stanzas  of  the  ballad,  means  the  West  Sea, 
in  opposition  to  the  Baltic  or  East  Sea,  Mr.  Jamieson  inclines 
to  be  of  opinion  that  the  scene  of  the  disenchantment  is  laid 
in  one  of  the  Orkney  or  Hebride  Islands.  To  each  verse  in 
the  original  is  added  a  burden,  having  a  kind  of  meaning  of 
its  own,  but  not  applicable,  at  least  not  uniformly  applicable, 
to  the  sense  of  the  stanza  to  which  it  is  subjoined :  this  is 
very  common  both  in  Danish  and  Scottish  song. 


THE  ELFIN  GRAY. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  KJEMPE  VISER,  p.   143, 
AND  FIRST  PUBLISHED  IN   1591. 


Der  ligger  en  void  i  Vester  Haf, 
Der  agter  en  bonds  at  byggl : 
Hand  forer  did  baadi  hog  og  hund, 
Og  agter  der  om  vinleren  at  ligge. 
(De  vilde  diur  og  diurene  udi  skofven.) 


1. 
There  liggs  a  wold  in  Wester  naf, 

There  a  husbande  means  to  bigg, 
And  thither  he  carries  baith  hawk  and  hound, 

There  meaning  the  winter  to  ligg. 
(The  wild  deer  and  does  i'  Hie  shaw  out.) 


He  taks  wi'  him  baith  hound  and  cock, 
The  langcr  he  means  to  stay, 

The  wild  deer  in  the  shaws  that  are 
May  sairly  rue  the  day. 

( T/ie  wild  deer,  &c.) 


He's  hew'd  the  beech,  and  he's  fcll'd  the  aik, 

Sae  has  he  the  poplar  gray ; 
And  grim  in  mood  was  the  grewsome  Elf, 

That  be  sae  bald  he  may. 


He  hew'd  him  kipples,  he  hew'd  him  bawks, 

Wi'  mickle  moil  and  haste ; 
Syne  speer'd  the  Elf  i'  the  knock  that  bade, 

"  Wlm's  hacking  here  sae  fast?" 

5. 
Syne  up  and  spak  the  weiest  Elf, 

Crean'd  as  an  immert  sma : 
"  It's  here  is  come  a  Christian  man ; — 

I'll  flcy  him  or  he  ga." 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


247 


6. 
It's  up  syne  started  the  firsten  Elf, 

And  glower'd  about  sae  grim : 
"  It's  we'll  awa  to  the  husbande's  house, 

And  hald  a  court  on  him. 

7. 
"  Here  hews  he  down  baith  skugg  and  shaw, 

And  works  us  skaith  and  scorn : 
His  huswife  he  sail  gi'e  to  me ; — 

They's  rue  the  day  they  were  born !" 


The  Elfen  a'  i'  the  knock  that  were, 

Gaed  dancing  in  a  string ; 
They  nighed  near  the  husbande's  house; 

Sae  lang  their  tails  did  hing. 


The  hound  he  yowls  i'  the  yard, 

The  herd  toots  in  his  horn ; 
The  earn  scraighs,  and  the  cock  craws, 

As  the  husbande  has  gi'en  him  his  corn.1 

10. 
The  Elfen  were  five  score  and  seven, 

Sae  laidly  and  sae  grim ; 
And  they  the  husbande's  guests  maun  be, 

To  eat  and  drink  wi'  him. 

11. 
The  husbande,  out  o'  Villenshaw, 

At  his  winnock  the  Elves  can  see; 
"  Help  me,  now,  Jesu,  Mary's  son ; 

Thir  Elves  they  mint  at  me!" 

12. 
In  every  nook  a  cross  he  coost, 

In  his  chalmer  maist  ava; 
The  Elfen  a'  were  fley*d  thereat, 

And  flew  to  the  wild-wood  shaw. 

13. 
And  some  flew  east,  and  some  flew  west, 

And  some  to  the  norwart  flew; 
And  some  they  flew  to  the  deep  dale  dowj 

There  still  they  are,  I  trow.2 

14. 
It  was  then  the  weiest  Elf, 

In  at  the  door  braids  he ; 
Agast  was  the  husbande,  for  that  Elf 

For  cross  nor  sign  wad  flee. 

15. 
The  huswife  she  was  a  canny  wife, 

She  set  the  Elf  at  the  board ; 
She  set  before  him  baith  ale  and  meat, 

Wi'  mony  a  weel-waled  word. 

16. 
"Hear  thou,  Gudeman  o'  Villenshaw, 

What  now  I  say  to  thee; 
Wha  bade  thee  bigg  within  our  bounds, 

Without  the  leave  o'  me? 


This  singular  quatrain  stands  thus  in  the  original  :- 
"  Hunden  hand  gior  i  gaarden ; 

Hiorden  tude  i  sit  horn ; 
CErnen  skriger,  og  hanen  galer, 

Som  bonden  hafd&  gifvet  sit  korn." 


17. 
"But,  an  thou  in  our  bounds  will  bigg, 

And  bide,  as  well  as  may  be, 
Then  thou  thy  dearest  huswife  maun 

To  me  for  a  lemmun  gi'e." 

18. 
Up  spak  the  luckless  husbande  then, 

As  God  the  grace  him  ga'e : 
"  Eline  she  is  to  me  sae  dear, 

Her  thou  may  nae-gate  ha'e." 

19. 
Till  the  Elf  he  answer'd  as  he  couth : 

"  Let  but  my  huswife  be, 
And  tak  whate'er,  o'  gude  or  gear, 

Is  mine,  awa  wi'  thee." — 

20. 
"  Then  I'll  thy  Eline  tak  and  thee, 

Aneath  my  feet  to  tread  ; 
And  hide  thy  goud  and  white  nionie 

Aneath  my  dwalling  stead." 

21. 
The  husbande  and  his  househald  a' 

In  sary  rede  they  join : 
"  Far  better  that  she  be  now  forfairn, 

Nor  that  we  a'  should  tyne." 

22. 
Up,  will  of  rede,  the  husbande  stood, 

Wi'  heart  fu'  sad  and  sair; 
And  he  has  gi'en  his  huswife  Eline 

Wi'  the  young  Elf  to  fare. 

23. 
Then  Myth  grew  he,  and  sprang  about: 

He  took  her  in  his  arm ; 
The  rud  it  left  her  comely  cheek ; 

Her  heart  was  cleni'd  wi'  harm. 

24. 
A  waefu'  woman  then  she  was  ane, 

And  the  moody  tears  loot  fa' : 
"God  rew  on  me,  unseely  wife, 

How  hard  a  weird  I  fa  1 

25. 
"  My  fay  I  plight  to  the  fairest  wight 

That  man  on  mold  mat  see ; — 
Maun  I  now  mell  wi'  a  laidly  El, 

His  light  lemman  to  be?" 

26. 
He  minted  ance — he  minted  twice, 

Wae  wax'd  her  heart  that  syth : 
Syne  the  laidliest  fiend  he  grew  that  e'er 

To  mortal  ee  did  kyth. 


When  he  the  thirden  time  can  mint, 
To  Mary's  son  she  pray'd, 

And  the  laidly  Elf  was  clean  awa, 
And  a  fair  knight  in  his  stead. 


2  In  the  Danish  :— 

"  SommS  floye  oster,  og  somme  floye  vester, 

Nogle  floye  nor  paa ; 
Nogle  floye  ned  i  dybene  dalS, 

Jeg  troer  de  ere  der  endnu." 


248 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


28. 
This  fell  under  .1  linden  green, 

That  again  his  shape  he  found ; 
O'  wae  and  care  was  the  word  nae  mair, 

A'  were  sae  glad  that  stound. 

29. 
"O  dearest  Eline,  hear  thou  this, 

And  thou  my  wife  sail  he, 
And  a'  the  goud  in  merry  England 

Sae  freely  I'll  gi'e  thee ! 

30. 
"  Whan  I  was  but  a  little  wee  bairn, 

My  mither  died  me  frae ; 
My  stepmither  sent  me  awa  fra  her ; 

I  turn'd  till  an  Elfin  Gray. 

31. 
"  To  thy  husbande  I  a  gift  will  gi'e, 

Wi'  miekle  state  and  gear, 
As  mends  for  Eline  his  huswife ; — 

Thou's  be  my  heartis  dear." — 

32. 
"  Thou  nobil  knyght,  we  thank  now  God 

That  has  freed  us  frae  skaith  ; 
Sae  wed  thou  thee  a  maiden  free, 

And  joy  attend  ye  baith  ! 

33. 
"  Sin'  I  to  thee  nae  maik  can  be, 

My  dochter  may  be  thine ; 
And  thy  gud  will  right  to  fulfill, 

Lat  this  be  our  propine." — 

34. 
"  I  thank  thee,  Eline,  thou  wise  woman ; 

My  praise  thy  worth  sail  ha'e ; 
And  thy  love  gin  I  fail  to  win, 

Thou  here  at  hame  sail  stay." 

35. 
The  husbande  biggit  now  on  his  6e, 

And  nae  ane  wrought  him  wrang ; 
His  dochter  wore  crown  in  Engeland, 

And  happy  lived  and  lang. 

36. 
Now  Eline,  the  husbandc's  huswife,  has 

Cour'd  a'  her  grief  and  harms ; 
She's  mither  to  a  noble  queen 

That  sleeps  in  a  kingis  arms. 

GLOSSARY. 

St.  1.  Wold,  a  wood;  woody  fastness. 

Husbande,  from  the  Dan.  hot,  with,  and  bonde,  a  villain, 
or  bondsman,  who  was  a  cultivator  of  the  ground,  and 
could  not  quit  the  estate  to  which  lie  was  attached, 
without  the  permission  of  his  lord.  This  is  the  sense 
of  the  word  in  the  old  Scottish  records.  In  the  Scot- 
tish "Burghe  Laws,"  translated  from  the  Hi-rj.  Mnj.y'. 
(Auchinleck  MS.  in  the  Adv.  Lib.),  it  is  used  indis- 
criminately with  the  Dan.  and  Swed.  bonde. 

Bigg,  build. 

IAgg,  lie. 

Does,  does. 

2.  Shaw,  wood. 
Sairly,  sorely. 

3.  Aik,  oak. 
Grewsome,  terrible. 
Bald,  bold. 


22, 


23. 


21. 


Hippies  (couples),  beams  joined  at  the  top,  for  support- 
ing a  roof,  in  building. 

Bawks,  balks;  cross  beams. 

MM,  laborious  industry. 

Specr'd,  asked. 

Knock,  hillock. 

II'  (est,  smallest. 

Crean'd,  shrunk,  diminished ;  from  the  Gaelic  Orion, 
very  small. 

Immert,  emmet;  ant. 

Christian,  used  in  the  Danish  ballads,  &c,  in  contra- 
distinction  to  demoniac,  as  it  is  in  England  in  contra- 
distinction to  brute;  in  which  sense,  a  person  of  the 
lower  class  in  England  would  call  a  Jew  or  a  Turk  a 
Christian. 

Fley,  frighten. 

Glower'd,  stared. 

Ilald,  hold. 

Skugg,  shade. 

Skaith,  harm. 

Nighed,  approached. 

Yoiols,  howls. 

Toots. — La  the  Dan.  tude  is  applied  both  to  the  howling 
of  a  dog  and  the  sound  of  a  horn. 

Scraighs,  screams. 

La  idly,  loathly;  disgustingly  ugly. 

Grim,  fierce. 

Winnock,  window. 

Mint,  aim  at. 

Cbost,  cast. 

Chalmer,  chamber. 

Maist,  most. 

Ava,  of  all. 

Nonvart,  northward. 

Trow,  believe. 

Braids,  strides  quickly  forward. 

Wail,  would. 

Canny,  adroit. 

Many,  many. 

Wu.l-u-alcd,  well  chosen. 

An,  if. 

Bide,  abide. 

Lemman,  mistress. 

Nae-gate,  nowise. 

Couth,  could,  knew  how  to. 

Lat  be,  let  alone. 

Gude,  goods ;  property. 

Aneath,  beneath. 

DwaUing-stead,  dwelling-place. 

Sary,  sorrowful. 

Rede,  counsel ;  consultation. 

Forfairn,  forlorn ;  lost ;  gone. 

Tyne  (verb  neut.),  be  lost ;  perish. 

Will  of  rede,  bewildered  in  thought ;  in  the  Danish 
original  "  vildraadage ;"  Lat.  "  inops  consilii;"  Gr. 
atropoiv.  This  expression  is  left  among  the  desiderata 
in  the  Glossary  to  Ritson's  Romances,  and  has  never 
been  explained.  It  is  obsolete  in  the  Danish  as  well 
as  in  the  English. 

Fhre,  go. 

Rud,  red  of  the  cheek. 

Clem'd,  in  the  Danish,  klemt  (which  in  the  north  of 
England  is  still  in  use,  as  the  word  starved  is  with  us) ; 
brought  to  a  dying  state.  It  is  used  by  our  old  come- 
dians. 

Harm,  grief;  as  in  the  original,  and  in  the  old  Teutonic, 
English,  and  Scottish  poetry. 

Waefu',  woeful. 

Moody,  strongly  and  willfully  passionate. 

Rew,  take  ruth  ;  pity. 

Unseely,  unhappy ;  unblest. 

Weird,  fate. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


249 


Fa  (Isl.  Dan.  and  Swed.),  take ;  get ;  acquire ;  procure ; 
have  far  my  lot.  This  Gothic  verb  answers,  in  its  di- 
rect and  secondary  significations,  exactly  to  the  Latin 
eapio;  and  Allan  Kamsay  was  right  in  his  definition 
of  it.  It  is  quite  a  different  word  from  fa',  an  abbre- 
viation of  'fall,  or  befall;  and  is  the  principal  root  in 
fangen,  to  fang,  take,  or  lay  hold  of. 

25.  Fay,  faith. 

Mold,  mould ;  earth. 

Mat,  mote ;  might. 

Maun,  must. 

Mell,  mix. 

El,  an  elf.  This  term,  in  the  Welsh,  signifies  ichal  has 
in  itself  the  power  of  motion;  a  moving  principle ;  an 
intelligence ;  a  spirit ;  an  angel.  In  the  Hebrew  it 
bears  the  same  import. 

26.  Minted,  attempted ;   meant ;   showed  a  mind,  or  inten- 

tion to.    The  original  is : — 

"  Iland  mindte  hcnde  forst — og  anden  gang ; — 

Hun  giordis  i  hiortet  sa  vee : 

End  blef  hand  den  ledi-ste  deif-vel 

Mand  kunde  med  oyen  see. 

Der  hand  vilde  minde  den  tredie  gang,"  &c. 
Syth,  tide ;  time. 
Kylh,  appear. 

28.  Slound,  hour ;  time ;  moment. 

29.  Merry  (old  Teut.  mere),  famous ;  renowned ;  answering, 

in  its  etymological  meaning,  exactly  to  the  Latin  mac- 
tus.  Hence  merry-men,  as  the  address  of  a  chief  to 
his  followers;  meaning,  not  men  of  mirth,  but  of  re- 
nown. The  term  is  found  in  its  original  sense  in  .the 
Gael,  mara,  and  the  Welsh  mawr,  great ;  and  in  the 
oldest  Teut.  Romances,  mar,  mer,  and  mere,  have 
sometimes  the  same  signification. 

31.  Mends,  amends ;  recompense. 

33.  Maik,  match ;  peer ;  equal. 
propine,  pledge ;  gift. 

35.  oe,  an  island  of  the  second  magnitude ;  an  island  of  the 
first  magnitude  being  called  a  land,  and  one  of  the 
third  magnitude  a  holm. 

36.  Cour'd,  recovered. 


THE  GHAIST'S  WARNING. 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  DANISH  KJEMPE  VISEE,  p.  721. 

By  the  permission  of  Mr.  Jamieson,  this  ballad  is  added  from 
the  same  curious  collection.  It  contains  some  passages  of 
great  pathos. 


Svend  Dyring  hand  rider  sig  op  under  oi, 

( Varijeg  selver  ung) 
Der  faisld  hand  sig  saa  ven  en  mod. 

(Mig  lyster  udi  lunden  at  ride,)  &c. 

Child  Dyring  has  ridden  him  up  under  66,1 

(And  0  gin  I  were  young .') 
There  wedded  he  him  sae  fair2  a  may. 

(r  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 

Thegither  they  lived  for  seven  lang  year, 

(And  0,  &c.) 
And  they  seven  bairns  ha'e  gotten  in  fere. 

(r  the  greenwood,  &c.) 


1/ 


1  *'  Under  6e." — The  original  expression  has  been  preserved 
here  and  elsewhere,  because  no  other  could  be  found  to  sup- 
ply its  place.  There  is  just  as  much  meaning  in  it  in  the 
translation  as  in  the  original ;  but  it  is  a  standard  Danish  bal- 
lad phrase,  and  as  such,  it  is  hoped,  will  be  allowed  to  pass. 

2  "  Fair." — The  Dan.  and  Swed.  ven,  van,  or  venne,  and 
the  Gael,  bdn,  in  the  oblique  cases  bhan  (vdn),  is  the  origin 


Sae  Death's  come  there  infill  that  stead, 
And  tbat  winsome  lily  flower  is  dead. 

That  swain  he  has  ridden  him  up  under  66, 
And  syne  he  has  married  anither  may. 

He's  married  a  may,  and  he's  fessen  her  hame ; 
But  she  was  a  grim  and  laidly  dame. 

When  into  the  castell  court  drave  she, 

The  seven  bairns  stood  wi'  the  tear  in  their  ee. 

The  bairns  they  stood  wi'  dule  and  doubt ; — 
She  up  wi'  her  foot,  and  she  kick'd  them  out. 

Nor  ale  nor  mead  to  the  bairnies  she  gave : 
"  But  hunger  and  hate  frae  me  ye's  have." 

She  took  frae  them  the  bowster  blae, 
And  said,  "  Ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  bare  strae !" 

She  took  frae  them  the  groff  wax  light : 
Says,  "  Now  ye  sail  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night !" 

'Twas  lang  i'  the  night,  and  the  bairnies  grat : 
Their  mither  she  under  the  mools  heard  that ; 

That  heard  the  wife  under  the  eard  that  lay : 
"  For  sooth  maun  I  to  my  bairnies  gae !" 

That  wife  can  stand  up  at  our  Lord's  knee, 
And  "  May  I  gang  and  my  bairnies  see  ?" 

She  prigged  sae  sair,  and  she  prigged  sae  lang, 
That  he  at  the  last  ga'e  her  leave  to  gang. 


"  And  thou  sail  come  back  when  the  cock  does  craw, 
For  thou  nae  langer  sail  bide  awa." 

Wi'  her  banes  sae  stark  a  bowt  she  ga'e ; 
She's  riven  baith  wa'  and  marble  gray.3 

Whan  near  to  the  dwalling  she  can  gang, 
The  dogs  they  wow'd  till  the  lift  it  rang. 

Whan  she  came  to  the  castell  yett, 
Her  eldest  dochter  stood  thereat. 

"Why  stand  ye  here,  dear  dochter  mine? 
How  are  sma'  britbers  and  sisters  thine?" — 

"  For  sooth  ye're  a  woman  baith  fair  and  fine ; 
But  ye  are  nae  dear  mither  of  mine." — 

" Och !  how  should  I  be  fine  or  fair? 

My  cheek  it  is  pale,  and  the  ground's  my  lair." — 

"  My  mither  was  white,  wi'  cheek  sae  red ; 
But  thou  art  wan,  and  liker  ane  dead." — 

"  Och  !  how  should  I  be  white  and  red, 
Sae  lang  as  I've  been  cauld  and  dead  ?" 

Whan  she  cam  till  the  chalmer  in, 

Down  the  bairns'  cheeks  the  tears  did  rin. 

of  the  Scottish  bonny,  which  has  so  much  puzzled  all  the  ety- 
mologists. 
3  The  original  of  this  and  the  following  stanza  is  very  fine. 

"  Hun  skod  op  sine  modige  been, 

Der  revenede  muur  og  graa  marmorsteen, 

Der  hun  gik  igennem  den  by. 

De  hundS  de  tud£  saa  hojt  i  sky." 


H 


250 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


She  buskit  the  tano,  and  she  brush'd  it  there; 
She  kem'd  and  plaited  the  tither's  hair. 

The  thirden  she  doodl'd  upon  her  knee, 
And  the  fourthen  she  dichte*  sae  cannilie. 

She's  ta'en  the  fifthen  upon  her  lap, 
And  sweetly  suckled  it  at  her  pap. 

Till  her  eldest  dochter  syne  said  she, 
"  Ye  bid  Child  Dyring  come  here  to  me." 

Whan  he  cam  till  the  chalmor  in, 
Vi'V  angry  mood  she  said  to  him: 

"  I  left  you  routh  o'  ale  and  bread ; 
My  bairnies  quail  for  hunger  and  need. 

"  I  left  ahind  me  braw  bowsters  blae ; 
My  bairnies  are  liggin'  i'  the  bare  strae. 

"I  left  ye  sae  mony  a  groff  wax -light; 
My  bairnies  ligg  i'  the  mirk  a'  night. 

"  Gin  aft  I  come  back  to  visit  thee, 

AVae,  dowy,  and  weary  thy  luck  shall  be." 

t'p  spak  little  Kirstin  in  bed  that  lay: 
To  thy  bairnies  I'll  do  the  best  I  may." 

Aye  whan  they  heard  the  dog  nirr  and  bell, 
Sae  ga'e  they  the  bairnies  bread  and  ale. 

Aye  whan  the  dog  did  wow,  in  haste 

They  cross'd  and  sain'd  themsells  frae  the  ghaist. 

Aye  whan  the  little  dog  yowl'd,  with  fear 

(And  0  gin  I  were  young.') 
They  shook  at  the  thought  the  dead  was  near. 

(/'  the  greenwood  it  lists  me  to  ride.) 
or, 

(Fair  words  sae  mony  a  heart  they  cheer.) 


GLOSSARY. 

St.  1.  May,  maid. 
Lists,  pleases. 

2.  Stead,  place. 

3.  Bairns,  children. 
In  fere,  together. 

Winsome,  engaging;  giving  joy  (old  Teut.). 

4.  Syne,  then. 

5.  Fessen,  fetched  ;  brought. 

6.  Drave,  drove. 

7.  Dule,  sorrow. 
Dout,  fear. 

8.  Bowster,  bolster ;  cushion ;  bed. 
Blae,  blue. 

Strae,  straw. 

10.  Groff,  great ;  large  in  girth. 
Mark,  mirk ;  dark. 

11.  Lang  i'  the  night,  late. 
Gral,  wept. 

Moots,  mould ;  earth. 

12.  Eard,  earth. 
Gae,  go. 

14.  Prigged,  entreated  earnestly  and  perseveringly. 
Gang,  go. 

15.  Craw,  crow. 

16.  Banes,  bones. 
Stark,  strong. 


Bowt,  bolt ;  elastic  spring,  like  that  of  a  bolt  or  arrow 

from  a  bow. 
Riven,  split  asunder. 
Wa',  wall. 
Wow'd,  howled. 
Lift,  .sky,  firmament;  air. 
Yett,  gate. 
Sma',  small. 
Lire,  complexion. 
Cald,  cold. 
Till,  to. 
Bin,  run. 
Buskit,  dressed. 
Kem'd,  combed. 
Tilher,  the  other. 
Routh,  plenty. 
Quail,  are  quelled;  die. 
Need,  want. 
Ahind,  behind. 
Braw,  brave ;  fine. 
Dowy,  sorrowful. 
Nirr,  snarl. 
Bell,  bark. 
Sained,  blessed ;  literally,  signed  with  the  sign  of  the 

cross.    Before  the  introduction  of  Christianity,  Runes 

were  used  in  saining,  as  a  spell  against  the  power  of 

enchantment  and  evil  genii. 
Ghaist,  ghost. 


Note  2  Z. 


i  the  moody  Elfin  King. — P.  206. 


In  a  long  dissertation  upon  the  "  Fairy  Superstitions,"  pub- 
lished in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  the  most  valu- 
able part  of  which  was  supplied  by  my  learned  and  indefat- 
igable friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  most  of  the  circumstances 
are  collected  which  can  throw  light  upon  the  popular  belief 
which  even  yet  prevails  respecting  them  in  Scotland.  Dr. 
Grahame,  author  of  an  entertaining  work  upon  the  Scenery  of 
the  Perthshire  Highlands,  already  frequently  quoted,  has 
recorded,  with  great  accuracy,  the  peculiar  tenets  held  by  the 
Highlanders  on  this  topic,  in  the  vicinity  of  Loch  Katrine. 
The  learned  author  is  inclined  to  deduce  the  whole  mythol- 
ogy from  the  Druidical  system, — an  opinion  to  which  there  are 
many  objections. 

"The  Daoine  Shi',  or  Men  of  Peace  of  the  Highlanders, 
though  not  absolutely  malevolent,  are  believed  to  be  a  pee- 
vish, repining  race  of  beings,  who,  possessing  themselves  but  a 
scanty  portion  of  happiness,  are  supposed  to  envy  mankind 
their  more  complete  and  substantial  enjoyments.  They  are 
supposed  to  enjoy  in  their  subterraneous  recesses  a  sort  of 
shadowy  happiness, — a  tinsel  grandeur ;  which,  however,  they 
would  willingly  exchange  for  the  more  solid  joys  of  mortality. 

"They  are  believed  to  inhabit  certain  round  grassy  emi- 
nences, where  they  celebrate  their  nocturnal  festivities  by 
the  light  of  the  moon.  About  a  mile  beyond  the  source  of 
the  Forth  above  Lochcon,  there  is  a  place  called  Ooirshi'an, 
or  the  Cove  of  the  Men  of  Peace,  which  is  still  supposed  to  be 
a  favorite  place  of  their  residence.  In  the  neighborhood 
are  to  be  seen  many  round  conical  eminences;  particularly 
one,  near  the  head  of  the  lake,  by  the  skirts  of  which  many 
are  still  afraid  to  pass  after  sunset.  It  is  believed  that  if,  on 
Hallow-eve,  any  person,  alone,  goes  round  one  of  these  hills 
nine  times,  towards  the  left  hand  (sinistrorsum),  a  door  shall 
open,  by  which  he  will  be  admitted  into  their  subterraneous 
abodes.  Many,  it  is  said,  of  mortal  race  have  been  entertained 
in  their  secret  recesses.  There  they  have  been  received  into 
the  most  splendid  apartments,  and  regaled  with  the  most 


APPENDIX    TO   THE    LADY   OF   THE    LAKE. 


251 


sumptuous  banquets  and  delicious  wines.  Their  females  sur- 
pass the  daughters  of  men  in  beauty.  The  seemingly  happy- 
inhabitants  pass  their  time  in  festivity,  and  in  dancing  to 
notes  of  the  softest  music.  But  unhappy  is  the  mortal  who 
joins  in  their  joys,  or  ventures  to  partake  of  their  dainties. 
By  this  indulgence  he  forfeits  for  ever  the  society  of  men, 
and  is  bound  down  irrevocably  to  the  condition  of  ShVich,  or 
Man  of  Peace. 

"  A  woman,  as  is  reported  in  the  Highland  tradition,  was 
conveyed,  in  days  of  yore,  into  the  secret  recesses  of  the  Men 
of  Peace.  There  she  was  recognized  by  one  who  had  formerly 
been  an  ordinary  mortal,  but  who  had,  by  some  fatality,  be- 
come associated  with  the  Shi'ichs.  This  acquaintance,  still 
retaining  some  portion  of  human  benevolence,  warned  her  of 
her  danger,  and  counselled  her,  as  she  valued  her  liberty,  to 
abstain  from  eating  and  drinking  with  them  for  a  certain 
space  of  time.  She  complied  with  the  counsel  of  her  friend ; 
and  when  the  period  assigned  was  elapsed,  she  found  herself 
again  upon  earth,  restored  to  the  society  of  mortals.  It  is 
added  that  when  she  examined  the  viands  which  had  been 
presented  to  her,  and  which  had  appeared  so  tempting  to  the 
eye,  they  were  found,  now  that  the  enchantment  was  re- 
moved, to  consist  only  of  the  refuse  of  the  earth."— P.  107-111. 


Note  3  A. 

Why  sounds  yon  stroke  on  beech  and  oak, 

Our  moonlight  circle's  screen  ? 
Or  who  comes  here  to  chase  the  deer, 

Beloved  of  our  Elfin  Queen  f— P.  206. 

It  has  been  already  observed  that  fairies,  if  not  positively 
malevolent,  are  capricious,  and  easily  offended.  They  are, 
like  other  proprietors  of  forests,  peculiarly  jealous  of  their 
rights  of  vert  and  venison,  as  appears  from  the  cause  of  offence 
taken,  in  the  original  Danish  ballad.  This  jealousy  was  also 
an  attribute  of  the  northern  Duergar,  or  dwarfs ;  to  many  of 
whose  distinctions  the  fairies  seem  to  have  succeeded,  if,  in- 
deed, they  are  not  the  same  class  of  beings.  In  the  huge 
metrical  record  of  German  Chivalry,  entitled  the  Helden- 
Buch,  Sir  Hildebrand,  and  the  other  heroes  of  whom  it  treats, 
are  engaged  in  one  of  their  most  desperate  adventures,  from 
a  rash  violation  of  the  rose-garden  of  an  Elfin  or  Dwarf 
King. 

There  are  yet  traces  of  a  belief  in  this  worst  and  most  ma- 
licious order  of  fairies,  among  the  Border  wilds.  Dr.  Ley- 
den  has  introduced  such  a  dwarf  into  his  ballad  entitled  the 
"  Cout  of  Keeldar,"  and  has  not  forgot  his  characteristic  de- 
testation of  the  chase. 

"  The  third  blast  that  young  Keeldar  blew, 

Still  stood  the  limber  fern, 
And  a  wee  man,  of  swarthy  hue, 

Upstarted  by  a  cairn. 

"  His  russet  weeds  were  brown  as  heath 

That  clothes  the  upland  fell ; 
And  the  hair  of  his  head  was  frizzly  red 

As  the  purple  heather-bell. 

"An  urchin,  clad  in  prickles  red, 

Clung  cow'ring  to  his  arm  ; 
The  hounds  they  howl'd,  and  backward  fled, 

As  struck  by  fairy  charm. 

" '  Why  rises  high  the  stag-hound's  cry, 

Where  stag-hound  ne'er  should  be? 
Why  wakes  that  horn  the  silent  morn, 

Without  the  leave  of  me?' — 


" '  Brown  dwarf,  that  o'er  the  moorland  strays, 

Thy  name  to  Keeldar  tell  !'— 
'  The  Brown  man  of  the  Moors,  who  stays 

Beneath  the  heather-bell. 

" '  'Tis  sweet  beneath  the  heather-bell 

To  live  in  autumn  brown  ; 
And  sweet  to  hear  the  lav'rock's  swell, 

Far,  far  from  tower  and  town. 

" '  But  woe  betide  the  shrilling  horn, 

The  chase's  surly  cheer ! 
And  ever  that  hunter  is  forlorn 

Whom  first  at  morn  I  hear.'  " 


The  poetical  picture  here  given  of  the  Duergar  corresponds 
exactly  with  the  following  Northumbrian  legend,  with  which 
I  was  lately  favored  by  my  learned  and  kind  friend,  Mr. 
Surtees  of  Mainsforth,  who  has  bestowed  indefatigable  labor 
upon  the  antiquities  of  the  English  Border  counties.  The 
subject  is  in  itself  so  curious  that  the  length  of  the  note  will, 
I  hope,  be  pardoned. 

"  I  have  only  one  record  to  offer  of  the  appearance  of  our 
Northumbrian  Duergar.  My  narratrix  is  Elizabeth  Cock- 
burn,  an  old  wife  of  Offerton,  in  this  county,  whose  credit,  in 
a  case  of  this  kind,  will  not,  I  hope,  be  much  impeached, 
when  I  add  that  she  is,  by  her  dull  neighbors,  supposed  to 
be  occasionally  insane,  but,  by  herself,  to  be  at  those  times 
endowed  with  a  faculty  of  seeing  visions  and  spectral  appear- 
ances which  shun  the  common  ken. 

"  In  the  year  before  the  great  rebellion,  two  young  men 
from  Newcastle  were  sporting  on  the  high  moors  above  Els- 
don,  and  after  pursuing  their  game  several  hours,  sat  down 
to  dine  in  a  green  glen,  near  one  of  the  mountain  streams. 
After  their  repast,  the  younger  lad  ran  to  the  brook  for  water, 
and  after  stooping  to  drink,  was  surprised,  on  lifting  his  head 
again,  by  the  appearance  of  a  brown  dwarf,  who  stood  on  a 
crag  covered  with  brackens,  across  the  burn.  This  extraor- 
dinary personage  did  not  appear  to  be  above  half  the  stature 
of  a  common  man,  but  was  uncommonly  stout  and  broad 
built,  having  the  appearance  of  vast  strength.  His  dress  was 
entirely  brown,  the  color  of  the  brackens,  and  his  head  cov- 
ered with  frizzled  red  hair.  His  countenance  was  expressive 
of  the  most  savage  ferocity,  and  his  eyes  glared  like  a  bull. 
It  seems  he  addressed  the  young  man  first,  threatening  him 
with  his  vengeance  for  having  trespassed  on  his  demesnes, 
and  asking  him  if  he  knew  in  whose  presence  he  stood.  The 
youth  replied  that  he  now  supposed  him  to  be  the  lord  of  the 
moors ;  that  he  offended  through  ignorance ;  and  offered  to 
bring  him  the  game  he  had  killed.  The  dwarf  was  a  little 
mollified  by  this  submission,  but  remarked  that  nothing 
could  be  more  offensive  to  him  than  such  an  offer,  as  he  con- 
sidered the  wild  animals  as  his  subjects,  and  never  failed  to 
avenge  their  destruction.  He  condescended  further  to  inform 
him  that  he  was,  like  himself,  mortal,  though  of  years  far 
exceeding  the  lot  of  common  humanity ;  and  (what  I  should 
not  have  had  an  idea  of)  that  he  hoped  for  salvation.  He 
never,  he  added,  fed  on  any  thing  that  had  life,  but  lived  in 
the  summer  on  whortle-berries,  and  in  winter  on  nuts  and 
apples,  of  which  he  had  great  store  in  the  woods.  Finally, 
he  invited  his  new  acquaintance  to  accompany  him  home 
and  partake  his  hospitality ;  an  offer  which  the  youth  was  on 
the  point  of  accepting,  and  was  just  going  to  spring  across 
the  brook  (which  if  he  had  done,  says  Elizabeth,  the  dwarf 
would  certainly  have  torn  him  in  pieces),  when  his  foot  was 
arrested  by  the  voice  of  his  companion,  who  thought  he  had 
tarried  long;  and  on  looking  round  again,  'the  wee  brown 
man  was  fled.'  The  story  adds  that  he  was  imprudent  enough 
to  slight  the  admonition,  and  to  sport  over  the  moors  on  his 
way  homewards;  but  soon  after  his  return,  he  fell  into  a 
lingering  disorder,  and  died  within  the  year." 


252 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   "VVOKKS. 


Note  3  B. 

who  may  dare  on  wold  to  wear 

The  fairies' fatal  gremt—P.  206. 

As  the  Daoine  ShV,  or  Men  of  Peace,  wore  green  habits, 
they  were  supposed  to  take  offence  when  any  mortals  ven- 
tured to  assume  their  favorite  color.  Indeed,  from  some 
reason  which  has  been,  perhaps,  originally  a  general  super- 
stition, green  is  held  in  Scotland  to  be  unlucky  to  particular 
tribes  and  counties.  The  Caithness  men,  who  hold  this  belief, 
allege  as  a  reason  that  their  bands  wore  that  color  when  they 
were  cut  off  at  the  battle  of  Flodden  ;  and  for  the  same  reason 
they  avoid  crossing  the  Ord  on  a  Monday,  being  the  day  of 
the  week  on  which  their  ill-omened  array  set  forth.  Green 
is  also  disliked  by  those  of  the  name  of  Ogilvy ;  but  more 
especially  is  it  held  fatal  to  the  whole  clan  of  Grahame.  It 
is  remembered  of  an  aged  gentleman  of  that  name  that  when 
his  horse  fell  in  a  fox-chase,  he  accounted  for  it  at  once  by 
observing  that  the  whipcord  attached  to  his  lash  was  of  this 
unlucky  color. 


Note  3  C. 


For  thou  werl  christen'd  man. — P.  206. 

The  elves  were  supposed  greatly  to  envy  the  privileges  ac- 
quired by  Christian  initiation,  and  they  gave  to  those  mortals 
who  had  fallen  into  their  power  a  certain  precedence,  founded 
upon  this  advantageous  distinction.  Tamlane,  in  the  old 
ballad,  describes  his  own  rank  in  the  fairy  procession : — 

"  For  I  ride  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

And  aye  nearest  the  town  ; 
Because  I  was  a  christen'd  knight, 

They  gave  me  that  renown." 

I  presume  that,  in  the  Danish  ballad  of  the  Elfin  Gray  (see 
Appendix,  Note  3  A),  the  obstinacy  of  the  "  weiest  Elf,"  who 
would  not  flee  for  cross  or  sign,  is  to  be  derived  from  the  cir- 
cumstance of  his  having  been  "christen'd  man." 

How  eager  the  elves  were  to  obtain  for  their  offspring  the 
prerogatives  of  Christianity  will  be  proved  by  the  following 
story :— "  In  the  district  called  Haga,  in  Iceland,  dwelt  a 
nobleman  called  Sigward  Forster,  who  had  an  intrigue  with 
one  of  the  subterranean  females.  The  elf  became  pregnant, 
and  exacted  from  her  lover  a  firm  promise  that  he  would 
procure  the  baptism  of  the  infant.  At  the  appointed  time, 
the  mother  came  to  the  churchyard,  on  the  wall  of  which  she 
placed  a  golden  cup,  and  a  stole  for  the  priest,  agreeable  to 
the  custom  of  making  an  offering  at  baptism.  She  then  stood 
a  little  apart.  When  the  priest  left  the  church,  he  inquired 
the  meaning  of  what  he  saw,  and  demanded  of  Sigward  if  he 
avowed  himself  the  father  of  the  child.  But  Sigward,  ashamed 
of  the  connection,  denied  the  paternity.  He  was  then  inter- 
rogated if  he  desired  that  the  child  should  be  baptized ;  but 

1  [This  story  is  still  current  in  the  moors  of  Staffordshire, 
and  adapted  by  the  peasantry  to  their  own  meridian.  I  have 
repeatedly  heard  it  told,  exactly  as  here,  by  rustics  who  could 
not  read.  My  last  authority  was  a  nailer  near  Cheadle. — B. 
Jamikson.] 

"  One  other  legend,  in  a  similar  strain,  lately  communicated 
by  a  very  intelligent  young  lady,  is  given,  principally  because 
it  furnishes  an  opportunity  of  pursuing  an  ingenious  idea 
suggested  by  Mr.  Scott,  in  one  of  his  learned  notes  to  the 
'  Lady  of  the  Lake :' — 

[  "A  young  man,  roaming  one  day  through  the  forest,  ob- 


this  also  he  answered  in  the  negative,  lest,  by  such  request, 
he  should  admit  himself  to  be  the  father.  On  which  the  chnV 
was  left  untouched  and  unbaptized.  Whereupon  the  mother, 
in  extreme  wrath,  snatched  up  the  infant  and  the  cup,  and 
retired,  having  the  priestly  cope,  of  which  fragments  are  still 
in  preservation.  But  this  female  denounced  and  imposed 
upon  Sigward  and  his  posterity,  to  the  ninth  generation,  a 
singular  disease,  with  which  many  of  his  descendants  are 
afflicted  at  this  day."  Thus  wrote  Einar  Dudmond,  pastor  of 
the  parish  of  Garpsdale,  in  Iceland,  a  man  profoundly  versed 
in  learning,  from  whose  manuscript  it  was  extracted  by  the 
learned  Torfa;us.— Historia  llrolfi  Krakii.  Hofnia;,  1715,  pre- 
faiio. 


Note  3  D. 


And  gayly  shines  the  Fairy-land — 
But  all  is  glistening  show. — P.  206. 

No  fact  respecting  Fairy-land  seems  to  be  better  ascertained 
than  the  fantastic  and  illusory  nature  of  their  apparent  plea- 
sure and  splendor.  It  has  been  already  noticed  in  the  for- 
mer quotations  from  Dr.  Grahame's  entertaining  volume,  and 
may  be  confirmed  by  the  following  Highland  tradition:— "A 
woman,  whose  new-born  child  had  been  conveyed  by  them 
into  their  secret  abodes,  was  also  carried  thither  herself,  to 
remain,  however,  only  until  she  should  suckle  her  infant. 
She  one  day,  during  this  period,  observed  the  Shi'ichs  busily 
employed  in  mixing  various  ingredients  in  a  boiling  caldron  ; 
and,  as  soon  as  the  composition  was  prepared,  she  remarked 
that  they  all  carefully  anointed  their  eyes  with  it,  laying  the 
remainder  aside  for  future  use.  In  a  moment  when  they  were 
all  absent,  she  also  attempted  to  anoint  her  eyes  with  the 
precious  drug,  but  had  time  to  apply  it  to  one  eye  only,  when 
the  Daoine  Shi'  returned.  But  with  that  eye  she  was  hence- 
forth enabled  to  see  every  thing  as  it  really  passed  in  their 
secret  abodes.  She  saw  every  object,  not  as  she  hitherto  had 
done,  in  deceptive  splendor  and  elegance,  but  in  its  genuine 
colors  and  form.  The  gaudy  ornaments  of  the  apartment 
were  reduced  to  the  walls  of  a  gloomy  cavern.  Soon  after, 
having  discharged  her  office,  she  was  dismissed  to  her  own 
home.  Still,  however,  she  retained  the  faculty  of  seeing,  with 
her  medicated  eye,  every  thing  that  was  done,  any  where  in 
her  presence,  by  the  deceptive  art  of  the  order.  One  day, 
amidst  a  throng  of  people,  she  chanced  to  observe  the  Shfich, 
or  man  of  peace,  in  whose  possession  she  had  left  her  child ; 
though  to  every  other  eye  invisible.  Prompted  by  maternal 
affection,  she  inadvertently  accosted  him,  and  began  to  in- 
quire after  the  welfare  of  her  child.  The  man  of  peace, 
astonished  at  being  thus  recognized  by  one  of  mortal  race, 
demanded  how  she  had  been  enabled  to  discover  him.  Awed 
by  the  terrible  frown  of  his  countenance,  she  acknowledged 
what  she  had  done.  He  spat  in  her  eye,  and  extinguished  it 
for  ever." — Grahame's  Sketches,  p.  116-118.  It  is  very  re- 
markable that  this  story,  translated  by  Dr.  Grahame  from 
popular  Gaelic  tradition,  is  to  be  found  in  the  Otia  Imperialia 
of  Gervase  of  Tilbury.1    A  work  of  great  interest  might  be 

served  a  number  of  persons  all  dressed  in  green,  issuing  from 
one  of  those  round  eminences  which  are  commonly  accounted 
fairy  hills.  Each  of  them  in  succession  called  upon  a  person 
by  name  to  fetch  his  horse.  A  caparisoned  steed  instantly  ap- 
peared ;  they  all  mounted,  and  sallied  forth  into  the  regions 
of  air.  The  young  man,  like  Ali  Baba  in  the  Arabian  Nights, 
ventured  to  pronounce  the  same  name,  and  called  for  his 
horse.  The  steed  immediately  appeared ;  he  mounted,  and 
was  soon  joined  to  the  fairy  choir.  He  remained  with  them 
for  a  year,  going  about  with  them  to  fairs  and  weddings,  and 
feasting,  though  unseen  by  mortal  eyes,  on  the  victuals  that 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


253 


compiled  upon  the  origin  of  popular  fiction,  and  the  transmis- 
sion of  similar  tales  from  age  to  age  and  from  country  to 
country.  The  mythology  of  one  period  would  then  appear  to 
pass  into  the  romance  of  the  next  century,  and  that  into  the 
nursery  tale  of  the  subsequent  ages.  Such  an  investigation, 
while  it  went  greatly  to  diminish  our  ideas  of  the  richness  of 
human  invention,  would  also  show  that  these  fictions,  how- 
ever wild  and  childish,  possess  such  charms  for  the  populace 
as  enable  them  to  penetrate  into  countries  unconnected  by 
manners  and  language,  and  having  no  apparent  intercourse 
to  afford  the  means  of  transmission.  It  would  carry  me  far 
beyond  my  bounds  to  produce  instances  of  this  community 
of  fable  among  nations  who  never  borrowed  from  each  other 
any  thing  intrinsically  worth  learning.  Indeed,  the  wide  dif- 
fusion of  popular  fictions  may  be  compared  to  the  facility 
with  which  straws  and  feathers  are  dispersed  abroad  by  the 
wind,  while  valuable  metals  cannot  be  transported  without 
trouble  and  labor.  There  lives,  I  believe,  only  one  gentle- 
man whose  unlimited  acquaintance  with  this  subject  might 
enable  him  to  do  it  justice;  I  mean  my  friend,  Mr.  Francis 
Douce,  of  the  British  Museum,  whose  usual  kindness  will,  I 
hope,  pardon  my  mentioning  his  name  while  on  a  subject  so 
closely  connected  with  bis  extensive  and  curious  researches. 


Note  3  E. 


I  sunk  down  in  a  sinful  fray, 

And,  'Iwixt  life  and  death,  was  snalch'd  away 
To  the  joyless  Elfin  bower. — P.  206. 

The  subjects  of  Fairy-land  were  recruited  from  the  regions 
of  humanity  by  a  sort  of  crimping  system,  which  extended  to 
adults  as  well  as  to  infants.  Many  of  those  who  were  in  this 
world  supposed  to  have  discharged  the  debt  of  nature  had 
only  become  denizens  of  the  "  Londe  of  Faery."  In  the 
beautiful  Fairy  Romance  of  Orfee  and  Heurodiis  (Orpheus 
and  Eurydice)  in  the  Auchinleck  MS.  is  the  following  striking 
enumeration  of  persons  thus  abstracted  from  middle  earth. 
Mr.  Ritson  unfortunately  published  this  romance  from  a  copy 
in  which  the  following  and  many  other  highly  poetical  pas- 
sages do  not  occur : — 

"  Then  he  gan  biholde  about  al, 

And  seighe  ful  liggeand  with  in  the  wal, 

Of  folk  that  were  thidder  y-brought, 

And  thought  dede  and  nere  nought ; 

Sum  stode  withouten  hadde ; 

And  sum  non  arrnes  nade ; 

And  sum  thurch  the  bodi  hadde  wounde ; 

And  sum  lay  wode  y-bounde  ; 

And  sum  armed  on  hors  sete ; 

And  sum  astrangled  as  thai  ete ; 

And  sum  war  in  water  adreynt ; 

And  sum  with  fire  al  forschreynt ; 

Wives  ther  lay  on  childe  bedde ; 

Sum  dede,  and  sum  awedde ; 

And  wonder  fele  ther  lay  besides, 

Right  as  thai  slepe  her  undertides : 

Eche  was  thus  in  the  warl  y-nome, 

With  fairi  thider  y-come." 


were  exhibited  on  those  occasions.  They  had  one  day  gone 
to  a  wedding  where  the  cheer  was  abundant.  During  the 
feast,  the  bridegroom  sneezed.  The  young  man,  according 
to  the  usual  custom,  said, '  God  bless  you !'  The  fairies  were 
offended  at  the  pronunciation  of  the  sacred  name,  and  assured 
him  that  if  he  dared  to  repeat  it  they  would  punish  him. 
The  bridegroom  sneezed  a  second  time.    He  repeated  his  bless- 


NOTE  3  F. 

Who  ever  reck'd  where,  hmv,  or  when, 

The  prowling  fox  was  trapp'd  or  slain  f — P.  210. 

St.  John  actually  used  this  illustration  when  engaged  in 
confuting  the  plea  of  law  proposed  for  the  unfortunate  Earl 
of  Strafford:  '"It  was  true,  we  gave  laws  to  hares  and  deer, 
because  they  are  beasts  of  chase ;  but  it  was  never  accounted 
either  cruelty  or  foul  play  to  knock  foxes  or  wolves  on  the 
head  as  they  can  be  found,  because  they  are  beasts  of  prey. 
In  a  word,  the  law  and  humanity  are  alike;  the  one  being 
more  fallacious,  and  the  other  more  barbarous,  than  in  any 
age  had  been  vented  in  such  an  authority." — Clarendon's 
History  of  the  Rebellion.    Oxford,  1702,  fol.  vol.  p.  183. 


Note  3  G. 


•  his  Highland  cheer, 


The  harden'dfiesh  of  mountain  deer. — P.  211. 

The  Scottish  Highlanders,  in  former  times,  had  a  concise 
mode  of  cooking  their  venison,  or  rather  of  dispensing  with 
cooking  it,  which  appears  greatly  to  have  surprised  the  French 
whom  chance  made  acquainted  with  it.  The  Vidame  of  Char- 
ters, when  a  hostage  in  England,  during  the  reign  of  Edward 
VI.,  was  permitted  to  travel  into  Scotland,  and  penetrated  as 
far  as  to  the  remote  Highlands  (au  fin  fond  des  Sauvages). 
After  a  great  hunting  party,  at  which  a  most  wonderful  quan- 
tity of  game  was  destroyed,  he  saw  these  Scottish  Savages  de- 
vour a  part  of  their  venison  raw,  without  any  further  prep- 
aration than  compressing  it  between  two  batons  of  wood,  so  as 
to  force  out  the  blood,  and  render  it  extremely  hard.  This 
they  reckoned  a  great  delicacy ;  and  when  the  Vidame  par- 
took of  it,  his  compliance  with  their  taste  rendered  him  ex- 
tremely popular.  This  curious  trait  of  manners  was  com- 
municated by  Mons.  de  Montmorency,  a  great  friend  of  the 
Vidame,  to  Brantome,  by  whom  it  is  recorded  in  Vies  des 
Hommes  Illnstres,  Discours  lxxxix.  art.  14.  The  process  by 
which  the  raw  venison  was  rendered  eatable  is  described  very 
minutely  in  the  romance  of  Perceforest,  where  Estonne,  a 
Scottish  knight-errant,  having  slain  a  deer,  says  to  his  com- 
panion Claudius :  "  Sire,  or  mangerez  vous  et  moy  aussi. 
Voire  si  nous  auions  de  feu,  dit  Claudius.  Par  l'ame  de  mon 
pere,  dist  Estonne,  ie  vous  atourneray  et  cuiray  a  la  maniere 
de  nostre  pays  comme  pour  cheualier  errant.  Lors  tira  son 
espee,  et  sen  vint  a  la  branche  dung  arbre,  et  y  fait  vng  grant 
trou,  et  puis  fend  la  branche  bien  dieux  piedx,  et  boute  la 
cuisse  du  serf  entredeux,  et  puis  prent  le  licol  de  son  cheval, 
et  en  lye  la  branche,  et  destraint  si  fort,  qui  le  sang  et  les  hu- 
meurs  de  la  chair  saillent  hors,  et  demeure  la  chair  doulce  et 
seiche.  Lors  prent  la  chair,  et  oste  ius  le  cuir,  et  la  chaire 
demeure  aussi  blanche  comme  si  ce  feust  dung  chappon. 
Dont  dist  a  Claudius,  Sire,  ie  la  vous  ay  cuiste  a  la  guise  de 
mon  pays,  vous  en  pouez  manger  hardyement,  car  ie  mange- 
ray  premier.  Lors  met  sa  main  a  sa  selle  en  vng  lieu  quil  y 
auoit,  et  tire  hors  sel  et  poudre  de  poiure  et  gingembre,  mesle 
ensemble,  et  le  iecte  dessus,  et  le  frote  sus  bien  fort,  puis  le 
couppe  a  moytie,  et  en  donne  a  Claudius  l'une  des  pieces,  et 
puis  mort  en  l'autre  aussi  sauoureussement  quil  est  aduis  que 
il  en  feist  la  pouldre  voller.    Quant  Claudius  veit  quil  le  nian- 

ing ;  they  threatened  more  tremendous  vengeance.  He  sneezed 
a  third  time ;  he  blessed  him  as  before.  The  fairies  were  en- 
raged ;  they  tumbled  him  from  a  precipice ;  but  he  found  him- 
self unhurt,  and  was  restored  to  the  society  of  mortals."— Dr. 
Grauame's  Sketches,  second  edit.  p.  255-7.  See  Note,  "Fairy 
Superstitions,"  Mob  Boy,  N.  edit.] 


254 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


geoit  de  tel  goust,  il  en  print  grant  faim,  et  commence  a  man- 
ger tresvoulentiers,  et  dist  a  Estonne:  Par  l'ame  de  moy,  ie 
ne  niangeay  onequesmais  de  chair  atournee  de  telle  guise : 
mais  doresenauant  ie  ne  me  retourneroye  pas  hors  de  mon 
chemin  par  auoir  la  cuite.  Sire,  dist  Estonne,  quant  is  suis 
en  desers  d'Ecosse,  dont  ie  suis  seigneur,  ie  cheuaucheray  huit 
iours  ou  quinzc  que  ie  n'entreray  en  chastel  ne  en  maison,  et 
si  ne  verray  feu  ne  personne  viuant  fors  que  bestes  sauuages, 
et  de  celles  mangeray  atournees  en  ceste  maniere,  et  niieulx 
me  plaira  que  la  viande  de  llempereur.  Ainsi  sen  vont  man- 
geant  et  cheuauehant  iusques  adonc  quilz  arriuerent  sur  une 
moult  belle  fontaine  que  estoit  en  vne  valee.  Quant  Estonne 
la  vit  il  dist  a  Claudius,  allons  boire  a  ceste  fontaine.  Or 
beuuons,  dist  Estonne,  du  boir  que  le  grant  dieu  a  pourueu  a 
toutes  gens,  et  que  me  plaist  mieulx  que  les  ceruoises  d'An- 
gleterre."— La  Treseleganle  Hystoire  du  tresnoble  Roy  Perce- 
forest.    Paris,  1531,  fol.  tome  i.  fol.  lv.  vers. 

After  all,  it  may  be  doubted  whether  la  chaire  nostree,  for 
so  the  French  called  the  venison  thus  summarily  prepared, 
was  any  thing  more  than  a  mere  rude  kind  of  deer-ham. 


Note  3  H. 


Not  then  claim? d  sovereignty  his  due  ; 

While  Albany,  with  feeble  hand, 

Held  borrow'd  truncheon  of  command. — P.  212. 

There  is  scarcely  a  more  disorderly  period  in  Scottish  his- 
tory than  that  which  succeeded  the  battle  of  Flodden,  and 
occupied  the  minority  of  James  V.  Feuds  of  ancient  stand- 
ing broke  out  like  old  wounds,  and  every  quarrel  among  the 
independent  nobility,  which  occurred  daily,  and  almost  hour- 
ly, gave  rise  to  fresh  bloodshed.  "  There  arose,"  says  Pits- 
cottie,  "  great  trouble  and  deadly  feuds  in  many  parts  of  Scot- 
land, both  in  the  north  and  west  parts.  The  Master  of  Forbes, 
in  the  north,  slew  the  Laird  of  Meldrum,  under  tryst"  (i.  e. 
at  an  agreed  and  secure  meeting).  "  Likewise,  the  Laird  of 
Drummelzier  slew  the  Lord  Fleming  at  the  hawking;  and 
likewise  there  was  slaughter  among  many  other  great  lords." 
— P.  121.  Nor  was  the  matter  much  mended  under  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  Earl  of  Angus:  for  though  he  caused  the 
king  to  ride  through  all  Scotland,  "under  the  pretence  and 
color  of  justice,  to  punish  thief  and  traitor,  none  were  found 
greater  than  were  in  their  own  company.  And  none  at  that 
time  durst  strive  with  a  Douglas,  nor  yet  a  Douglas's  man; 
for  if  they  would,  they  got  the  worst.  Therefore,  none  durst 
plainzie  of  no  extortion,  theft,  reiff,  nor  slaughter,  done  to 
them  by  the  Douglases,  or  their  men  ;  in  that  cause  they 
were  not  heard,  so  long  as  the  Douglas  had  the  court  in  guid- 
ing."— Ibid.  p.  133. 


Note  3  I. 


Tlie  Gael,  of  plain  and  river  heir, 

Shall  with  strong  hand  redeem  his  share. — P.  213. 

The  ancient  Highlanders  verified  in  their  practice  the  lines 
of  Gray:— 

"An  iron  race  the  mountain  cliffs  maintain, 

Foes  to  the  gentler  genius  of  the  plain  ; 

For  where  unwearied  sinews  must  be  found, 

With  side-long  plough  to  quell  the  flinty  ground, 

To  turn  the  torrent's  swift  descending  flood, 

To  tame  the  savage  rushing  from  the  wood, — 

What  wonder  if,  to  patient  valor  train'd, 

They  guard  with  spirit  what  by  strength  they  gain'd ; 


And  while  their  rocky  ramparts  round  they  see 
The  rough  abode  of  want  and  liberty 
(As  lawless  force  from  confidence  will  grow), 
Insult  the  plenty  of  the  vales  below?" 

Fragment  on  the  Alliance  of  Education 
and  Government. 

So  far,  indeed,  was  a  Creagh,  or  foray,  from  being  held  dis- 
graceful, that  a  young  chief  was  always  expected  to  show  his 
talents  for  command  so  soon  as  he  assumed  it,  by  leading  his 
clan  on  a  successful  enterprise  of  this  nature,  either  against  a 
neighboring  sept,  for  which  constant  feuds  usually  furnished 
an  apology,  or  against  the  Sassenach,  Saxons,  or  Lowlanders, 
for  which  no  apology  was  necessary.  The  Gael,  great  tradi- 
tional historians,  never  forgot  that  the  Lowlands  had,  at  some 
remote  period,  been  the  property  of  their  Celtic  forefathers, 
which  furnished  an  ample  vindication  of  all  the  ravages  that 
they  could  make  on  the  unfortunate  districts  which  lay  with- 
in their  reach.  Sir  James  Grant  of  Grant  is  in  possession  of 
a  letter  of  apology  from  Cameron  of  Lochiel,  whose  men  had 
committed  some  depredation  upon  a  farm  called  Moines,  oc- 
cupied by  one  of  the  Grants.  Lochiel  assures  Grant  that, 
however  the  mistake  had  happened,  his  instructions  were  pre- 
cise that  the  party  should  foray  the  province  of  Moray  (a  Low- 
land district),  where,  as  he  coolly  observes,  "all  men  take 
their  prey." 


Note  3  K. 


I  only  meant 


To  show  the  reed  on  which  you  leant, 
Deeming  this  path  you  might  pursue 
Without  a  pass  from  Roderick  Dhu. — P.  214. 

This  incident,  like  some  other  passages  in  the  poem,  illus- 
trative of  the  character  of  the  ancient  Gael,  is  not  imaginary, 
but  borrowed  from  fact.  The  Highlanders,  with  the  incon- 
sistency oi  most  nations  in  the  same  state,  were  alternately 
capable  of  great  exertions  of  generosity  and  of  cruel  revenge 
and  perfidy.  The  following  story  I  can  only  quote  from  tra- 
dition, but  with  such  an  assurance  from  those  by  whom  it  was 
communicated  as  permits  me  little  doubt  of  its  authenticity. 
Early  in  the  last  century,  John  Gunn,  a  noted  Cateran,  or 
Highland  robber,  infested  Inverness-shire,  and  levied  black- 
mail up  to  the  walls  of  the  provincial  capital.  A  garrison  was 
then  maintained  in  the  castle  of  that  town,  and  their  pay 
(country  banks  being  unknown)  was  usually  transmitted  in 
specie,  under  the  guard  of  a  small  escort.  It  chanced  that 
the  officer  who  commanded  this  little  party  was  unexpectedly 
obliged  to  halt,  about  thirty  miles  from  Inverness,  at  a  miser- 
able inn.  About  nightfall,  a  stranger,  in  the  Highland  dress, 
and  of  very  prepossessing  appearance,  entered  the  same  house. 
Separate  accommodation  being  impossible,  the  Englishman 
offered  the  newly-arrived  guest  a  part  of  his  supper,  which 
was  accepted  with  reluctance.  By  the  conversation  he  found 
his  new  acquaintance  knew  well  all  the  passes  of  the  country, 
which  induced  him  eagerly  toVequest  his  company  on  the  en- 
suing morning.  He  neither  disguised  his  business  and  charge, 
nor  his  apprehensions  of  that  celebrated  freebooter,  John 
Gunn.  The  Highlander  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  frank- 
ly consented  to  be  his  guide.  Forth  they  set  in  the  morning ; 
and,  in  travelling  through  a  solitary  and  dreary  glen,  the  dis- 
course again  turned  on  John  Gunn.  "  Would  you  like  to  see 
him?"  said  the  guide;  and,  without  waiting  an  answer  to 
this  alarming  question,  he  whistled,  and  the  English  officer, 
with  his  small  party,  was  surrounded  by  a  body  of  High- 
landers, whose  numbers  put  resistance  out  of  question,  and 
who  were  all  well  armed.  "  Stranger,"  resumed  the  guide, 
"  I  am  that  very  John  Gunn  by  whom  you  feared  to  be  inter- 
cepted, and  not  without  cause:  for  1  came  to  the  inn  last 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LADY  OF  THE  LAKE. 


255 


night  with  the  express  purpose  of  learning  your  route,  that  I 
and  my  followers  might  ease  you  of  your  charge  by  the  road. 
But  I  am  incapable  of  betraying  the  trust  you  reposed  in  me, 
and  having  convinced  you  that  you  were  in  my  power,  I  can 
only  dismiss  you  unplundered  and  uninjured."  He  then  gave 
the  officer  directions  for  his  journey,  and  disappeared  with 
his  party  as  suddenly  as  they  had  presented  themselves. 


Note  3  L. 


On  Bochastle  the  mouldering  lines, 
Where  Home,  the  Empress  of  the  world, 
Of  yore  her  eagle  wings  unfurVd. — P.  214. 

The  torrent  which  discharges  itself  from  Loch  Vennachar, 
the  lowest  and  eastmost  of  the  three  lakes  which  form  the 
scenery  adjoining  to  the  Trosachs,  sweeps  through  a  flat  and 
extensive  moor,  called  Bochastle.  Upon  a  small  eminence, 
called  the  Dun  of  Bochastle,  and  indeed  on  the  plain  itself, 
are  some  intrenchments,  which  have  been  thought  Roman. 
There  is,  adjacent  to  Callender,  a  sweet  villa,  the  residence  of 
Captain  Fairfoul,  entitled  the  Roman  Camp. 

[ "  One  of  the  most  entire  and  beautiful  remains  of  a  Roman 
encampment  now  to  be  found  in  Scotland  is  to  be  seen  at 
Ardoch,  near  Greenloaning,  about  six  miles  to  the  eastward 
of  Dunblane.  This  encampment  is  supposed,  on  good  grounds, 
to  have  been  constructed  during  the  fourth  campaign  of  Agri- 
cola  in  Britain  ;  it  is  1060  feet  in  length,  and  900  in  breadth ; 
it  could  contain  26,000  men,  according  to  the  ordinary  distri- 
bution of  the  Roman  soldiers  in  their  encampments.  There 
appears  to  have  been  three  or  four  ditches,  strongly  fortified, 
surrounding  the  camp.  The  four  entries  crossing  the  lines 
are  still  to  be  seen  distinctly.  The  general's  quarter  rises 
above  the  level  of  the  camp,  but  is  not  exactly  in  the  centre. 
It  is  a  regular  square  of  twenty  yards,  enclosed  with  a  stone 
wall,  and  containing  the  foundations  of  a  house,  30  feet  by  20. 
There  is  a  subterraneous  communication  with  a  smaller  en- 
campment at  a  little  distance,  in  which  several  Roman  hel- 
mets, spears,  Ac.,  have  been  found.  From  this  camp  at 
Ardoch,  the  great  Roman  highway  runs  east  to  Bertha,  about 
fourteen  miles  distant,  where  the  Roman  army  is  believed  to 
have  passed  over  the  Tay  into  Strathmore." — Graham.] 


Note  3  M. 


See,  here  all  vantageless  I  stand, 

Arm'd,  like  thyself,  with  single  brand. — P.  214. 

The  duellists  of  former  times  did  not  always  stand  upon 
those  punctilios  respecting  equality  of  arms  which  are  now 
judged  essential  to  fair  combat.  It  is  true  that  in  former 
combats  in  the  lists  the  parties  were,  by  the  judges  of  the 
field,  put  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  same  circumstances; 
but  in  private  duel  it  was  often  otherwise.  In  that  desperate 
combat  which  was  fought  between  Quelus,  a  minion  of  Henry 
III.  of  France,  and  Antraguet,  with  two  seconds  on  each  side, 
from  which  only  two  persons  escaped  alive,  Quelus  complained 
that  his  antagonist  had  over  him  the  advantage  of  a  poinard 
which  he  used  in  parrying,  while  his  left  hand,  which  he  was 
forced  to  employ  for  the  same  purpose,  was  cruelly  mangled. 
When  he  charged  Antraguet  with  this  odds,  "  Thou  hast  done 
wrong,"  answered  he,  "  to  forget  thy  dagger  at  home.  We  are 
heye  to  fight,  and  not  to  settle  punctilios  of  arms."  In  a  similar 
duel,  however,  a  younger  brother  of  the  house  of  Aubanye,  in 
Angoulesme,  behaved  more  generously  on  the  like  occasion, 
and  at  once  threw  away  his  dagger  when  his  enemy  challenged 
it  as  an  undue  advantage.    But  at  this  time  hardly  any  thing 


can  be  conceived  more  horribly  brutal  and  savage  than  the 
mode  in  which  private  quarrels  were  conducted  in  France. 
Those  who  were  most  jealous  of  the  point  of  honor,  and 
acquired  the  title  of  Ruffines,  did  not  scruple  to  take  every 
advantage  of  strength,  numbers,  surprise,  and  arms,  to  ac- 
complish their  revenge.  The  Sieur  de  Brantome,  to  whose 
Discourse  on  Duels  I  am  obliged  for  these  particulars,  gives  the 
following  account  of  the  death  and  principles  of  his  friend, 
the  Baron  de  Vitaux : — 

"  J'ay  oui  confer  a"  un  Tireur  d'armes,  qui  apprit  a  Millaud 
&  en  tirer,  lequel  s'appelloit  Seigneur  le  Jacques  Ferron,  de  la 
ville  d'Ast,  qui  avoit  este  a  moy,  il  fut  despuis  tue  S.  Saincte- 
Basille  en  Gascogne,  lorS  que  Monsieur  du  Mayne  l'assiegea 
lui  servant  d'Ingenieur;  et  de  malheur,  je  l'avois  address^ 
audit  Baron  quelques  trois  mois  auparavant,  pour  l'exercer  a 
tirer,  bien  qu'il  en  sceust  prou ;  mais  il  ne'en  fit  compte ;  et  le 
laissant,  Millaud  s'en  servit,  et  le  rendit  fort  adroit.  Ce  Seig- 
neur Jacques  done  me  raconta,  qu'il  s'estoit  monte  sur  un 
noyer,  assez  loing,  pour  en  voir  le  combat,  et  qu'il  ne  vist 
jamais  homme  y  aller  plus  bravement,  ny  plus  resolument, 
ny  de  grace  plus  asseuree  ny  determinee.  II  commenca  de 
marcher  de  cinquante  pas  vers  son  ennemy,  relevant  souvent 
ses  moustaches  en  haut  d'une  main  ;  et  estant  S.  vingt  pas  de 
son  ennemy,  (non  plustost,)  il  mit  la  main  a  l'espee  qu'il  tenoit 
en  la  main,  non  qu'il  l'eust  Urge  encore ;  mais  en  marchant,  il 
fit  voller  le  fourreau  en  l'air,  en  le  secouant,  ce  qui  est  le  beau 
de  cela,  et  qui  monstroit  bien  une  grace  de  combat  bien  as- 
seuree et  froide,  et  nullement  tenigraire,  comme  il  y  en  a  qui 
tirent  leurs  espges  de  cinq  cents  pas  de  l'ennemy,  voire  de 
mille,  comme  j'en  ay  veu  aucuns.  Ainsi  mourut  ce  brave 
Baron,  le  parogon  de  France,  qu'on  nommoit  tel,  a  bien  ven- 
ger  ses  querelks.  par  grandes  et  dfiterminees  resolutions.  II 
n'estoit  pas  seulement  estime  en  France,  mais  en  Italie, 
Espaigne,  Allemaigne,  en  Boulogne  et  Angleterre ;  et  desi- 
roient  fort  les  Etrangers,  venant  en  France,  le  voir;  car  je 
l'ay  veu,  tant  sa  renommee  volloit.  II  estoit  fort  petit  de 
corps,  mais  fort  grand  de  courage.  Ses  ennemis  disoient  qu'il 
ne  tuoit  pas  bien  ses  gens,  que  par  advantages  et  supercheries. 
Certes,  je  tiens  de  grands  capitaines,  et  mesme  d'ltaliens,  qui 
ont  estez  d'autres  fois  les  premiers  vengeurs  du  monde,  in 
ogni  modo,  disoient-ils,  qui  ont  tenu  cette  maxime,  qu'une 
supercherie  ne  se  devoit  payer  que  par  semblable  monnoye, 
et.  n'y  alloit  point  13  de  deshonneur." — Oeuvres  de  Brantome, 
Paris,  1787-8.  Tome  viii.  p.  90-92.  It  may  be  necessary  to  in- 
form the  reader  that  this  paragon  of  France  was  the  most  foul 
assassin  of  his  time,  and  had  committed  many  desperate 
murders,  chiefly  by  the  assistance  of  his  hired  banditti;  from 
which  it  may  be  conceived  how  little  the  point  of  honor  of  the 
period  deserved  its  name.  I  have  chosen  to  give  my  heroes, 
who  are  indeed  of  an  earlier  period,  a  stronger  tincture  of  the 
spirit  of  chivalry. 


Note  3  N. 


HI  fared  it  then  with  Roderick  Dhu 
That  on  the  field  his  targe  he  threw,  .... 
For,  train'd  abroad  his  arms  to  wield, 
Filz-Jam.es1  s  blade  was  sword  and  shield. — P.  215. 

A  round  target  of  light  wood,  covered  with  strong  leather, 
and  studded  with  brass  or  iron,  was  a  necessary  part  of  a 
Highlander's  equipment.  In  charging  regular  troops,  they 
received  the  thrust  of  the  bayonet  in  this  buckler,  twisted  it 
aside,  and  used  the  broadsword  against  the  encumbered  sol- 
dier. In  the  civil  wa  of  1745,  most  of  the  front  rank  of  the 
clans  were  thus  armed;  and  Captain  Grose  informs  us  that, 
in  1747,  the  privates  of  the  42d  regiment,  then  in  Flanders, 
were,  for  the  most  part,  permitted  to  carry  targets. — Military 
Antiquities,  vol.  i.  p.  164.  A  person  thus  armed  had  a  consider- 
able advantage  in  private  fray.    Among  verses  between  Swift 


256 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


and  Sheridan,  lately  published  by  Dr.  Barret,  there  is  an 
account  of  such  an  encounter,  in  which  the  circumstances, 
and  consequently  the  relative  superiority,  of  the  combatants 
are  precisely  the  reverse  of  those  in  the  text: — 

"A  Highlander  once  fought  a  Frenchman  at  Margate, 

The  weapons,  a  rapier,  a  backsword,  and  target ; 

Brisk  Monsieur  advanced  as  fast  as  he  could, 

But  all  bis  fine  pushes  were  caught  in  the  wood, 

And  Sawney,  with  backsword,  did  slash  him  and  nick  him, 

While  t'other,  enraged  thai  he  could  not  once  prick  him, 

Cried,  'Sirrah,  you  rascal,  you  son  of  a  whore, 

Me  will  tight  you,  be  gar!  if  you'll  come  from  your  door.'" 

The  use  of  defensive  armor,  and  particularly  of  the  buckler 
or  target,  was  general  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  although  that 
of  the  single  rapier  seems  to  have  been  occasionally  practiced 
much  earlier.1  Rowland  Yorke,  however,  who  betrayed  the 
fort  of  Zutphen  to  the  Spaniards,  for  which  good  service  he  was 
afterwards  poisoned  by  them,  is  said  to  have  been  the  first 
who  brought  the  rapier  fight  into  general  use.  Fuller,  speak- 
ing of  the  swash-bucklers,  or  bullies,  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time,  says : — "  West  Smithfield  was  formerly  called  Ruffians' 
Hall,  where  such  men  usually  met,  casually  or  otherwise,  to 
try  masteries  with  sword  and  buckler.  More  were  frightened 
than  hurt,  more  hurt  than  killed  therewith,  it  being  ac- 
counted unmanly  to  strike  beneath  the  knee.  But  since  that 
desperate  traitor  Rowland  Yorke  first  introduced  thrusting 
with  rapiers,  sword  and  buckler  are  disused."  In  The  Two 
Angry  Women  of  Abingdon,  a  comedy,  printed  in  1599,  we  have 
a  pathetic  complaint: — "Sword  and  buckler  fight  begins  to 
grow  out  of  use.  I  am  sorry  for  it:  I  shall  never  see  good 
manhood  again.  If  it  be  once  gone,  this  poking  fight  of 
rapier  and  dagger  will  come  up  ;  then  a  tall  man,  and  a  good 
sword-and-buckler  man,  will  be  spitted  like  a  cat  or  rabbit." 
But  the  rapier  had  upon  the  continent  long  superseded,  in 
private  duel,  the  use  of  sword  and  shield.  The  masters  of  the 
noble  science  of  defence  were  chiefly  Italians.  They  made 
great  mystery  of  their  art  and  mode  of  instruction,  never 
suffered  any  person  to  be  present  but  the  scholar  who  was  to 
be  taught,  and  even  examined  closets,  beds,  and  other  places 
of  possible  concealment.  Their  lessons  often  gave  the  most 
treacherous  advantages ;  for  the  challenger,  having  the  right 
to  choose  his  weapons,  frequently  selected  some  strange,  un- 
usual, and  inconvenient  kind  of  arms,  the  use  of  which  he 
practiced  under  these  instructors,  and  thus  killed  at  his  ease 
his  antagonist,  to  whom  it  was  presented  for  the  first  time  on 
the  field  of  battle.  See  Brantome's  Discourse  on  Duels,  and 
the  work  on  the  same  subject,  "si  gentement  ecrit,"  by  the 
venerable  Dr.  Paris  de  Puteo.  The  Highlanders  continued 
to  use  broadsword  and  target  until  disarmed  after  the  affair 
of  1745-6. 


Note  3  0. 


Thy  threats,  thy  mercy,  I  defy  f 

Lei  recreant  yield,  who  fears  to  die. — P.  215. 

I  have  not  ventured  to  render  this  duel  so  savagely  despe- 
rate as  that  of  the  celebrated  Sir  Ewan  of  Lochiel,  chief  of 
the  clan  Cameron,  called,  from  his  sable  complexion,  Ewan 
Dhu.  He  was  the  last  man  in  Scotland  who  maintained  the 
royal  cause  during  the  great  Civil  War,  and  his  constant  in- 
cursions rendered  him  a  very  unpleasant  neighbor  to  the 
republican  garrison  at  Inverlochy,  now  Fort  William.  The 
governor  of  the  fort  detached  a  party  of  three  hundred  nun 
to  lay  waste  Lochiel's  possessions,  and  cut  down  his  trees; 
but,  in  a  sudden  and  desperate  attack  made  upon  them  by 


1  See  Douce's  Illustrations  of  Shakspeare,  vol.  ii.  p.  61. 


the  chieftain  with  very  inferior  numbers,  they  were  almost 
all  cut  to  pieces.  The  skirmish  is  detailed  in  a  curious  memoir 
nf  Sir  Ewan's  life,  printed  in  the  Appendix  of  Pennant's 
Scottish  Tour: — 

"In  this  engagement,  Lochiel  himself  had  several  wonder- 
ful escapes.  In  the  retreat  of  the  English,  one  of  the  strong- 
est and  bravest  of  the  officers  retired  behind  a  bush,  when  he 
observed  Lochiel  pursuing,  and  seeing  him  unaccompanied 
witli  any,  he  leapt  out,  and  thought  bini  bis  prey.  They  met 
one  another  with  equal  fury.  The  combat  was  long  and 
doubtful :  the  English  gentleman  had  by  far  the  advantage  in 
Strength  and  size;  but  Lochiel,  exceeding  him  in  nimbleness 
and  agility,  in  the  end  tript  the  sword  out  of  his  hand:  they 
closed  and  wrestled,  till  both  fell  to  the  ground  in  each  other's 
arms.  The  English  officer  got  above  Lochiel,  and  pressed 
him  hard,  but  stretching  forth  his  neck,  by  attempting  to  dis- 
engage himself,  Lochiel,  who  by  this  time  had  his  hands  at 
liberty,  with  his  left  hand  seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  jump- 
ing at  his  extended  throat,  he  bit  it  with  his  teeth  quite 
through,  and  kept  such  a  hold  of  his  grasp  that  he  brought 
away  his  mouthful:  this,  he  said,  was  the  sweetest  bit  he  ever 
had  in  his  lifelime.n — Vol.  i.  p.  375. 


Note  3  P. 


Ye  lowers .'  within  whose  circuit  dread 

A  Douglas  by  his  sovereign  bled; 

And  thou,  0  sad  and  fatal  mound.' 

That  oft  hast  heard  the  death-axe  sound. — P.  217. 

An  eminence  on  the  northeast  of  the  Castle,  where  state 
criminals  were  executed.  Stirling  was  often  polluted  with 
noble  blood.    It  is  thus  apostrophized  by  J.  Johnston : — 

"  Discordia  tristis 


Heu  quoties  procerum  sanguine  tinxit  humum 
Hoc  uno  infelix,  et  felix  cetera ;  nusquam 
Ltetior  aut  cueli  frons  geniusve  soli." 

The  fate  of  William,  eighth  Earl  of  Douglas,  whom  James  II. 
stabbed  in  Stirling  Castle  with  his  own  hand,  and  while  under 
his  royal  safe-conduct,  is  familiar  to  all  who  read  Scottish 
history.  Murdack,  Duke  of  Albany,  Duncan,  Earl  of  Lennox, 
bis  father-in-law,  and  his  two  sons,  Walter  and  Alexander 
Stuart,  were  executed  at  Stirling,  in  1425.  They  were  be- 
headed upon  an  eminence  without  the  castle  walls,  but  mak- 
ing part  of  the  same  hill,  from  whence  they  could  behold 
their  strong  castle  of  Doune,  and  their  extensive  possessions. 
This  "  heading  hill,"  as  it  was  sometimes  termed,  bears  com- 
monly the  less  terrible  name  of  Hurly-haeket,  from  its  having 
been  the  scene  of  a  courtly  amusement  alluded  to  by  Sir  David 
Lindsay,  who  says  of  the  pastimes  in  which  the  young  king 
was  engaged, 

"Some  harled  him  to  the  Hurly-hacket ;" 

which  consisted  in  sliding,  in  some  sort  of  chair  it  may  be 
supposed,  from  top  to  bottom  of  a  smooth  bank.  The  boys  of 
Edinburgh,  about  twenty  years  ago,  used  to  play  at  the  hurly- 
hacket  on  the  Calton  Hill,  using  for  their  seat  a  horse's  skull. 


Note  3  Q. 

The  burghers  hold  their  sports  to-day. — P.  217. 

Every  burgh  of  Scotland,  of  the  least  note,  but  more  espe- 
cially the  considerable  towns,  had  their  solemn  play  or  festi- 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LADY    OF    THE    LAKE. 


257 


val,  when  feats  of  archery  were  exhibited,  and  prizes  distri- 
buted to  those  who  excelled  in  wrestling,  hurling  the  bar,  and 
the  other  gymnastic  exercises  of  the  period.  Stirling,  a 
nsual  place  of  royal  residence,  was  not  likely  to  be  deficient 
in  pomp  upon  such  occasions,  especially  since  James  V.  was 
very  partial  to  them.  His  ready  participation  in  these  popu- 
lar amusements  was  one  cause  of  his  acquiring  the  title  of 
King  of  the  Commons,  or  Rex  Plebeiorum,  as  Lesley  has  Lat- 
inized it.  The  usual  prize  to  the  best  shooter  was  a  silver 
arrow.  Such  a  one  is  preserved  at  Selkirk  and  at  Peebles. 
At  Dumfries,  a  silver  gun  was  substituted,  and  the  conten- 
tion transferred  to  firearms.  The  ceremony,  as  there  per- 
formed, is  the  subject  of  an  excellent  Scottish  poem,  by  Mr. 
John  Mayne, entitled  the  "Siller  Gun,"  1808,  which  surpasses 
the  efforts  of  Fergusson,  and  comes  near  to  those  of  Burns. 

Of  James's  attachment  to  archery,  Pitscottie,  the  faithful 
though  rude  recorder  of  the  manners  of  that  period,  has  given 
us  evidence : — 

"In  this  year  there  came  an  embassador  out  of  England, 
named  Lord  William  Howard,  with  a  bishop  with  him,  with 
many  other  gentlemen,  to  the  number  of  threescore  horse, 
which  were  all  able  men  and  waled  [picked]  men  for  all  kinds 
of  games  and  pastimes,  shooting,  louping,  running,  wrestling, 
and  casting  of  the  stone,  but  they  were  well  'sayed  [essayed 
or  tried]  ere  they  passed  out  of  Scotland,  and  that  by  their 
own  provocation  ;  but  ever  they  tint :  till  at  last,  the  Queen  of 
Scotland,  the  king's  mother,  favored  the  English-men,  be- 
cause she  was  the  King  of  England's  sister ;  and  therefore  she 
took  an  enterprise  of  archery  upon  the  English-men's  hands, 
contrary  her  son  the  king,  and  any  six  in  Scotland  that  he 
would  wale,  either  gentlemen  or  yeomen,  that  the  English- 
men should  shoot  against  them,  either  at  pricks,  revers,  or 
buts,  as  the  Scots  pleased. 

"  The  king,  hearing  this  of  his  mother,  was  content,  and 
gart  her  pawn  a  hundred  crowns,  and  a  tun  of  wine,  upon  the 
English-men's  hands ;  and  he  incontinent  laid  down  as  much 
for  the  Scottish-men.  The  field  and  ground  was  chosen  in 
St.  Andrews,  and  three  landed  men  and  three  yeomen  chosen 
to  shoot  against  the  English-men, — to  wit,  David  Wemyss  of 
that  ilk,  David  Arnot  of  that  ilk,  and  Mr.  John  Wedderburn, 
vicar  of  Dundee ;  the  yeomen,  John  Thomson,  in  Leith,  Ste- 
ven Taburner,  with  a  piper,  called  Alexander  Bailie ;  they 
Bhot  very  near,  and  warred  [worsted]  the  English-men  of  the 
enterprise,  and  wan  the  hundred  crowns  and  the  tun  of  wine, 
which  made  the  king  very  merry  that  his  men  wan  the  vic- 
tory."—P.  147. 


Note  3  R. 

Bob  in  Hood.— P.  218. 

The  exhibition  of  this  renowned  outlaw  and  his  band  was  a 
favorite  frolic  at  such  festivals  as  we  are  describing.  This 
sporting,  in  which  kings  did  not  disdain  to  be  actors,  was  pro- 
hibited in  Scotland  upon  the  Reformation,  by  a  statute  of  the 
6th  Parliament  of  Queen  Mary,  c.  61,  A.D.  1555,  which  order- 
ed, under  heavy  penalties,  that  "  na  manner  of  person  be  cho- 
sen Robert  Hude,  nor  Little  John,  Abbot  of  Unreason,  Queen 
of  May,  nor  otherwise."  But  in  1561,  the  "rascal  multitude," 
says  John  Knox,  "  were  stirred  up  to  make  a  Robin  Hude, 
whilk  enormity  was  of  many  years  left  and  damned  by  stat- 
ute and  act  of  Parliament;  yet  would  they  not  be  forbidden." 
Accordingly,  they  raised  a  very  serious  tumult,  and  at  length 
made  prisoners  the  magistrates  who  endeavored  to  suppress 
•_ 

1  Book  of  the  Universal  Kirk,  p.  414. 

2  See  Scottish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads.  Glasgow, 
1808,  vol.  ii.  p.  117. 

17 


it,  and  would  not  release  them  till  they  extorted  a  formal  pro- 
mise that  no  one  should  be  punished  for  his  share  of  the  dis- 
turbance. It  would  seem,  from  the  complaints  of  the  Gen- 
eral Assembly  of  the  Kirk,  that  these  profane  festivities  were 
continued  down  to  1592.1  Bold  Robin  was,  to  say  the  least, 
equally  successful  in  maintaining  his  ground  against  the  re- 
formed clergy  of  England ;  for  the  simple  and  evangelical 
Latimer  complains  of  coming  to  a  country  church,  where  the 
people  refused  to  hear  him  because  it  was  Robin  Hood's  day  ; 
and  his  mitre  and  rochet  were  fain  to  give  way  to  the  village 
pastime.  Much  curious  information  on  this  subject  may  be 
found  in  the  Preliminary  Dissertation  to  the  late  Mr.  Ritson's 
edition  of  the  songs  respecting  this  memorable  outlaw.  The 
game  of  Robin  Hood  was  usually  acted  in  May ;  and  he  was 
associated  with  the  morrice-dancers,  on  whom  so  much  illus- 
tration has  been  bestowed  by  the  commentators  on  Shak- 
speare.  A  very  lively  picture  of  these  festivities,  containing  a 
great  deal  of  curious  information  on  the  subject  of  the  private 
life  and  amusements  of  our  ancestors,  was  thrown,  by  the 
late  ingenious  Mr.  Strati,  into  his  romance  entitled  Queen- 
hoo  Hall,  published  after  his  death,  in  1808. 


Note  3  S. 


Indifferent  as  to  archer  wight, 

The  Monarch  gave  the  arrow  bright. — P.  218. 

The  Douglas  of  the  poem  is  an  imaginary  person,  a  supposed 
uncle  of  the  Earl  of  Angus.  But  the  king's  behavior  during 
an  unexpected  interview  with  the  Laiid  of  Kilspindie,  one 
of  the  banished  Douglases,  under  circumstances  similar  to 
those  in  the  text,  is  imitated  from  a  real  story  told  by  Hume 
of  Godscroft.  I  would  have  availed  myself  more  fully  of  the 
simple  and  affecting  circumstances  of  the  old  history  had 
they  not  been  already  woven  into  a  pathetic  ballad  by  my 
friend  Mr.  Finlay.2 

"  His  (the  king's)  implacability  (towards  the  family  of 
Douglas)  did  also  appear  in  his  carriage  towards  Archibald  of 
Kilspindie,  whom  he,  when  he  was  a  child,  loved  singularly 
well  for  his  ability  of  body,  and  was  wont  to  call  him  his 
Gray-Steill.3  Archibald,  being  banished  into  England,  could 
not  well  comport  with  the  humor  of  that  nation,  which  he 
thought  to  be  too  proud,  and  that  they  had  too  high  a  conceit 
of  themselves,  joined  with  a  contempt  and  despising  of  all 
others.  Wherefore,  being  wearied  of  that  life,  and  remem- 
bering the  king's  favor  of  old  towards  him,  he  determined  to 
try  the  king's  mercifulness  and  clemency.  So  he  comes  into 
Scotland,  and  taking  occasion  of  the  king's  hunting  in  the 
park  at  Stirling,  he  casts  himself  to  be  in  his  way,  as  he  was 
coming  home  to  the  castle.  So  soon  as  the  king  saw  him 
afar  off,  ere  he  came  near,  he  guessed  it  was  he,  and  said  to 
one  of  his  courtiers,  yonder  is  my  Gray-Steill,  Archibald  of 
Kilspindie,  if  he  be  alive.  The  other  answered  that  it  could 
not  be  he,  and  that  he  durst  not  come  into  the  king's  presence. 
The  king  approaching,  he  fell  upon  his  knees  and  craved  par- 
don, and  promised  from  thenceforward  to  abstain  from  med- 
dling in  public  afTairs,  and  to  lead  a  quiet  and  private  life. 
The  king  went  by  without  giving  him  any  answer,  and  trotted 
a  good  round  pace  up  the  hill.  Kilspindie  followed,  and 
though  he  wore  on  him  a  secret,  or  shirt  of  mail,  for  his  par- 
ticular enemies,  was  as  soon  at  the  castle  gate  as  the  king. 
There  he  sat  him  down  upon  a  stone  without,  and  entreated 
some  of  the  king's  servants  for  a  cup  of  drink,  being  weary 
and  thirsty ;  but  they,  fearing  the  king's  displeasure,  durst 

3  A  champion  of  popular  romance.  See  Ellis'  Romances, 
vol.  iii. 


258 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


give  him  none.  When  the  king  was  set  at  his  dinner,  he 
a->ked  what  lie  had  done,  what  he  had  said,  and  whither  he 
had  gone?  It  was  told  him  that  he  had  desired  a  cup  of 
drink,  and  had  gotten  none.  The  king  reproved  them  very 
sharply  tor  their  discourtesy,  and  told  them,  that  if  he  had  not 
taken  an  oath  that  no  Douglas  should  ever  serve  him,  he 
would  have  received  him  into  his  service,  for  he  had  seen 
him  sometime  a  man  of  great  ability.  Then  he  sent  him  word 
to  go  to  Leith,  and  expect  his  further  pleasure.  Then  some 
kinsman  of  David  Falconer,  the  canuonier,  that  was  slain  at 
Tantallon,  began  to  quarrel  with  Archibald  about  the  matter, 
wherewith  the  king  showed  himself  not  well  pleased  when  he 
heard  of  it.  Then  he  commanded  him  to  go  to  France  for  a' 
certain  spacefill  he  heard  farther  from  him.  And  so  he  did, 
and  died  shortly  after.  This  gave  occasion  to  the  King  of 
England  (Henry  VIII.)  to  blame  his  nephew,  alleging  the 
old  saying,  That  a  king's  face  should  give  grace.  For  this 
Archibald  (whatsoever  were  Angus's  or  Sir  George's  fault) 
had  not  been  principal  actor  of  anything,  nor  no  counsellor 
nor  stirrer  up,  but  only  a  follower  of  his  friends,  and  that 
noways  cruelty  disposed."— Hume  of  Godscroft,  ii.  107. 


Note  3  T. 


Prize  of  the  wrestling  match,  the  King 
To  Douglas  gave  a  golden  ring. — P.  218. 

The  usual  prize  of  a  wrestling  was  a  ram  and  a  ring,  but 
the  animal  would  have  embarrassed  my  story.  Thus,  in  the 
"Cokes  Tale  of  Gamelyn,"  ascribed  to  Chaucer: 

"There  happed  to  be  there  beside 

Tryed  a  wrestling: 
And  therefore  there  was  y-setten 

A  ram  and  als  a  ring." 

Again  the  "  Litil  Geste  of  Robin  Hood :" 

"  By  a  bridge  was  a  wrestling. 

And  there  taryed  was  he, 
And  there  was  all  the  best  yenien 

Of  all  the  west  countrey. 
A  full  fay  re  game  there  was  set  up, 

A  white  bull  up  y-pight, 
A  great  courser  with  saddle  and  brydle, 

With  gold  burnished  full  bryght; 
A  payre  of  gloves,  a  red  golde  ringe, 

A  pipe  of  wyne,  good  fay  ; 
What  man  bereth  him  best,  I  wis, 

The  prise  shall  bear  away." 

Kitson's  Robin  Hood,  vol.  i. 


Note  3  U. 


These  drew  not  for  their  fields  the  sword, 
Like  tenants  of  a  feudal  lord, 
A'or  own'd  the  patriarchal  claim 
Of  Chieftain  in  their  leodoi't  name; 
Adventurers  they P.  221. 

The  Scottish  armies  consisted  chiefly  of  the  nobility  and 
barons,  with  their  vassals,  who  held  lands  under  them,  for 


military  service  by  themselves  and  their  tenants.  The  patri- 
archal influence  exercised  by  the  heads  of  clans  in  the  High- 
lands and  Borders  was  of  a  different  nature,  and  sometimes  at 
variance  with  feudal  principles.  It  flowed  from  the  Palria 
Potestas,  exercised  by  the  chieftain  as  representing  the  origi- 
nal father  of  the  whole  name,  and  was  often  obeyed  in  con- 
tradiction to  the  feudal  superior.  James  V.  seems  first  to 
have  introduced,  in  addition  to  the  militia  furnished  from 
these  sources,  the  service  of  a  small  number  of  mercenaries, 
•who  formed  a  body-guard,  called  the  Foot-Band.  The  sati- 
rical poet,  Sir  David  Lindsay  (or  the  person  who  wrote  the 
prologue  to  his  play  of  the  Three  Estailes),  has  introduced 
Finlay  of  the  Foot-Band,  who,  after  much  swaggering  upon 
the  stage,  is  at  length  put  to  flight  by  the  Fool,  who  terrifies 
him  by  means  of  a  sheep's  skull  upon  a  pole.  I  have  rather 
chosen  to  give  them  the  harsh  features  of  the  mercenary 
soldiers  of  the  period,  than  of  this  Scottish  Thraso.  These 
partook  of  the  character  of  the  Adventurous  Companions  of 
Froissart  or  the  Condottieri  of  Italy. 

One  of  the  best  and  liveliest  traits  of  such  manners  is  the 
last  will  of  a  leader,  called  Geffroy  Tete  Noir,  who  having 
been  slightly  wounded  in  a  skirmish,  his  intemperance 
brought  on  a  mortal  disease.  When  he  found  himself  dying, 
he  summoned  to  his  bedside  the  adventurers  whom  he  com- 
manded, and  thus  addressed  them : — 

"  Fayre  sirs,  quod  Geffray,  I  knowe  well  ye  have  alwayes 
served  and  honoured  me  as  men  ought  to  serve  their  sove- 
raygne  and  capitayne,  and  I  shal  be  the  gladder  if  ye  wyll 
agre  to  have  to  your  capitayne  one  that  is  discended  of  my 
blode.  Beholde  here  Aleyne  Roux,  my  cosyn,  and  Peter  his 
brother,  who  are  men  of  armes  and  of  my  blode.  I  require 
you  to  make  Aleyne  your  capitayne,  and  to  swere  to  hyni 
faythe,  obeysaunce,  love,  and  loyalte,  here  in  my  presence, 
and  also  to  his  brother :  howe  be  it,  I  wyll  that  Aleyne  have 
the  soveraygne  charge.  Sir,  quod  they,  we  are  well  content, 
for  ye  hauve  ryght  well  chosen.  There  all  the  companyons 
made  them  breke  no  poynt  of  that  ye  have  ordayned  and 
commaunded."— Lord  Berners'  Froissart. 


Note  3  V. 


Thou  now  hast  glee^maiden  and  harp  ! 
Get  thee  an  ape,  and  trudge  the  land, 
The  leader  of  a  juggler  band. — P.  222. 

The  jongleurs  or  jugglers,  as  we  learn  from  the  elaborate 
work  of  the  late  Mr.  Strutt  on  the  sports  and  pastimes  of  the 
people  of  England,  used  to  call  in  the  aid  of  various  assist- 
ants to  render  these  performances  as  captivating  as  possible. 
The  glee-maiden  was  a  necessary  attendant.  Her  duty  was 
tumbling  and  dancing;  and  therefore  the  Anglo-Saxon  ver- 
sion of  Saint  Mark's  Gospel  states  Herodias  to  have  vaulted 
or  tumbled  before  King  Herod.  In  Scotland,  these  poor  crea- 
tures seem,  even  at  a  late  period,  to  have  been  bondswomen 
to  their  masters,  as  appears  from  a  case  reported  by  Foun- 
tainhall: — "  Reid  the  mountebank  pursues  Scott  of  Harden 
and  his  lady,  for  stealing  away  from  him  a  little  girl,  called  the 
tumbling-lassie,  that  danced  upon  his  stage:  and  he  claimed 
damages,  and  produced  a  contract,  whereby  he  bought  her 
from  her  mother  for  £30  Scots.  But  we  have  no  slaves  in  Scot- 
land, and  mothers  cannot  sell  their  bairns ;  and  physicians 
attested  the  employment  of  tumbling  would  kill  her;  and  her 
joints  were  now  grown  stiff,  and  she  declined  to  return ;  though 
sffe  was  at  least  a  'prentice,  and  so  could  not  run  away  from 
her  master :  yet  some  cited  Moses's  law,  that  if  a  servant  shel- 
ter himself  with  thee,  against  his  master's  cruelty,  thou  shalt 
surely  not  deliver  him  up.    The  Lords,  renUente  cancellario, 


APPENDIX  TO  THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


259 


assoilzied  Harden,  on  the  27th  of  January  (1687)."— Foun- 
tainhall's  Decisions,  vol.  i.  p.  439.1 

The  facetious  qualities  of  the  ape  soon  rendered  him  an  ac- 
ceptable addition  to  the  strolling  band  of  the  jongleur.  Ben 
Jonson,  in  his  splenetic  introduction  to  the  comedy  of  Bar- 
tholomew Fair,  is  at  pains  to  inform  the  audience  "  that  he  has 
ne'er  a  sword-and-buckler  man  in  his  Fair,  nor  a  juggler,  with 
a  well-educated  ape,  to  come  over  the  chaine  for  the  King  of 
England,  and  back  again  for  the  Prince,  and  sit  still  on  his 
haunches  for  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  Spaine." 


Note  3  W. 


Thai  stirring  air  that  peals  on  high 
O'er  Dermid's  race  our  victory. — 
Strike  it  J— P.  224. 

There  are  several  instances,  at  least  in  tradition,  of  persons 
so  much  attached  to  particular  tunes  as  to  require  to  hear 
them  on  their  deathbed.  Such  an  anecdote  is  mentioned  by 
the  late  Mr.  Riddel  of  Glenriddel,  in  his  collection  of  Border 
tunes,  respecting  an  air  called  the  Dandling  of  the  Bairns, 
for  which  a  certain  Gallovidian  laird  is  said  to  have  evinced 
this  strong  mark  of  partiality.  It  is  popularly  told  of  a  famous 
freebooter  that  he  composed  the  tune  known  by  the  name  of 
Macpherson's  Bant,  while  under  sentence  of  death,  and  played 
it  at  the  gallows-tree.  Some  spirited  words  have  been  adapted 
to  it  by  Burns.  A  similar  story  is  recounted  of  a  Welsh  bard, 
who  composed  and  played  on  his  deathbed  the  air  called 
Dafyddy  Garregg  Wen.  But  the  most  curious  example  is 
given  by  Bran  tome,  of  a  maid  of  honor  at  the  court  of  France, 
entitled  Mademoiselle  de  Limeuil : — "  Durant  sa  maladie,  dont 
elle  trespassa,  jamais  elle  ne  cessa,  ains  causa  tousjours ;  car 
elle  estoit  fort  grande  parleuse,  brocardeuse,  et  tres-bicn  et 
fort  $,  propos,  et  trSs-belle  avec  cela.  Quand  l'heure  de  sa  fin 
fut  venue,  elle  fit  venir  a  soy  son  valet  (ainsi  que  le  filles  de 
la  cour  en  ont  chacune  un),  qui  s'appelloit  Julien,  et  scavoit 
tres-bien  jouer  du  violon.  'Julien,'  luy  dit  elle,  'prenez 
vostre  violon,  et  sonnez  moy  tousjours  jusques  a  ce  que  vous 
me  voyez  morte  (car  je  m'y  en  vais)  la  defaite  des  Suisses,  et 
le  mieux  que  vous  pourrez,  et  quand  vous  serez  sur  le  mot, 
"  Tout  est  perdu,"  sonnez  le  par  quatre  ou  cing  fois  le  plus 
piteusement  que  vous  pourrez,'  ce  qui  fit  l'autre,  et  elle-mesme 
luy  aidoit  de  la  voix,  et  quand  ce  vint '  tout  est  perdu,'  elle 
le  reitera  par  deux  fois ;  et  se  tournant  de  l'autre  coste  du 
chevet,  elle  dit  S.  ses  compagnes :  '  Tout  est  perdu  a  ce  coup,  et 
dbon  escient;'  et  ainsi  deceda.  Voila  une  morte  joyeuse  et 
plaisante.  Je  tiens  ce  conte  de  deux  de  ses  compagnes,  dignes 
de  foi,  qui  virent  jouer  ce  mystere." — Oeuvres  de  Branlome, 
iii.  507.  The  tune  to  which  this  fair  lady  chose  to  make  her 
final  exit  was  composed  on  the  defeat  of  the  Swiss  at  Marig- 
nano.  The  burden  is  quoted  by  Panurge,  in  Rabelais,  and 
consists  of  these  words,  imitating  the  jargon  of  the  Swiss, 
which  is  a  mixture  of  French  and  German : — 

"  Tout  est  verlore, 
La  Tintelore, 
Tout  est  verlore,  bi  Got !" 


1  Though  less  to  my  purpose,  I  cannot  help  noticing  a  cir- 
cumstance respecting  another  of  this  Mr.  Reid's  attendants, 
which  occurred  during  James  II. 's  zeal  for  Catholic  prosely- 
tism,  and  is  told  by  Fountainhall,  with  dry  Scotch  irony: — 
"January  \~lth,  1687. — Reid  the  mountebank  is  received  into 
the  Popish  church,  and  one  of  his  blackamores  was  persuaded 
to  accept  of  baptism  from  the  Popish  priests,  and  to  turn 


Note  3  X. 

Battle  of  Beat  an  Duine.—P.  224. 

A  skirmish  actually  took  place  at  a  pass  thus  called  in  the 
Trosachs,  and  closed  with  the  remarkable  incident  mentioned 
in  the  text.  It  was  greatly  posterior  in  date  to  the  reign  of 
James  V. 

"  In  this  roughly-wooded  island,'  the  country  people  se- 
creted their  wives  and  children,  and  their  most  valuable 
effects,  from  the  rapacity  of  Cromwell's  soldiers,  during  their 
inroad  into  this  country,  in  the  time  of  the  republic.  These 
invaders,  not  venturing  to  ascend  by  the  ladders,  along  the 
side  of  the  lake,  took  a  more  circuitous  road,  through  the 
heart  of  the  Trosachs,  the  most  frequented  path  at  that  time, 
which  penetrates  the  wilderness  about  half  way  between 
Binean  and  the  lake,  by  a  tract  called  Yea-chilleach,  or  the 
Old  Wife's  Bog. 

"  In  one  of  the  defiles  of  this  by-road,  the  men  of  the  coun- 
try at  that  time  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  invading  enemy, 
and  shot  one  of  Cromwell's  men,  whose  grave  marks  the  scene 
of  action,  and  gives  name  to  that  pass.3  In  revenge  of  this 
insult,  the  soldiers  resolved  to  plunder  the  island,  to  violate 
the  women,  and  put  the  children  to  death.  With  this  brutal 
intention,  one  of  the  party,  more  expert  than  the  rest,  swam 
towards  the  island,  to  fetch  the  boat  to  his  comrades,  which 
had  carried  the  women  to  their  asylum,  and  lay  moored  in 
one  of  the  creeks.  His  companions  stood  on  the  shore  of  the 
mainland,  in  full  view  of  all  that  was  to  pass,  waiting  anxi- 
ously for  his  return  with  the  boat.  But  just  as  the  swimme* 
had  got  to  the  nearest  point  of  the  island,  and  was  laying  hold 
of  a  black  rock,  to  get  on  shore,  a  heroine,  who  stood  on  the 
very  point  where  he  meant  to  land,  hastily  snatching  a  dagger 
from  below  her  apron,  with  one  stroke  severed  his  head  from 
the  body.  His  party  seeing  this  disaster,  and  relinquishing 
all  future  hope  of  revenge  or  conquest,  made  the  best  of  their 
way  out  of  their  perilous  situation.  This  Amazon's  great- 
grandson  lives  at  Bridge  of  Turk,  who,  besides  others,  attests 
the  anecdote." — Sketch  of  the  Scenery  near  Callendar.  Stirling, 
1806,  p.  20.  I  have  only  to  add  to  this  account  that  the 
heroine's  name  was  Helen  Stuart. 


Note  3  Y. 


And  Snowdoun's  Knight  is  Scotland's  King  ! — P.  228. 

This  discovery  will  probably  remind  the  reader  of  the  beau- 
tiful Arabian  tale  of  II  Bondocani.  Yet  the  incident  is  not 
borrowed  from  that  elegant  story,  but  from  Scottish  tradition. 
James  V.,  of  whom  we  are  treating,  was  a  monarch  whose 
good  and  benevolent  intentions  often  rendered  his  romantic 
freaks  venial,  if  not  respectable,  since,  from  his  anxious  at- 
tention to  the  interests  of  the  lower  and  most  oppressed  class 
of  his  subjects,  he  was,  as  we  have  seen,  popularly  termed  the 
King  of  the  Commons.  For  the  purpose  of  seeing  that  justice 
was  regularly  administered,  and  frequently  from  the  less  jus- 
tifiable motive  of  gallantry,  he  used  to  traverse  the  vicinage 


Christian  papist ;  which  was  a  great  trophy :  he  was  called 
James,  after  the  king  and  chancellor,  and  the  apostle  James." 
— Ibid.  p.  440. 

2  That  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  Loch  Katrine,  so  often 
mentioned  in  the  text. 

3  Beallach  an  duine. 


260 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


of  his  several  palaces  in  various  disguises.  The  two  excellent 
comic  songs,  entitled  "The  Gaberlunzie  Man"  and  "We'll 
gae  nae  mair  a  roving,"  are  said  to  have  been  founded  upon 
the  success  of  his  amorous  adventures  when  travelling  in  the 
disguise  of  a  beggar.  The  latter  is  perhaps  the  best  comic 
ballad  in  any  language. 

Another  adventure,  which  had  nearly  cost  James  his  life, 
is  said  to  have  taken  place  at  the  village  of  Cramond,  near 
Edinburgh,  where  he  had  rendered  his  addresses  acceptable 
to  a  pretty  girl  of  the  lower  rank.  Four  or  five  persons, 
whether  relations  or  lovers  of  his  mistress  is  uncertain,  beset 
the  disguised  monarch  as  he  returned  from  his  rendezvous. 
Naturally  gallant,  and  an  admirable  master  of  his  weapon, 
the  king  took  post  on  the  high  and  narrow  bridge  over  the 
Almond  river,  and  defended  himself  bravely  with  his  sword. 
A  peasant,  who  was  threshing  in  a  neighboring  barn,  came 
out  upon  the  noise,  and  whether  moved  by  compassion  or  by 
natural  gallantry,  took  the  weaker  side,  aud  laid  about  with 
his  flail  so  effectually  as  to  disperse  the  assailants,  well 
threshed,  even  according  to  the  letter.  He  then  conducted 
the  king  into  his  barn,  where  his  guest  requested  a  basin  and 
a  towel,  to  remove  the  stains  of  the  broil.  This  being  pro- 
cured with  difficulty,  James  employed  himself  in  learning 
what  was  the  summit  of  his  deliverer's  earthly  wishes,  and 
found  that  they  were  bounded  by  the  desire  of  possessing,  in 
property,  the  farm  of  Braehead,  upon  which  he  labored  as 
a  bondsman.  The  lands  chanced  to  belong  to  the  crown ; 
and  James  directed  him  to  come  to  the  palace  of  Holyrood, 
and  inquire  for  the  Guidman  (i.  e.  farmer)  of  Ballengiech,  a 
name  by  which  he  was  known  in  his  excursions,  and  which 
answered  to  the  11  Bondocani  of  Haroun  Alraschid.  He  pre- 
sented himself  accordingly,  and  found,  with  due  astonish- 
ment, that  he  had  saved  his  monarch's  life,  and  that  he  was 
to  be  gratified  with  a  crown  charter  of  the  lands  of  Braehead, 
■under  the  service  of  presenting  a  ewer,  basin,  and  towel,  for 
the  king  to  wash  his  hands  when  he  shall  happen  to  pass  the 
Bridge  of  Cramond.  This  person  was  ancestor  of  the  Howi- 
sons  of  Braehead,  in  Mid-Lothian,  a  respectable  family,  who 
continue  to  hold  the  lands  (now  passed  into  the  female  line) 
under  the  same  tenure.1 

Another  of  James's  frolics  is  thus  narrated  by  Mr.  Camp- 
bell from  the  Statistical  Account: — "Being  once  benighted 
when  out  a-hunting,  and  separated  from  his  attendants,  he 
happened  to  enter  a  cottage  in  the  midst  of  a  moor  at  the  foot 
of  the  Ochil  hills,  near  Alloa,  where,  unknown,  he  was  kindly 
received.  In  order  to  regale  their  unexpected  guest,  the  gude- 
man  (i.  e.  landlord,  farmer)  desired  the  gudeicife  to  fetch  the 
hen  that  roosted  nearest  the  cock,  which  is  always  the  plump- 
est, for  the  stranger's  supper.  The  king,  highly  pleased  with 
his  night's  lodging  and  hospitable  entertainment,  told  mine 
host  at  parting  that  he  should  be  glad  to  return  his  civility, 
and  requested  that  the  first  time  he  came  to  Stirling,  he  would 
call  at  the  castle,  and  inquire  for  the  Gudcman  of  Ballenguich. 

"  Donaldson,  the  landlord,  did  not  fail  to  call  on  the  Gudeman 
of  Ballenguich,  when  his  astonishment  at  finding  that  the  king 
had  been  his  guest  afforded  no  small  amusement  to  the  merry 
monarch  and  his  courtiers;  and,  to  carry  on  the  pleasantry, 
he  was  thenceforth  designated  by  James  with  the  title  of  King 
of  the  Moors,  which  name  and  designation  have  descended 
from  father  to  son  ever  since,  and  they  have  continued  in  pos- 
session of  the  identical  spot,  the  property  of  Mr.  Erskine  of 
Mar,  till  very  lately,  when  this  gentleman,  with  reluctance, 
turned  out  the  descendant  and  representative  of  the  King  of 
the  Moors,  on  account  of  his  majesty's  invincible  indolence, 
and  great  dislike  to  reform  or  innovation  of  any  kind,  although, 


1  The  reader  will  find  this  story  told  at  greater  length,  and 
with  the  addition,  in  particular,  of  the  king  being  recognized, 
like  the  Fitz-James  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  by  being  the 
only  person  covered,  in  the  First  Series  of  Tales  of  a  Grand- 


from  the  spirited  example  of  his  neighbor  tenants  on  the 
same  estate,  he  is  convinced  similar  exertion  would  promote 
his  advantage." 

The  author  requests  permission  yet  further  to  verify  the 
subject  of  his  poem  by  an  extract  from  the  genealogical  work 
of  Buchanan  of  Auchmar,  upon  Scottish  surnames : — 

"  This  John  Buchanan  of  Auchmar  and  Arnpryor  was  after- 
wards termed  King  of  Kippen,2  upon  the  following  account : 
King  James  V.,  a  very  sociable,  debonair  prince,  residing  at 
Stirling,  in  Buchanan  of  Arnpryor's  time,  carriers  were  very 
frequently  passing  along  the  common  road,  being  near  Arn- 
pryor's house,  with  necessaries  for  the  use  of  the  king's  family ; 
and  he,  having  some  extraordinary  occasion,  ordered  one  of 
these  carriers  to  leave  his  load  at  his  house,  and  he  would  pay 
him  for  it;  which  the  carrier  refused  to  do,  telling  him  he 
was  the  king's  carrier,  and  his  load  for  his  majesty's  use ;  to 
which  Arnpryor  seemed  to  have  small  regard,  compelling  the 
carrier,  in  the  end,  to  leave  his  load ;  telling  him,  if  King 
James  was  King  of  Scotland,  he  was  King  of  Kippen,  so  that 
it  was  reasonable  he  should  share  with  his  neighbor  king  in 
some  of  these  loads,  so  frequently  carried  that  road.  The 
carrier  representing  this  usage,  and  telling  the  story,  as  Arn- 
pryor spoke  it,  to  some  of  the  king's  servants,  it  came  at 
length  to  his  majesty's  ears,  who,  shortly  thereafter,  with  a 
few  attendants,  came  to  visit  his  neighbor  king,  who  was  in 
the  meantime  at  dinner.  King  James,  having  sent  a  servant 
to  demand  access,  was  denied  the  same  by  a  tall  fellow  with 
a  battle-axe,  who  stood  porter  at  the  gate,  telling,  there  could 
be  no  access  till  dinner  was  over.  This  answer  not  satisfying 
the  king,  he  sent  to  demand  access  a  second  time;  upon 
which  he  was  desired  by  the  porter  to  desist,  otherwise  he 
would  find  cause  to  repent  his  rudeness.  His  majesty  finding 
this  method  would  not  do,  desired  the  porter  to  tell  his  mas- 
ter that  the  Goodman  of  Ballageich  desired  to  speak  with  the 
King  of  Kippen.  The  porter  telling  Arnpryor  so  much,  he, 
in  all  humble  manner,  came  and  received  the  king,  and 
having  entertained  him  with  much  sumptuousness  and  jollity, 
became  so  agreeable  to  King  James  that  he  allowed  him  to 
take  so  much  of  any  provision  he  found  carrying  that  road 
as  he  had  occasion  for;  and  seeing  he  made  the  first  visit, 
desired  Arnpryor  in  a  few  days  to  return  him  a  second  to 
Stirling,  which  he  performed,  and  continued  in  very  much 
favor  with  the  king,  always  thereafter  being  termed  King  of 
Kippen  while  he  lived." — Buchanan's  Essay  upon  the  Family 
of  Buchanan.    Edin.  1775,  8vo,  p.  74. 

The  readers  of  Ariosto  must  give  credit  for  the  amiable 
features  with  which  he  is  represented,  since  he  is  generally 
considered  as  the  prototype  of  Zerbino,  the  most  interesting 
hero  of  the  Orlando  Furioso. 


Note  3  Z. 


■  Stirling's  tower 


Of  yore  the  name  of  Snowdoun  claims. — P.  229. 

William  of  Worcester,  who  wrote  about  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  calls  Stirling  Castle  Snowdoun.  Sir  David 
Lindsay  bestows  the  same  epithet  upon  it  in  his  complaint  of 
the  Papingo : 


father,  vol.  iii.  p.  37.     The  heir  of  Braehead  discharged  hit 
duty  at  the  banquet  given  to  King  George  IV.  in  the  Parlia- 
ment House  at  Edinburgh,  in  1822. — Ed. 
s  A  small  district  of  Perthshire. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   LADY   OF   THE   LAKE. 


261 


"  Adieu,  fair  Snawdoun,  with  thy  towers  high, 
Thy  chaple-royal,  park,  and  table  round  ; 
May,  June,  and  July,  would  I  dwell  in  thee, 
Were  I  a  man,  to  hear  the  birdis  sound, 
Whilk  doth  againe  thy  royal  rock  rebound." 

Mr.  Chalmers,  in  his  late  excellent  edition  of  Sir  David  Lind- 
say's works,  has  refuted  the  chimerical  derivation  of  Snaw- 
doun from  snedding,  or  cutting.  It  was  probably  derived 
from  the  romantic  legend  which  connected  Stirling  with 
King  Arthur,  to  which  the  mention  of  the  Round  Table  gives 
countenance.    The  ring  within  which  justs  were  formerly 


practiced,  in  the  castle  park,  is  still  called  the  Round  Table. 
Snawdoun  is  the  official  title  of  one  of  the  Scottish  heralds, 
whose  epithets  seem  in  all  countries  to  have  been  fantas- 
tically adopted  from  ancient  history  or  romance. 

It  appears  (see  Note  3  Y)  that  the  real  name  by  which  James 
was  actually  distinguished  in  his  private  excursions  was  the 
Goodman  of  Ballenguich, — derived  from  a  steep  pass  leading 
up  to  the  Castle  of  Stirling,  so  called.  But  the  epithet  would 
not  have  suited  poetry,  and  would  besides  at  once,  and  pre- 
maturely, have  announced  the  plot  to  many  of  my  country- 
men, among  whom  the  traditional  stories  above  mentioned 
are  still  current. 


©Ije  Piston  of  Don  Bofcmcfc*1 


Quid  dignum  memorare  luis,  Hispania,  terris, 
Vox  humana  valet !  Claudian. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  poem  is  founded  upon  a  Spanish  tra- 
dition, particularly  detailed  in  the  Notes ;  hut  hear- 
ing, in  general,  that  Don  Roderick,  the  last  Gothic 
King  of  Spain,  when  the  invasion  of  the  Moors  was 
impending,  had  the  temerity  to  descend  into  an  an- 
cient vault,  near  Toledo,  the  opening  of  which  had 
been  denounced  as  fatal  to  the  Spanish  monarchy. 
The  legend  adds  that  his  rash  curiosity  was  mortified 
by  an  emblematical  representation  of  those  Saracens 
who,  in  the  year  714,  defeated  him  in  battle,  and  re- 
duced Spain  under  their  dominion.  I  have  presumed 
to  prolong  the  Vision  of  the  Revolutions  of  Spain 
down  to  the  present  eventful  crisis  of  the  Peninsula ; 
and  to  divide  it,  by  a  supposed  change  of  scene,  into 
Three  Periods.  The  First  of  these  represents  the 
Invasion  of  the  Moors,  the  Defeat  and  Death  of  Rod- 
erick, and  closes  with  the  peaceful  occupation  of  the 
country  by  the  Victors.  The  Second  Period  em- 
braces the  state  of  the  Peninsula,  when  the  conquests 
of  the  Spaniards  and  Portuguese  in  the  East  and 
West  Indies  had  raised  to  the  highest  pitch  the  re- 
nown of  their  arms ;  sullied,  however,  by  superstition 
and  cruelty.  Art  allusion  to  the  inhumanities  of  the 
Inquisition  terminates  this  picture.  The  Last  Part 
of  the  poem  opens  with  the  state  of  Spain  previous  to 
the  unparalleled  treachery  of  Bonaparte;  gives  a 
sketch  of  the  usurpation  attempted  upon  that  unsus- 


1  The  "Vision  of  Don  Roderick"  appeared  in  quarto  on 
July  15,  1811,  and  in  the  course  of  the  same  year  was  also  in- 
serted in  the  second  volume  of  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Regis- 
ter, which  work  was  the  property  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  then 
publishers,  Messrs.  John  Ballantyne  &  Co. 

2  The  Right  Hon.  Robert  Blair  of  Avontoun,  President  of 
the  Court  of  Sessions,  was  the  son  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Blair, 
author  of  "  The  Grave."  After  long  filling  the  office  of  Solicitor- 
General  in  Scotland  with  high  distinction,  he  was  elevated  to 
the  Presidency  in  1808.  He  died  very  suddenly  on  the  20th 
May,  1811,  in  the  70th  year  of  his  age ;  and  his  intimate 
friend,  Henry  Dundas,  first  Viscount  Melville,  having  gone 
into  Edinburgh  on  purpose  to  attend  his  remains  to  the  grave, 
was  taken  ill  not  less  suddenly,  and  died  there  the  very  hour 
that  the  funeral  took  place,  on  the  28th  of  the  same  month. 

»  In  a  letter  to  J.  B.  S.  Morritt,  Esq.,  Edinburgh,  July  1, 


picious  and  friendly  kingdom,  and  terminates  with 
the  arrival  of  the  British  succors.  It  may  be  further 
proper  to  mention  that  the  object  of  the  poem  is  less 
to  commemorate  or  detail  particular  incidents  than 
to  exhibit  a  general  and  impressive  picture  of  the 
several  periods  brought  upon  the  stage. 

I  am  too  sensible  of  the  respect  due  to  the  public,  es- 
pecially by  one  who  has  already  experienced  more  than 
ordinary  indulgence,  to  offer  any  apology  for  the  infe- 
riority of  the  poetry  to  the  subject  it  is  chiefly  designed 
to  commemorate.  Yet  I  think  it  proper  to  mention 
that  while  I  was  hastily  executing  a  work  written 
for  a  temporary  purpose,  and  on  passing  events,  the 
task  was  most  cruelly  interrupted  by  the  successive 
deaths  of  Lord  President  Blair2  and  Lord  Vis- 
count Melville.  In  those  distinguished  characters, 
I  had  not  only  to  regret  persons  whose  lives  were 
most  important  to  Scotland,  but  also  whose  notice  and 
patronage  honored  my  entrance  upon  active  life ; 
and,  I  may  add  with  melancholy  pride,  who  permit- 
ted my  more  advanced  age  to  claim  no  common  share 
in  their  friendship.  Under  such  interruptions,  the 
following  verses,  which  my  best  and  happiest  efforts 
must  have  left  far  unworthy  of  their  theme,  have,  I 
am  myself  sensible,  an  appearance  of  negligence  and 
incoherence  which,  in  other  circumstances,  I  might 
have  been  able  to  remove.3 

Edinburgh,  June  24,  1S11. 


1811,  Scott  says — "I  have  this  moment  got  your  kind  letter, 
just  as  I  was  packing  up '  Don  Roderick'  for  you.  This  patriotic 
puppet-show  has  been  finished  under  wretched  auspices ;  poor 
Lord  Melville's  death  so  quickly  succeeding  that  of  President 
Blair,  one  of  the  best  and  wisest  judges  that  ever  distributed 
justice,  broke  my  spirit  sadly.  My  official  situation  placed 
me  in  daily  contact  with  the  President,  and  his  ability  and 
candor  were  the  source  of  my  daily  admiration.  As  for  poor 
dear  Lord  Melville,  '  'tis  vain  to  name  him  whom  we  mourn 
in  vain.'  Almost  the  last  time  I  saw  him,  he  was  talking  of 
you  in  the  highest  terms'  of  regard,  and  expressing  great  hopes 
of  again  seeing  you  at  Dunira  this  summer,  where  I  proposed 
to  attend  you.  Ilei  mihi!  quid  hei  mihif  humana  perpessi 
sumus.  His  loss  will  be  long  and  severely  felt  here,  and  Envy 
is  already  paying  her  cold  tribute  of  applause  to  the  worth 
which  she  maligned  while  it  walked  upon  earth." 

(263) 


&{je  Vision  oi  Don  Ivnfcertcfc. 


JOHN    WHITMORE,   Esq., 


AND     TO    THE 

COMMITTKK    OF    SUBSCRIBERS    FOR    RELIKF    OF    THE    PORTUGUESE    SUFFERERS, 

IN    WHICH     HE     PRESIDES, 

THIS    POEM 
(THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK), 

COMPOSED    FOR    THE    BENEFIT    OF    THE    FUND    UNDER    THEIR    MANAGEMENT,1 
IS    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED    BY 

WALTER   SCOTT. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 

Lives  there  a  strain  whose  sounds  of  mounting  fire 

May  rise  distinguish'd  o'er  the  din  of  war ; 
Or  died  it  with  yon  Master  of  the  Lyre 

Who  sung  beleaguer'd  Ilion's  evil  star?2 
Such,  Wellington,  might  reach  thee  from  afar, 

Wafting  its  descant  wide  o'er  Ocean's  range ; 
Nor  shouts,  nor  clashing  arms,  its  mood  could  mar, 

All  as  it  swell'd  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet-change,3 
That  clangs  to  Britain  victory,  to  Portugal  revenge  !* 


1  "The  letters  of  Scott  to  all  his  friends  have  sufficiently 
shown  the  unflagging  interest  with  which,  among  all  his  per- 
sonal labors  and  anxieties,  he  watched  the  progress  of  the 
great  contest  in  the  Peninsula.  It  was  so  earnest  that  he 
never  on  any  journey,  not  even  in  his  very  frequent  passages 
between  Edinburgh  and  Ashestiel,  omitted  to  take  with  him 
the  largest  and  best  map  he  had  been  able  to  procure  of  the 
seat  of  war;  upon  this  he  was  perpetually  poring,  tracing  the 
marches  and  countermarches  of  the  French  and  English  by 
means  of  black  and  white  pins ;  and  not  seldom  did  Mrs.  Scott 
complain  of  this  constant  occupation  of  his  attention  and  her 
carriage.  In  the  beginning  of  1811  a  committee  was  formed 
in  London  to  collect  subscriptions  for  the  relief  of  the  Portu- 
guese, who  had  seen  their  lands  wasted,  their  vines  torn  up, 
and  their  houses  burnt  in  the  course  of  Massena's  last  unfor- 
tunate campaign;  and  Scott,  on  reading  the  advertisement, 
immediately  addressed  Mr.  Whltmore,  the  chairman,  begging 
that  the  committee  would  allow  him  to  contribute  to  their 
fund  the  profits,  to  whatever  they  might  amount,  of  a  poem 
which  he  proposed  to  write  upon  a  subject  connected  with 
the  localities  of  the  patriotic  struggle.  His  offer  was  of  course 
accepted;  and  the  'Vision  of  Don  Roderick'  was  begun  as 
soon  as  the  spring  vacation  enabled  him  to  retire  to  Ashestiel. 
(264) 


II. 
Yes!    such  a  strain,   with  all  o'er-pouring   mea« 
sure, 
Might  melodize  with  each  tumultuous  sound, 
Each  voice  of  fear  or  triumph,  woe  or  pleasure, 
That  rings  Mondego's  ravaged  shores  around ; 
The    thundering    cry    of    hosts    with    conquest 
crown'd, 
The  female  shriek,  the  ruin'd  peasant's  moan, 
The  shout  of  captives  from  their  chains  unbound, 
The  foil'd  oppressor's  deep  and  sullen  groan, 
A  Nation's  choral  hymn  for  tyranny  o'erthrown. 


"  The  poem  was  published  in  quarto  in  July ;  and  the  imme- 
diate proceeds  were  forwarded  to  the  board  in  London.  His 
friend  the  Earl  of  Dalkeith  (afterwards  Duke  of  Buccleuch) 
writes  thus  on  the  occasion: — 'Those  with  ampler  fortunes 
and  thicker  heads  may  easily  give  one  hundred  guineas  to  a 
subscription,  but  the  man  is  really  to  be  envied  who  can  draw 
that  sum  from  his  own  brains,  and  apply  the  produce  so  bene- 
ficially and  to  so  exalted  a  purpose.' " — IAfe  of  Scott,  vol.  iii. 
pp.  312,  315. 

3  MS. :  "  Who  sung  the  changes  of  the  Phrygian  jar." 

3  MS.:  "Claiming  thine  ear  'twixt  each  loud  trumpet- 
change." 

*  "  The  too  monotonous  close  of  the  stanza  is  sometimes 
diversified  by  the  adoption  of  fourteen-foot  verse, — a  license 
in  poetry  which,  since  Dryden,  has  (we  believe)  been  alto- 
gether abandoned,  but  which  is  nevertheless  very  deserving 
of  revival,  so  long  as  it  is  only  rarely  and  judiciously  used. 
The  very  first  stanza  in  this  poem  affords  an  instance  of  it; 
and,  introduced  thus  in  the  very  front  of  the  battle,  we  can- 
not help  considering  it  as  a  fault,  especially  clogged  as  it  is 
with  the  association  of  a  defective  rhyme — change,  revenye." — 
Critical  Review,  Aug.  1811. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


265 


III. 
But  we,  weak  minstrels  of  a  laggard  day, 

SkilFd  but  to  imitate  an  elder  page, 
Timid  and  raptureless,  can  we  repay1 

The  debt  thou  claim'st  in  this  exhausted  age? 
Thou  givest  our  lyres  a  theme  that  might  engage 

Those  that  could  send  thy  name  o'er  sea  and  land, 
While  sea  and  land  shall  last ;  for  Homer's  rage 

A  theme ;  a  theme  for  Milton's  mighty  hand — 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  a  faint  degenerate  band  I2 

IV. 

Ye  mountains  stern !  within  whose  rugged  breast 
The  friends  of  Scottish  freedom  found  repose ; 
Ye  torrents!   whose  hoarse  sounds  have  soothed 
their  rest, 
Returning  from  the  field  of  vanquish'd  foes ; 
Say,  have  ye  lost  each  wild  majestic  close 

That  erst  the  choir  of  Bards  or  Druids  flung, 
What  time  their  hymn  of  victory  arose, 
And  Cattraeth's  glens  with  voice  of  triumph  rung, 
And  mystic  Merlin  harp'd,  and  grayhair'd  Llywarch 
sung  !3 


Oh,  if  your  wilds  such  minstrelsy  retain, 

As  sure  your  changeful  gales  seem  oft  to  say, 
When  sweeping  wild  and  sinking  soft  again, 

Like  trumpet-jubilee,  or  harp's  wild  sway; 
If  ye  can  echo  such  triumphant  lay, 

Then  lend  the  note  to  him  has  loved  you  long ! 
Who  pious  gather'd  each  tradition  gray 

That  floats  your  solitary  wastes  along, 
And  with  affection  vain  gave  them  new  voice  in  song. 

VI. 

For  not  till  now,  how  oft  soe'er  the  task 

Of  truant  verse  hath  lighten'd  graver  care, 
From  Muse  or  Sylvan  was  he  wont  to  ask, 

In  phrase  poetic,  inspiration  fair ; 
Careless  he  gave  his  numbers  to  the  air, 

They  came  unsought  for,  if  applauses  came ; 
Nor  for  himself  prefers  he  now  the  prayer ; 

Let  but  his  verse  befit  a  hero's  fame, 
Immortal  be  the  verse !  forgot  the  poet's  name. 

VII. 

Hark,  from  yon  misty  cairn  their  answer  tost  :4 
"  Minstrel !  the  fame  of  whose  romantic  lyre, 

Capricious  swelling  now,  may  soon  be  lost, 
Like  the  light  flickering  of  a  cottage  fire ; 

If  to  such  task  presumptuous  thou  aspire, 
Seek  not  from  us  the  meed  to  warrior  due : 

Age  after  age  has  gather'd  son  to  sire, 

1  MS. :  "  Unform'd  for  rapture,  how  shall  we  repay." 
*  MS. :  "  Thou  givest  our  verse  a  theme  that  might  engage 
Lyres  that  could  richly  yield  thee  hack  its  due ; 
A  theme  might  kindle  Homer's  mighty  rage ; 
A  theme  more  grand  than  Maro  ever  knew — 
How  much  unmeet  for  us,  degenerate,  frail,  and  few !" 


Since  our  gray  cliffs  the  din  of  conflict  knew, 
Or,  pealing  through  our  vales,  victorious  bugles  blew. 

VIII. 
"  Decay'd  our  old  traditionary  lore, 

Save  where  the  lingering  fays  renew  their  ring, 
By  milkmaid  seen  beneath  the  hawthorn  hoar, 
Or  round  the  marge  of  Minchmore's  haunted 
spring  ;5 
Save  where  their  legends  grayhair'd  shepherds  sing, 

That  now  scarce  win  a  listening  ear  but  thine, 
Of  feuds  obscure,  and  Border  ravaging, 
And  rugged  deeds  recount  in  rugged  line, 
Of  moonlight  foray  made  on  Teyiot,  Tweed,  or  Tyne. 

IX. 

"  No !  search  romantic  lands,  where  the  near  Sun 

Gives  with  unstinted  boon  ethereal  flame, 
Where  the  rude  villager,  his  labor  done, 

In  verse  spontaneous6  chants  some  favor'd  name, 
Whether  Olalia's  charms  his  tribute  claim, 

Her  eye  of  diamond,  and  her  locks  of  jet ; 
Or  whether,  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grseme,7 

He  sing,  to  wild  Morisco  measure  set, 
Old  Albin's  red  claymore,  green  Erin's  bayonet ! 


"  Explore  those  regions  where  the  flinty  crest 

Of  wild  Nevada  ever  gleams  with  snows, 
Where  in  the  proud  Alhambra's  ruin'd  breast 

Barbaric  monuments  of  pomp  repose ; 
Or  where  the  banners  of  more  ruthless  foes 

Than  the  fierce  Moor  float  o'er  Toledo's  fane, 
From  whose  tall  towers  even  now  the  patriot  throws 

An  anxious  glance,  to  spy  upon  the  plain 
The  blended  ranks  of  England,  Portugal,  and  Spain. 

XI. 

"  There,  of  Numantian  fire  a  swarthy  spark 

Still  lightens  in  the  sunburnt  native's  eye; 
The  stately  port,  slow  step,  and  visage  dark, 

Still  mark  enduring  pride  and  constancy. 
And,  if  the  glow  of  feudal  chivalry 

Beam  not,  as  once,  thy  nobles'  dearest  pride, 
Iberia !  oft  thy  crestless  peasantry 

Have  seen  the  plumed  Hidalgo  quit  their  side, 
Have  seen,  yet  dauntless  stood — 'gainst  fortune  fought 
and  died. 

XII. 

"  And  cherish'd  still  by  that  unchanging  race8 
Are  themes  for  minstrelsy  more  high  than  thine ; 

Of  strange  tradition  many  a  mystic  trace, 
Legend  and  vision,  prophecy  and  sign ; 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

4  MS. :  "  Hark,  from  gray  Needpath's  mists,  the  Brothers'  \ 

cairn.  > 

"  Hark,  from  the  Brothers'  cairn  the  answer  tost."  J 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  B.  6  Ibid.  Note  C.  7  Ibid.  Note  D. 
8  MS. :  "  And  lingering  still  'mid  that  unchanging  race." 


2GG 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 

With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade, 
Forming  a  model  meet  for  minstrel  line. 
Go,  seek   such  theme!" — The   Mountain  Spirit 
said: 
With  filial  awe  I  heard — I  heard,  and  I  obey'd.1 


ftfje  Vision  of  Don  ftootriefc. 


Rearing  their  crests  amid  the  cloudless  skies, 

And  darkly  clustering  in  the  pale  moonlight, 
Toledo's  holy  towers  and  spires  arise, 

As  from  a  trembling  lake  of  silver  white. 
Their  mingled  shadows  intercept  the  sight 

Of  the  broad  burial-ground  outstretch'd  below, 
And  nought  disturbs  the  silence  of  the  night; 

All  sleeps  in  sullen  shade,  or  silver  glow, 
All  save  the  heavy  swell  of  Teio's  ceaseless  flow.2 

II. 

All  save  the  rushing  swell  of  Teio's  tide, 

Or,  distant  heard,  a  courser's  neigh  or  tramp, 
Their  changing  rounds  as  watchful  horsemen  ride, 

To  guard  the  limits  of  King  Roderick's  camp. 
For,  through  the  river's  night-fog  rolling  damp, 

Was  many  a  proud  pavilion  dimly  seen,3 
Which  glimmer'd  back,  against  the  moon's  fair  lamp, 

Tissues  of  silk  and  silver  twisted  sheen, 
And  standards  proudly  pitch'd,  and  warders  arm'd 
between. 

in. 

But  of  their  Monarch's  person  keeping  ward, 
Since  last  the  deep-mouth'd  bell  of  vespers  toll'd, 

The  chosen  soldiers  of  the  royal  guard 
The  post  beneath  the  proud  Cathedral  hold : 

A  band  unlike  their  Gothic  sires  of  old, 

i  "The  Introduction,  we  confess,"  says  the  Quarterly  Re- 
viewer, "docs  not  please  us  so  well  as  the  rest  of  the  poem, 
though  the  reply  of  the  Mountain  Spirit  is  exquisitely  writ- 
ten." The  Edinburgh  critic,  after  quoting  stanzas  ix.  x.  and 
xi.,  says— "The  Introduction,  though  splendidly  written,  is 
too  long  for  so  short  a  poem  ;  and  the  poet's  dialogue  witli  his 
native  mountains  is  somewhat  too  startling  and  unnatural. 
The  most  spirited  part  of  it,  we  think,  is  their  direction  to 
Spanish  themes." 

2  The  Monthly  Review,  for  1811,  in  quoting  this  stanza 
says— "  Scarcely  any  poet,  of  any  age  or  country,  has  exci  lied 
Mr.  Scott  in  bringing  before  our  sight  the  very  scene  which 
he  is  describing— in  giving  a  reality  of  existence  to  evi  ry 
object  on  which  he  dwells;  and  it  is  on  such  occasions,  especi- 
ally suited  as  they  seem  to  the  habits  of  the  mind,  thai  his 
style  itself  catches  a  character  of  harmony  which  is  far  from 
being  universally  its  own.  How  vivid,  yet  how  soft,  is  this 
picture !" 

*  MS.:  "For,  stretch'd  beside  the  river's  margin  damp, 
Their  proud  pavilions  hide  the  meadow  green." 

4  MS.;  "Bore  javelins  slight,"  Ac. 

5  The  Critical  Reviewer,  having  quoted  stanzas  i.  ii.  and  Hi., 
says— "  To  the  specimens  with  which  his  former  works  abound, 


Who,  for  the  cap  of  steel  and  iron  mace, 
Bear  slender  darts,4  and  casques  bedeck'd  with  gold, 
While  silver-studded  belts  their  shoulders  grace, 
Where  ivory  quivers  ring  in  the  broad  falchion's  place.5 

IV. 

In  the  light  language  of  an  idle  court, 

They  murmur'd  at  their  master's  long  delay, 
And  held  his  lengthen'd  orisons  in  sport : — 

"  "What!  will  Don  Roderick  here  till  morning  stay, 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away  ? 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For  fair  Florinda's  plunder'd  charms  to  pay  ?" — • 

Then  to  the  east  their  weary  eyes  they  cast, 
And  wish'd  the  lingering  dawn  would  glimmer  forth 
at  last. 


But,  far  within,  Toledo's  Prelate  lent 

An  ear  of  fearful  wonder  to  the  King; 
The  silver  lamp  a  fitful  lustre  sent, 

So  long  that  sad  confession  witnessing : 
For  Roderick  told  of  many  a  hidden  thing, 

Such  as  are  lothly  utter'd  to  the  air, 
When  Fear,  Remorse,  and  Shame,  the  bosom  wring, 

And  Guilt  his  secret  burden  cannot  bear, 
And  Conscience  seeks  in  speech  a  respite  from  De- 
spair. 

VI. 

Full  on  the  Prelate's  face,  and  silver  hair, 

The  stream  of  failing  light  was  feebly  roll'd  :T 
But  Roderick's  visage,  though  his  head  was  bare, 

Was  shadow'd  by  his  hand  and  mantle's  fold. 
While  of  his  hidden  soul  the  sins  he  told, 

Proud  Alaric's  descendant  could  not  brook8 
That  mortal  man  his  bearing  should  behold, 

Or  boast  that  he  had  seen,  when  Conscience  shook, 
Fear  tame  a  monarch's  brow,  Remorse  a  warrior's 
look.9 

of  Mr.  Scott's  unrivalled  excellence  in  the  descriptions  both 
of  natural  scenery  and  romantic  manners  and  costume,  these 
stanzas  will  be  thought  no  mean  addition." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

'  MS. :  "  The  feeble  lamp  in  dying  lustre  1      .., ,  „ 

"  The  waves  of  broken  light  were  feebly  J 

8  MS. :  "  The  haughty  monarch's  heart  could  evil  brook." 

•  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  says — "The  moonlight  scenery 
of  the  camp  and  burial-ground  is  evidently  by  the  same 
powerful  hand  which  sketched  the  Abbey  of  Melrose;  and  in 
this  picture  of  Roderick's  confession,  there  are  traits  of  even 
a  higher  cast  of  sublimity  and  pathos." 

The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  introduces  his  quotations  of  the 
i.,  ii.,  v.,  and  vi.  stanzas  thus: — "The  poem  is  substantially 
divided  into  two  compartments— the  one  representing  the 
fabulous  or  prodigious  acts  of  Don  Roderick's  own  time,  and 
the  other  the  recent  occurrences  which  have  ^nce  signalized 
the  same  quarter  of  the  world.  Mr.  Scott,  we  think,  is  most 
at  home  in  the  first  of  these  fields ;  and  we  think,  upon  the 
whole,  has  most  success  in  it.  The  opening  affords  a  fine 
specimen  of  his  unrivalled  powers  of  description." 

The  reader  may  be  gratified  with  having  the  following 
lines,  from  Mr.  Southey's  "Roderick,"  inserted  here: — 


THE  VISION   OF   DON   EODEKICK. 


267 


VII. 
The  old  man's  faded  cheek  wax'd  yet  more  pale, 

As  many  a  secret  sad  the  King  bewray'd ; 
As  sign  and  glance  eked  out  the  unfinished  tale, 

When  in  the  midst  his  faltering  whisper  staid. — 
"  Thus  royal  Witiza1  was  slain,"  he  said ; 

"  Yet,  holy  Father,  deem  not  it  was  I." 
Thus  still  Ambition  strives  her  crimes  to  shade. — 

"  Oh !  rather  deem  'twas  stern  necessity ! 
Self-preservation  bade,  and  I  must  kill  or  die. 

VIII. 

"  And  if  Florinda's  shrieks  alarm'd  the  air, 

If  she  invoked  her  absent  sire  in  vain, 
And  on  her  knees  implored  that  I  would  spare, 

Yet,  reverend  priest,  thy  sentence  rash  refrain ! — 
All  is  not  as  it  seems — the  female  train 

Know  by  their  bearing  to  disguise  their  mood." — 
But  Conscience  here,  as  if  in  high  disdain, 

Sent  to  the  Monarch's  cheek  the  burning  blood ; 
He  stay'd  his  speech  abrupt — and  up   the  Prelate 
stood. 

IX. 

"  Oh  harden'd  offspring  of  an  iron  race ! 

What  of  thy  crimes,  Don  Roderick,  shall  I  say  ? 
What  alms,  or  prayers,  or  penance,  can  efface 

Murder's  dark  spot,  wash  treason's  stain  away? 
For  the  foul  ravisher  how  shall  I  pray, 

Who,  scarce  repentant,  makes  his  crime  his  boast  ? 
How  hope  Almighty  vengeance  shall  delay, 

Unless,  in  mercy  to  yon  Christian  host, 
He  spare  the  shepherd,2  lest  the  guiltless  sheep  be 
lost?" 


Then  kindled  the  dark  Tyrant  in  his  mood, 

And  to  his  brow  return'd  its  dauntless  gloom ; 
"  And  welcome  then,"  he  cried,  "  be  blood  for  blood, 

For  treason  treachery,  for  dishonor  doom ! 
Yet  will  I  know  whence  come  they,  or  by  whom. 

Show,  for  thou  canst — give  forth  the  fated  key, 
And  guide  me,  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room,3 

Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation's  future  fates  a  Spanish  King  shall  see." — 4 


'  Then  Roderick  knelt 


Before  the  holy  man,  and  strove  to  speak : 

'  Thou  seest,'  he  cried, — '  thou  seest ' — but  memory 

And  suffocating  thoughts  represt  the  word, 

And  shudderings,  like  an  ague  fit,  from  head 

To  foot  convulsed  him :  till  at  length,  subduing 

His  nature  to  the  effort,  he  exclaim'd, 

Spreading  his  hands,  and  lifting  up  his  face, 

As  if  resolved  in  penitence  to  bear 

A  human  eye  upon  his  shame — '  Thou  seest 

Roderick  the  Goth !    That  name  should  have  sufficed 

To  tell  the  whole  abhorred  history : 

He  not  the  less  pursued, — the  ravisher, 

The  cause  of  all  this  ruin !' — Having  said, 

In  the  same  posture  motionless  he  knelt, 

Arms  straiten'd  down,  and  hands  outspread,  and  eyes 


XL 

"  Ill-fated  Prince !  recall  the  desperate  word,  . 

Or  pause  ere  yet  the  omen  thou  obey ! 
Bethink,  yon  spell-bound  portal  would  afford5 

Never  to  former  Monarch  entrance-way ; 
Nor  shall  it  ever  ope,  old  records  say, 

Save  to  a  King,  the  last  of  all  his  line, 
What  time  his  empire  totters  to  decay, 

And  treason  digs,  beneath,  her  fatal  mine, 
And,  high  above,  impends  avenging  wrath  divine." — 

XII. 

"  Prelate !  a  Monarch's  fate  brooks  no  delay ; 

Lead  on !" — The  ponderous  key  the  old  man  took, 
And  held  the  winking  lamp,  and  led  the  way, 

By  winding  stair,  dark  aisle,  and  secret  nook, 
Then  on  an  ancient  gateway  bent  his  look ; 

And,  as  the  key  the  desperate  King  essay'd, 
Low  mutter'd  thunders  the  Cathedral  shook, 

And  twice  he  stopp'd,  and  twice  new  effort  made, 
TiU  the  huge  bolts  roll'd  back,  and  the  loud  hinges 
bray'd. 

XIII. 

Long,  large,  and  lofty,  was  that  vaulted  hall ; 

Poof,  walls,  and  floor,  were  all  of  marble  stone, 
Of  polish'd  marble,  black  as  funeral  pall, 

Carved  o'er  with  signs  and  characters  unknown. 
A  paly  light,  as  of  the  dawning,  shone 

Through  the  sad  bounds,  but  whence  they  could 
not  spy, 
For  window  to  the  upper  air  was  none ; 

Yet,  by  that  light,  Don  Roderick  could  descry 
Wonders  that  ne'er  till  then  were  seen  by  mortal  eye. 

XIV. 

Grim  sentinels,  against  the  upper  wall, 

Of  molten  bronze,  two  Statues  held  their  place ; 
Massive  their  naked  limbs,  their  stature  tall, 

Their  frowning  foreheads  golden  circles  grace. 
Moulded  they  seem'd  for  kings  of  giant  race, 

That  lived  and  sinn'd  before  the  avenging  flood ; 
This  grasp'd  a  scythe,  that  rested  on  a  mace ;  [stood ; 

This  spread  his  wings  for  flight,  that  pondering 
Each  stubborn  seem'd  and  stern,  immutable  of  mood. 


Raised  to  the  Monk,  like  one  who  from  his  voice 

Expected  life  or  death." — 
Mr.  Southey,  in  a  note  to  these  lines,  says,  "  The  '  Vision  of 
Don  Roderick'  supplies  a  singular  contrast  to  the  picture 
which  is  represented  in  this  passage.  I  have  great  pleasure 
in  quoting  the  stanzas  (v.  and  vi.) ;  if  the  contrast  had  been 
intentional,  it  could  not  have  been  more  complete." 

1  The  predecessor  of  Roderick  upon  the  Spanish  throne, 
and  slain  by  his  connivance,  as  is  affirmed  by  Rodriguez  of 
Toledo,  the  father  of  Spanish  history. 

2  MS. :  "  He  spare  to  smite  the  shepherd,  lest  the  sheep  be 

lost?" 
9  MS. :  "  And  guide  me,  Prelate,  to  that  secret  room." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

6  MS. :      "  Or  pause  the  omen  of  thy  fate  to  weigh ! 
Bethink,  that  brazen  portal  would  afford." 


268 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


XV. 

Fix'd  was  the  right-hand  Giant's  brazen  look 

I "]><>n  his  brother's  glass  of  shifting  sand, 
As  if  its  ebb  he  measured  by  a  book, 

Whose  iron  volume  loaded  his  huge  hand ; 
In  which  was  wrote  of  many  a  fallen  land, 

Of  empires  lost,  and  kings  to  exile  driven : 
And  o'er  that  pair  their  names  in  scroll  expand — 

"  Lo,  Destiny  and  Time  !  to  whom  by  Heaven 
The    guidance    of    the    earth    is    for    a    season 
given." — 

XVI. 

Even  while  they  read,  the  sand-glass  wastes  away ; 

And,  as  the  last  and  lagging  grains  did  creep, 
That  right-hand  Giant  'gan  his  club1  upsway, 

As  one  that  startles  from  a  heavy  sleep. 
Full  on  the  upper  wall  the  mace's  sweep 

At  once  descended  with  the  force  of  thunder, 
And  hurtling  down  at  once,  in  crumbled  heap, 

The  marble  boundary  was  rent  asunder, 
And  gave  to  Roderick's  view  new  sights  of  fear  and 
wonder. 

XVII. 

For  they  might  spy,  beyond  that  mighty  breach, 

Realms  as  of  Spain  in  vision'd  prospect  laid, 
Castles  and  towers,  in  due  proportion  each, 

As  by  some  skillful  artist's  hand  portray'd : 
Here,  crossed  by  many  a  wild  Sierra's  shade, 

And  boundless  plains  that  tire  the  traveller's  eye ; 
There,  rich  with  vineyard  and  with  olive  glade, 

Or  deep-embrown'd  by  forests  huge  and  high, 
Or  wash'd   by  mighty   streams,  that   slowly  mur- 
mur'd  by. 

XVIII. 

And  here,  as  erst  upon  the  antique  stage, 

Pass'd  forth  the  band  of  masquers  trimly  led, 
In  various  forms,  and  various  equipage, 

While  fitting  strains  the  hearer's  fancy  fed  ; 
So,  to  sad  Roderick's  eye  in  order  spread, 

Successive  pageants  fill'd  that,  mystic  scene, 
Showing  the  fate  of  battles  ere  they  bled, 

And  issue  of  events  that  had  not  been ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  strange  sounds  were  heard  be- 
tween. 

1  MS.:  "Arm — mace — club." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

3  "Oh,  who  could  tell  what  deeds  were  wrought  that  day; 
Or  who  endure  to  hear  the  tale  of  rage, 
Hatred,  and  madness,  and  despair,  and  fear, 
Horror,  and  wounds,  and  agony,  and  death, 
The  cries,  the  blasphemies,  the  shrieks,  and  groans, 
And  prayers,  which  mingled  in  the  din  of  arms, 
In  one  wild  uproar  of  terrific  sounds." 

Southey's  Roderick,  vol.  ii.  p.  171. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

6  "  Upon  the  banks 

Of  Sella  was  Orelia  found,  his  legs 


XIX. 

First  shrill'd  an  unrepeated  female  shriek ! — 

It  seem'd  as  if  Don  Roderick  knew  the  call, 
For  the  bold  blood  was  blanching  in  his  cheek. — 

Then  answer'd  kettle-drum  and  atabal, 
Gong-peal  and  cymbal-clank  the  ear  appall ; 

The  Tecbir  war-cry,  and  the  Lelie's  yell,2 
Ring  wildly  dissonant  along  the  hall. 

Needs  not  to  Roderick  their  dread  import  tell — 
"  The  Moor  !"  he  cried,  "  the  Moor ! — ring  out  the 
Tocsin  bell ! 

XX. 

"  They  come  !  they  come !  I  see  the  groaning  lands 

White  with  the  turbans  of  each  Arab  horde ; 
Swart  Zaarah  joins  her  misbelieving  bands, 

Alia  and  Mahomet  their  battle-word, 
The  choice  they  yield,  the  Koran  or  the  Sword : 

See  how  the  Christians  rush  to  arms  amain ! — 
In  yonder  shout  the  voice  of  conflict  roar'd,3 

The  shadowy  hosts  are  closing  on  the  plain ; — 
Now,  God  and  Saint  Iago  strike  for  the  good  cause 
of  Spain ! 

XXI. 

"  By  heaven,  the  Moors  prevail !  the  Christians  yield! 
Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign ! 

The  sceptred  craven  mounts  to  quit  the  field- 
Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia  ? — Yes,  'tis  mine  !* 

But  never  was  she  turn'd  from  battle-line : 
Lo !  where  the  recreant  spurs  o'er  stock  and  stone ! 

Curses  pursue  the  slave,  and  wrath  divine !       [tone 
Rivers  ingulf  him !" — "  Hush,"    in   shuddering 
The  Prelate  said  ; — "  rash  Prince,  yon  vision'd  form's 
thine  own." 

XXII. 

Just  then,  a  torrent  cross'd  the  flier's  course ; 

The  dangerous  ford  the  Kingly  Likeness  tried ; 
But  the  deep  eddies  whelm'd  both  man  and  horse, 

Swept  like  benighted  peasant  down  the  tide  ;5 
And  the  proud  Moslemah  spread  far  and  wide, 

As  numerous  as  their  native  locust  band ; 
Berber  and  Ismael's  sons  the  spoils  divide, 

With  naked  scimitars  mete  out  the  land, 
And  for  the  bondsmen  base  the   freeborn   natives 
brand. 


And  flanks  incarnadined,  his  poitrel  smear'd 
With  froth  and  foam  and  gore,  his  silver  mane 
Sprinkled  with  blood,  which  hung  on  every  hair, 
Aspersed  like  dewdrops  ;  trembling  there  he  stood, 
From  the  toil  of  battle,  and  at  times  sent  forth 
His  tremulous  voice,  far-echoing,  loud,  and  shrill, 
A  frequent,  anxious  cry,  with  which  he  seem'd 
To  call  the  master  whom  he  loved  so  well, 
And  who  had  thus  again  forsaken  him. 
Siveriac's  helm  and  cuirass  on  the  grass 
Lay  near ;  and  Julian's  sword,  its  hilt  and  chain 
Clotted  with  blood;  but  where  was  he  whose  hand 
Had  wielded  it  so  well  that  glorious  day  ?" 

Southey's  Roderick. 


THE    VISION   OF   DON    RODERICK. 


269 


XXIII. 

Then  rose  the  grated  Harem,  to  enclose 

The  loveliest  maidens  of  the  Christian  line ; 
Then,  menials,  to  their  misbelieving  foes 

Castile's  young  nobles  held  forbidden  wine ; 
Then,  too,  the  holy  Cross,  salvation's  sign, 

By  impious  hands  was  from  the  altar  thrown, 
And  the  deep  aisles  of  the  polluted  shrine 

Echo'd,  for  holy  hymn  and  organ-tone, 
The  Santon's  frantic  dance,  the  Fakir's  gibbering 
moan. 

XXIV. 

How  fares  Don  Roderick  ? — E'en  as  one  who  spies 

Flames  dart  their  glare  o'er  midnight's    sable 
woof, 
And  hears  around  his  children's  piercing  cries, 

And  sees  the  pale  assistants  stand  aloof; 
While  cruel  Conscience  brings  him  bitter  proof, 

His  folly  or  his  crime  have  caused  his  grief; 
And  while  above  him  nods  the  crumbling  roof, 

He  curses  earth  and  Heaven — himself  in  chief — 
Desperate  of  earthly  aid,  despairing  Heaven's  relief! 

XXV. 

That  scythe-arm'd  Giant  turn'd  his  fatal  glass, 
And    Twilight    on    the    landscape    closed    her 
wings; 
Far  to  Asturian  hills  the  war-sounds  pass, 

And  in  their  stead  rebeck  or  timbrel  rings ; 
And  to  the  sound  the  bell-deck'd  dancer  springs, 
Bazaars  resound  as  when  their  marts  are  met, 
In  tourney  light  the  Moor  his  jerrid  flings, 
And  on  the  land  as  evening  seem'd  to  set, 
The  Imaum's  chant  was  heard  from  mosque  or  min- 
aret.1 

XXVI. 

So  pass'd  that  pageant.    Ere  another  came,* 

The  visionary  scene  was  wrapp'd  in  smoke, 
Whose  sulph'rous  wreaths  were  cross'd  by  sheets  of 
flame; 
With  every  flash  a  bolt  explosive  broke, 
Till  Roderick  deem'd  the  fiends  had  burst  their  yoke, 
And  waved  'gainst  heaven  the  infernal  gonfalone ! 
For  War  a  new  and  dreadful  language  spoke, 
Never  by  ancient  warrior  heard  or  known ; 
Lightning  and  smoke  her  breath,  and  thunder  was 
her  tone. 


1  "  The  manner  in  which  the  pageant  disappears  is  very 
beautiful." — Quarterly  Review. 

8  "We  come  now  to  the  Second  Period  of  the  Vision;  and 
we  cannot  avoid  noticing  with  much  commendation  the  dex- 
terity and  graceful  ease  with  which  the  first  two  scenes  are 
connected.  Without  abruptness,  or  tedious  apology  for  tran- 
sition, they  melt  into  each  other  with  very  harmonious  effect ; 
and  we  strongly  recommend  this  example  of  skill,  perhaps, 
exhibited  without  any  effort,  to  the  imitation  of  contempo- 
rary poets." — MorUhly  Review. 


XXVII. 

From  the  dim  landscape  roll  the  clouds  away — 

The  Christians  have  regain'd  their  heritage ; 
Before  the  Cross  has  waned  the  Crescent's  ray, 

And  many  a  monastery  decks  the  stage, 
And  lofty  church,  and  low-brow'd  hermitage. 

The  land  obeys  a  Hermit  and  a  Knight, — 
The  Genii  those  of  Spain  for  many  an  age ; 

This  clad  in  sackcloth,  that  in  armor  bright, 
And  that  was  Valor  named,  this   Bigotry  waa 
bight.3 

XXVIII. 
Valor  was  harness'd  like  a  chief  of  old, 
Arm'd  at  all  points,  and  prompt  for  knightly 
gest  ;* 
His  sword  was  temper'd  in  the  Ebro  cold, 
Morena's  eagle  plume  adorn'd  his  crest, 
The  spoils  of  Afric's  lion  bound  his  breast. 
Fierce  he  stepp'd  forward  and  flung  down  his 
gage, 
As  if  of  mortal  kind  to  brave  the  best. 

Him  follow'd  his  Companion,  dark  and  sage, 
As  he,  my  Master,  sung  the  dangerous  Archimage. 

XXIX. 

Haughty  of  heart  and  brow  the  Warrior  came, 

In  look  and  language  proud  as  proud  might  be, 
Vaunting  his  lordship,  lineage,  fights,  and  fame : 
Yet  was  that  barefoot  Monk  more  proud  than 
he: 
And  as  the  ivy  climbs  the  tallest  tree, 

So  round  the  loftiest  soul  his  toils  he  wound, 
And  with  his  spells  subdued  the  fierce  and  free, 
Till  ermined  Age  and  Youth  in  arms  renown'd, 
Honoring  his  scourge  and  hair-cloth,  meekly  kiss'd 
the  ground. 

XXX. 

And  thus  it  chanced  that  Valor,  peerless  knight, 

Who  ne'er  to  King  or  Kaiser  veil'd  his  crest, 
Victorious  still  in  bull-feast  or  in  fight, 

Since  first  his  limbs  with  mail  he  did  invest, 
Stoop'd  ever  to  that  Anchoret's  behest ; 

Nor  reason'd  of  the  right,  nor  of  the  wrong, 
But  at  his  bidding  laid  the  lance  in  rest, 

And    wrought    fell    deeds    the    troubled    world 
along, 
For  he  was  fierce  as  brave,  and  pitiless  as  strong. 


3  "These  allegorical  personages,  which  are  thus  described, 
are  sketched  in  the  true  spirit  of  Spenser ;  but  we  are  not  sure 
that  we  altogether  approve  of  the  association  of  such  imagi- 
nary beings  with  the  real  events  that  pass  over  the  stage ;  and 
these,  as  well  as  the  form  of  ambition  which  precedes  the 
path  of  Bonaparte,  have  somewhat  the  air  of  the  immortals 
of  the  Luxemburg  gallery,  whose  naked  limbs  and  tridents, 
thunderbolts  and  caducei,  are  so  singularly  contrasted  with 
the  ruffs  and  whiskers,  the  queens,  archbishops,  and  cardi- 
nals of  France  and  Navarre." — Quarterly  Review. 

*  "  Armed  at  all  points,  exactly  cap-a-pee." — Hamlet. 


270 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXXI. 

Oft  his  proud  galleys  sought  some  new-found  world, 

That  latest  sees  the  sun,  or  first  the  morn ; 
Still  at  that  Wizard's  feet  their  spoils  he  hurl'd,— 

Ingots  of  ore  from  rich  Potosi  borne, 
Crowns  by  Caciques,  aigrettes  by  Omrahs  worn, 

Wrought  of  rare  gems,  but  broken,  rent,  and  foul ; 
Idols  of  gold  from  heathen  temples  torn, 

Bedabbled  all  with  blood. — With  grisly  scowl 
The  Hermit  mark'd  the  stains,  and  smiled  beneath 
his  cowl. 

XXXII. 

Then  did  he  bless  the  offering,  and  bade  make 

Tribute  to  Heaven  of  gratitude  and  praise ; 
And  at  his  word  the  choral  hymns  awake, 

And  many  a  hand  the  silver  censer  sways ; 
But  with  the  incense-breath  these  censers  raise, 

Mix  steams  from  corpses  smouldering  in  the  fire; 
The  groans  of  prison'd  victims  mar  the  lays, 

And  shrieks  of  agony  confound  the  quire ; 
While,  'mid  the  mingled  sounds,  the  darken'd  scenes 
expire. 

XXXIII. 

Preluding  light,  were  strains  of  music  heard, 

As  once  again  revolved  that  measured  sand  ; 
Such  sounds  as  when,  for  sylvan  dance  prepared, 

Gay  Xeres  summons  forth  her  vintage  band ; 
When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 

The  mozo  blithe,  with  gay  muchacha  met,1 
He  conscious  of  his  broider'd  cap  and  band, 

She  of  her  netted  locks  and  light  corsette, 
Each  tiptoe  perch'd  to  spring,  and  shake  the  castanet. 

XXXIV. 

And  well  such  strains  the  opening  scene  became ; 

For  Valor  had  relax'd  his  ardent  look, 
And  at  a  lady's  feet,  like  lion  tame, 

Lay  stretch'd,  full  loth  the  weight  of  arms  to 
And  soften'd  Bigotry,  upon  his  book,  [brook ; 

Patter'd  a  task  of  little  good  or  ill : 
But  the  blithe  peasant  plied  his  pruning-hook, 

Whistled  the  muleteer  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
And  rung  from  village-green  the  merry  seguidille.2 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

2  "The  third  scene,  a  peaceful  state  of  indolence  and  ob- 
scurity,  where,  though  the  court  was  degenerate,  the  peasant 
was  merry  and  contented,  is  introduced  with  exquisite  light- 
ness and  gayety." — Quarterly  Review. 

"The  three  grand  and  comprehensive  pictures  in  which 
Mr.  Scott  has  delineated  the  state  of  Spain,  during  tin-  three 
periods  to  which  we  have  alluded,  are  conceived  with  much 
genius,  and  executed  with  very  considerable,  though  unequal, 
felicity.  That  of  the  Moorish  dominion  is  drawn,  we  think, 
with  the  greatest  spirit.  The  reign  of  Chivalry  and  Super- 
stition we  do  not  think  so  happily  represented,  by  a  long 
and  labored  description  of  two  allegorical  personages  called 
Bigotry  and  Valor.  Nor  is  it  very  easy  to  conceive  how  Don 
Roderick  was  to  learn  the  fortunes  of  his  country  merely  by 
inspecting  the  physiognomy  and  furnishing  of  these  two 
figurantes.    The  truth  seems  to  be  that  Mr.  Scott  has  beeu 


XXXV. 

Gray  Royalty,  grown  impotent  of  toil,3 

Let  the  grave  sceptre  slip  his  lazy  hold ; 
And,  careless,  saw  his  rule  become  the  spoil 

Of  a  loose  Female  and  her  minion  bold. 
But  peace  was  on  the  cottage  and  the  fold, 

From  court  intrigue,  from  bickering  faction  far; 
Beneath  the  chestnut-tree  Love's  tale  was  told, 

And  to  the  tinkling  of  the  light  guitar  [star. 

Sweet  stoop'd  the  western  sun,  sweet  rose  the  evening 

XXXVI. 

As  that  sea-cloud,  in  size  like  human  hand, 

When  first  from  Carmel  by  the  Tishbite  seen, 
Came  slowly  overshadowing  Israel's  land,4 

A  while,  perchance,  bedeck'd  with  colors  sheen, 
While  yet  the  sunbeams  on  its  skirts  had  been, 

Limning  with  purple  and  with  gold  its  shroud, 
Till  darker  folds  obscured  the  blue  serene, 

And  blotted  heaven  with  one  broad  sable  cloud, 
Then  sheeted  rain  burst  down,  and  whirlwinds  howl'd 
aloud : — 

XXXVII. 

Even  so  upon  that  peaceful  scene  was  pour'd, 

Like  gathering  clouds,  full  many  a  foreign  band, 
And  He,  their  Leader,  wore  in  sheath  his  sword, 

And  offer'd  peaceful  front  and  open  hand, 
Veiling  the  perjured  treachery  he  plann'd, 

By  friendship's  zeal  and  honor's  specious  guise, 
Until  he  won  the  passes  of  the  land ; 

Then  burst  were  honor's  oath,  and  friendship's 
ties !  [his  prize. 

He  clutch'd  his  vulture-grasp,  and  call'd  fair  Spain  . 

XXXVIII. 
An  Iron  Crown  his  anxious  forehead  bore ; 

And  well  such  diadem  his  heart  became, 
Who  ne'er  his  purpose  for  remorse  gave  o'er, 

Or  check'd  his  course  for  piety  or  shame ; 
Who,  train'd  a  soldier,  deem'd  a  soldier's  fame 

Might  flourish  in  the  wreath  of  battles  won, 
Though  neither  truth  nor  honor  deck'd  his  name  ; 

Who,  placed  by  fortupe  on  a  Monarch's  throne, 
Reck'd  not  of  Monarch's  faith,  or  Mercy's  kingly  tone. 

tempted  on  this  occasion  to  extend  a  mere  metaphor  into  an 
allegory,  and  to  prolong  a  figure  which  might  have  given 
great  grace  and  spirit  to  a  single  stanza,  into  the  heavy  sub- 
ject of  seven  or  eight.  His  representation  of  the  recent  state 
of  Spain,  we  think,  displays  the  talent  and  address  of  the 
author  to  the  greatest  advantage ;  for  the  subject  was  by  no 
means  inspiring;  nor  was  it  easy,  we  should  imagine,  to  make 
the  picture  of  decay  and  inglorious  indolence  so  engaging."— 
Edinburgh  /.'< wiew,  which  then  quotes  stanzas  xxxiv.  and  xxxv. 

:'  "  The  opening  of  the  third  period  of  the  Vision  is,  perhaps 
necessarily,  more  abrupt  than  that  of  the  second.  No  circum- 
stance equally  marked  with  the  alteration  in  the  whole  system 
Of  ancient  warfare  could  be  introduced  in  tbis  compartment 
of  the  poem  ;  yet.  when  we  have  been  told  that '  Valor  had 
relaxed  his  ardent  look,'  and  that 'Bigotry' was 'softened,' we 
are  reasonably  prepared  for  what  follows."— Monthly  Review. 

*  See  1  Kings,  chap,  xviii.  v.  41-15. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


271 


XXXIX. 

From  a  rude  isle  his  ruder  lineage  came ; 

The  spark  that,  from  a  suburb-hovel's  hearth 
Ascending,  wraps  some  capital  in  flame, 

Hath  not  a  meaner  or  more  sordid  birth. 
And  for  the  soul  that  bade  him  waste  the  earth — 

The  sable  land-flood  from  some  swamp  obscure, 
That  poisons  the  glad  husband-field  with  dearth, 

And  by  destruction  bids  its  fame  endure, 
Hath  not  a  source  more  sullen,  stagnant,  and  im- 
pure.1 

XL. 
Before  that  Leader  strode  a  shadowy  Form  ; 

Her  limbs  like  mist,  her  torch  like  meteor  show'd, 
With  which  she  beckon'd  him  through  fight  and 
storm, 
And  all  he  crush'd  that  cross'd  his  desperate  road, 
Nor  thought,  nor  fear'd,  nor  look'd  on  what  he  trode. 
Realms  could  not  glut  his  pride,  blood  could  not 
slake, 
So  oft  as  e'er  she  shook  her  torch  abroad : 
It  was  Ambition  bade  her  terrors  wake, 
Nor  deign'd  she,  as  of  yore,  a  milder  form  to  take. 

XLI. 

No  longer  now  she  spurn'd  at  mean  revenge, 

Or  staid  her  hand  for  conquer'd  foemau's  moan ; 
As  when,  the  fates  of  aged  Rome  to  change, 

By  Caesar's  side  she  cross'd  the  Rubicon. 
Nor  joy'd  she  to  bestow  the  spoils  she  won, 
As  when  the  banded    powers  of   Greece  were 
task'd 
To  war  beneath  the  Youth  of  Macedon : 
No  seemly  veil  her  modern  minion  ask'd, — 
He  saw  her  hideous  face,  and  loved  the  fiend  un- 
mask'd. 

XLII. 

That  Prelate  mark'd  his  march — On  banners  blazed 

With  battles  won  in  many  a  distant  land, 
On  eagle-standards  and  on  arms  he  gazed ; 

"  And  hopest  thou  then,"  he   said,  "  thy  power 
shall  stand  ? 
Oh,  thou  hast  builded  on  the  shifting  sand, 

And  thou  hast  temper'd  it  with  slaughter's  flood ; 
And  know,  fell  scourge  in  the  Almighty's  hand, 

Gore-moisten'd  trees  shall  perish  in  the  bud, 
And  by  a  bloody  death  shall  die  the  Man  of  Blood  !"2 


1  "  We  are  as  ready  as  any  of  our  countrymen  can  be  to 
designate  Bonaparte's  invasion  of  .Spain  by  its  proper  epithets ; 
but  we  must  decline  to  join  in  the  author's  declamation 
against  the  low  birth  of  the  invader ;  and  we  cannot  help 
reminding  Mr.  Scott  that  such  a  topic  of  censure  is  unworthy 
of  him,  both  as  a  poet  and  as  a  Briton." — Monthly  Review. 

"  The  picture  of  Bonaparte,  considering  the  difficulty  of  all 
contemporary  delineations  is  not  ill  executed." — Edinburgh 
Review. 

2  "  We  are  not  altogether  pleased  with  the  lines  which  fol- 


XLIII. 

The  ruthless  Leader  beckon'd  from  his  train 

A  wan  fraternal  Shade,  and  bade  him  kneel, 
And  jxded  his  temples  with  the  crown  of  Spain, 

While  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds  cried  "Cas- 
tile !"3 
Not  that  he  loved  him — No ! — In  no  man's  weal, 

Scarce  in  his*  own,  e'er  joy'd  that  sullen  heart  ; 
Yet  round  that  throne  he  bade  his  warriors  wheel, 

That  the  poor  Puppet  might  perform  his  part, 
And  be  a  sceptred  slave,  at  his  stern  beck  to  start. 

XLIV. 

But  on  the  Natives  of  that  Land  misused, 

Not  long  the  silence  of  amazement  hung, 
Nor  brook'd  they  long  their  friendly  faith  abused  ; 

For,  with  a  common  shriek,  the  general  tongue 
Exclaim'd,   "To  arms!" — and  fast  to  arms   they 
sprung. 
And  Valor  woke,  that  Genius  of  the  Land ! 
Pleasure,  and  ease,  and  sloth,  aside  he  flung, 
As  burst  th'  awakening  Nazarite  his  band, 
When  'gainst  his   treacherous  foes  he  clench'd  his 
dreadful  hand.4 

♦ 

XLV. 

That  Mimic  Monarch  now  cast  anxious  eye 
Upon  the  Satraps  that  begirt  him  round, 
Now  dofF'd  his  royal  robe  in  act  to  fly, 

And  from  his  brow  the  diadem  unbound. 
So  oft,  so  near,  the  Patriot  bugle  wound, 
From    Tarik's    walls    to    Bilboa's     mountains 
blown, 
These  martial  satellites  hard  labor  found 
To  guard  a  while  his  substituted  throne — 
Light  recking  of  his  cause,  but  battling  for  their 
own. 

XLVI. 
From  Alpuhara's  peak  that  bugle  rung, 

And  it  was  echo'd  from  Corunna's  wall ; 
Stately  Seville  responsive  war-shot  flung, 
Grenada  caught  it  in  her  Moorish  hall ; 
Galicia  bade  her  children  fight  or  fall, 

Wild  Biscay  shook  his  mountain  coronet, 
Valencia  roused  her  at  the  battle-call, 
And,    foremost    still    where    Valor's    sons    are 
met, 
First  started  to  his  gun  each  fiery  Miquelet. 


low  the  description  of  Bonaparte's  birth  and  country.  In 
historical  truth,  we  believe,  his  family  was  not  plebeian  ;  and, 
setting  aside  the  old  saying  of  'genus  et  proavos,'  the  poet  is 
here  evidently  becoming  a  chorus  to  his  own  scene,  and  ex- 
plaining a  fact  which  could  by  no  means  be  inferred  from  the 
pageant  that  passes  before  the  eyes  of  the  King  and  Prelate. 
The  Archbishop's  observation  on  his  appearance  is  free,  how- 
ever, from  every  objection  of  this  kind." — Quarterly  Review. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

4  See  Book  of  Judges,  chap.  xv.  9-16. 


272 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


XLVII. 

But  unappall'd,  and  burning  for  the  fight, 

The  Invaders  march,  of  victory  secure  ; 
Skillful  their  force  to  sever  or  unite, 

And  train'd  alike  to  vanquish  or  endure. 
Nor  skillful  less  cheap  conquest  to  ensure, 

Discord  to  breathe,  and  jealousy  to  sow, 
To  quell  by  boasting,  and  by  bribes  to  lure ; 

While  nought  against  them   bring  the  unprac- 

ticed  foe,  [dom's  blow. 

Save  hearts  for  Freedom's  cause,  and  hands  for  Free- 

XLVIII. 

Proudly  they  march — but,  oh !  they  march  not  forth 

By  one  hot  field  to  crown  a  brief  campaign, 
As  when  their  Eagles,  sweeping  through  the  North, 

Destroy'd  at  every  stoop  an  ancient  reign ! 
Far  other  fate  had  Heaven  decreed  for  Spain  ; 

In  vain  the  steel,  in  vain  the  torch  was  plied, 
New  Patriot  armies  started  from  the  slain, 

High  blazed  the  war,  and  long,  and  far,  and  wide,1 
And  oft  the  God  of  Battles  blest  the  righteous  side. 

XLIX. 
Nor  unatoned,  where  Freedom's  foes  prevail, 

Remain'd  their  savage  waste.    With  blade  and 
By  day  the  Invaders  ravaged  hill  and  dale,  [brand, 

But,  with  the  darkness,  the  Guerilla  baud 
Came  like  night's  tempest,  and  avenged  the  land, 

And  claim'd  for  blood  the  retribution  due, 

Probed  the  hard  heart,  and  lopp'd  the  murd'rous 

hand ;  [threw, 

And  Dawn,  when  o'er  the  scene  her  beams  she 

Midst  ruins  they  had  made,  the  spoilers'  corpses  knew. 


What  minstrel  verse  may  sing,  or  tongue  may  tell, 

Amid  the  vision'd  strife  from  sea  to  sea, 
How  oft  the  Patriot  banners  rose  or  fell, 

Still  honor'd  in  defeat  as  victory ! 
For  that  sad  pageant  of  events  to  be 

Show'd  every  form  of  fight  by  field  and  flood ; 
Slaughter  and  Ruin,  shouting  forth  their  glee, 

Beheld,  while  riding  on  the  tempest  scud,  [blood ! 
The  waters  choked  with  slain,  the  earth  bedrench'd  with 

LI. 

Then  Zaragoza — blighted  be  the  tongue 
That  names  thy  name  without  the  honor  due! 

For  never  hath  the  harp  of  minstrel  run;:, 
Of  faith  so  felly  proved,  so  firmly  true ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

3  MS.:  "Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  at  the  sudden  cry." 

4  MS.:  "Right  for  the  shore  unnumber'd   barges  row'd." 

5  Compare  with  this  passage,  and  the  Valor,  Bigotry,  and 
Ambition  of  the  previous  stanzas,  the  celebrated  personifica- 
tion of  War,  in  the  first  canto  of  Childe  Harold  :— 


Mine,  sap,  and  bomb,  thy  shatter'd  ruins  knew, 

Each  art  of  war's  extremity  had  room, 
Twice  from  thy  half-sack'd  streets  the  foe  withdrew, 
And  when  at  length  stern  fate  decreed  thy  doom, 
They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody 
tomb.2 

LII. 

Yet  raise  thy  head,  sad  city !     Though  in  chains, 

Enthrall'd  thou  canst  not  be !    Arise  and  claim 
Reverence  from  every  heart  where  Freedom  reigns, 

For  what  thou  worshippest ! — thy  sainted  dame, 
She  of  the  Column,  honor'd  be  her  name 

By  all,  whate'er  their  creed,  who  honor  love ! 
And  like  the  sacred  relics  of  the  flame 

That  gave  some  martyr  to  the  bless'd  above, 
To  every  loyal  heart  may  thy  sad  embers  prove ! 

Lin. 

Nor  thine  alone  such  wreck.    Gerona  fair ! 

Faithful  to  death  thy  heroes  shall  be  sung, 
Manning  the  towers,  while  o'er  their  heads  the  air 

SwTart  as  the  smoke  from  raging  furnace  hung ; 
Now  thicker  dark'ning  where  the  mine  was  sprung, 

Now  briefly  lighten'd  by  the  cannon's  flare, 
Now  arch'd  with  fire-sparks  as  the  bomb  was  flung, 

And  redd'ning  now  with  conflagration's  glare, 
While  by  the  fatal  light  the  foes  for  storm  prepare. 

LIV. 

While  all  around  was  danger,  strife,  and  fear, 

While  the  earth  shook,  and  darken'd  was  the  sky, 
And  wide  Destruction  stunn'd  the  listening  ear, 

Appall'd  the  heart,  and  stupefied  the  eye, — 
Afar  was  heard  that  thrice-repeated  cry 

In  which  old  Albion's  heart  and  tongue  unite, 
Whene'er  her  soul  is  up,  and  pulse  beats  high, 

Whether  it  hail  the  wine-cup  or  the  fight, 
And  bid  each  arm  be  strong,  or  bid  each  heart  be  light. 

LV. 

Don  Roderick  turn'd  him  as  the  shout  grew  loud — 3 

A  varied  scene  the  changeful  vision  show'd, 
For,  where  the  ocean  mingled  with  the  cloud, 

A  gallant  navy  stemm'd  the  billows  broad. 
From  mast  and  stern  St.  George's  symbol  flow'd, 

Blent  with  the  silver  cross  to  Scotland  dear ; 
Mottling  the  sea  their  landward  barges  row'd,4 

And  flash'd  the  sun  on  bayonet,  brand,  and  spear, 
And  the  wild  beach  return'd  the  seaman's  jovial 
cheer.5 


"  Lo !  where  the  Giant  on  the  mountain  stands, 
Tlis  blood-red  tresses  deep'ning  in  the  sun, 
With  death-shot  glowing  in  his  fiery  bands, 
And  eye  that  scorcheth  all  it  glares  upon; 
Restless  it  rolls,  now  fix'd,  and  now  anon 
Flashing  afar, — and  at  bis  iron  feet 
Destruction  cowers,  to  mark  what  deeds  are  done; 
For  on  this  morn  three  potent  nations  meet 
To  shed  before  bis  shrine  the  blood  he  deems  most  sweet. 


THE   VISION   OF    DON    RODERICK. 


273 


LVI. 

It  was  a  dread  yet  spirit-stirring  sight ! 

The  billows  foam'd  beneath  a  thousand  oars ; 
Fast  as  they  land  the  red-cross  ranks  unite, 

Legions  on  legions  bright'ning  all  the  shores. 
Then  banners  rise,  and  cannon-signal  roars, 

Then  peals  the  warlike  thunder  of  the  drum, 
Thrills  the  loud  fife,  the  trumpet-flourish  pours, 

And  Patriot  hopes  awake,  and  doubts  are  dumb, 
For,  bold  in  Freedom's  cause,  the  bands  of  Ocean 
come! 

LVII. 

A  various  host  they  came — whose  ranks  display 

Each  mode  in  which  the  warrior  meets  the  fight : 
The  deep  battalion  locks  its  firm  array, 

And  meditates  his  aim  the  marksman  light ; 
Far  glance  the  light  of  sabres  flashing  bright, 

Where  mounted  squadrons  shake   the   echoing 
mead,1 
Lacks  not  artillery  breathing  flame  and  night, 

Nor  the  fleet  ordnance  whirl'd  by  rapid  steed, 
That  rivals  lightning's  flash  in  ruin  and  in  speed.2 

LVIII. 
A  various  host — from  kindred  realms  they  came,3 

Brethren  in  arms,  but  rivals  in  renown — 
For  yon  fair  bands  shall  merry  England  claim, 

And  with  their  deeds  of  valor  deck  her  crown. 
Hers  their  bold  port,  and  hers  their  martial  frown, 
And  hers  their  scorn  of  death  in  freedom's  cause. 
Their  eyes  of  azure,  and  their  locks  of  brown, 
And  the  blunt  speech  that  bursts  without  a  pause, 
And  freeborn  thoughts,  which  league  the  Soldier  with 
the  Laws. 

LIX. 

And  oh,  loved  warriors  of  the  Minstrel's  land ! 

Yonder  your  bonnets  nod,  your  tartans  wave ! 
The  rugged  form  may  mark  the  mountain  band, 

And  harsher  features,  and  a  mien  more  grave ; 


"  By  heaven  !  it  is  a  splendid  sight  to  see 
(For  one  who  hath  no  friend,  no  brother  there), 
Their  rival  scarfs  of  mix'd  embroidery, 
Their  various  arms,  that  glitter  in  the  air! 
What  gallant  war-hounds  rouse  them  from  their  lair 
And  gnash  their  fangs,  loud  yelling  for  the  prey ! 
All  join  the  chase,  but  few  the  triumph  share ; 
The  grave  shall  bear  the  chiefest  prize  away, 
And  Havoc  scarce  for  joy  can  number  their  array. 

"  Three  hosts  combine  to  offer  sacrifice ; 
Three  tongues  prefer  strange  orisons  on  high  ; 
Three  gaudy  standards  flout  the  pale  blue  skies ; 
The  shouts  are  France,  Spain,  Albion,  Victory ! 
The  foe,  the  victim,  and  the  fond  ally 
That  fights  for  all,  but  ever  fights  in  vain, 
Are  met — as  if  at  home  they  could  not  die — 
To  feed  the  crow  on  Talavera's  plain, 
And  fertilize  the  field  that  each  pretends  to  gain." 


1  MS.: 


"  the  dusty  mead." 


But  ne'er  in  battle-field  throbb'd  heart  so  brave 
As  that  which  beats  beneath  the  Scottish  plaid ; 

And  when  the  pibroch  bids  the  battle  rave, 
And  level  for  the  charge  your  arms  are  laid, 
Where  lives  the  desperate  foe  that  for  such  onset  staid ! 

LX. 

Hark !  from  yon  stately  ranks  what  laughter  rings, 

Mingling  wild  mirth  with  war's  stern  minstrelsy, 
His  jest  while  each  blithe  comrade  round  him  flings,* 

And  moves  to  death  with  military  glee : 
Boast,  Erin,  boast  them !  tameless,  frank,  and  free, 

In  kindness  warm,  and  fierce  in  danger  known, 
Rough  Nature's  children,  humorous  as  she : 

And  He,  yon  Chieftain — strike  the  proudest  tone 
Of  thy  bold  harp,  green  Isle ! — the  Hero  is  thine 
own. 

LXI. 

Now  on  the  scene  Vimeira  should  be  shown, 
On  Talavera's  fight  should  Roderick  gaze, 
And  hear  Corunna  wail  her  battle  won, 

And  see  Busaco's  crest  with  lightning  blaze : — 5 
But  shall  fond  fable  mix  with  heroes'  praise  ? 
Hath  Fiction's  stage  for  Truth's  long  triumphs 
room? 
And  dare  her  wild-flowers  mingle  with  the  bays 
That  claim  a  long  eternity  to  bloom 
Around  the  warrior's  crest,  and  o'er  the  warrior's 
tomb? 

LXII. 

Or  may  I  give  adventurous  Fancy  scope, 

And  stretch  a  bold  hand  to  the  awful  veil 
That  hides  futurity  from  anxious  hope, 

Bidding  beyond  it  scenes  of  glory  hail, 
And  painting  Europe  rousing  at  the  tale 

Of  Spain's  invaders  from  her  confines  hurl'd, 
While  kindling  nations  buckle  on  their  mail, 

And  Fame,  with  clarion-blast  and  wings  unfurl'd, 
To  Freedom  and  Revenge  awakes  an  injured  World  ?6 


2  "The  landing  of  the  English  is  admirably  described;  nor 
is  there  any  thing  finer  in  the  whole  poem  than  the  following 
passage  (stanzas  lv.  lvi.  lvii.),  with  the  exception  always  of 
the  three  concluding  lines,  which  appear  to  us  to  be  very 
nearly  as  bad  as  possible." — Jeffrey. 

3  "  The  three  succeeding  stanzas  (lviii.  lix.  lx.)  are  elaborate ; 
but  we  think,  on  the  whole,  successful.  They  will  probably 
be  oftener  quoted  than  any  other  passage  in  the  poem." — 
Jeffrey. 

4  MS. :  "  His  jest  each  careless  comrade  round  him  flings." 

5  For  details  of  the  battle  of  Vimeira,  fought  21st  Aug.,  1808 
—of  Corunna,  16th  Jan.,  1809— of  Talavera,  2Sth  July,  1809— 
and  of  Busaco,  27th  Sept.,  1810— see  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Life 
of  Napoleon,  volume  vi.,  under  these  dates. 

6  "  The  nation  will  arise  regenerate ; 
Strong  in  her  second  youth  and  beautiful, 
And  like  a  spirit  that  hath  shaken  off 
The  clog  of  dull  mortality,  shall  Spain 
Arise  in  glory." — Southey's  Roderick. 


18 


274 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


LXIII. 
Oh  vain,  though  anxious,  is  the  glance  I  cast, 

Since  Fate  lias  mark'd  futurity  her  own  : 
Yet  Fate  resigns  to  worth  the  glorious  past, 

The  deeds  recorded,  and  the  laurels  won. 
Then,  though  the  Vault  of  Destiny1  he  gone, 

King,  Prelate,  all  the  phantasms  of  my  brain, 
Melted  away  like  mist-wreaths  in  the  sun, 

Yet  grant  for  faith,  for  valor,  and  for  Spain, 
One  note  of  pride  and  tire,  a  Patriot's  parting  strain  !2 


5T|)c  Visum  of  Don  KoTjcricfe. 


CONCLUSION. 


"  Who  shall  command  Estrella's  mountain  tide* 

Back  to  the  source,  when  tem|:>est-chafed,  to  hie  ? 
Who,  when  Gascogne's  vex'd  gidf  is  raging  wide, 

Shall  hush  it  as  a  nurse  her  infant's  cry  ? 
His  magic  power  let  such  vain  boaster  try, 

And  when  the  torrent  shall  his  voice  obey, 
And  Biscay's  whirlwinds  list  his  lullaby, 

Let  him  stand  forth  and  bar  mine  eagles'  way, 
And  they  shall  heed  his  voice,  and  at  his  bidding  stay. 

II. 

"  Else  ne'er  to  stoop,  till  high  on  Lisbon's  towers 

They  close  their  wings,  the  symbol  of  our  yoke, 
And  their  own  sea  hath  whelm'd  yon  red-cross 

Powers!" 
Thus  on  the  summit  of  Alverca's  rock, 
To    Marshal,   Duke,   and    Peer,   Gaul's    Leader 

spoke. 
While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  and  flock, 
And  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilderness.4 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

2  "  For  a  mere  introduction  to  the  exploits  of  our  English 
commanders,  the  story  of  Don  Roderick's  sins  and  confes- 
sions,— the  minute  description  of  his  army  and  attendants, — 
and  the  whole  interest  and  machinery  of  the  enchanted  vault, 
with  the  greater  part  of  the  Vision  itself,  arc  far  too  long  and 
elahorate.  They  withdraw  our  curiosity  and  attention  (torn 
the  ohjects  for  which  they  had  been  bespoken,  and  gradually 
engage  them  upon  a  new  and  independent  series  of  romantic 
adventures,  in  which  it  is  not  easy  to  see  how  Lord  Welling- 
ton and  Bonaparte  can  have  any  concern.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  no  sooner  is  this  new  interest  excited, — no  sooner  have 
we  surrendered  our  imaginations  into  the  hands  of  this  dark 
enchanter,  and  heated  our  fancies  to  the  proper  pitch  for 
sympathizing  in  the  fortunes  of  Gothic  kings  and  Moorish  in- 
vaders, with  their  imposing  accompaniments  of  harnessed 
knights,  ravished  damsels,  and  enchanted  statues,— than  the 


III. 

And  shall  the  boastful  Chief  maintain  his  word, 

Though  Heaven  hath  heard  the  wailings  of  the 
land, 
Though  Lusitania  whet  her  vengeful  sword, 

Though  Britons  arm,  and  Wellington  command? 
No !  grim  Busaco's  iron  ridge  shall  stand 

An  adamantine  harrier  to  his  force; 
And  from  its  base  shall  wheel  his  shatter'd  band, 

As  from  tire  unshaken  rock  the  torrent  hoarse 
Bears  off  its  broken  waves,  and  seeks  a  devious  course. 

IV. 

Yet  not  because  Alcoba's  mountain  hawk    . 

Hath  on  his  best  and  bravest  made  her  food, 
In  numbers  confident,  yon  Chief  shall  baulk 

His  Lord's  imperial  thirst  for  spoil  and  blood  : 
For  full  in  view  the  promised  conquest  stood, 

And  Lisbon's  matrons  from  their  walls  might 
sum 
The  myriads  that  had  half  the  world  subdued, 

And  hear  the  distant  thunders  of  the  drum 
That  bids  the  bands  of  France  to  storm  and  havoc  come. 


Four  moons  have  heard  these  thunders  idly  roll'd, 

Have  seen  these  wistful  myriads  eye  their  prey, 
As  famish'd  wolves  survey  a  guarded  fold — 

But  in  the  middle  path  a  Lion  lay ! 
At  length  they  move — but  not  to  battle-fray, 

Nor  blaze  yon  fires  where  meets  the  manly  fight ; 
Beacons  of  infamy,  they  light  the  way 

Where  cowardice  and  cruelty  unite 
To  damn  with  double  shame  their  ignominious  flight ! 

VI. 

Oh,  triumph  for  the  Fiends  of  Lust  and  Wrath  ! 

Ne'er  to  be  told,  yet  ne'er  to  be  forgot, 
What  wanton  horrors  mark'd  their  wreckful  path  ! 

The  peasant  butcher'd  in  his  ruin'd  cot, 
The  hoary  priest  even  at  the  altar  shot, 

Childhood  and  age  given  o'er  to  sword  and  flame, 
Woman  to  infamy ; — no  crime  forgot, 


whole  romantic  group  vanishes  at  once  from  our  sight;  and 
we  are  hurried,  with  minds  yet  disturbed  with  those  powerful 
apparitions,  to  the  comparatively  sober  and  cold  narration  of 
Bonaparte's  villainies,  and  to  drawn  battles  between  mere 
mortal  combatants  in  English  and  French  uniforms.  The 
vast  and  elaborate  vestibule,  in  short,  in  which  we  had  been 
so  long  detained, 

'Where  wonders  wild  of  Arabesque  combine 
With  Gothic  imagery  of  darker  shade,' 

has  no  corresponding  palace  attached  to  it;  and  the  long 
novitiate  we  are  made  to  serve  to  the  mysterious  powers  of 
romance  is  not  repaid,  after  all,  by  an  introduction  to  their 
awful  presence  " Jeffrey. 

3  MS. :  "  Who  shall  command  the  torrent's  headlong  tide." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   RODERICK. 


275 


By  which  inventive  demons  might  proclaim 
Immortal  hate  to  man,  and  scorn  of  God's  great  name ! 

VII. 

The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  born, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn,1 

Wiped  his  stern  eye,  then  fiercer  grasp'd  his  gun. 
Nor  with  less  zeal  shall  Britain's  peaceful  son 

Exult  the  debt  of  sympathy  to  rJay ; 
Riches  nor  poverty  the  tax  shall  shun, 

Nor  prince  nor  peer,  the  wealthy  nor  the  gay, 
Nor  the  poor  peasant's  mite,  nor  bard's  more  worth- 
less lay.2 

VIII. 

But  thou — unfoughten  wilt  thou  yield  to  Fate, 

Minion  of  Fortune,  now  miscall'd  in  vain ! 
Can  vantage-ground  no  confidence  create, 

Marcella's  pass,  nor  Guarda's  mountain  chain  ? 
Vainglorious  fugitive  !3  yet  turn  again ! 

Behold  where,  named  by  some  prophetic  Seer, 
Flows  Honor's  Fountain,4  as  foredoom'd  the  stain 

From  thy  dishonor'd  name  and  arms  to  clear — 
Fallen  Child  of  Fortune,  turn,  redeem  her  favor  here ! 

IX. 

Yet,  ere  thou  turn'st,  collect  each  distant  aid ; 

Those  chief  that  never  heard  the  lion  roar! 
Within  whose  souls  lives  not  a  trace  portray'd 

Of  Talavera,  or  Mondego's  shore ! 
Marshal  each  band  thou  hast,  and  summon  more ; 

Of  war's  fell  stratagems  exhaust  the  whole  ; 
Rank  upon  rank,  squadron  on  squadron  pour, 

Legion  on  legion  on  thy  foeman  roll, 
And  weary  out  his  arm — thou  canst  not  quell  his  soul. 

X. 

Oh  vainly  gleams  with  steel  Agueda's  shore, 
Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain, 

And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 

With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain  !5 

And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  CAMERON  slain,6 
Wild  from  his  plaided  ranks  the  yell  was  given  ? 

Vengeance  and  grief  gave  mountain  rage  the  rein, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

2  The  MS.  has,  for  the  preceding  five  lines— 

"  And  in  pursuit  vindictive  hurried  on. 
And  oh,  survivors  sad !  to  you  belong 
Tributes  from  each  that  Britain  calls  her  son, 
From  all  her  nobles,  all  her  wealthier  throng, 
To  her  poor  peasant's  mite,  and  minstrel's  poorer  song." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  Q. 

4  The  literal  translation  of  Fuentes  (THonoro. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  R. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

»  On  the  26th  of  April,  1811,  Scott  writes  thus  to  Mr.  Morritt : 
— "  I  rejoice  with  the  heart  of  a  Scotsman  in  the  success  of 
Lord  Wellington,  and  with  all  the  pride  of  a  seer  to  boot.  I 
have  been  for  three  years  proclaiming  him  as  the  only  man  we 
had  to  trust  to — a  man  of  talent  and  genius— not  deterred  by 


And,  at  the  bloody  spear-point  headlong  driven, 
Thy  Despot's  giant  guards  fled  like  the  rack  of  heaven. 

XL 

Go,  baffled  boaster !  teach  thy  haughty  mood 

To  plead  at  thine  imperious  master's  throne, 
Say,  thou  hast  left  his  legions  in  their  blood, 

Deceived  his  hopes,  and  frustrated  thine  own ; 
Say  that  thine  utmost  skill  and  valor  shown, 

By  British  skill  and  valor  were  outvied ; 
Last  say,  thy  conqueror  was  Wellington  !7 

And  if  he  chafe,  be  his  own  fortune  tried — 
God  and  our  cause  to  friend,  the  venture  we'll  abide. 

XII. 

But  you,  ye  heroes  of  that  well-fought  day, 

How  shall  a  bard,  unknowing  and  unknown, 
His  meed  to  each  victorious  leader  pay, 

Or  bind  on  every  brow  the  laurels  won  ?8 
Yet  fain  my  harp  would  wake  its  boldest  tone, 

O'er  the  wide  sea  to  hail  Cadogan  brave ; 
And  he,  perchance,  the  minstrel  note  might  own, 

Mindful  of  meeting  brief  that  Fortune  gave 
Mid  yon  far  western  isles  that  hear  the  Atlantic 
rave. 

XIII. 

Yes !  hard  the  task,  when  Britons  wield  the  sword, 

To  give  each  Chief  and  every  field  its  fame : 
Hark !  Albuera  thunders  Beresford, 

And  Red  Barosa  shouts  for  dauntless  Gr^ME  ! 
Oh  for  a  verse  of  tumult  and  of  flame, 

Bold  as  the  bursting  of  their  cannon  sound, 
To  bid  the  world  re-echo  to  their  fame ! 

For  never,  upon  gory  battle-ground, 
With  conquest's  well-bought  wreath  were  braver  vic- 
tors crown'd ! 

XIV. 

Oh,  who  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays,9 
Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  emulate  their  fathers'  praise, 
Temper'd   their   headlong   rage,  their   courage 
steel'd,10 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  shield, 

obstacles,  nor  fettered  by  prejudices,  not  immured  within  the 
pedantries  of  his  profession,  but  playing  the  general  and  the 
hero  when  most  of  our  military  commanders  would  have  ex- 
hibited the  drill  sergeant,  or  at  best  the  adjutant.  These 
campaigns  will  teach  us  what  we  have  long  needed  to  know, 
that  success  depends  not  on  the  nice  drilling  of  regiments,  but 
upon  the  grand  movements  and  combinations  of  an  army. 
We  have  been  hitherto  polishing  hinges,  when  we  should  have 
studied  the  mechanical  union  of  a  huge  machine.  Now,  our 
army  begin  to  see  that  the  grand  secret,  as  the  French  call  it, 
consists  only  in  union,  joint  exertion,  and  concerted  move- 
ment. This  will  enable  us  to  meet  the  dogs  on  fair  terms  as 
to  numbers,  and  for  the  rest, '  My  soul  and  body  on  the  action 
both.' " — Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  313. 

8  See  Appendix,  Editor's  Note  T. 

9  MS. :  "  Oh,  who  shall  grudge  yon  chief  the  victor's  bays." 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 


276 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  gave  new  edge  to  Lusitania's  sword, 
And  taught  her  sons  forgotten  arms  to  wield  ? 
ShiverM  my  harp,  and  burst  its  every  chord, 
"    If  it  forget  thy  worth,  victorious  BEKESFORD ! 

XV.i 

Not  on  that  bloody  field  of  battle  won, 

Though  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like    mist 
away, 
Was  half  his  self-devoted  valor  shown, — 

He  gaged  but  life  on  that  illustrious  day; 
But  when  he  toil'd  those  squadrons  to  array, 

Who  fought  like  Britons  in  the  bloody  game, 
Shaker  than  Polish  pike  or  assagay, 

He  braved  the  shafts  of  censure  and  of  shame, 
And,  dearer  far  than  life,  he  pledged  a  soldier's  fame. 

XVI. 

Nor  be  his  praise  o'erpast  who  strove  to  hide 
Beneath  the  warrior's  vest  affection's  wound, 

Whose  wish  Heaven  for  his  country's  weal  denied  ;2 
Danger  and  fate  he  sought,  but  glory  found. 

From  clime  to  clime,  where'er  war's  trumpets  sound, 
The  wanderer  went ;  yet,  Caledonia !  still3 

Thine  was  his  thought  in  march  and  tented  ground ; 


1  MS.:  "Not  greater  on  that  mount  of  strife  and  blood. 

While  Gaul's  proud  legions  roll'd  like  mist  away, 
And  tides  of  gore  stain'd  Albuera's  flood, 

And  Poland's  shatter'd  lines  before  him  lay, 
And  clarions  hail'd  him  victor  of  the  day, 

Not  greater  when  he  toil'd  yon  legions  to  array. 

'Twas  life  he  perill'd  in  that  stubborn  game, 
And  life  'gainst  honor  when  did  soldier  weigh  ? 

But,  self-devoted  to  his  generous  aim, 
Far  dearer  than  his  life,  the  hero  pledged  his  fame." 

-  MS.:  "Nor  be  his  meed  o'erpast  who  sadly  tried 

With  valor's  wreath  to  hide  affection's  wound, 
To  whom  his  wish  Heaven  for  our  weal  denied." 

'  MS. :  "  From  war  to  war  the  wanderer  went  his  round, 
Yet  was  his  soul  in  Caledonia  still ; 
Hers  was  his  thought,"  &c. 

4  MB. :  "  fairy  rill." 

"These  lines  excel  the  noisier  and  more  general  pane- 
gyrics of  the  commanders  in  Portugal,  as  much  as  the  sweet 
and  thrilling  tones  of  the  harp  surpass  an  ordinary  flourish 
of  drums  and  trumpets."—  Quarterly  Review. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  our  nationality  which  makes  us  like  better 
the  tribute  to  General  Grahame— though  there  is  something, 
we  believe,  in  the  softness  of  the  sentiment  that  will  be  felt, 
even  by  English  readers,  as  a  relief  from  the  exceeding 
clamor  and  loud  boastings  of  all  the  surrounding  stanzas."— 
Klinhnrgh  Review. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

8  "  Now,  strike  your  sailes,  yee  iolly  mariners, 

For  we  be  come  unto  a  quiet  rode, 
Where  we  must  land  some  of  our  passengers, 

And  light  this  weary  vessell  of  her  lode. 
Here  she  a  while  may  make  her  safe  abode, 

Till  she  repaired  have  her  tackles  spent 
And  wants  supplide ;  and  then  againe  abroad 

On  the  long  voiage  whereto  she  is  bent : 
Well  may  she  speede,  and  fairely  finish  her  intent  I" 

Faerie  Queene,  book  i.  canto  12. 


He  dream'd  'mid  Alpine  cliffs  of  Athole's  hill, 
And  heard  in  Ebro's  roar  his  Lyndoelrs  lovely  rill.4 

XVII. 

Oh,  hero  of  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 

Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell, 
Since  first  distinguished  in  the  onset  bold, 

Wild  sounding  when  the  Roman  rampart  fell ! 
By  Wallace'  side  it  rung  the  Southron's  knell, 

Alderne,  Kilsythe,  and  Tibber,  own'd  its  fame, 
Tummell's  rude  pass  can  of  its  terrors  tell, 

But  ne'er  from  prouder  field  arose  the  name 
Than  when  wild  Ronda  leam'd  the  conquering  shout 
of  Graeme  !5 

XVIII. 

But  all  too  long,  through  seas  unknown  and  dark 

(With  Spenser's  parable  I  close  my  tale),6 
By  shoal  and  rock  hath  steer'd  my  venturous  bark, 

And  landward  now  I  drive  before  the  gale. 
And  now  the  blue  and  distant  shore  I  hail, 

And  nearer  now  I  see  the  port  expand, 
And  now  I  gladly  furl  my  weary  sail, 

And  as  the  prow  light  touches  on  the  strand, 
I  strike  my  red-cross  flag,  and  bind  my  skiff  to  land.7 


i  "  No  comparison  can  be  fairly  instituted  between  compo- 
sitions so  wholly  different  in  style  and  designation  as  the  pre- 
sent poem  and  Mr.  Scott's  former  productions.  The  present 
poem  neither  has,  nor,  from  its  nature,  could  have  the  interest 
which  arises  from  an  eventful  plot,  or  a  detailed  delineation 
of  character ;  and  we  shall  arrive  at  a  far  more  accurate  esti- 
mation of  its  merits  by  comparing  it  with  '  The  Bard '  of  Gray, 
or  that  particular  scene  of  Ariosto  where  Bradamante  beholds 
the  wonders  of  Merlin's  tomb.  To  this  it  has  many  strong  and 
evident  features  of  resemblance ;  but,  in  our  opinion,  greatly 
surpasses  it  both  in  the  dignity  of  the  objects  represented  and 
the  picturesque  effect  of  the  machinery. 

"  We  are  inclined  to  rank  the '  Vision  of  Don  Roderick '  not 
only  above  '  The  Bard,'  but  (excepting  Adam's  Vision  from 
the  Mount  of  Paradise,  and  the  matchless  beauties  of  the 
sixth  book  of  Virgil)  above  all  the  historical  and  poetical 
prospects  which  have  come  to  our  knowledge.  The  scenic 
representation  is  at  once  gorgeous  and  natural ;  and  the  lan- 
guage and  imagery  is  altogether  as  spirited,  and  bears  the 
stamp  of  more  care  and  polish  than  even  the  most  celebrated 
of  the  author's  former  productions.  If  it  please  us  less  than 
these,  we  must  attribute  it  in  part  perhaps  to  the  want  of 
contrivance,  and  in  a  still  greater  degree  to  the  nature  of  the 
subject  itself,  which  is  deprived  of  all  the  interest  derived 
from  suspense  or  sympathy,  and,  as  far  as  it  is  connected  with 
modern  politics,  represents  a  scene  too  near  our  immediate 
inspection  to  admit  the  interposition  of  the  magic  glass  of 
fiction  and  poetry." — Quarterly  Review,  October,  1811. 


"The  'Vision  of  Don  Roderick'  has  been  received  with  less 
interest  by  the  public  than  any  of  the  author's  other  perform- 
ances; and  has  been  read,  we  should  imagine,  with  some  de- 
gree of  disappointment  even  by  those  who  took  it  up  with  the 
most  reasonable  expectations.  Yet  it  is  written  with  very 
considerable  spirit,  and  with  more  care  and  effort  than  most 
of  the  author's  compositions ; — with  a  degree  of  effort,  indeed, 
which  could  scarcely  have  failed  of  success  if  the  author  had 
not  succeeded  so  splendidly  on  other  occasions  without  any 


THE   VISION   OF   DON   EODERIC: 


277 


effort  at  all,  or  had  chosen  any  other  subject  than  that  which 
fills  the  cry  of  our  alehouse  politicians,  and  supplies  the  gabble 
of  all  the  quidnuncs  in  this  country, — our  depending  cam- 
paigns in  Spain  and  Portugal, — with  the  exploits  of  Lord  Wel- 
lington and  the  spoliations  of  the  French  armies.  The  nom- 
inal subject  of  the  poem,  indeed,  is  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick, 
in  the  eighth  century ;  but  this  is  obviously  a  mere  prelude  to 
the  grand  piece  of  our  recent  battles, — a  sort  of  machinery 
devised  to  give  dignity  and  effect  to  their  introduction.  In 
point  of  fact,  the  poem  begins  and  ends  with  Lord  Wellington ; 
and  being  written  for  the  benefit  of  the  plundered  Portuguese, 
and  upon  a  Spanish  story,  the  thing  could  not  well  have  been 
otherwise.  The  public,  at  this  moment,  will  listen  to  nothing 
about  Spain  but  the  history  of  the  Spanish  war ;  and  the  old 
Gothic  king,  and  the  Moors,  are  considered,  we  dare  say,  by 
Mr.  Scott's  most  impatient  readers,  as  very  tedious  interlopers 

in  the  proper  business  of  the  piece The  poem  has 

scarcely  any  story,  and  scarcely  any  characters ;  and  consists, 
in  truth,  almost  entirely  of  a  series  of  descriptions,  inter- 
mingled with  plaudits  and  execrations.  The  descriptions  are 
many  of  them  very  fine,  though  the  style  is  more  turgid  and 
verbose  than  in  the  better  parts  of  Mr.  Scott's  other  produc- 
tions; but  the  invectives  and  acclamations  are  too  vehement 
and  too  frequent  to  be  either  graceful  or  impressive.  There 
is  no  climax  or  progression  to  relieve  the  ear  or  stimulate  the 
imagination.  Mr.  Scott  sets  out  on  the  very  highest  pitch  of 
his  voice,  and  keeps  it  up  to  the  end  of  the  measure.  There 
are  no  grand  swells,  therefore,  or  overpowering  bursts  in  his 
song.  All,  from  first  to  last,  is  loud  and  clamorous,  and  ob- 
trusive,— indiscriminately  noisy,  and  often  ineffectually  exag- 
gerated. »He  has  fewer  new  images  than  in  his  other  poetry 
— his  tone  is  less  natural  and  varied — and  he  moves,  upon 
the  whole,  with  a  slower  and  more  laborious  pace." — Jeffrey. 
Edinburgh  Review,  1811. 


"  The  Edinburgh  Reviewers  have  been  down  on  my  poor 
Don  hand  to  fist;  but,  truly,  as  they  are  too  fastidious  to  ap- 
prove of  the  campaign,  I  should  be  very  unreasonable  if  I  ex- 
pected them  to  like  the  celebration  of  it.  I  agree  with  them, 
however,  as  to  the  lumbering  weight  of  the  stanza,  and  I 
shrewdly  suspect  it  would  require  a  very  great  poet  indeed  to 
prevent  the  tedium  arising  from  the  recurrence  of  rhymes. 
Our  language  is  unable  to  support  the  expenditure  of  so  many 
for  each  stanza;  even  Spenser  himself,  with  all  the  license  of 
using  obsolete  words  and  uncommon  spellings,  sometimes  fa- 
tigues the  ear.    They  are  also  very  wroth  with  me  for  omitting 


the  merits  of  Sir  John  Moore  -,1  but  as  I  never  exactly  discov- 
ered in  what  these  lay,  unless  in  conducting  his  advance  and 
retreat  upon  a  plan  the  most  likely  to  verify  the  desponding 
speculations  of  the  foresaid  reviewers,  I  must  hold  myself 
excused  for  not  giving  praise  where  I  was  unable  to  see  that 
much  was  due." — Scott  to  Mr.  Morrill,  Sept.  26,  1811.  Life, 
vol.  iii.  p.  328. 


"  The '  Vision  of  Don  Roderick'  had  features  of  novelty,  both 
as  to  the  subject  and  the  manner  of  the  composition,  which 
excited  much  attention,  and  gave  rise  to  some  sharp  contro- 
versy. The  main  fable  was  indeed  from  the  most  picturesque 
region  of  old  romance ;  but  it  was  made  throughout  the  vehicle 
of  feelings  directly  adverse  to  those  with  which  the  Whig 
critics  had  all  along  regarded  the  interference  of  Britain  in 
behalf  of  the  nations  of  the  Peninsula ;  and  the  silence  which, 
while  celebrating  our  other  generals  on  that  scene  of  action, 
had  been  preserved  with  respect  to  Scott's  own  gallant  coun- 
tryman, Sir  John  Moore,  was  considered  or  represented  by 
them  as  an  odious  example  of  genius  hoodwinked  by  the 
influence  of  party.  Nor  were  there  wanting  persons  who 
affected  to  discover  that  the  charm  of  Scott's  poetry  had  to 
a  great  ext-ent  evaporated  under  the  severe  test  to  which  he 
had  exposed  it,  by  adopting,  in  place  of  those  comparatively 
light  and  easy  measures  in  which  he  had  hitherto  dealt,  the 
most  elaborate  one  that  our  literature  exhibits.  The  produc- 
tion, notwithstanding  the  complexity  of  the  Spenserian  stanza, 
had  been  very  rapidly  executed ;  and  it  shows,  accordingly, 
many  traces  of  negligence.  But  the  patriotic  inspiration  of  it 
found  an  echo  in  the  vast  majority  of  British  hearts ;  many 
of  the  Whig  oracles  themselves  acknowledged  that  the  diffi- 
culties of  the  metre  had  been  on  the  whole  successfully  over- 
come ;  and  even  the  hardest  critics  were  compelled  to  express 
unqualified  admiration  of  various  detached  pictures  and 
passages,  which,  in  truth,  as  no  one  now  disputes,  neither  he 
nor  any  other  poet  ever  excelled.  The  whole  setting  or  frame- 
work— whatever  relates  in  short  to  the  last  of  the  Goths 
himself— was,  I  think,  even  then  unanimously  pronounced 
admirable;  and  no  party  feeling  could  blind  any  man  to  the 
heroic  splendor  of  such  stanzas  as  those  in  which  the  three 
equally  gallant  elements  of  a  British  army  are  contrasted." — 
Lockhart.    Life,  vol.  iii.  p.  319. 


1  See  Appendix,  Editor's  Note  T. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

And  Cattraeth's  glens  uith  voice  of  triumph  rung, 
And  mystic  Merlin  harp'd,  and  grayhair'd  Llywarch 
sung  t— P.  265. 

This  locality  may  startle  those  readers  who  do  not  recollect 
that  much  of  the  ancient  poetry  preserved  in  Wales  refers 
less  to  the  history  of  the  Principality  to  which  that  name  is 
now  limited  than  to  events  which  happened  in  the  northwest 
of  England  and  southwest  of  Scotland,  where  the  Britons 
for  a  long  time  made  a  stand  against  the  Saxons.  The  battle 
of  Cattraeth,  lamented  by  the  celebrated  Aneurin,  is  sup- 
posed by  the  learned  Dr.  Leyden  to  have  been  fought  on  the 
skirts  of  Ettrick  Forest.  It  is  known  to  the  English  reader 
by  the  paraphrase  of  Gray,  beginning, 

"  Had  I  but  the  torrent's  might, 

With  headlong  rage  and  wild  affright,"  &c. ; 

but  it  is  not  so  generally  known  that  the  champions  mourned 
in  this  beautiful  dirge  were  the  British  inhabitants  of  Edin- 
burgh, who  were  cut  off  by  the  Saxons  of  Deiria,  or  North- 
umberland, about  the  latter  part  of  the  sixth  century. — Tur- 
ner's History  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  edition  1799,  vol.  i.  p.  222. 
Llywarch,  the  celebrated  bard  and  monarch,  was  Prince  of 
Argood,  in  Cumberland;  and  his  youthful  exploits  were  per- 
formed upon  the  Border,  although  in  his  age  he  was  driven 
into  Powys  by  the  successes  of  the  Anglo-Saxons.  As  for 
Merlin  Wyllt,  or  the  Savage,  his  name  of  Caledonia,  and  his 
retreat  into  the  Caledonian  wood,  appropriate  him  to  Scot- 
land. Fordun  dedicates  the  thirty-first  chapter  of  the  third 
book  of  his  Scoti-Chronicon  to  a  narration  of  the  death  of 
this  celebrated  bard  and  prophet  near  Drumelzier,  a  village 
upon  Tweed,  which  is  supposed  to  have  derived  its  name 
(quasi  Tumulus  Merlini)  from  the  event.  The  particular  spot 
in  which  he  is  buried  is  still  shown,  and  appears,  from  the 
following  quotation,  to  have  partaken  of  his  prophetic  qual- 
ities: — "There  is  one  thing  remarkable  here,  which  is  that 
the  burn  called  Pausayl  runs  by  the  east  side  of  this  church- 
yard into  the  Tweed;  at  the  side  of  which  burn,  a  little 
below  the  churchyard,  the  famous  prophet  Merlin  is  said  to 
be  buried.  The  particular  place  of  his  grave,  at  the  root  of 
a  thorn  tree,  was  shown  me,  many  years  ago,  by  the  old  and 
reverend  minister  of  the  place,  Mr.  Richard  Brown ;  and  here 
was  the  old  prophecy  fulfilled,  delivered  in  Scots  rhyme,  to 
this  purpose : — 

'When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  meet  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have.' 

For  the  same  day  that  our  King  James  the  Sixth  was  crowned 
King  of  England,  the  river  Tweed,  by  an  extraordinary 
flood,  so  far  overflowed  its  banks  that  it  met  and  joined  with 
the  Pausayl  at  the  said  grave,  which  was  never  before  observed 
to  fall  out."— Pennycuick's  Description  of  Tweeddale.  Edin. 
1715,  iv.  p.  26. 

(278) 


Note  B. 

Minchmore's  haunted  spring. — P.  265. 


A  belief  in  the  existence  and  nocturnal  revels  of  the  fairies 
still  lingers  among  the  vulgar  in  Selkirkshire.  A  copious 
fountain  upon  the  ridge  of  Minchmore,  called  the  Cheesewell, 
is  supposed  to  be  sacred  to  these  fanciful  spirits,  and  it  was 
customary  to  propitiate  them  by  throwing  in  something  upon 
passing  it.  A  pin  was  the  usual  oblation  ;  and  the  ceremony 
is  still  sometimes  practiced,  though  rather  in  jest  than  earnest. 


Note  C. 


the  rude  villager,  his  labor  done, 


In  verse  spontaneous  chants  some  favor' d  name. — P.  265. 

The  flexibility  of  the  Italian  and  Spanish  languages,  and 
perhaps  the  liveliness  of  their  genius,  renders  these  countries 
distinguished  for  the  talent  of  improvisation,  which  is  found 
even  among  the  lowest  of  the  people.  It  is  mentioned  by 
Baretti  and  other  travellers. 


Note  D. 

•  kindling  at  the  deeds  of  Grceme. — P.  265. 


Over  a  name  sacred  for  ages  to  heroic  verse,  a  poet  may  be 
allowed  to  exercise  some  power.  I  have  used  the  freedom, 
here  and  elsewhere,  to  alter  the  orthography  of  the  name  of 
my  gallant  countryman,  in  order  to  apprise  the  Southern 
reader  of  its  legitimate  sound ; — Grahame  being,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Tweed,  usually  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable. 


Note  E. 


What !  will  Bon  Roderick  here  till  morning  stay, 
To  wear  in  shrift  and  prayer  the  night  away* 

And  are  his  hours  in  such  dull  penance  past, 
For  fair  Florinda's  pi  under' d  charms  to  pay  f — P.  266. 

Almost  all  the  Spanish  historians,  as  well  as  the  voice  of 
tradition,  ascribe  the  invasion  of  the  Moors  to  the  forcible 
violation  committed  by  Roderick  upon  Florinda,  called  by  the 
Moors  Caba  or  Cava.  She  was  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian, 
one  of  the  Gothic  monarch's  principal  lieutenants,  who,  when 
the  crime  was  perpetrated,  was  engaged  in  the  defence  of 
Ceuta  against  the  Moors.  In  his  indignation  at  the  ingrati- 
tude of  his  sovereign,  and  the  dishonor  of  his  daughter,  Count 
Julian  forgot  the  duties  of  a  Christian  and  a  patriot,  and, 
forming  an  alliance  with  Musa,  then  the  Caliph's  lieutenant 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   VISION   OF   DON   KCff)EKICK. 


279 


in  Africa,  he  countenanced  the  invasion  of  Spain  by  a  body  of 
Saracens  and  Africans,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Tarik  ; 
the  issue  of  which  was  the  defeat  and  death  of  Roderick,  and 
the  occupation  of  almost  the  whole  peninsula  by  the  Moors. 
Voltaire,  in  his  General  History,  expresses  his  doubts  of  this 
popular  story,  and  Gibbon  gives  him  some  countenance ;  but 
the  universal  tradition  is  quite  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of 
poetry.  The  Spaniards,  in  detestation  of  Florinda's  memory, 
are  said,  by  Cervantes,  never  to  bestow  that  name  upon  any 
human  female,  reserving  it  for  their  dogs.  Nor  is  the  tradi- 
tion less  inveterate  among  the  Moors,  since  the  same  author 
mentions  a  promontory  on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  called  "  The 
Cape  of  the  Caba  Rumia,  which,  in  our  tongue,  is  the  Cape  of 
the  Wicked  Christian  Woman ;  and  it  is  a  tradition  among 
the  Moors  that  Caba,  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who  was 
the  cause  of  the  loss  of  Spain,  lies  buried  there,  and  they  think 
it  ominous  to  be  forced  into  that  bay ;  for  they  never  go  in 
otherwise  than  by  necessity." 


Note  F. 


And  guide  me,  Priest,  to  that  mysterious  room, 
Where,  if  aught  true  in  old  tradition  be, 
His  nation's  future  fates  a  Spanish  King  shall  see. — P.  267. 

The  transition  of  an  incident  from  history  to  tradition,  and 
from  tradition  to  fable  and  romance,  becoming  more  mar- 
vellous at  each  step  from  its  original  simplicity,  is  not  ill 
exemplified  in  the  account  of  the  "  Fated  Chamber"  of  Don 
Roderick,  as  given  by  his  namesake,  the  historian  of  Toledo, 
contrasted  with  subsequent  and  more  romantic  accounts  of 
the  same  subterranean  discovery.  I  give  the  Archbishop  of 
Toledo's  tale  in  the  words  of  Nonius,  who  seems  to  intimate 
(though  very  modestly)  that  the  folate  palatium  of  which  so 
much  had  been  said  was  only  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  amphi- 
theatre. 

"  Extra  muros,  septentrionem  versus,  vestigia  magni  olim 
theatri  sparsa  visuntur.  Auctor  est  Rodericus,  Toletanus 
Archiepiscopus  ante  Arabum  in  Hispanias  irruptionem,  hie 
folate  palatium  fuisse ;  quod  invicti  vectes  seterna  ferri  robora 
claudebant,  ne  reseratum  Hispanise  excidium  adferret ;  quod 
in  fatis  non  vulgus  solum,  sed  et  prudentissimi  quique  crede- 
bant.  Sed  Roderici  ultimi  Gothorum  Regis  animum  infelix 
curiositas  subiit,  sciendi  quid  sub  tot  vetitis  claustris  observa- 
retur ;  ingentes  ibi  superiorum  regum  opes  et  arcanos  thesau- 
ros  servari  ratus.  Seras  et  pessulos  perfringi  curat,  invitis 
omnibus ;  nihil  prseter  arculam  repertum,  et  in  ea  linteum, 
quo  explicato  novae  et  insolentes  hominum  facies  habitusque 
apparuere,  cum  inscriptione  Latina,  Hispanioz  excidium  ab 
ilia  genie  imminere;  Vultus  habitusque  Mauroruin  erant. 
Quamobrem  ex  Africa  tan  tarn  cladem  instare  regi  caeterisque 
persuasum ;  nee  falso  ut  Hispanise  annales  etiamnum  que- 
runtur." — Hispania  Ludovic.  Nonij.  cap.  lix. 

But,  about  the  term  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Grenada,  we  find,  in  the  Hisloria  Verdadeyra  del  Hey  Don 
Rodrigo,  a  (pretended)  translation  from  the  Arabic  of  the 
sage  Alcayde  Abulcacim  Tarif  Abentarique,  a  legend  which 
puts  to  shame  the  modesty  of  the  historian  Roderick,  with 
his  chest  and  prophetic  picture.  The  custom  of  ascribing  a 
pretended  Moorish  original  to  these  legendary  histories  is 
ridiculed  by  Cervantes,  who  affects  to  translate  the  History  of 
the  Knight  of  the  Woeful  Figure  from  the  Arabic  of  the  sage  Cid 
Hamet  Benengeli.  As  I  have  been  indebted  to  the  Hisloria 
Verdadeyra  for  some  of  the  imagery  employed  in  the  text,  the 
following  literal  translation  from  the  work  itself  may  gratify 
the  inquisitive  reader : — 

"  One  mile  on  the  east  side  of  the  city  of  Toledo,  among 
some  rocks,  was  situated  an  ancient  tower,  of  a  magnificent 
structure,  though  much  dilapidated  by  time,  which  consumes 


all :  four  estadoes  (i.  e.,  four  times  a  man's  height)  below  it, 
there  was  a  cave  with  a  very  narrow  entrance,  and  a  gate  cut 
out  of  the  solid  rock,  lined  with  a  strong  covering  of  iron,  and 
fastened  with  many  locks ;  above  the  gate  some  Greek  letters 
are  engraved,  which,  although  abbreviated,  and  of  doubtful 
meaning,  were  thus  interpreted,  according  to  the  exposition 
of  learned  men : — '  The  king  who  opens  this  cave,  and  can 
discover  the  wonders,  will  discover  both  good  and  evil  things.' 
Many  kings  desired  to  know  the  mystery  of  this  tower,  and 
sought  to  find  out  the  manner  with  much  care ;  but  when  they 
opened  the  gate,  such  a  tremendous  noise  arose  in  the  cave 
that  it  appeared  as  if  the  earth  was  bursting ;  many  of  those 
present  sickened  with  fear,  and  others  lost  their  lives.  In  order 
to  prevent  such  great  perils  (as  they  supposed  a  dangerous  en- 
chantment was  contained  within),  they  secured  the  gate  with 
new  locks,  concluding  that,  though  a  king  was  destined  to 
open  it,  the  fated  time  was  not  yet  arrived.  At  last  King 
Don  Rodrigo,  led  on  by  his  evil  fortune  and  unlucky  destiny, 
opened  the  tower ;  and  some  bold  attendants,  whom  he  had 
brought  with  him,  entered,  although  agitated  with  fear. 
Having  proceeded  a  good  way,  they  fled  back  to  the  entrance, 
terrified  with  a  frightful  vision  which  they  had  beheld.  The 
king  was  greatly  moved,  and  ordered  many  torches,  so  con- 
trived that  the  tempest  in  the  cave  could  not  extinguish  them, 
to  be  lighted.  Then  the  king  entered,  not  without  fear,  before 
all  the  others.  They  discovered,  by  degrees,  a  splendid  hall, 
apparently  built  in  a  very  sumptuous  manner ;  in  the  middle 
stood  a  Bronze  Statue  of  very  ferocious  appearance,  which 
held  a  battle-axe  in  its  hands.  With  this  he  struck  the  floor 
violently,  giving  it  such  heavy  blows  that  the  noise  in  the 
cave  was  occasioned  by  the  motion  of  the  air.  The  king, 
greatly  affrighted  and  astonished,  began  to  conjure  this  ter- 
rible vision,  promising  that  he  would  return  without  doing 
any  injury  in  the  cave,  after  he  had  obtained  a  sight  of  what 
was  contained  in  it.  The  statue  ceased  to  strike  the  floor,  and 
the  king,  with  his  followers,  somewhat  assured,  and  recovering 
their  courage,  proceeded  into  the  hall ;  and  on  the  left  of  the 
statue  they  found  this  inscription  on  the  wall,  '  Unfortunate 
king,  thou  hast  entered  here  in  evil  hour.'  On  the  right  side 
of  the  wall  these  words  were  inscribed,  '  By  strange  nations 
thou  shalt  be  dispossessed,  and  thy  subjects  foully  degraded.' 
On  the  shoulders  of  the  statue  other  words  were  written, 
which  said, '  I  call  upon  the  Arabs.'  And  upon  his  breast  was 
written, '  I  do  my  office.'  At  the  entrance  of  the  hall  there 
was  placed  a  round  bowl,  from  which  a  great  noise,  like  the 
fall  of  waters,  proceeded.  They  found  no  other  thing  in  the 
hall ;  and  when  the  king,  sorrowful  and  greatly  affected,  had 
scarcely  turned  about  to  leave  the  cavern,  the  statue  again 
commenced  its  accustomed  blows  upon  the  floor.  After  they 
had  mutually  promised  to  conceal  what  they  had  seen,  they 
again  closed  the  tower,  and  blocked  up  the  gate  of  the  cavern 
with  earth,  that  no  memory  might  remain  in  the  world  of 
such  a  portentous  and  evil-boding  prodigy.  The  ensuing 
midnight  they  heard  great  cries  and  clamor  from  the  cave, 
resounding  like  the  noise  of  battle,  and  the  ground  shaking 
with  a  tremendous  roar ;  the  whole  edifice  of  the  old  tower 
fell  to  the  ground,  by  which  they  were  greatly  affrighted,  the 
vision  which  they  had  beheld  appearing  to  them  as  a  dream. 
"The  king,  having  left  the  tower,  ordered  wise  men  to  ex- 
plain what  the  inscriptions  signified ;  and  having  consulted 
upon  and  studied  their  meaning,  they  declared  that  the  statue 
of  bronze,  with  the  motion  which  it  made  with  its  battle- 
axe,  signified  Time ;  and  that  its  office,  alluded  to  in  the  in- 
scription on  its  breast,  was  that  he  never  rests  a  single  mo- 
ment. The  words  on  the  shoulders,  '  I  call  upon  the  Arabs,' 
they  expounded  that,  in  time,  Spain  would  be  conquered  by 
the  Arabs.  The  words  upon  the  left  wall  signified  the  de- 
struction of  King  Rodrigo ;  those  on  the  right,  the  dreadful 
calamities  which  were  to  fall  upon  the  Spaniards  and  Goths, 
and  that  the  unfortunate  king  would  be  dispossessed  of  all  his 
states.  Finally,  the  letters  on  the  portal  indicated  that  good 
would  betide  to  the  conquerors,  and  evil  to  the  conquered,  of 


280 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


which  experience  proved  the  truth." — Historia  Verdadeyra 
del  Rey  Don  Kwlrigu.  Quinta  impression.  Madrid,  1654,  iv. 
p.  23. 


Note  G. 


The  Tecbir  war-cry,  and  tlte  Lelie's  yell.— P.  268. 

The  Tecbir  (derived  from  the  words  Alia  acbar,  God  is  most 
mighty)  was  the  original  war-cry  of  the  Saracens.  It  is  cele- 
brated by  Hughes  in  the  "  Siege  of  Damascus :" — 

"  We  heard  the  Tecbir ;  so  these  Arabs  call 
Their  shout  of  onset,  when,  with  loud  appeal, 
They  challenge  Heaven,  as  if  demanding  conquest." 

The  Lelie,  well  known  to  the  Christians  during  the  Crusades, 
is  the  shout  of  Alia  ilia  Alia,  the  Mohammedan  confession  of 
faith.  It  is  twice  used  in  poetry  by  my  friend  Mr.  W.  Stewart 
Rose,  in  the  romance  of  "  Partenopex  "  and  in  the  "  Crusade 
•f  St.  Lewis." 


Note  H. 


By  heaven,  the  Moors  prevail .'  the  Christians  yield! 

Their  coward  leader  gives  for  flight  the  sign  ! 
The  sceptred  craven  nuiunts  to  quit  the  field — 

Is  not  yon  steed  Orelia  f — Yes,  'lis  mine.' — P.  268. 

Count  Julian,  the  father  of  the  injured  Florinda,  with  the 
connivance  and  assistance  of  Oppas,  Archbishop  of  Toledo, 
invited,  in  713,  the  Saracens  into  Spain.  A  considerable  army 
arrived  under  the  command  of  Tarik.  or  Tarif,  who  bequeathed 
the  well-known  name  of  Gibraltar  (Gibel  al  Tarik,  or  the 
mountain  of  Tarik)  to  the  place  of  his  landing.  He  was  joined 
by  Count  Julian,  ravaged  Andalusia,  and  took  Seville.  In 
714  they  returned  with  a  still  greater  force,  and  Roderick 
marched  into  Andalusia  at  the  head  of  a  great  army  to  give 
them  battle.  The  field  was  chosen  near  Xeres,  and  Mariana 
gives  the  following  account  of  the  action : — 

"  Both  armies  being  drawn  up,  the  king,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  Gothic  kings  when  they  went  to  battle,  appeared 
in  an  ivory  chariot,  clothed  in  cloth  of  gold,  encouraging  his 
men ;  Tarif,  on  the  other  side,  did  the  same.  The  armies, 
thus  prepared,  waited  only  for  the  signal  to  fall  on  ;  the  Goths 
gave  the  charge,  their  drums  and  trumpets  sounding,  and  the 
Moors  received  it  with  the  noise  of  kettle-drums.  Such  were 
the  shouts  and  cries  on  both  sides  that  the  mountains  and 
valleys  seemed  to  meet.  First,  they  began  with  slings,  darts, 
javelins,  and  lances,  then  came  to  the  swords;  a  long  time  the 
battle  was  dubious ;  but  the  Moors  seemed  to  have  the  worst, 
till  D.  Oppas,  the  archbishop,  having  to  that  time  concealed 
his  treachery,  in  the  heat  of  tin-  fight,  with  a  great  body  of  his 
followers,  went  over  to  the  infidels.  He  joined  Count  Julian, 
with  whom  was  a  great  number  of  Goths,  and  both  together 
fell  upon  the  flank  of  our  army.  Our  men,  terrified  with  that 
unparalleled  treachery,  and  tired  with  fighting,  could  no 
longer  sustain  that  charge,  but  were  easily  put  to  flight.  The 
king  performed  the  part  not  only  of  a  wise  general,  but  of  a 
resolute  soldier,  relieving  the  weakest,  bringing  on  fresh  men 
in  place  of  those  that  were  tired,  and  stopping  those  that 
turned  their  backs.  At  length,  seeing  no  hopes  left,  he 
alighted  out  of  his  chariot  for  fear  of  being  taken,  and  mount- 
ing on  a  horse  called  Orelia,  he  withdrew  out  of  the  battle. 
The  Goths  who  still  stood,  missing  him,  were  most  part  put 
to  the  sword,  the  rest  betook  themselves  to  flight.    The  camp 


was  immediately  entered,  and  the  baggage  taken.  What 
number  was  killed  was  not  known:  I  suppose  they  were  so- 
many  it  was  hard  to  count  them  ;  for  this  single  battle  robbed 
Spain  of  all  its  glory,  and  in  it  perished  the  renowned  name 
of  the  Goths.  The  king's  horse,  upper  garment,  and  buskins, 
covered  with  pearls  and  precious  stones,  were  found  on  the 
bank  of  the  river  Guadelite,  and  there  being  no  news  of  him 
afterwards,  it  was  supposed  he  was  drowned  passing  the 
river." — Mariana's  History  of  Spain,  book  vi.  chap.  9. 

Orelia,  the  courser  of  Don  Roderick,  mentioned  in  the  text, 
and  in  the  above  quotation,  was  celebrated  for  her  speed  and 
form.  She  is  mentioned  repeatedly  in  Spanish  romance,  and 
also  by  Cervantes. 


Note  I. 


When  for  the  light  bolero  ready  stand 
The  mozo  blilhe,  with  gay  muchacha  met. — P.  270. 

The  bolero  is  a  very  light  and  active  dance,  much  practiced 
by  the  Spaniards,  in  which  castanets  are  always  used.  Mozo 
and  muchacha  are  equivalent  to  our  phrase  of  lad  and  lass. 


Note  K. 

While  trumpets  rang,  and  heralds  cried  "Castile .'" — P.  271. 

The  heralds,  at  the  coronation  of  a  Spanish  monarch,  pro- 
claim his  name  three  times,  and  repeat  three  times  the  word 
Costilla,  Costilla,  Costilla;  which,  with  all  other  ceremonies, 
was  carefully  copied  in  the  mock  inauguration  of  Joseph 
Bonaparte. 


Note  L. 


High  biased  the  ivar,  and  long,  and  far,  and  wide. — P.  272. 

Those  who  were  disposed  to  believe  that  mere  virtue  and 
energy  are  able  of  themselves  to  work  forth  the  salvation  of 
an  oppressed  people,  surprised  in  a  moment  of  confidence, 
deprived  of  their  officers,  armies,  and  fortresses,  who  had 
every  means  of  resistance  to  seek  in  the  very  moment  when 
they  were  to  be  made  use  of,  and  whom  the  numerous  trea- 
sons among  the  higher  orders  deprived  of  confidence  in  their 
natural  leaders, — those  who  entertained  this  enthusiastic  but 
delusive  opinion  may  be  pardoned  for  expressing  their  disap- 
pointment at  the  protracted  warfare  in  the  Peninsula.  There 
are,  however,  another  class  of  persons,  who,  having  themselves 
the  highest  dread  or  veneration,  or  something  allied  to  both, 
for  the  power  of  the  modern  Attila,  will  nevertheless  give  the 
heroical  Spaniards  little  or  no  credit  for  the  long,  stubborn, 
and  unsubdued  resistance  of  three  years  to  a  power  before 
whom  their  former  well-prepared,  well-armed,  and  numerous 
adversaries  fell  in  the  course  of  as  many  months.  While 
these  gentlemen  plead  for  deference  to  Bonaparte,  and  crave 

"  Respect  for  his  great  place,  and  bid  the  devil 
Be  duly  honor'd  for  his  burning  throne," 

it  may  not  be  altogether  unreasonable  to  claim  some  modifi- 
cation of  censure  upon  those  who  have  been  long  and  to  a 
great  extent  successfully  resisting  this  great  enemy  of  man- 
kind. That  the  energy  of  Spain  has  not  uniformly  been 
directed  by  conduct  equal  to  its  vigor  has  been  too  obvious; 


APPENDIX    TO    THE   VISION    OF    DON    RODERICK. 


281 


that  her  armies,  under  their  complicated  disadvantages,  have 
shared  the  fate  of  such  as  were  defeated  after  taking  the  field 
with  every  possible  advantage  of  arms  and  discipline,  is  surely 
not  to  be  wondered  at.  But  that  a  nation,  under  the  circum- 
stances of  repeated  discomfiture,  internal  treason,  and  the 
mismanagement  incident  to  a  temporary  and  hastily  adopted 
government,  should  have  wasted,  by  its  stubborn,  uniform, 
and  prolonged  resistance,  myriads  after  myriads  of  those  sol- 
diers who  had  overrun  the  world ;  that  some  of  its  provinces 
should,  like  Galicia,  after  being  abandoned  by  their  allies 
and  overrun  by  their  enemies,  have  recovered  their  freedom 
by  their  own  unassisted  exertions ;  that  others,  like  Catalonia, 
undismayed  by  the  treason  which  betrayed  some  fortresses, 
and  the  force  which  subdued  others,  should  not  only  have 
continued  their  resistance,  but  have  attained  over  their  victo- 
rious enemy  a  superiority  which  is  even  now  enabling  them 
to  besiege  and  retake  the  places  of  strength  which  had  been 
wrested  from  them, — is  a  tale  hitherto  untold  in  the  revolu- 
tionary war.  To  say  that  such  a  people  cannot  be  subdued 
would  be  presumption  similar  to  that  of  those  who  protested 
that  Spain  could  not  defend  herself  for  a  year,  or  Portugal 
for  a  month ;  but  that  a  resistance  which  has  been  continued 
for  so  long  a  space,  when  the  usurper,  except  during  the 
short-lived  Austrian  campaign,  had  no  other  enemies  on  the 
continent,  should  be  now  less  successful,  when  repeated  de- 
feats have  broken  the  reputation  of  the  French  armies,  and 
when  they  are  likely  (it  would  seem  almost  in  desperation) 
to  seek  occupation  elsewhere,  is  a  prophecy  as  improbable  as 
ungracious.  And  while  we  are  in  the  humor  of  severely 
censuring  our  allies,  gallant  and  devoted  as  they  have  shown 
themselves  in  the  cause  of  national  liberty,  because  they  may 
not  instantly  adopt  those  measures  which  we  in  our  wisdom 
may  deem  essential  to  success,  it  might  be  well  if  we  endeav- 
ored first  to  resolve  the  previous  questions, — 1st,  Whether  we 
do  not  at  this  moment  know  much  less  of  the  Spanish  armies 
than  those  of  Portugal,  which  were  so  promptly  condemned 
as  totally  inadequate  to  assist  in  the  preservation  of  their 
country  ?  2d,  Whether,  independently  of  any  right  we  have 
to  offer  more  than  advice  and  assistance  to  our  independent 
allies,  we  can  expect  that  they  should  renounce  entirely  the 
national  pride,  which  is  inseparable  from  patriotism,  and  at 
once  condescend  not  only  to  be  saved  by  our  assistance,  but 
to  be  saved  in  our  own  way  ?  3d,  Whether,  if  it  be  an  object 
(as  undoubtedly  it  is  a  main  one)  that  the  Spanish  troops 
should  be  trained,  under  British  discipline,  to  the  flexibility 
of  movement  and  power  of  rapid  concert  and  combination 
which  is  essential  to  modern  war,  sueh  a  consummation  is 
likely  to  be  produced  by  abusing  them  in  newspapers  and 
periodical  publications?  Lastly,  since  the  undoubted  autho- 
rity of  British  officers  makes  us  now  acquainted  with  part  of 
the  horrors  that  attend  invasion,  and  which  the  providence  of 
God,  the  valor  of  our  navy,  and  perhaps  the  very  efforts  of 
these  Spaniards,  have  hitherto  diverted  from  us,  it  may  be 
modestly  questioned  whether  we  ought  to  be  too  forward  to 
estimate  and  condemn  the  feeling  of  temporary  stupefaction 
which  they  create ;  lest,  in  so  doing,  we  should  resemble  the 
worthy  clergyman  who,  while  he  had  himself  never  snuffed  a 
candle  with  his  fingers,  was  disposed  severely  to  criticise  the 
conduct  of  a  martyr  who  winced  a  little  among  his  flames. 


Note  M. 


They  won  not  Zaragoza,  but  her  children's  bloody  tomb. — 

P.  272. 

The  interesting  account  of  Mr.  "Vaughan  has  made  most 


readers  acquainted  with  the  first  siege  of  Zaragoza.1  The  last 
and  fatal  siege  of  that  gallant  and  devoted  city  is  detailed 
with  great  eloquence  and  precision  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual 
Register  for  1809, — a  work  in  which  the  affairs  of  Spain  have 
been  treated  of  with  attention  corresponding  to  their  deep 
interest,  and  to  the  peculiar  sources  of  information  open  to 
the  historian.  The  following  are  a  few  brief  extracts  from 
this  splendid  historical  narrative : — 

"A  breach  was  soon  made  in  the  mud  walls,  and  then,  as 
in  the  former  siege,  the  war  was  carried  on  in  the  streets  and 
houses ;  but  the  French  had  been  taught  by  experience  that 
in  this  species  of  warfare  the  Zaragozans  derived  a  superi- 
ority from  the  feeling  and  principle  which  inspired  them,  and 
the  cause  for  which  they  fought.  The  only  means  of  conquer- 
ing Zaragoza  was  to  destroy  it  house  by  house  and  street  by 
street ;  and  upon  this  system  of  destruction  they  proceeded. 
Three  companies  of  miners  and  eight  companies  of  sappers 
carried  on  this  subterraneous  war ;  the  Spaniards,  it  is  said, 
attempted  to  oppose  them  by  countermines ;  these  were  ope- 
rations to  which  they  were  wholly  unused,  and,  according  to 
the  French  statement,  their  miners  were  every  day  discovered 
and  suffocated.  Meantime,  the  bombardment  was  incessantly 
kept  up.  '  Within  the  last  48  hours,'  said  Palafox  in  a  letter 
to  his  friend  General  Doyle, '  6000  shells  have  been  thrown  in. 
Two-thirds  of  the  town  are  in  ruins,  but  we  shall  perish 
under  the  ruins  of  the  remaining  third  rather  than  surren- 
der.' In  the  course  of  the  siege,  above  17,000  bombs  were 
thrown  at  the  town ;  the  stock  of  powder  with  which  Zara- 
goza had  been  stored  was  exhausted ;  they  had  none  at  last 
but  what  they  manufactured  day  by  day ;  and  no  other  can- 
non-balls than  those  which  were  shot  into  the  town,  and 
which  they  collected  and  fired  back  upon  the  enemy." 

In  the  midst  of  these  horrors  and  privations,  the  pestilence 
broke  out  in  Zaragoza.  To  various  causes  enumerated  by  the 
annalist  he  adds  "scantiness  of  food,  crowded  quarters,  un- 
usual exertion  of  body,  anxiety  of  mind,  and  the  impossibility 
of  recruiting  their  exhausted  strength  by  needful  rest,  in  a 
city  which  was  almost  incessantly  bombarded,  and  where 
every  hour  their  sleep  was  broken  by  the  tremendous  explo- 
sion of  mines.  There  was  now  no  respite,  either  by  day  or 
night,  for  this  devoted  city  ;  even  the  natural  order  of  light 
and  darkness  was  destroyed  in  Zaragoza ;  by  day  it  was  in- 
volved in  a  red  sulphureous  atmosphere  of  smoke,  which  hid 
the  face  of  heaven  ;  by  night,  the  fire  of  cannons  and  mortars, 
and  the  flames  of  burning  houses,  kept  it  in  a  state  of  terrific 
illumination. 

"  When  once  the  pestilence  had  begun,  It  was  impossible 
to  check  its  progress,  or  confine  it  to  one  quarter  of  the  city. 
Hospitals  were  immediately  established, — there  were  above 
thirty  of  them;  as  soon  as  one  was  destroyed  by  the  bom- 
bardment, the  patients  were  removed  to  another,  and  thus 
the  infection  was  carried  to  every  part  of  Zaragoza.  Famine 
aggravated  the  evil ;  the  city  had  probably  not  been  suffi- 
ciently provided  at  the  commencement  of  the  siege,  and  of 
the  provisions  which  it  contained,  much  was  destroyed  in 
the  daily  ruin  which  the  mines  and  bombs  effected.  Had 
the  Zaragozans  and  their  garrison  proceeded  according  to 
military  rules,  they  would  have  surrendered  before  the  end  of 
January;  their  batteries  had  then  been  demolished,  there 
were  open  breaches  in  many  parts  of  their  weak  walls,  and  the 
enemy  were  already  within  the  city.  On  the  30th,  above  sixty 
houses  were  blown  up,  and  the  French  obtained  possession  of 
the  monasteries  of  the  Augustines  and  Las  Monicas,  which 
adjoined  each  other,  two  of  the  last  defensible  places  left. 
The  enemy  forced  their  way  into  the  church ;  every  column, 
every  chapel,  every  altar,  became  a  point  of  defence,  which 


1  See  Narrative  of  the  Siege  of  Zaragoza,  by  Richard  Charles 
Vaughan,  Esq.,  1809.  The  Bight  Honorable  R.  C.  Vaughan 
is  now  British  Minister  at  Washington.    1833. 


282 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


was  repeat,  illy  attacked,  taken,  and  retaken;  the  pavement 
was  covered  with  blood,  the  aisles  and  body  of  the  church 
strewed  with  the  dead,  who  were  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
combatants.  In  the  midst  of  this  conflict,  the  roof,  shattered 
by  repeated  bombs,  fell  in ;  the  few  who  were  not  crushed, 
after  a  short  pause,  which  this  tremendous  shock,  and  their 
own  unexpected  escape,  occasioned,  renewed  the  fight  with 
r.kindlcd  fury  :  fresh  parties  of  the  enemy  poured  in  ;  monks, 
and  citizens,  and  soldiers,  came  to  the  defence,  and  the  con- 
test was  continued  upon  the  ruins,  and  the  bodies  of  the  dead 
and  the  dying." 

Yet,  seventeen  days  after  sustaining  these  extremities,  did 
the  heroic  inhabitants  of  Zaragoza  continue  their  defence; 
nor  did  they  then  surrender  until  their  despair  had  extracted 
from  the  French  generals  a  capitulation  more  honorable  than 
has  been  granted  to  fortresses  of  the  first  order. 

Who  shall  venture  to  refuse  the  Zaragozans  the  eulogium 
conferred  upon  them  by  the  eloquence  of  Wordsworth  ?— 
"  Most  gloriously  have  the  citizens  of  Zaragoza  proved  that 
the  true  army  of  Spain,  in  a  contest  of  this  nature,  is  the 
whole  people.  The  same  city  has  also  exemplified  a  melan- 
choly, yea,  a  dismal  truth,  yet  consolatory  and  full  of  joy, — 
that  when  a  people  are  called  suddenly  to  fight  for  their 
liberty,  and  are  sorely  pressed  upon,  their  best  field  of  battle 
is  the  floors  upon  which  their  children  have  played ;  the 
chambers  where  the  family  of  each  man  has  slept  (his  own 
or  his  neighbors');  upon  or  under  the  roofs  by  which  they 
have  been  sheltered ;  in  the  gardens  of  their  recreation ;  in 
the  street  or  in  the  market-place ;  before  the  altars  of  their 
temples,  and  among  their  congregated  dwellings,  blazing  or 
uprooted. 

"  The  government  of  Spain  must  never  forget  Zaragoza  for 
a  moment.  Nothing  is  wanting  to  produce  the  same  effects 
everywhere  but  a  leading  mind,  such  as  that  city  was  blessed 
with.  In  the  latter  contest  this  has  been  proved ;  for  Zara- 
goza contained,  at  that  time,  bodies  of  men  from  almost  all 
parts  of  Spain.  The  narrative  of  those  two  sieges  should  be 
the  manual  of  every  Spaniard.  He  may  add  to  it  the  an- 
cient stories  of  Numantia  and  Saguntum ;  let  him  sleep  upon 
the  book  as  a  pillow,  and,  if  he  be  a  devout  adherent  to  the 
religion  of  his  country,  let  him  wear  it  in  his  bosom  for  his 
crucifix  to  rest  upon." — Woedsworth  on  the  Convention  of 
Ointra. 


Note  N. 


the  Vault  of  Destiny— P.  274. 

Before  finally  dismissing  the  enchanted  cavern  of  Don 
Roderick,  it  may  be  noticed  that  the  legend  occurs  in  one  of 
Calderon's  plays,  entitled  "  La  Virgin  del  Sagrario."  The 
scene  opens  with  the  noise  of  the  chase,  and  Rccisundo,  a  pre- 
decessor of  Roderick  upon  the  Gothic  throne,  enters  pursuing 
a  stag.  The  animal  assumes  the  form  of  a  man,  and  defies  the 
king  to  enter  the  cave,  which  forms  the  bottom  of  the  scene, 
and  engage  with  him  in  single  combat.  The  king  accepts  the 
challenge,  and  they  engage  accordingly,  but  without  advan- 
tage on  either  side,  which  induces  the  Genie  to  inform  Reci- 
sundo  that  he  is  not  the  monarch  for  whom  the  adventure  of 
the  enchanted  cavern  is  reserved,  and  he  proceeds  to  predict 
the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  monarchy  and  of  the  Christian 
religion  which  shall  attend  the  discovery  of  its  mysteries. 
Recisundo,  appalled  by  these  prophecies,  orders  the  cavern  to 
lie  secured  by  a  gate  and  bolts  of  iron.  In  the  second  part 
of  the  same  play,  we  are  informed  that  I>on  Roderick  had 
removed  the  barrier  and  transgressed  the  prohibition  of  his 
ancestor,  and  had  been  apprised  by  the  prodigies  which  he 
discovered  of  the  approaching  ruin  of  his  kingdom. 


Note  O. 

While  downward  on  the  land  his  legions  press, 
Before  them  it  was  rich  with  vine  andjlock, 
And  smiled  like  Eden  in  her  summer  dress ; — 
Behind  their  wasteful  march,  a  reeking  wilderness. — P.  274. 

I  have  ventured  to  apply  to  the  movements  of  the  French 
army  that  sublime  passage  in  the  prophecies  of  Joel  which 
seems  applicable  to  them  in  more  respects  than  that  I  have 
adopted  in  the  text.  One  would  think  their  ravages,  their 
military  appointments,  the  terror  which  they  spread  among 
invaded  nations,  their  military  discipline,  their  arts  of  political 
intrigue  and  deceit,  were  distinctly  pointed  out  in  the  follow- 
ing verses  of  Scripture : — 

"2.  A  day  of  darknesse  and  of  gloominesse,  a  day  of  clouds 
and  of  thick  darknesse,  as  the  morning  spread  upon  the  moun- 
tains :  a  great  people  and  a  strong,  there  hath  not  been  ever 
the  like,  neither  shall  be  any  more  after  it,  even  to  the  yeares 
of  many  generations.  3.  A  fire  devoureth  before  them,  and 
behind  them  a  flame  burneth :  the  land  is  as  the  garden  of 
Eden  before  them,  and  behinde  them  a  desolate  wilderness ; 
yea,  and  nothing  shall  escape  them.  4.  The  appearance  of 
them  is  as  the  appearance  of  horses  and  as  horsemen,  so  shall 
they  runne.  5.  Like  the  noise  of  chariots  on  the  tops  of 
mountains,  shall  they  leap,  like  the  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire 
that  devoureth  the  stubble,  as  a  strong  people  set  in  batted 
array.  6.  Before  their  face  shall  the  people  be  much  pained  ; 
all  faces  shall  gather  blacknesse.  7.  They  shall  run  like 
mighty  men,  they  shall  climb  the  wall  like  men  of  warro, 
and  they  shall  march  every  one  in  his  wayes,  and  they  shall 
not  break  their  ranks.  8.  Neither  shall  one  thrust  another, 
they  shall  walk  every  one  in  his  path :  and  when  they  fall 
upon  the  sword,  they  shall  not  be  wounded.  9.  They  shall 
run  to  and  fro  in  the  citie ;  they  shall  run  upon  the  wall, 
they  shall  climbe  up  upon  the  houses:  they  shall  enter  in  at 
the  windows  like  a  thief.  10.  The  earth  shall  quake  before 
them,  the  heavens  shall  tremble,  the  sunne  and  the  moon 
shall  be  dark,  and  the  starres  shall  withdraw  their  shining." 

In  verse  20  also,  which  announces  the  retreat  of  the 
northern  army,  described  in  such  dreadful  colors,  into  a 
"land  barren  and  desolate,"  and  the  dishonor  with  which 
God  afflicted  them  for  having  "magnified  themselves  to  do 
great  things,"  there  are  particulars  not  inapplicable  to  the 
retreat  of  Massena ;  divine  Providence  having,  in  all  ages, 
attached  disgrace  as  the  natural  punishment  of  cruelty  and 
presumption. 


Note  P. 


The  rudest  sentinel,  in  Britain  born, 

With  horror  paused  to  view  the  havoc  done, 
Gave  his  poor  crust  to  feed  some  wretch  forlorn.— P.  275. 

Even  the  unexampled  gallantry  of  the  British  army  in  the 
campaign  of  1810-11,  although  they  never  fought  but  to  con- 
quer, will  do  them  less  honor  in  history  than  their  humanity, 
attentive  to  soften  to  the  utmost  of  their  power  the  horrors 
which  war,  in  its  mildest  aspect,  must  always  inflict  upon  the 
defenceless  inhabitants  of  the  country  in  which  it  is  waged, 
and  which,  on  this  occasion,  were  tenfold  augmented  by  the 
barbarous  cruelties  of  the  French.  Soup-kitchens  were  esta- 
blished by  subscription  among  the  officers,wherever  the  troops 
were  quartered  for  any  length  of  time.  The  commissaries 
contributed  the  heads,  feet,  &c,  of  the  cattle  slaughtered  for 
the  soldiery ;  rice,  vegetables,  and  bread  where  it  could  be 
had,  were  purchased  by  the  officers.  Fifty  or  sixty  starving 
peasants  were  daily  fed  at  one  of  these  regimental  establish- 
ments, and  carried  home  the  relics  to  their  famished  house- 


APPENDIX    TO    THE   VISION    OF    DON    KODEEICK. 


283 


holds.  The  emaciated  wretches,  who  could  not  crawl  from 
weakness,  were  speedily  employed  in  pruning  their  vines. 
While  pursuing  Massena,  the  soldiers  evinced  the  same  spirit 
of  humanity,  and  in  many  instances,  when  reduced  them- 
selves to  short  allowance,  from  having  out-marched  their  sup- 
plies, they  shared  their  pittance  with  the  starving  inhabitants, 
who  had  ventured  back  to  view  the  ruins  of  their  habitations, 
burnt  by  the  retreating  enemy,  and  to  bury  the  bodies  of 
their  relations  whom  they  had  butchered.  Is  it  possible  to 
know  such  facts  without  feeling  a  sort  of  confidence  that 
those  who  so  well  deserve  victory  are  most  likely  to  attain  it? 
It  is  not  the  least  of  Lord  Wellington's  military  merits  that 
the  slightest  disposition  towards  marauding  meets  immediate 
punishment.  Independently  of  all  moral  obligation,  the  army 
which  is  most  orderly  in  a  friendly  country  has  always  proved 
most  formidable  to  an  armed  enemy. 


Note  Q. 

Vainglorious  fugitive  ! — P.  275. 

The  French  conducted  this  memorable  retreat  with  much 
of  the  fanfaronna.de  proper  to  their  country,  by  which  they 
attempt  to  impose  upon  others,  and  perhaps  on  themselves,  a 
belief  that  they  are  triumphing  in  the  very  moment  of  their 
discomfiture.  On  the  30th  March,  1811,  their  rear-guard  was 
overtaken  near  Pega  by  the  British  cavalry.  Being  well 
posted,  and  conceiving  themselves  safe  from  infantry  (who 
were  indeed  many  miles  in  the  rear)  and  from  artillery,  they 
indulged  themselves  in  parading  their  bands  of  music,  and 
actually  performed  "  God  save  the  King."  Their  minstrelsy 
was,  however,  deranged  by  the  undesired  accompaniment  of 
the  British  horse-artillery,  on  whose  part  in  the  concert  they 
had  not  calculated.  The  surprise  was  sudden,  and  the  rout 
complete ;  for  the  artillery  and  cavalry  did  execution  upon 
them  for  about  four  miles,  pursuing  at  a  gallop  as  often  as 
they  got  beyond  the  range  of  the  guns. 


Note  R. 


Vainly  thy  squadrons  hide  Assuava's  plain, 
And  front  the  flying  thunders  as  they  roar, 
With  frantic  charge  and  tenfold  odds,  in  vain  1 


-P.  275. 


In  the  severe  action  of  Fuentes  d'Honoro,  upon  5th  May, 
1811,  the  grand  mass  of  the  French  cavalry  attacked  the  right 
of  the  British  position,  covered  by  two  guns  of  the  horse- 
artillery  and  two  squadrons  of  cavalry.  After  suffering  con- 
siderably from  the  fire  of  the  guns,  which  annoyed  them  in 
every  attempt  at  formation,  the  enemy  turned  their  wrath 
entirely  towards  them,  distributed  brandy  among  their 
troopers,  and  advanced  to  carry  the  field-pieces  with  the  des- 
peration of  drunken  fury.  They  were  in  nowise  checked  by 
the  heavy  loss  which  they  sustained  in  this  daring  attempt, 
but  closed,  and  fairly  mingled  with  the  British  cavalry,  to 
whom  they  bore  the  proportion  of  ten  to  one.  Captain  Ram- 
say (let  me  be  permitted  to  name  a  gallant  countryman),  who 
commanded  the  two  guns,  dismissed  them  at  the  gallop,  and 
putting  himself  at  the  head  of  the  mounted  artillerymen, 
ordered  them  to  fall  upon  the  French,  sabre  in  hand.  This 
very  unexpected  conversion  of  artillerymen  into  dragoons 
contributed  greatly  to  the  defeat  of  the  enemy,  already  dis- 


concerted by  the  reception  they  had  met  from  the  two  British 
squadrons ;  and  the  appearance  of  some  small  reinforcements, 
notwithstanding  the  immense  disproportion  of  force,  put 
them  to  absolute  rout.  A  colonel  or  major  of  their  cavalry 
and  many  prisoners  (almost  all  intoxicated)  remained  in  our 
possession.  Those  who  consider  for  a  moment  the  difference 
of  the  services,  and  how  much  an  artilleryman  is  necessarily 
and  naturally  led  to  identify  his  own  safety  and  utility  with 
abiding  by  the  tremendous  implement  of  war  to  the  exer- 
cise of  which  he  is  chiefly,  if  not  exclusively,  trained,  will 
know  how  to  estimate  the  presence  of  mind  which  command- 
ed so  bold  a  manoeuvre,  and  the  steadiness  and  confidence 
with  which  it  was  executed. 


Note  S. 

And  what  avails  thee  that,  for  Cameron  slain, 

Wild  from  his plaided  ranks  the  yell  was  given? — P.  275. 

The  gallant  Colonel  Cameron  was  wounded  mortally  during 
the  desperate  contest  in  the  streets  of  the  village  called 
Fuentes  d'Honoro.  He  fell  at  the  head  of  his  native  High- 
landers, the  71st  and  79th,  who  raised  a  dreadful  shriek  of 
grief  and  rage.  They  charged,  with  irresistible  fury,  the  finest 
body  of  French  grenadiers  ever  seen,  being  a  part  of  Bona- 
parte's selected  guard.  The  officer  who  led  the  French,  a  man 
remarkable  for  stature  and  symmetry,  was  killed  on  the  spot. 
The  Frenchman  who  stepped  out  of  his  rank  to  take  aim  at 
Colonel  Cameron  was  also  bayoneted,  pierced  with  a  thousand 
wounds,  and  almost  torn  to  pieces  by  the  furious  Highlanders, 
who,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Cadogan,  bore  the  enemy 
out  of  the  contested  ground  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 
Massena  pays  my  countrymen  a  singular  compliment  in  his 
account  of  the  attack  and  defence  of  this  village,  in  which  he 
says  the  British  lost  many  officers,  and  Scotch. 


Note  T. 


But  you,  ye  heroes  of  thai  well-fought  day,  dec. — P.  275. 

[The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  offered  the  following  remarks 
on  what  he  considered  as  an  unjust  omission  in  this  part  of 
the  poem : — 

"  We  are  not  very  apt,"  he  says,  "  to  quarrel  with  a  poet 
for  his  politics ;  and  really  supposed  it  next  to  impossible  that 
Mr.  Scott  should  have  given  us  any  ground  of  dissatisfaction 
on  this  score,  in  the  management  of  his  present  theme.  Lord 
Wellington  and  his  fellow  soldiers  well  deserved  the  laurels 
they  have  won ;  nor  is  there  one  British  heart,  we  believe, 
that  will  not  feel  proud  and  grateful  for  all  the  honors  with 
which  British  genius  can  invest  their  names.  In  the  praises 
which  Mr.  Scott  has  bestowed,  therefore,  all  his  readers  will 
sympathize ;  but  for  those  which  he  has  withheld,  there  are 
some  that  will  not  so  readily  forgive  him ;  and  in  our  eyes,  we 
will  confess,  it  is  a  sin  not  easily  to  be  expiated  that  in  a 
poem  written  substantially  for  the  purpose  of  commemorating 
the  brave  who  have  fought  or  fallen  in  Spain  or  Portugal— 
and  written  by  a  Scotchman — there  should  be  no  mention  of 
the  name  of  Moore  ! — of  the  only  commander-in-chief  who 
has  fallen  in  this  memorable  contest ; — of  a  commander  who 
was  acknowledged  as  the  model  and  pattern  of  a  British  sol- 
dier, when  British  soldiers  stood  most  in  need  of  such  an 
example ;  and  was,  at  the  same  time,  distinguished  not  less 
for  every  manly  virtue  and  generous  affection,  than  for  skill 


284 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


and  gallantry  in  his  profession.  A  more  pure  or  a  more  ex- 
alted character  certainly  has  not  appeared  upon  that  scene 
■which  Mr.  Scott  has  sought  to  illustrate  with  the  splendor  of 
his  genius ;  and  it  is  with  a  mixture  of  shame  and  indignation 
that  we  find  him  grudging  a  single  ray  of  that  profuse  and 
readily  yielded  glory  to  gild  the  grave  of  his  lamented  coun- 
tryman. To  offer  a  lavish  tribute  of  praise  to  the  living, 
whose  task  is  still  incomplete,  may  be  generous  and  munifi- 
cent; but  to  departed  merit,  it  is  due  in  strictness  of  justice. 
Who  will  deny  that  Sir  John  Moore  was  all  that  we  have  now 
said  of  him  ?  or  who  will  doubt  that  his  untimely  death  in  the 
hour  of  victory  would  have  been  eagerly  seized  upon  by  an 
impartial  poet  as  a  noble  theme  for  generous  lamentation 
and  eloquent  praise?  But  Mr.  Scott's  political  friends  have 
fancied  it  for  their  interest  to  calumniate  the  memory  of  this 
illustrious  and  accomplished  person, — and  Mr.  Scott  has  per- 
mitted the  spirit  of  party  to  stand  in  the  way,  not  only  of 
poetical  justice,  but  of  patriotic  and  generous  feeling. 

"It  is  this  for  which  we  grieve  and  feel  ashamed; — this 
hardening  and  deadening  efTect  of  political  animosities,  in 
cases  where  politics  should  have  nothing  to  do ;  this  appa- 
rent perversion,  not  merely  of  the  judgment,  but  of  the  heart ; 
this  implacable  resentment,  which  wars  not  only  with  the 
living,  but  with  the  dead,  and  thinks  it  a  reason  for  defraud- 
ing a  departed  warrior  of  his  glory,  that  a  political  antagonist 
has  been  zealous  in  his  praise.  These  things  are  lamentable, 
and  they  cannot  be  alluded  to  without  some  emotions  of  sor- 
row and  resentment.  But  they  affect  not  the  fame  of  him  on 
whose  account  these  emotions  are  suggested.  The  wars  of 
Spain  and  the  merits  of  Sir  John  Moore  will  be  commemo- 
rated in  a  more  impartial  and  a  more  imperishable  record 
than  the  '  Vision  of  Don  Roderick ;'  and  his  humble  monu- 
ment in  the  citadel  of  Corunna  will  draw  the  tears  and  the 
admiration  of  thousands  who  concern  not  themselves  about 
the  exploits  of  his  more  fortunate  associates." — Edinburgh 
Review,  vol.  xviii.     1811. 

The  reader  who  desires  to  understand  Sir  Walter  Scott's  de- 
liberate opinion  on  the  subject  of  Sir  John  Moore's  military 
character  and  conduct  is  referred  to  the  Life  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  vol.  vi.  chap.  xlvi.  But  perhaps  it  may  be  neither 
unamusing  nor  uninstructive  to  consider,  along  with  the  dia- 
tribe just  quoted  from  the  Edinburgh  Review,  some  reflec- 
tions from  the  pen  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself  on  the  injustice 
done  to  a  name  greater  than  Moore's  in  the  noble  stanzas  on 
the  battle  of  Waterloo,  in  the  third  canto  of  "  Childe  Harold" 
— an  injustice  which  did  not  call  forth  any  rebuke  from  the 
Edinburgh  critics.    Sir  Walter,  in  reviewing  this  canto,  said : 

"  Childe  Harold  arrives  on  Waterloo— a  scene  where  all 
men,  where  a  poet  especially,  and  a  poet  such  as  Lord  Byron, 
must  needs  pause,  and  amid  the  quiet  simplicity  of  whose 
scenery  is  excited  a  moral  interest  deeper  and  more  potent 
even  than  that  which  is  produced  by  gazing  upon  the  sub- 
limest  efforts  of  .Nature  in  her  most  romantic  recesses. 

"That  Lord  Byron's  sentiments  do  not  correspond  with 
ours  is  obvious,  and  we  are  sorry  for  both  our  sakes.  For 
our  own,  because  we  have  lost  that  note  of  triumph  with 
which  his  harp  would  otherwise  have  rung  over  a  field  of 
glory  such  as  Britain  never  reaped  before ;  and  on  Lord 
Byron's  account,  because  it  is  melancholy  to  see  a  man  of 
genius  duped  by  the  mere  cant  of  words  and  phrases,  even 
when  facts  are  most  broadly  confronted  with  them.  If  the 
poet  has  mixed  with  the  original,  wild,  and  magnificent  crea- 
tions of  his  imagination  prejudices  which  he  could  only  have 
caught  by  the  contagion  which  he  most  professes*to  despise, 
it  is  he  himself  that  must  be  the  loser.  If  his  lofty  muse  has 
soared  in  all  her  brilliancy  over  the  field  of  Waterloo  without 
dropping  even  one  leaf  of  laurel  on  the  head  of  Wellington, 
his  merit  can  dispense  even  with  the  praise  of  Lord  Byron. 
And  as  when  the  images  of  Brutus  were  excluded  from  the 
triumphal  procession,  his  memory  became  only  the  more 
powerfully  imprinted  on  the  souls  of  the  Romans,  the  name 


of  the  British  hero  will  be  but  more  eagerly  recalled  to  re- 
membrance by  the  very  lines  in  which  his  praise  is  forgot- 
ten."— Quarterly  Review,  vol.  xvi.    1816.  Ed.] 


Note  TJ. 


Oh,  ivho  shall  grudge  him  Albuera's  bays, 
Who  brought  a  race  regenerate  to  the  field, 

Roused  them  to  emiUate  their  fathers'  praise, 

Temper'd  their  headlong  rage,  their  courage  steeVd, 

And  raised  fair  Lusitania's  fallen  shield. — P.  275. 

Nothing  during  the  war  of  Portugal  seems,  to  a  distinct 
observer,  more  deserving  of  praise  than  the  self-devotion  of 
Field-Marshal  Beresford,  who  was  contented  to  undertake  all 
the  hazard  of  obloquy  which  might  have  been  founded  upon 
any  miscarriage  in  the  highly  important  experiment  of  train- 
ing the  Portuguese  troops  to  an  improved  state  of  discipline. 
In  exposing  his  military  reputation  to  the  censure  of  impru- 
dence from  the  most  moderate,  and  all  manner  of  unutterable 
calumnies  from  the  ignorant  and  malignant,  he  placed  at 
stake  the  dearest  pledge  which  a  military  man  had  to  offer, 
and  nothing  but  the  deepest  conviction  of  the  high  and  essen- 
tial importance  attached  to  success  can  be  supposed  an  ade- 
quate motive.  How  great  the  chance  of  miscarriage  was 
supposed  may  be  estimated  from  the  general  opinion  of  offi- 
cers of  unquestioned  talents  and  experience,  possessed  of  every 
opportunity  of  information ;  how  completely  the  experiment 
has  succeeded,  and  how  much  the  spirit  and  patriotism  of  our 
ancient  allies  had  been  underrated,  is  evident  not  only  from 
those  victories  in  which  they  have  borne  a  distinguished 
share,  but  from  the  liberal  and  highly  honorable  manner  in 
which  those  opinions  have  been  retracted.  The  success  of 
this  plan,  with  all  its  important  consequences,  we  owe  to  the 
indefatigable  exertions  of  Field-Marshal  Beresford. 


Note  V. 


■  a  race  renown'd  of  old, 


Whose  war-cry  oft  has  waked  the  battle-swell. 


■  the  conquering  shout  of  Gramme. — P.  276. 


This  stanza  alludes  to  the  various  achievements  of  the  war- 
like family  of  Grseme,  or  Grahame.  They  are  said  by  tradi- 
tion to  have  descended  from  the  Scottish  chief  under  whose 
command  his  countrymen  stormed  the  wall  built  by  the  em- 
peror Severus  between  the  Friths  of  Forth  and  Clyde,  the 
fragments  of  which  are  still  popularly  called  Gramme's  Dyke. 
Sir  John  the  Grseme,  "  the  hardy,  wight,  and  wise,"  is  well 
known  as  the  friend  of  Sir  William  Wallace.  Alderne,  Kil- 
sythe,  and  Tibbermuir,  were  scenes  of  the  victories  of  the 
heroic  Marquis  of  Montrose.  The  pass  of  Killycrankie  is 
famous  for  the  action  between  King  William's  forces  and  the 
Highlanders  in  1689, 

"  Where  glad  Dundee  in  faint  huzzas  expired." 

It  is  seldom  that  one  line  can  number  so  many  heroes,  and 
yet  more  rare  when  it  can  appeal  to  the  glory  of  a  living  de- 
scendant in  support  of  its  ancient  renown. 

The  allusions  to  the  private  history  and  character  of  Gene- 
ral Grahame  may  be  illustrated  by  referring  to  the  eloquent 
and  affecting  speech  of  Mr.  Sheridan  upon  the  vote  of  thanks 
to  the  Victor  of  Barosa. 


3£oftci>g: 


A    POEM,    IN    SIX    CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  commenced  the  composition  of 
"  Rokeby  "  at  Abbotsford,  on  the  15th  of  September, 
1812,  and  finished  it  on  the  last  day  of  the  following 
December. 

The  reader  may  be  interested  with  the  following 
extracts  from  his  letters  to  his  friend  and  printer, 
Mr.  Ballantyne : — 

Abbotsford,  28tk  Oct.  1812. 
"  Dear  James, — I  send  you  to-day  better  than  the 
third  sheet  of  canto  ii.,  and  I  trust  to  send  the  other 
three  sheets  in  the  course  of  the  week.  I  expect  that 
you  will  have  three  cantos  complete  before  I  quit  this 
place — on  the  11th  of  November.  Surely,  if  you  do 
your  part,  the  poem  may  be  out  by  Christmas ;  but 
you  must  not  dawdle  over  your  typographical  scruples. 
I  have  too  much  respect  for  the  public  to  neglect  any 
thing  in  my  poem  to  attract  their  attention;  and 
you  misunderstood  me  much  when  you  supposed  that 
I  designed  any  new  experiments  in  point  of  composi- 
tion. I  only  meant  to  say  that,  knowing  well  that  the 
said  public  will  never  be  pleased  with  exactly  the  same 
thing  a  second  time,  I  saw  the  necessity  of  giving  a 
certain  degree  of  novelty,  by  throwing  the  interest 
more  on  character  than  in  my  former  poems,  without 
certainly  meaning  to  exclude  either  incident  or  de- 
scription. I  think  you  will  see  the  same  sort  of  differ- 
ence taken  in  all  my  former  poems,  of  which  I  would 
say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to  say  any  thing,  that  the  force 
in  the  'Lay'  is  thrown  on  style,  in  'Marmion'  on 
description,  and  in  the '  Lady  of  the  Lake'  on  incident." 

„d  November. — "As  for  my  story,  the  conduct  of 
the  plot,  which  must  be  made  natural  and  easy,  pre- 
vents my  introducing  any  thing  light  for  some  time. 
You  must  advert,  that  in  order  to  give  poetical  effect 
to  any  incident,  I  am  often  obliged  to  be  much  longer 
than  I  expected  in  the  detail.  You  are  too  much 
like  the  country  squire  in  the  what  d'ye  call  it,  who 
commands  that  the  play  should  not  only  be  a  tragedy 
and  comedy,  but  that  it  should  be  crowned  with  a 
spice  of  your  pastoral.  As  for  what  is  popular,  and 
what  people  like,  and  so  forth,  it  is  all  a  joke.  Be 
interesting ;  do  the  thing  well,  and  the  only  difference 
will  be,  that  people  will  like  what  they  never  liked 
before,  and  will  like  it  so  much  the  better  for  the 


novelty  of  their  feelings  towards  it.    Dullness  and 
tameness  are  the  only  irreparable  faults." 

December  31s£. — "  With  kindest  wishes  on  the  re- 
turn of  the  season,  I  send  you  the  last  of  the  copy  of 
'  Rokeby.'  If  you  are  not  engaged  at  home,  and  like 
to  call  in,  we  will  drink  good  luck  to  it ;  but  do  not 
derange  a  family  party. 

"There  is  something  odd  and  melancholy  in  con- 
cluding a  poem  with  the  year,  and  I  could  be  almost 
silly  and  sentimental  about  it.  I  hope  you  think  I 
have  done  my  best.  I  assure  you  of  my  wishes  the 
work  may  succeed ;  and  my  exertions  to  get  out  in 
time  were  more  inspired  by  your  interest  and  John's 
than  my  own.    And  so  vogue  la  galere.  W.  S." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

Between  the  publication  of  the  "Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  which  was  so  eminently  successful,  and  that 
of  "  Rokeby,"  in  1813,  three  years  had  intervened.  I 
shall  not,  I  believe,  be  accused  of  ever  having  at- 
tempted to  usurp  a  superiority  over  many  men  of 
genius,  my  contemporaries ;  but  in  point  of  popular- 
ity, not  of  actual  talent,  the  caprice  of  the  public  had 
certainly  given  me  such  a  temporary  superiority  over 
men  of  whom,  in  regard  to  poetical  fancy  and  feel- 
ing, I  scarcely  thought  myself  worthy  to  loose  the 
shoe-latch.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  absurd 
affectation  in  me  to  deny  that  I  conceived  myself  to 
understand,  more  perfectly  than  many  of  my  contem- 
poraries, the  manner  most  likely  to  interest  the  great 
mass  of  mankind.  Yet,  even  with  this  belief,  I  must 
truly  and  fairly  say  that  I  always  considered  myself 
rather  as  one  who  held  the  bets,  in  time  to  be  paid 
over  to  the  winner,  than  as  having  any  pretence  to 
keep  them  in  my  own  right. 

In  the  meantime  years  crept  on,  and  not  without 
their  usual  depredations  on  the  passing  generation. 
My  sons  had  arrived  at  the  age  when  the  paternal 
home  was  no  longer  their  best  abode,  as  both  were 
destined  to  active  life.  The  field-sports  to  which  I 
was  peculiarly  attached  had  now  less  interest,  and 
were  replaced  by  other  amusements  of  a  more  quiet 
character ;  and  the  means  and  opportunity  of  pursu- 
ing these  were  to  be  sought  for.  I  had,  indeed,  for 
some  years  attended  to  farming,  a  knowledge  of  which 

(285) 


286 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


is,  or  at  least  was  then,  indispensable  to  the  comfort 
of  a  family  residing  in  a  solitary  country-house ;  but 
although  this  was  the  favorite  amusement  of  many 
of  my  friends,  I  have  never  been  able  to  consider  it  as 
a  source  of  pleasure.  I  never  could  think  it  a  matter 
of  passing  importance  that  my  cattle  or  crops  were 
better  or  more  plentiful  than  those  of  my  neighbors; 
and  nevertheless  I  began  to  feel  the  necessity  of  some 
more  quiet  out-door  occupation,  different  from  those 
I  had  hitherto  pursued.  I  purchased  a  small  farm  of 
about  one  hundred  acres,  with  the  purpose  of  plant- 
ing and  improving  it,  to  which  property  circumstances 
afterwards  enabled  me  to  make  considerable  addi- 
tions ;  and  thus  an  era  took  place  iu  my  life,  almost 
equal  to  the  important  one  mentioned  by  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield,  when  he  removed  from  the  Blue-room 
to  the  Brown.  In  point  of  neighborhood,  at  least, 
the  change  of  residence  made  little  more  difference. 
Abbotsford,  to  which  we  removed,  wa3  only  six*  or 
seven  miles  down  the  Tweed,  and  lay  on  the  same 
beautiful  stream.  It  did  not  possess  the  romantic 
character  of  Ashestiel,  my  former  residence;  but  it 
had  a  stretch  of  meadow-land  along  the  river,  and 
possessed,  in  the  phrase  of  the  landscape-gardener, 
considerable  capabilities.  Above  all,  the  land  was 
my  own,  like  Uncle  Toby's  Bowling-green,  to  do 
what  I  would  with.  It  had  been,  though  the  gratifi- 
cation was  long  postponed,  an  early  wish  of  mine  to 
connect  myself  with  my  mother  earth,  and  prosecute 
those  experiments  by  which  a  species  of  creative 
power  is  exercised  over  the  face  of  nature.  I  can 
trace,  even  to  childhood,  a  pleasure  derived  from 
Dodsley's  account  of  Shenstone's  Leasowes,  and  I 
envied  the  poet  much  more  for  the  pleasure  of  accom- 
plishing the  objects  detailed  in  his  friend's  sketch  of 
his  grounds,  than  for  the  possession  of  pipe,  crook, 
flock,  and  Phillis  to  boot.  My  memory,  also,  tena- 
cious of  quaint  expressions,  still  retained  a  phrase 
which  it  had  gathered  from  an  old  almanac  of 
Charles  the  Second's  time  (when  every  thing  down 
to  almanacs  affected  to  be  smart),  in  which  the 
reader,  in  the  month  of  June,  is  advised  for  health's 
sake  to  walk  a  mile  or  two  every  day  before  breakfast, 
and,  if  he  can  possibly  so  manage,  to  let  his  exercise 
be  taken  upon  his  own  land. 

With  the  satisfaction  of  having  attained  the  fulfill- 
ment of  an  early  and  long-cherished  hope,  I  com- 
menced my  improvements,  as  delightful  in  their  pro- 
gress as  those  of  the  child  who  first  makes  a  dress  for 
a  new  doll.  The  nakedness  of  the  land  was  in  time 
hidden  by  woodlands  of  considerable  extent;  the 
smallest  of  possible  cottages  was  progressively  ex- 
panded into  a  sort  of  dream  of  a  mansion-house,  whim- 
sical in  the  exterior,  but  convenient  within.  Nor  did 
I  forget  what  is  the  natural  pleasure  of  every  man 
who  has  been  a  reader — I  mean  the  filling  the  shelves 
of  a  tolerably  large  library.  All  these  objects  I  kept 
in  view,  to  be  executed  as  convenience  should  serve ; 
and,  although  I  knew  many  years  must  elapse  before 
they  could  be  attained,  I  was  of  a  disposition  to  com- 


fort myself  with  the  Spanish  proverb,  "Time  and  I 
against  any  two." 

The  difficult  and  indispensable  point,  of  finding  a 
permanent  subject  of  occupation,  was  now  at  length 
attained;  but  there  was  annexed  to  it  the  necessity 
of  becoming  again  a  candidate  for  public  favor ;  for, 
as  I  was  turned  improver  on  the  earth  of  the  every-day 
world,  it  was  under  condition  that  the  small  tenement 
of  Parnassus,  which  might  be  accessible  to  my  labors, 
should  not  remain  uncultivated. 

I  meditated,  at  first,  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  Bruce, 
in  which  I  made  some  progress,  but  afterwards  judged  , 
it  advisable  to  lay  it  aside,  supposing  that  an  English 
story  might  have  more  novelty  ;  in  consequence,  the 
precedence  was  given  to  "  Rokeby." 

If  subject  and  scenery  could  have  influenced  the 
fate  of  a  poem,  that  of  "  Rokeby"  should  have  been 
eminently  distinguished;  for  the  grounds  belonged  to 
a  dear  friend,  with  whom  I  had  lived  in  habits  of  in- 
timacy for  many  years,  and  the  place  itself  united  the 
romantic  beauties  of  the  wilds  of  Scotland  with  the 
rich  and  smiling  aspect  of  the  southern  portion  of  the 
island.  But  the  Cavaliers  and  Roundheads,  whom  I 
attempted  to  summon  up  to  tenant  this  beautiful  re- 
gion, had  for  the  public  neither  the  novelty  nor  the 
peculiar  interest  of  the  primitive  Highlanders.  This, 
perhaps,  was  scarcely  to  be  expected,  considering  that 
the  general  mind  sympathizes  readily  and  at  once  with 
the  stamp  which  Nature  herself  has  affixed  upon  the 
manners  of  a  people  living  in  a  simple  and  patriarchal 
state ;  whereas  it  has  more  difficulty  in  understanding 
or  interesting  itself  in  manners  founded  upon  those 
peculiar  habits  of  thinking  or  acting  which  are  pro- 
duced by  the  progress  of  society.  We  could  read  with 
pleasure  the  tale  of  the  adventures  of  a  Cossack  or  a 
Mongol  Tartar,  while  we  only  wonder  and  stare  over 
those  of  the  lovers  in  the  "  Pleasing  Chinese  History," 
where  the  embarrassments  turn  upon  difficulties  aris- 
ing out  of  unintelligible  delicacies  peculiar  to  the  cus- 
toms and  manners  of  that  affected  people. 

The  cause  of  my  failure  had,  however,  a  far  deeper 
root.  The  manner,  or  style,  which,  by  its  novelty,  at- 
tracted the  public  in  an  unusual  degree,  had  now. 
after  having  been  three  times  before  them,  exhausted 
the  patience  of  the  reader,  and  began  in  the  fourth  to 
lose  its  charms.  The  reviewers  may  be  said  to  have 
apostrophized  the  author  in  the  language  of  Parnell's 
Edwin : — 

"  And  here  reverse  the  charm,  he  cries, 
And  let  it  fairly  now  suffice, 
The  gambol  has  been  shown." 

The  licentious  combination  of  rhymes,  in  a  manner 
not  perhaps  very  congenial  to  our  language,  had  not 
been  confined  to  the  author.  Indeed,  in  most  similar 
cases,  the  inventors  of  such  novelties  have  their  repu- 
tation destroyed  by  their  own  imitators,  as  Actseon 
fell  under  the  fury  of  his  own  dogs.  The  present  au- 
thor,  like  Bobadil,  had  taught  his  trick  of  fence  to  a 


EOKEBY. 


287 


hundred  gentlemen  (and  ladies1),  who  could  fence 
very  nearly  or  quite  as  well  as  himself.  For  this 
there  was  no  remedy ;  the  harmony  became  tiresome 
and  ordinary,  and  both  the  original  inventor  and  his 
invention  must  have  fallen  into  contempt  if  he  had 
not  found  out  another  road  to  public  favor.  What 
has  been  said  of  the  metre  only  must  be  considered 
to  apply  equally  to  the  structure  of  the  poem  and  of 
the  style.  The  very  best  passages  of  any  popular  style 
are  not,  perhaps,  susceptible  of  irrigation,  but  they 
may  be  approached  by  men  of  talent ;  and  those  who 
are  less  able  to  copy  them  at  least  lay  hold  of  their 
peculiar  features,  so  as  to  produce  a  strong  burlesque. 
In  either  way,  the  effect  of  the  manner  is  rendered 
cheap  and  common,  and,  in  the  latter  case,  ridicu- 
lous to  boot.  The  evil  consequences  to  an  author's 
reputation  are  at  least  as  fatal  as  those  which  come 
upon  the  musical  composer,  when  his  melody  falls 
into  the  hands  of  the  street  ballad-singer. 

Of  the  unfavorable  species  of  imitation,  the  au- 
thor's style  gave  room  to  a  very  large  number,  owing 
to  an  appearance  of  facility  to  which  some  of  those 
who  used  the  measure  unquestionably  leaned  too  far. 
The  effect  of  the  more  favorable  imitations,  composed 
by  persons  of  talent,  was  almost  equally  unfortunate 
to  the  original  minstrel,  by  showing  that  they  could 
overshoot  him  with  his  own  bow.  In  short,  the  pop- 
ularity which  once  attended  the  School,  as  it  was 
called,  was  now  fast  decaying. 

*  Besides  all  this,  to  have  kept  his  ground  at  the  cri- 
sis when  "Bokeby"  appeared,  its  author  ought  to 
have  put  forth  his  utmost  strength,  and  to  have  pos- 
sessed at  least  all  his  original  advantages,  for  a  mighty 
and  unexpected  rival  was  advancing  on  the  stage — a 
rival  not  in  poetical  powers  only,  but  in  that  art  of 
attracting  popularity  in  which  the  present  writer  had 
hitherto  preceded  better  men  than  himself.  The  read- 
er will  easily  see  that  Byron  is  here  meant,  who,  after 
a  little  velitation  of  no  great  promise,  now  appeared 
as  a  serious  candidate,  in  the  first  two  cantos  of 
"  Childe  Harold."2  I  was  astonished  at  the  power 
evinced  by  that  work,  which  neither  the  "  Hours  of 
Idleness"  nor  the  "English  Bards  and  Scotch  Be- 
viewers "  had  prepared  me  to  expect  from  its  author. 
There  was  a  depth  in  his  thought,  an  eager  abundance 
in  his  diction,  which  argued  full  confidence  in  the  in- 
exhaustible resources  of  which  he  felt  himself  pos- 


1  "Scott  found  peculiar  favor  awl  imitation  among  the 
fair  sex:  there  was  Miss  Halford,  and  Miss  Mitford,  and  Miss 
Francis;  but,  with  the  greatest  respect  be  it  spoken,  none  of 
his  imitators  did  much  honor  to  the  original,  except  Hogg, 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  until  the  appearance  of  the  '  Bridal  of 
Triermain'  and  '  Harold  the  Dauntless,'  which,  in  the  opinion 
of  some,  equalled,  if  not  surpassed,  him ;  and  lo !  after  three 
or  four  years,  they  turned  out  to  be  the  Master's  own  compo- 
sitions."— Byron's  Works,  vol.  xv.  p.  96. 

2  ''These  two  cantos  were  published  in  London  in  March, 
1812,  and  immediately  placed  their  author  on  a  level  with  the 
very  highest  names  of  his  age.  The  impression  they  created 
was  more  uniform,  decisive,  and  triumphant,  than  any  that 


sessed ;  and  there  was  some  appearance  of  that  labor  of 
the  file  which  indicates  that  the  author  is  conscious 
of  the  necessity  of  doing  every  justice  to  his  work, 
that  it  may  pass  warrant.  Lord  Byron  was  also  a 
traveller,  a  man  whose  ideas  were  fired  by  having 
seen,  in  distant  scenes  of  difficulty  and  danger,  the 
places  whose  very  names  are  recorded  in  our  bosoms 
as  the  shrines  of  ancient  poetry.  For  his  own  mis- 
fortune, perhaps,  but  certainly  to  the  high  increase  of 
his  poetical  character,  nature  had  mixed  in  Lord  By- 
ron's system  those  passions  which  agitate  the  human 
heart  with  most  violence,  and  which  may  be  said  to 
have  hurried  his  bright  career  to  an  early  close.  There 
would  have  been  little  wisdom  in  measuring  my  force 
with  so  formidable  an  antagonist ;  and  I  was  as  likely 
to  tire  of  playing  the  second  fiddle  in  the  concert,  as 
my  audience  of  hearing  me.  Age  also  was  advancing. 
I  was  growing  insensible  to  those  subjects  of  excita- 
tion by  which  youth  is  agitated.  I  had  around  me, 
the  most  pleasant  but  least  exciting  of  all  society,  that 
of  kind  friends  and  affectionate  family.  My  circle 
of  employments  was  a  narrow  one;  it  occupied  me 
constantly,  and  it  became  daily  more  difficult  for  tne 
to  interest  myself  in  poetical  composition. 

"  How  happily  the  days  of  Thalaba  went  by !" 

Yet,  though  conscious  that  I  must  be,  in  the  opinion 
of  good  judges,  inferior  to  the  place  I  had  for  four  or 
five  years  held  in  letters,  and  feeling  alike  that  the 
latter  was  one  to  which  I  had  only  a  temporary  right, 
I  could  not  brook  the  idea  of  relinquishing  literary 
occupation,  which  had  been  so  long  my  chief  diver- 
sion. Neither  was  I  disposed  to  choose  the  alterna- 
tive of  sinking  into  a  mere  editor  and  commentator, 
though  that  was  a  species  of  labor  which  I  had  prac- 
ticed, and  to  which  I  was  attached.  But  I  could  not 
endure  to  think  that  I  might  not,  whether  known  or 
concealed,  do  something  of  more  importance.  My  in- 
most thoughts  were  those  of  the  Trojan  captain  in 
the  galley  race, — 

"Non  jam,  prima  peto,  Mnestheus,  neque  vincere  certo; 
Quanquam  O  ! — sed  superent,  quibus  hoc,  Neptune,  dedisti ; 
Extremos  pudeat  rediisse :  hoc  vincite,  cives, 
Et  prohibete  nefas."3— ^En.  lib.  v.  194. 

I  had,  indeed,  some  private  reasons  for  "my  "  Quan- 
quam O!"  which  were  not  worse  than  those  of  Mnes- 


had  been  witnessed  in  this  country  for  at  least  two  genera- 
tions. 'I  awoke  one  morning,'  he  says,  'and  found  myself 
famous.'  In  truth,  he  had  fixed  himself,  at  a  single  bound, 
on  a  summit  such  as  no  English  poet  had  ever  before  attained 
but  after  a  long  succession  of  painful  and  comparatively 
neglected  efforts." — Advertisement  to  Byron's  Life  and  Works, 
vol.  viii. 

3  "  I  seek  not  now  the  foremost  palm  to  gain  ; 

Though  yet— but  ah !  that  haughty  wish  is  vain  ! 

Let  those  enjoy  it  whom  the  gods  ordain. 

But  to  be  last,  the  lags  of  all  the  race ! — 

Redeem  yourselves  and  me  from  that  disgrace." 

Dryden. 


288 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


theus.  I  have  already  hinted  that  the  materials  were 
collected  for  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  Bruce,  and 
fragments  of  it  had  been  shown  to  some  of  my  friends 
and  received  with  applause.  Notwithstanding,  there- 
fore, the  eminent  success  of  Byron,  and  the  great 
chance  of  his  taking  the  wind  out  of  my  sails,1  there 
was,  I  judged,  a  species  of  cowardice  in  desisting  from 
the  task  which  I  had  undertaken,  and  it  was  time 


1  "George  Ellis  and  Murray  have  been  talking  something 
about  Scott  and  me,  George  pro  Scolo, — and  very  right  too. 
If  they  want  to  depose  him,  I  only  wish  they  would  not  set 
me  up  as  a  competitor.  I  like  the  man,  and  admire  his 
works  to  what  Mr.  Braham  calls  Enlusymusy.    All  such  stuff 


enough  to  retreat  when  the  battle  should  be  more  de- 
cidedly lost.  The  sale~t)f  "Rokeby,"  excepting  as 
compared  with  that  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  was 
in  the  highest  degree  respectable ;  and  as  it  included 
fifteen  hundred  quartos,2  in  those  quarto-reading  days, 
the  trade  had  no  reason  to  be  dissatisfied. 

w.  s. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


can  only  vex  him,  and  do  me  no  good."— Byron's  Diary, 
Nov.  1813—  Works,  vol.  ii.  p.  259. 

2  The  quarto  edition  was  published  by  John  Ballantyne  & 
Co.,  in  January,  1813. 


Bottrbg. 


JOHN    B.    S.    MOREITT,    Esq., 
THIS   POEM, 

THE    SCENE    OF    WHICH    IS    LAID    IK    HIS    BEAUTIFUL    DEMESNE    OF    KOKEBY, 
IS    INSCRIBED,    IN    TOKEN    OF    SINCERE    FRIENDSHIP,    BT 

WALTER    SCOTT.i 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

The  Scene  of  this  Poem  is  laid  at  Rokeby,  near  Greta  Bridge,  in  Yorkshire,  and  shifts  to  the  adjacent  fortress 
of  Barnard  Castle,  and  to  other  places  in  that  Vicinity. 

The  Time  occupied  by  the  Action  is  a  space  of  Five  Days,  Three  of  which  are  supposed  to  elapse  between  the 
end  of  the  Fifth  and  beginning  of  the  Sixth  Canto. 

The  date  of  the  supposed  events  is  immediately  subsequent  to  the  great  Battle  of  Marston  Moor,  3d  July,  1644. 
This  period  of  public  confusion  has  been  chosen  without  any  purpose  of  combining  the  Fable  with  the  Jfilitary  or 
Political  Events  of  the  Civil  War,  but  only  as  affording  a  degree  of  probability  to  the  Fictitious  Narrative  now 
presented  to  the  Public.'1 


Hvofcefcg. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


The  Moon  is  in  her  summer  glow, 
But  hoarse  and  high  the  breezes  blow, 
And,  racking  o'er  her  face,  the  cloud 
Varies  the  tincture  of  her  shroud ; 
On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees's  stream,3 
She  changes  as  a  guilty  dream, 


1  December  31, 1812. 

2  "  Behold  another  lay  from  the  harp  of  that  indefatigable 
minstrel  who  has  so  often  provoked  the  censure  and  extorted 
the  admiration  of  his  critics;  and  who,  regardless  of  both, 
and  following  every  impulse  of  his  own  inclination,  has  yet 
raised  himself  at  once,  and  apparently  with  little  effort,  to 
the  pinnacle  of  public  favor. 

"A  poem  thus  recommended  may  be  presumed  to  have 
already  reached  the  whole  circle  of  our  readers,  and  we  be- 
lieve that  all  those  readers  will  concur  with  us  in  considering 
'  Rokeby'  as  a  composition  which,  if  it  had  preceded  instead  of 
following  '  Marmion '  and  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  would  have 
contributed,  as  effectually  as  they  have  done,  to  the  establish- 
ment of  Mr.  Scott's  high  reputation.  Whether,  timed  as  it 
19 


When  Conscience,  with  remorse  and  fear, 
Goads  sleeping  Fancy's  wild  career. 
Her  light  seems  now  the  blush  of  shame, 
Seems  now  fierce  anger's  darker  flame, 
Shifting  that  shade,  to  come  and  go, 
Like  apprehension's  hurried  glow ; 
Then  sorrow's  livery  dims  the  air, 
And  dies  in  darkness,  like  despair. 
Such  varied  hues  the  warder  sees 
Reflected  from  the  woodland  Tees, 
Then  from  old  Baliol's  tower  looks  forth, 
Sees  the  clouds  mustering  in  the  north, 

now  is,  it  be  likely  to  satisfy  the  just  expectations  which  that: 
reputation  has  excited,  is  a  question  which,  perhaps,  will  not 
be  decided  with  the  same  unanimity.  Our  own  opinion  is  in 
the  affirmative,  but  we  confess  that  this  is  our  revised  opinion ; 
and  that  when  we  concluded  our  first  perusal  of  'Rokeby/ 
our  gratification  was  not  quite  unmixed  with  disappointment. 
The  reflections  by  which  this  impression  has  been  subse- 
quently modified  arise  out  of  our  general  view  of  the  poem ; 
of  the  interest  inspired  by  the  fable;  of  the  masterly  delinea- 
tions of  the  characters  by  whose  agency  the  plot  is  unravelled ; 
and  of  the  spirited,  nervous  conciseness  of  the  narrative." — 
Quarterly  Review,  No.  xvi. 


3  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


(289) 


290 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Hears,  upon  turret  roof  and  wall, 
By  fits  the  plashing  raindrop  fall,1 
Lists  to  the  breeze's  boding  sound, 
And  wraps  his  shaggy  mantle  round. 

II. 
Those  towers,  which  in  the  changeful  gleam2 
Throw  murky  shadows  on  the  stream, 
Those  towers  of  Barnard  hold  a  guest, 
The  emotions  of  whose  troubled  breast, 
In  wild  and  strange  confusion  driven, 
Rival  the  flitting  rack  of  heaven. 
Ere  sleep  stern  Oswald's  senses  tied, 
Oft  had  he  changed  his  weary  side, 
Composed  his  limbs,  and  vainly  sought 
By  effort  strong  to  banish  thought. 
Sleep  came  at  length,  but  with  a  train 
Of  feelings  true3  and  fancies  vain, 
Mingling,  in  wild  disorder  cast, 
The  expected  future  with  the  past. 
Conscience,  anticipating  time, 
Already  rues  the  enacted  crime, 
And  calls  her  furies  forth,  to  shake 
The  sounding  scourge  and  hissing  snake ; 
While  her  poor  victim's  outward  throes 
Bear  witness  to  his  mental  woes, 
And  show  what  lesson  may  be  read 
Beside  a  sinner's  restless  bed. 

III. 

Thus  Oswald's  laboring  feelings  trace 
Strange  changes  in  his  sleeping  face, 
Rapid  and  ominous  as  these 
With  which  the  moonbeams  tinge  the  Tees. 
There  might  be  seen  of  shame  the  blush, 
There  anger's  dark  and  fiercer  flush, 
While  the  perturbed  sleeper's  hand 
Seem'd  grasping  dagger-knife  or  brand. 


1  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  original  MS. 


a  MS.: 


"shifting  gleam." 


3  MS. :  "  Of  feelings  real,  and  fancies  vain." 

*  MS. :  "  Nor  longer  nature  bears  the  shock, 
That  pang  the  slumberer  awoke." 

5  There  appears  some  resemblance  betwixt  the  visions  of 
Oswald's  sleep  and  the  waking  dream  of  the  (Haour: — 
"  He  stood. — Some  dread  was  on  his  face. 
Soon  Hatred  settled  in  its  place; 
It  rose  not  with  the  reddening  flush 
Of  transient  Anger's  hasty  blush, 
But  pale  as  marble  o'er  the  tomb, 
Whose  ghastly  whiteness  aids  its  gloom. 
His  brow  was  bent,  his  eye  wa.s  glazed; 
He  raised  his  arm,  and  fiercely  raised, 
And  sternly  shook  bis  hand  on  high, 
As  doubting  to  return  or  fly ; 
Impatient  of  his  flight  delay'd, 
Hero  loud  his  raven  charger  neigh'd — 
Down  glanced  that  hand,  and  grasp'd  his  blade; 
That  sound  hath  burst  his  waking  dream, 
As  slumber  starts  at  owlet's  scream. 


Relax'd  that  grasp,  the  heavy  sigh, 
The  tear  in  the  half-opening  eye, 
The  pallid  cheek  and  brow,  confess'd 
That  grief  was  busy  in  his  breast ; 
Nor  paused  that  mood — a  sudden  start 
Impell'd  the  life-blood  from  the  heart : 
Features  convulsed,  and  mutterings  dread, 
Show  terror  reigns  in  sorrow's  stead. 
That  pang  the  painful  slumber  broke,4 
And  Oswald  with  a  start  awoke.5 

IV. 
He  woke,  and  fear'd  again  to  close 
His  eyelids  in  such  dire  repose ; 
He  woke, — to  watch  the  lamp,  and  tell 
From  hour  to  hour  the  castle  bell, 
Or  listen  to  the  owlet's  cry, 
Or  the  sad  breeze  that  whistles  by, 
Or  catch  by  fits  the  tuneless  rhyme 
With  which  the  warder  cheats  the  time, 
And  envying  think  how,  when  the  sun 
Bids  the  poor  soldier's  watch  be  done, 
Couch'd  on  his  straw,  and  fancy-free, 
He  sleeps  like  careless  infancy. 

V. 

Far  townward  sounds  a  distant  tread, 
And  Oswald,  starting  from  his  bed, 
Hath  caught  it,  though  no  human  ear, 
Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear, 
Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank, 
Until  it  reach'd  the  castle  bank.6 
Now  nigh  and  plain  the  sound  appears, 
The  warder's  challenge  now  he  hears,7 
Then  clanking  chains  and  levers  tell 
That  o'er  the  moat  the  drawbridge  fell, 
And,  in  the  castle  court  below, 
Voices  are  heard,  and  torches  glow, 


The  spur  bath  lanced  his  courser's  sides ; 
Away,  away,  for  life  he  rides. 
'Twas  but  a  moment  that  he  stood, 
Then  sped  as  if  by  death  pursued, 
But  in  that  instant  o'er  his  soul, 
Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll, 
And  gather  in  that  drop  of  time 
A  life  of  pain,  an  age  of  crime." 

Bykon's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  157. 

•  MS.:  "  Till  underneath  the  castle  bank. 

Nigh  and  more  nigh  the  sound  appeals, 
The  warder's  challenge  next  he  bears." 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

"The  natural  superiority  of  the  instrument  over  the  em- 
ployer, of  bold,  unhesitating,  practiced  vice  over  timid,  selfish, 
crafty  iniquity,  is  very  finely  painted  throughout  the  whole 
of  this  scene  and  the  dialogue  that  ensues.  That  the  mind 
of  Wycliffe,  wrought  to  the  utmost  agony  of  suspense,  has 
given  such  acuteness  to  his  bodily  organs  as  to  enable  him  to 
distinguish  the  approach  of  his  hired  bravo,  while  at  a  dis- 
tance beyond  the  reach  of  common  hearing,  is  grandly  ima- 
gined, and  admirably  true  to  nature." — Critical  Review. 


ROKEBY. 


291 


As  marshalling  the  stranger's  way, 
Straight  for  the  room  where  Oswald  lay ; 
The  cry  was, — "  Tidings  from  the  host,1 
Of  weight — a  messenger  comes  post." 
Stifling  the  tumult  of  his  breast, 
His  answer  Oswald  thus  express'd — 
"  Bring  food  and  wine,  and  trim  the  fire ; 
Admit  the  stranger,  and  retire." 

VI. 

The  stranger  came  with  heavy  stride,2 

The  mbrion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 

And  the  buff-coat,  an  ample  fold, 

Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould.3 

Full  slender  answer  deigned  he 

To  Oswald's  anxious  courtesy, 

But  mark'd,  by  a  disdainful  smile, 

He  saw  and  scorn'd  the  petty  wile, 

When  Oswald  changed  the  torch's  place, 

Anxious  that  on  the  soldier's  face4 

Its  partial  lustre  might  be  thrown, 

To  show  his  looks,  yet  hide  his  own. 

His  guest,  the  while,  laid  low  aside 

The  ponderous  cloak  of  tough  bull's  hide, 

And  to  the  torch  glanced  broad  and  clear 

The  corselet  of  a  cuirassier ; 

Then  from  his  brows  the  casque  he  drew, 

And  from  the  dank  plume  dash'd  the  dew, 

From  gloves  of  mail  relieved  his  hands,5 

And  spread  them  to  the  kindling  brands, 

And,  turning  to  the  genial  board,6 

Without  a  health,  or  pledge,  or  word 

Of  meet  and  social  reverence  said, 

Deeply  he  drank,  and  fiercely  fed  ;7 

As  free  from  ceremony's  sway 

As  famish'd  wolf  that  tears  his  prey. 

VII. 

With  deep  impatience,  tinged  with  fear, 
His  host  beheld  him  gorge  his  cheer, 
And  quaff  the  full  carouse,  that  lent 
His  brow  a  fiercer  hardiment. 
Now  Oswald  stood  a  space  aside, 
Now  paced  the  room  with  hasty  stride, 
In  feverish  agony  to  learn 
Tidings  of  deep  and  dread  concern, 


1  MS. :  "  The  cry  was, — '  Heringham  comes  post, 

With  tidings  of  a  battle  lost.' 

As  one  that  roused  himself  from  rest, 

His  answer,"  &c. 
*  MS. :  "  with  heavy  pace, 

The  plumed  morion  hid  his  face." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

4  MS. :  "  That  fell  upon  the  stranger's  face." 
6  MS. :  "  he  freed  his  hands." 

6  MS.:  "Then  turn'd  to  the  replenish'd  board." 

7  "The  description  of  Bertram  which  follows  is  highly 
picturesque ;  and  the  rude  air  of  conscious  superiority  with 
which  he  treats  his  employer  prepares  the  reader  to  enter  into 
the  full  spirit  of  his  character.    These  and  many  other  little 


Cursing  each  moment  that  his  guest 
Protracted  o'er  his  ruffian  feast.8 
Yet  viewing  with  alarm,  at  last, 
The  end  of  that  uncouth  repast, 
Almost  he  seem'd  their  haste  to  rue, 
As,  at  his  sign,  his  train  withdrew, 
And  left  him  with  the  stranger,  free 
To  question  of  his  mystery. 
Then  did  his  silence  long  proclaim 
A  struggle  between  fear  and  shame. 

VIII. 

Much  in  the  stranger's  mien  appears 
To  justify  suspicious  fears. 
On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  clime, 
And  toil,  had  done  the  work  of  time, 
Roughen'd  the  brow,  the  temples  bared, 
And  sable  hairs  with  silver  shared, 
Yet  left — what  age  alone  could  tame — 
The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame  ;9 
The  full-drawn  lip  that  upward  curl'd, 
The  eye  that  seem'd  to  scorn  the  world. 
That  lip  had  terror  never  blench'd ; 
Ne'er  in  that  eye  had  teardrop  quench'd 
The  flash  severe  of  swarthy  glow, 
That  mock'd  at  pain,  and  knew  not  woe. 
Inured  to  danger's  direst  form, 
Tornade  and  earthquake,  flood  and  storm, 
Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 
By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow,10 
By  mine  or  breach,  by  steel  or  ball, 
Knew  all  his  shapes,  and  scorn'd  them  all. 

IX. 

But  yet,  though  Bertram's  harden'd  look, 
Unmoved,  could  blood  and  danger  brook, 
Still  worse  than  apathy  had  place 
On  his  swart  brow  and  callous  face ; 
For  evil  passions,  cherish'd  long, 
Had  plough'd  them  with  impressions  strong. 
All  that  gives  gloss  to  sin,  all  gay 
Light  folly,  past  with  youth  away, 
But  rooted  stood,  in  manhood's  hour, 
The  weeds  of  vice  without  their  flower. 
And  yet  the  soil  in  which  they  grew, 
Had  it  been  tamed  when  life  was  new, 


circumstances,  which  none  but  a  poetical  mind  could  have 
conceived,  give  great  relief  to  the  stronger  touches  with  which 
this  excellent  sketch  is  completed." — Critical  Review. 

8  MS. :  "  Protracted  o'er  his  savage  feast. 

Yet  with  alarm  he  saw  at  last." 

9  "  As  Roderick  rises  above  Marmion,  so  Bertram  ascends 
above  Roderick  Dhu  in  awfulness  of  stature  and  strength  of 
coloring.  We  have  trembled  at  Roderick ;  but  we  look  with 
doubt  and  suspicion  at  the  very  shadow  of  Bertram — and,  as 
we  approach  him,  we  shrink  with  terror  and  antipathy  from 

'  The  lip  of  pride,  the  eye  of  flame.' " 

British  Criiic. 

10  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


292 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Had  depth  and  vigor  to  bring  forth1 
The  hardier  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Not  that,  e'en  then,  his  heart  had  known 
The  gentler  feelings'  kindly  tone; 
But  lavish  waste  had  been  refined 
To  bounty  in  his  chasten'd  mind, 
And  lust  of  gold,  that  waste  to  feed, 
Been  lost  in  love  of  glory's  meed, 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  virtue  for  its  guide. 

X. 

Even  now  by  conscience  unrestrain'd, 
Clogg'd  by  gross  vice,  by  slaughter  stain'd, 
Still  knew  his  daring  soul  to  soar, 
And  mastery  o'er  the  mind  he  bore ; 
For  meaner  guilt,  or  heart  less  hard, 
Quail'd  beneath  Bertram's  bold  regard.2 
And  this  felt  Oswald,  while  in  vain 
He  strove,  by  many  a  winding  train, 
To  lure  his  sullen  guest  to  show, 
Unask'd,  the  news  he  long'd  to  know, 
While  on  far  other  subject  hung 
His  heart,  than  falter'd  from  his  tongue.3 
Yet  nought  for  that  his  guest  did  deign 
To  note  or  spare  his  secret  pain, 
But  still,  in  stern  and  stubborn  sort, 
Return'd  him  answer  dark  and  short, 
Or  started  from  the  theme,  to  range 
In  loose  digression  wild  and  strange, 
And  forced  the  embarrass'd  host  to  buy, 
By  query  close,  direct  reply. 

XI. 

A  while  he  glozed  upon  the  cause 
Of  Commons,  Covenant,  and  Laws, 
And  Church  Reform'd — but  felt  rebuke 
Beneath  grim  Bertram's  sneering  look, 
Then  stammer'd — "Has  a  field  been  fought? 
Has  Bertram  news  of  battle  brought  ? 
For  sure  a  soldier  famed  so  far 
In  foreign  fields  for  feats  of  war, 

1  MS. :  "  Shew'd  depth  and  vigor  to  bring  forth 

The  noblest  fruits  of  virtuous  worth. 
Then  had  the  lust  of  gold  accurst 
Been  lost  in  glory's  nobler  thirst, 
And  deep  revenge  for  trivial  cause 
Been  zeal  for  freedom  and  for  laws, 
And,  frantic  then  no  more,  his  pride 
Had  ta'en  fair  honor  for  its  guide." 

2  MS. :  "  stern  regard." 

3  "  The '  mastery '  obtained  by  such  a  being  as  Bertram  over 
the  timid  wickedness  of  inferior  villains  is  well  delineated  in 
the  conduct  of  Oswald,  who,  though  he  had  not  hesitated 
to  propose  to  him  the  murder  of  bis  kinsman,  is  described  as 
fearing  to  ask  him  the  direct  question  whether  the  crime  has  been 
accomplished.  We  must  confess,  for  our  own  parts,  that  we 
did  not,  till  we  came  to  the  second  reading  of  the  canto,  per- 
ceive the  propriety,  and  even  the  moral  beauty,  of  this  cir- 
cumstance. We  are  now  quite  convinced  that,  in  introducing 
it,  the  poet  has  been  guided  by  an  accurate  perception  of  the 
intricacies  of  human  nature.    The  scene  between  King  John 


On  eve  of  fight  ne'er  left  the  host, 

Until  the  field  were  won  and  lost." — 

"  Here,  in  your  towers  by  circling  Tees, 

You,  Oswald  Wyclifie,  rest  at  ease  ;* 

Why  deem  it  strange  that  others  come 

To  share  such  safe  and  easy  home, 

From  fields  where  danger,  death,  and  toil, 

Are  the  reward  of  civil  broil  ?" — 5 

"  Nay,  mock  not,  friend !  since  well  we  know 

The  near  advances  of  the  foe, 

To  mar  our  northern  army's  work, 

Encamp'd  before  beleaguer'd  York  ; 

Thy  horse  with  valiant  Fairfax  lay,6 

And  must  have  fought — how  went  the  day?" — 

XII. 

"  Wouldst  hear  the  tale  ? — On  Marston  heath7 

Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death ; 

Flourish'd  the  trumpets  fierce,  and  now 

Fired  was  each  eye,  and  flush'd  each  brow ;  f 

On  either  side  loud  clamors  ring, 

'  God  and  the  Cause !' — '  God  and  the  King  I' 

Right  English  all,  they  rush'd  to  blows, 

With  nought  to  win,  and  all  to  lose. 

I  could  have  laugh'd — but  lack'd  the  time; — 

To  see,  in  phrenesy  sublime, 

How  the  fierce  zealots  fought  and  bled, 

For  king  or  state,  as  humor  led ; 

Some  for  a  dream  of  public  good, 

Some  for  church-tippet,  gown  and  hood, 

Draining  their  veins,  in  death  to  claim. 

A  patriot's  or  .a  martyr's  name. — 

Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts8 

That  counter'd  there  on  adverse  parts, 

No  superstitious  fool  had  I 

Sought  El  Dorados  in  the  sky ! 

Chili  had  heard  me  through  her  states, 

And  Lima  oped  her  silver  gates, 

Rich  Mexico  I  had  march'd  through, 

And  sack'd  the  splendors  of  Peru, 

Till  sunk  Pizarro's  daring  name, 

And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame." — 9 

and  Hubert  may  probably  have  been  present  to  his  mind  when 
he  composed  the  dialogue  between  Oswald  and  his  terrible 
agent ;  but  it  will  be  observed  that  the  situations  of  the  re- 
spective personages  are  materially  different;  the  mysterious 
caution  in  which  Shakspeare's  usurper  is  madeto  involve  the 
proposal  of  his  crime  springs  from  motives  undoubtedly  more 
obvious  and  immediate,  but  not  more  consistent  with  truth 
and  probability,  than  that  with  which  Wyclili'e  conceals  the 
drift  of  his  fearful  interrogatories." — Critical  Review. 

*  MS. :  "  Safe  sit  you,  Oswald,  and  at  ease." 

6  MS.:  "Award  the  meed  of  civil  broil." 

6  MS. :  "Thy  horsemen  on  the  outposts  lay." 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

8  MS. :  "  Led  I  but  half  of  such  bold  hearts 

As  counter'd  there,"  &c. 

9  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  (No.  xvi.)  thus  states  the  causes 
of  the  hesitation  he  had  had  in  arriving  at  the  ultimate  opinion 
that "  Rokuby"  was  worthy  of  the  "  high  praise"  already  quoted 
from  the  commencement  of  his  article : — "  We  confess,  then, 
that  in  the  language  and  versification  of  this  poem,  we  were, 


EOKEBY. 


293 


"  Still  from  the  purpose  wilt  thou  stray ! 
Good  gentle  friend,  how  went  the  day  ?" — 

XIII. 
"  Good  am  I  deem'd  at  trumpet  sound, 
And  good  where  goblets  dance  the  round, 
Though  gentle  ne'er  was  join'd,  till  now, 
With  rugged  Bertram's  breast  and  brow. — 
But  I  resume.    The  battle's  rage 
Was  like  the  strife  which  currents  wage, 
Where  Orinoco,  in  his  pride, 
Rolls  to  the  main  no  tribute  tide, 
But  'gainst  broad  ocean  urges  far 
A  rival  sea  of  roaring  war ; 
While,  in  ten  thousand  eddies  driven, 
The  billows  fling  their  foam  to  heaven, 
And  the  pale  pilot  seeks  in  vain 
Where  rolls  the  river,  where  the  main. 
Even  thus  upon  the  bloody  field 
The  eddying  tides  of  conflict  wheel'd1 
Ambiguous,  till  that  heart  of  flame, 
Hot  Rupert,  on  our  squadrons  came, 
Hurling  against  our  spears  a  line 
Of  gallants  fiery  as  their  wine ; 
Then  ours,  though  stubborn  in  their  zeal, 
In  zeal's  despite  began  to  reel. 
What  wouldst  thou  more  ? — In  tumult  tost, 
Our  leaders  fell,  our  ranks  were  lost ; 
•A  thousand  men,  who  drew  the  sword 
For  both  the  Houses  and  the  Word, 
Preach'd  forth  from  hamlet,  grange,  and  down, 
To  curb  the  crosier  and  the  crown, 
Now,  stark  and  stiff,  lie  stretch'd  in  gore, 
And  ne'er  shall  rail  at  mitre  more. — 
Thus  fared  it,  when  I  left  the  fight, 
With  the  good  Cause  and  Commons'  right."- 

XIV. 
"Disastrous  news!"  dark  Wycliffe  said; 
Assumed  despondence  bent  his  head, 
While  troubled  joy  was  in  his  eye, 
The  well-feign'd  sorrow  to  belie. — 
"  Disastrous  news ! — when  needed  most, 
Told  ye  not  that  your  chiefs  were  lost  ? 


in  the  first  instance,  disappointed.  We  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
either  is  invariably  faulty ;  neither  is  it  within  the  power  of 
accident  that  the  conceptions  of  a  vigorous  and  highly  culti- 
vated mind  should  uniformly  invest  themselves  in  trivial 
expressions,  or  in  dissonant  rhymes ;  but  we  do  think  that 
those  golden  lines  which  spontaneously  fasten  themselves  on 
the  memory  of  the  reader  are  more  rare,  and  that  instances 
of  a  culpable  and  almost  slovenly  inattention  to  the  usual 
rules  of  diction  and  of  metre  are  more  frequent  in  this  than 
in  any  preceding  work  of  Mr.  Scott.  In  support  of  this 
opinion,  we  adduce  the  following  quotation,  which  occurs  in 
stanza  xii.,  and  in  the  course  of  a  description  which  is,  in 
some  parts,  unusually  splendid — 

'  Led  Bertram  Risingham  the  hearts,' 


Complete  the  woeful  tale,  and  say 

Who  fell  upon  that  fatal  day ; 

What  leaders  of  repute  and  name 

Bought  by  their  death  a  deathless  fame.2 

If  such  my  direst  foeman's  doom, 

My  tears  shall  dew  his  honor'd  tomb. — 

No  answer  ? — Friend,  of  all  our  host, 

Thou  know'st  whom  I  should  hate  the  most, 

Whom  thou  too,  once,  wert  wont  to  hate, 

Yet  leavest  me  doubtful  of  his  fate." — 

With  look  unmoved, — "  Of  friend  or  foe, 

Aught,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "  wouldst  thou  know, 

Demand  in  simple  terms  and  plain ; 

A  soldier's  answer  shalt  thou  gain ; — 

For  question  dark,  or  riddle  high, 

I  have  nor  judgment  nor  reply." 

XV. 

The  wrath  his  art  and  fear  suppress'd 
Now  blazed  at  once  in  Wyclifle's  breast ; 
And  brave,  from  man  so  meanly  born, 
Roused  his  hereditary  scorn. 
"  Wretch !  hast  thou  paid  thy  bloody  debt  ? 
Philip  of  Mortham,  lives  he  yet? 
False  to  thy  patron  or  thine  oath, 
Trait'rous  or  perjured,  one  or  both, 
Slave !  hast  thou  kept  thy  promise  plight, 
To  slay  thy  leader  in  the  fight?" 
Then  from  his  seat  the  soldier  sprung, 
And  Wyclifle's  hand  he  strongly  wrung ; 
i  His  grasp,  as  hard  as  glove  of  mail, 
Forced  the  red  blood-drop  from  the  nail. 
"  A  health !"  he  cried ;  and,  ere  he  quaff'd, 
Flung  from  him  Wyclifle's  hand,  and  laugh'd: 
— "  Now,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  speaks  thy  heart ! 
Now  play'st  thou  well  thy  genuine  part ! 
Worthy,  but  for  thy  craven  fear, 
Like  me  to  roam  a  bucanier. 
What  reck'st  thou  of  the  Cause  divine, 
If  Mortham's  wealth  and  lands  be  thine  ? 
What  carest  thou  for  beleaguer'd  York, 
If  this  good  hand  have  done  its  work? 
Or  what,  though  Fairfax  and  his  best 
Are  reddening  Marston's  swarthy  breast, 


'And,  Cortez,  thine,  in  Bertram's  fame.' 

"The  author,  surely,  cannot  require  to  be  told  that  the 
feebleness  of  these  jingling  couplets  is  less  offensive  than 
their  obscurity.  The  first  line  is  unintelligible,  because  the 
conditional  word  '  if,'  on  which  the  meaning  depends,  is  nei- 
ther expressed  nor  implied  in  it ;  and  the  third  line  is  equally 
faulty,  because  the  sentence,  when  restored  to  its  natural 
order,  can  only  express  the  exact  converse  of  the  speaker's 
intention.  We  think  it  necessary  to  remonstrate  against 
these  barbarous  inversions,  because  we  consider  the  rules  of 
grammar  as  the  only  sh'ackles  by  which  the  Hudibrastic 
metre,  already  so  licentious,  can  be  confined  within  tolerable 
limits." 

t  MS.:  "The  doubtful  tides  of  battle  reel'd." 

2  MS. :  "  Chose  death  in  preference  to  shame.'' 


294 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


If  Philip  Mortham, with  them  lie, 
Lending  his  life-blood  to  the  dye  ? — 1 
Sit,  then !  and  as  'mid  comrades  free 
Carousing  after  victory, 
When  tales  are  told  of  blood  and  fear 
That  boys  and  women2  shrink  to  hear, 
From  point  to  point  I  frankly  tell3 
The  deed  of  death  as  it  befell. 

XVI. 

"  When  purposed  vengeance  I  forego, 

Term  me  a  wretch,  nor  deem  me  foe ; 

And  when  an  insult  I  forgive,* 

Then  brand  me  as  a  slave,  and  live ! — 

Philip  of  Mortham  is  with  those 

Whom  Bertram  Risiugham  calls  foes; 

Or  whom  more  sure  revenge  attends,5 

If  number'd  with  ungrateful  friends. 

As  was  his  wont,  ere  battle  glow'd, 

Along  the  marshall'd  ranks  he  rode, 

And  wore  his  visor  up  the  while ; 

I  saw  his  melancholy  smile, 

When,  full  opposed  in  front,  he  knew 

Where  Rokeby's  kindred  banner  flew. 

'  And  thus,'  he  said,  '  will  friends  divide !' — 

I  heard,  and  thought  how,  side  by  side, 

We  two  had  turn'd  the  battle's  tide, 

In  many  a  well-debated  field, 

Where  Bertram's  breast  was  Philip's 

shield. 
I  thought  oVi  Darien's  deserts  pale, 
Where  death  bestrides  the  evening  gale, 
How  o'er  my  friend  my  cloak  I  threw, 
And  fenceless  faced  the  deadly  dew ; 
I  thought  on  Quariana's  cliff, 
Where,  rescued  from  our  foundering  skiff, 
Through  the  white  breakers'  wrath  I  bore 
Exhausted  Mortham  to  the  shore; 
And  when  his  side  an  arrow  found, 
I  suck'd  the  Indian's  venom'd  wound. 
These  thoughts  like  torrents  rush'd  along,6 
To  sweep  away  my  purpose  strong. 

XVII. 

"Hearts  are  not  flint,  and  flints  are  rent; 
Hearts  are  not  steel,  and  steel  is  bent. 
When  Mortham  bade  me,  as  of  yore, 
Be  near  him  in  the  battle's  roar, 
I  scarcely  saw  the  spears  laid  low, 
I  scarcely  heard  the  trumpets  blow ; 


1  MS.:  "And  heart's  blood  lend  to  aid  the  dye?- 

Sit,  then  !  and  as  to  comrades  boon 
Carousing  for  achievement  won." 

2  MS. :  "  That  boys  and  cowards,"  Ac. 

•  MS. :  "  Frank,  as  from  mate  to  mate,  I  tell 
What  way  the  deed  of  death  befell." 

4  MS.:  "Name  when  an  insult  I  forgave, 

And,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  call  me  slave." 


Lost  was  the  war  in  inward  strife, 

Debating  Morthiim's  death  or  life. 

'Twas  then  I  thought  how,  lured  to  come 

As  partner  of  his  wealth  and  home, 

Years  of  piratic  wandering  o'er, 

With  him  I  sought  our  native  shore. 

But  Mortham's  lord  grew  far  estranged 

From  the  bold  heart  with  whom  he  ranged  ; 

Doubts,  horrors,  superstitious  fears, 

Sadden'd  and  dimm'd  descending  years ; 

The  wily  priests  their  victim  sought, 

And  damn'd  each  free-born7  deed  and  thought. 

Then  must  I  seek  another  home, 

My  license  shook  his  sober  dome ; 

If  gold  he  gave,  in  one  wild  day 

I  revell'd  thrice  the  sum  away. 

An  idle  outcast  then  I  stray'd, 

Unfit  for  tillage  or  for  trade, 

Deem'd,  like  the  steel  of  rusted  lance, 

Useless  and  dangerous  at  once. 

The  women  fear'd  my  hardy  look, 

At  my  approach  the  peaceful  shook ; 

The  merchant  saw  my  glance  of  flame, 

And  lock'd  his  hoards  when  Bertram  came ; 

Each  child  of  coward  peace  kept  far 

From  the  neglected  son  of  war. 

XVIII. 

"  But  civil  discord  gave  the  call, 
And  made  my  trade  the  trade  of  all. 
By  Mortham  urged,  I  came  again 
His  vassals  to  the  fight  to  train. 
What  guerdon  waited  on  my  care  ?8 
I  could  not  cant  of  creed  or  prayer ; 
Sour  fanatics  each  trust  obtain'd, 
And  I,  dishonor'd  and  disdain'd, 
Gain'd  but  the  high  and  happy  lot 
In  these  poor  arms  to  front  the  shot ! — 
All  this  thou  know'st,  thy  gestures  tell 
Yet  hear  it  o'er,  and  mark  it  well. 
'Tis  honor  bids  me  now  relate 
Each  circumstance  of  Mortham's  fate. 

XIX. 

"  Thoughts,  from  the  tongue  that  slowly  part, 
Glance  quick  as  lightning  through  the  heart. 
As  my  spur  press'd  my  courser's  side, 
Philip  of  Mortham's  cause  was  tried, 
And,  ere  the  charging  squadrons  mix'd, 
His  plea  was  cast,  his  doom  was  fix'd. 


6  MS.:  "Whom  surest  his  revenge  attends, 

If  number'd  once  among  his  friends." 

•  MS. :  "  These  thoughts  rush'd  on,  like  torrent's  sway, 
To  sweep  my  stern  resolve  away." 


■>  MS. 


• "  each  liberal." 


8  MS.:  "But  of  my  labor  what  the  meed? 

I  could  not  cant  of  church  or  creed." 


EOKEBY. 


295 


I  watch' d  him  through  the  doubtful  fray, 
That  changed  as  March's  moody  day,1 
Till,  like  a  stream  that  bursts  its  bank,3 
Fierce  Rupert  thuuder'd  on  our  flank. 
'Twas  then,  midst  tumult,  smoke,  and  strife, 
Where  each  man  fought  for  death  or  life, 
'Twas  then  I  fired  my  petronel, 
And  Mortham,  steed  and  rider,  fell. 
One  dying  look  he  upward  cast, 
Of  wrath  and  anguish — 'twas  his  last. 
Think  not  that  there  I  stopp'd,  to  view 
What  of  the  battle  should  ensue ; 
But  ere  I  clear'd  that  bloody  press, 
Our  northern  horse  ran  masterless ; 
Monckton  and  Mitton  told  the  news,3 
How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 
And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 
Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past, 
Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 
First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed.* 
Yet  when  I  reach'd  the  banks  of  Swale, 
Had  rumor  learn'd  another  tale ; 
With  his  barb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
Stout  Cromwell  has  redeem'd  the  day  :5 
But  whether  false  the  news,  or  true, 
Oswald,  I  reck  as  light  as  you." 

XX. 

Not  then  by  Wyclifie  might  be  shown 
How  his  pride  startled  at  the  tone 
In  which  his  complice,  fierce  and  free, 
Asserted  guilt's  equality. 
In  smoothest  terms  his  speech  he  wove, 
Of  endless  friendship,  faith,  and  love  ; 
Promised  and  vow'd  in  courteous  sort, 
But  Bertram  broke  professions  short. 
"  Wyclifie,  be  sure  not  here  I  stay, 
No,  scarcely  till  the  rising  day ; 
Warn'd  by  the  legends  of  my  youth,8 
I  trust  not  an  associate's  truth. 
Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 
Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 
Train'd  forward  to  his  bloody  fall 
By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  ?7 
Oft,  by  the  Pringle's  haunted  side, 
The  shepherd  sees  his  spectre  glide. 
And  near  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham,8 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodburne's  cottages  and  trees, 

1  MS. :  "  That  changed  as  with  a  whirlwind's  sway." 

2  "  dashing 

On  thy  war-horse  through  the  ranks, 
Like  a  stream  which  burst  its  banks." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  x.  p.  275. 

3  MS. :  "  Hot  Rupert  on  the  spur  pursues ; 

Whole  troops  of  flyers  choked  the  Ouse." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 


Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  ias  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone  ;9 
Unmatched  in  strength,  a  giift  he, 
With  quiver'd  back,10  and  kirtled  knee. 
Ask  how  he  died,  that  hunter  bold, 
The  tameless  monarch  of  the  wold, 
And  age  and  infancy  can  tell, 
By  brother's  treachery  he  fell. 
Thus  warn'd  by  legends  of  my  youth, 
I  trust  to  no  associate's  truth. 

XXI. 

"  When  last  we  reason'd  of  this  deed, 
Nought,  I  bethink  me,  was  agreed, 
Or  by  what  rule,  or  when,  or  where, 
The  wealth  of  Mortham  we  should  share ; 
Then  list,  while  I  the  portion  name 
Our  differing  laws  give  each  to  claim. 
Thou,  vassal  sworn  to  England's  throne, 
Her  rules  of  heritage  must  own : 
They  deal  thee,  as  to  nearest  heir, 
Thy  kinsman's  lands  and  livings  fair, 
And  these  I  yield : — do  thou  revere 
The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier.11 
Friend  to  the  sea,  and  foeman  sworn 
To  all  that  on  her  waves  are  borne, 
When  falls  a  mate  in  battle  broil, 
His  comrade  heirs  his  portion'd  spoil ; 
When  dies  in  fight  a  daring  foe, 
He  claims  his  wealth  who  struck  the  blow : 
And  either  rule  to  me  assigns 
Those  spoils  of  Indian  seas  and  mines 
Hoarded  in  Mortham's  caverns  dark ; 
Ingot  of  gold  and  diamond  spark, 
Chalice  and  plate  from  churches  borne, 
And  gems  from  shrieking  beauty  torn, 
Each  string  of  pearl,  each  silver  bar, 
And  all  the  wealth  of  western  war. 
I  go  to  search  where,  dark  and  deep, 
Those  transatlantic  treasures  sleep. 
Thou  must  along — for,  lacking  thee,_ 
The  heir  will  scarce  find  entrance  free ; 
And  then  farewell.     I  haste  to  try 
Each  varied  pleasure  wealth  can  buy ; 
When  cloy'd  each  wish,  these  wars  afford 
Fresh  work  for  Bertram's  restless  sword." 

XXII. 

An  undecided  answer  hung 
On  Oswald's  hesitating  tongue. 


6  MS. :  "  Taught  by  the  legends  of  my  youth 

To  trust  to  no  associate's  truth." 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

8  MS.:  "SHU  by  the  spot  that  gave  me  name, 

The  moated  camp  of  Risingham, 
A  giant  form  the  stranger  sees, 
Half  hid  by  rifted  rocks  and  trees." 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

io  MS. :  "  With  bow  in  hand,"  &c. 
11  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Despite  his  craft,  h^heard  with  awe 
This  ruffian  stabber  fix  the  law ; 
While  his  own  troubled  passions  veer 
Through  hatred,  joy,  regret,  and  fear:— 
Joy'd  at  the  soul  that  Bertram  flies, 
He  grudged  the  murderer's  mighty  prize, 
Hated  his  pride's  presumptuous  tone, 
And  fear'd  to  wend  with  him  alone. 
At  length,  that  middle  course  to  steer, 
To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear, 
"  His  charge,"  he  said,  "  would  ill  allow 
His  absence  from  the  fortress  now  ; 
Wilfkid  on  Bertram  should  attend, 
His  son  should  journey  with  his  friend." 

XXIII. 
Contempt  kept  Bertram's  anger  down, 
And  wreathed  to  savage  smile  his  frown. 
"  Wilfrid,  or  thou — 'tis  one  to  me, 
Whichever  bears  the  golden  key. 
Yet  think  not  but  I  mark,  and  smile 
To  mark,  thy  poor  and  selfish  wile ! 
If  injury  from  me  you  fear, 
What,  Oswald  Wycliffe,  shields  thee  her.e  ? 
I've  sprung  from  walls  more  high  than  these, 
I've  swam  through  deeper  streams  than  Tees. 
Might  I  not  stab  thee,  ere  one  yell 
Could  rouse  the  distant  sentinel  ? 
Start  not — it  is  not  my  design, 
But,  if  it  were,  weak  fence  were  thine ; 
And  trust  me  that,  in  time  of  need, 
This  hand  hath  done  more  desperate  deed. 
Go,  haste  and  rouse  thy  slumbering  son ; 
Time  calls,  and  I  must  needs  be  gone." 

XXIV. 

Nought  of  his  sire's  ungenerous  part 

Polluted  Wilfrid's  gentle  heart ; 

A  heart  too  soft  from  early  life 

To  hold  with  fortune  needful  strife. 

His  sire,  while  yet  a  hardier  race1 

Of  numerous  sons  were  Wycliffe's  grace, 

On  Wilfrid  set  contemptuous  brand, 

For  feeble  heart  and  forceless  hand; 

But  a  fond  mother's  care  and  joy 

Were  centred  in  her  sickly  boy. 

No  touch  of  childhood's  frolic  mood 

Show'd  the  elastic  spring  of  blood  ; 

>  MS.:  - 


—  "while  yet  around  him  stood 
A  numerous  race  of  hardier  mood." 

*  "  And  oft  the  craggy  cliff  he  loved  to  climb, 
When  all  in  mist  the  world  below  was  Lost. 
What  dreadful  pleasure !  there  to  stand  sublime, 
Like  shipwreck'd  mariner  on  desert  coast." 

Beattie's  Minstrel. 
8  MS. :  "Was  love,  but  friendship  in  his  phrase." 
4  "The  prototype  of  Wilfrid  may  perhaps  be  found  in 
Beattie's  Edwin ;  but  in  some  essential  respects  it  is  made 
more  true  to  nature  than  that  which  probably  served  for  its 
original.  The  possibility  may  perhaps  be  questioned  (its  great 
improbability  is  unquestionable)  of  such  excessive  refinement, 


Hour  after  hour  he  loved  to  pore 
On  Shakspeare's  rich  and  varied  lore, 
But  turn'd  from  martial  scenes  and  light, 
From  FalstafFs  feast  and  Percy's  fight, 
To  ponder  Jaques'  moral  strain, 
And  muse  with  Hamlet,  wise  in  vain ; 
And  weep  himself  to  soft  repose 
O'er  gentle  Desdemona's  woes. 

XXV. 

In  youth  he  sought  not  pleasures  found 
By  youth  in  horse,  and  hawk,  and  hound, 
But  loved  the  quiet  joys  that  wake 
By  lonely  stream  and  silent  lake ; 
In  Deepdale's  solitude  to  lie, 
Where  all  is  cliff  and  copse  and  sky ; 
To  climb  Catcastle's  dizzy  peak, 
Or  lone  Pendragon's  mound  to  seek.2 
Such  was  his  wont ;  and  there  his  dream 
Soar'd  on  some  wild  fantastic  theme, 
Of  faithful  love,  or  ceaseless  spring, 
Till  Contemplation's  wearied  wing 
The  enthusiast  could  no  more  sustain, 
And  sad  he  sunk  to  earth  again. 

XXVI. 

He  loved — as  many  a  lay  can  tell, 
Preserved  in  Stanmore's  lonely  dell ; 
For  his  was  minstrel's  skill,  he  caught 
The  art  unteachable,  untaught ; 
He  loved — his  soul  did  nature  frame 
For  love,  and  fancy  nursed  the  flame ; 
Vainly  he  loved — for  seldom  swain 
Of  such  soft  mould  is  loved  again ; 
Silent  he  loved — in  every  gaze 
Was  passion,3  friendship  in  his  phrase. 
So  mused  his  life  away — till  died 
His  brethren  all,  their  father's  pride. 
Wilfrid  is  now  the  only  heir 
Of  all  his  stratagems  and  care, 
And  destined,  darkling,  to  pursue 
Ambition's  maze  by  Oswald's  clue.* 

XXVII. 

Wilfrid  must  love  and  woo5  the  bright 
Matilda,  heir  of  Rokeby's  Knight. 
To  love  her  was  an  easy  hest, 
The  secret  empress  of  his  breast ; 

such  overstrained  and  even  morbid  sensibility,  as  are  por- 
trayed in  the  character  of  Edwin,  existing  in  so  rude  a  state 
of  society  as  that  which  Beattie  has  represented;  but  these 
qualities,  even  when  found  in  the  most  advanced  and  polished 
stages  of  life,  are  rarely,  very  rarely,  united  with  a  robust  and 
healthy  frame  of  body.  In  both  these  particulars,  the  cha- 
racter of  Wilfrid  is  exempt  from  the  objections  to  which  we 
think  that  of  the  Minstrel  liable.  At  the  period  of  the  Civil 
Wars,  in  the  higher  orders  of  society,  intellectual  refinement 
had  advanced  to  a  degree  sufficient  to  give  probability  to  its 
existence.  The  remainder  of  our  argument  will  be  best  ex- 
plained by  the  beautiful  lines  of  the  poet"  (stanzas  xxv.  and 
xxvi.). — Critical  Review. 
6  MS. :  "  And  first  must  Wilfrid  woo,"  &c. 


EOKEBY. 


297 


To  woo  her  was  a  harder  task 
To  one  that  durst  not  hope  or  ask. 
Yet  all  Matilda  could,  she  gave 
In  pity  to  her  gentle  slave ; 
Friendship,  esteem,  and  fair  regard, 
And  praise,  the  poet's  best  reward ! 
She  read  the  tales  his  taste  approved, 
And  sung  the  lays  he  framed  or  loved ; 
Yet,  loth  to  nurse  the  fatal  flame 
Of  hopeless  love  in  friendship's  name, 
In  kind  caprice  she  oft  withdrew 
The  favoring  glance  to  friendship  due,1 
Then  grieved  to  see  her  victim's  pain, 
And  gave  the  dangerous  smiles  again. 

XXVIII. 

So  did  the  suit  of  Wilfrid  stand, 
When  war's  loud  summons  waked  the  land. 
Three  banners,  floating  o'er  the  Tees, 
The  woe-foreboding  peasant  sees ; 
In  concert  oft  they  braved  of  old 
The  bordering  Scot's  incursion  bold ; 
Frowning  defiance  in  their  pride,2 
Their  vassals  now  and  lords  divide. 
From  his  fair  hall  on  Greta  banks, 
The  Knight  of  Rokeby  led  his  ranks, 
To  aid  the  valiant  northern  Earls 
Who  drew  the  sword  for  royal  Charles. 
Mortham,  by  marriage  near  allied, — 
His  sister  had  been  Rokeby's  bride, 
Though  long  before  the  civil  fray 
In  peaceful  grave  the  lady  lay, — 
Philip  of  Mortham  raised  his  band, 
And  march'd  at  Fairfax's  command ; 
While  Wycliffe,  bound  by  many  a  train 
Of  kindred  art  with  wily  Vane, 
Less  promrjt  to  brave  the  bloody  field, 
Made  Barnard's  battlements  his  shield, 
Secured  them  with  his  Lunedale  powers,    . 
And  for  the  Commons  held  the  towers. 

XXIX. 

The  lovely  heir  of  Rokeby's  Knight3 
Waits  in  his  halls  the  event  of  fight ; 
For  England's  war  revered  the  claim 
Of  every  unprotected  name, 
And  spared,  amid  its  fiercest  rage, 
Childhood  and  womanhood  and  age. 

1  MS. :  "  The  fuel  fond  her  favor  threw." 

*  MS. :  "  Now  frowning  dark  on  different  side, 

Their  vassals  and  their  lords  divide." 
8  MS. :  "  Dame  Alice  and  Matilda  bright, 

Daughter  and  wife  of  Rokeby's  Knight, 

Wait  in  his  halls,"  &c. 
4  MS.:  "But  Wilfrid,  when  the  strife  arose, 

And  Rokeby  and  his  son  were  foes, 

Was  dooni'd  each  privilege  to  lose, 

Of  kindred  friendship  and  the  muse." 
6  MS. :  "  Aping,  with  fond  hypocrisy, 

The  careless  step,"  &c. 
6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 


But  Wilfrid,  son  to  Rokebjfs  foe,* 
Must  the  dear  privilege  forego, 
By  Greta's  side,  in  evening  gray, 
To  steal  upon  Matilda's  way, 
Striving,5  with  fond  hypocrisy, 
For  careless  step  and  vacant  eye ; 
Calming  each  anxious  look  and  glance, 
To  give  the  meeting  all  to  chance, 
Or  framing,  as  a  fair  excuse, 
The  book,  the  pencil,  or  the  muse : 
Something  to  give,  to  sing,  to  say, 
Some  modern  tale,  some  ancient  lay. 
Then,   while  the  long'd-for  minutes 

last,— 
Ah !  minutes  cpiickly  over-past ! — 6 
Recording  each  expression  free, 
Of  kind  or  careless  courtesy, 
Each  friendly  look,  each  softer  tone, 
As  food  for  fancy  when  alone. 
All  this  is  o'er — but  still,  unseen, 
Wilfrid  may  lurk  in  Eastwood  green,7 
To  watch  Matilda's  wonted  round, 
While  springs  his  heart  at  every  sound. 
She  couies ! — 'tis  but  a  passing  sight, 
Yet  serves  to  cheat  his  weary  night; 
She  comes  not, — he  will  wait  the  hour 
When  her  lamp  lightens  in  the  tower  ;8 
'Tis  something  yet,  if,  as  she  pass'd, 
Her  shade  is  o'er  the  lattice  cast. 
"What  is  my  life,  my  hope?"  he  said; 
"  Alas !  a  transitory  shade." 

XXX. 

Thus  wore  his  life,  though  reason  strove 
For  mastery  in  vain  with  love, 
Forcing  upon  his  thoughts  the  sum 
Of  present  woe  and  ills  to  come, 
While  still  he  turn'd  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe. 
Gentle,  indiflerent,  and  subdued, 
In  all  but  this,  unmoved  he  view'd 
Each  outward  change  of  ill  and  good : 
But  Wilfrid,  docile,  soft,  and  mild, 
Was  Fancy's  spoil'd  and  wayward  child ; 
In  her  bright  car9  she  bade  him  ride, 
With  one  fair  form  to  grace  his  side, 
Or,  in  some  wild  and  lone  retreat,10 
Flung  her  high  spells  around  his  seat, 

1  MS. :  "  May  Wilfrid  haunt  the    1  thickets  green<! 
"  Wilfrid  haunts  Scargill's  J 


8  MS.: 


'  watch  the  hour 


That  her  lamp  kindles  in  her  tower." 

9  MS.: "wild  car." 

10  MS. :  "  Or  in  some  fair  but  lone  retreat, 

Flung  her  wild  spells  around  his  seat, 
For  him  her  opiates  "I  gave  to  \  ^ow 

opiate  J  draughts  bade  J 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
Taught  him  to  turn  impatient  ear 
From  Truth's  intrusive  voice  severe." 


298 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Bathed  in  her  dews  h^  languid  head, 
Her  fairy  mantle  o'er  him  spread, 
For  him  her  opiates  gave  to  flow, 
Which  he  who  tastes  can  ne'er  forego, 
And  placed  him  in  her  circle,  free 
From  every  stern  reality, 
Till,  to  the  Visionary,  seem 
Her  day-dreams  truth,  and  truth  a  dream. 

XXXI. 

"Woe  to  the  youth  whom  Fancy  gains, 
"Winning  from  Season's  hand  the  reins — 
Pity  and  woe!  for  such  a  mind 
Is  soft,  contemplative,  and  kind ; 
And  woe  to  those  who  train  such  youth, 
And  spare  to  press  the  rights  of  truth, 
The  mind  to  strengthen  and  anneal, 
While  on  the  stithy  glows  the  steel ! 
Oh  teach  him,  while  your  lessons  last, 
To  judge  the  present  by  the  past; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  pursued, 
How  rich  it  glow'd  with  promised  good ; 
Remind  him  of  each  wish  enjoy'd, 
How  soon  his  hopes  possession  cloy'd ! 
Tell  him,  we  play  unequal  game 
"Whene'er  we  shoot  by  Fancy's  aim  ;* 
And,  ere  he  strip  him  for  her  race, 
Show  the  conditions  of  the  chase. 
Two  sisters  by  the  goal  are  set, 
Cold  Disappointment  and  Regret : 
One  disenchants  the  winner's  eyes, 
And  strips  of  all  its  worth  the  prize; 
"While  one  augments  its  gaudy  show, 
More  to  enhance  the  loser's  woe.2 
The  victor  sees  his  fairy  gold 
Transform'd,  when  won,  to  drossy  mold, 
But  still  the  vanquish'd  mourns  his  loss, 
And  rues,  as  gold,  that  glittering  dross. 


1  In  the  MS.,  after  this  couplet,  the  following  lines  conclude 
the  stanza: — 

"  That  all  who  on  her  visions  press 
Find  disappointment  dog  success; 
But,  miss'd  their  wish,  lamenting  hoM 
Her  gilding  false  for  sterling  gold." 

*  "  Soft  and  smooth  are  Fancy's  flowery  ways ; 
And  yet,  even  there,  if  left  without  a  guide, 
The  young  adventurer  unsafely  plays. 
Eyes,  dazzled  long  by  Fiction's  gaudy  rays, 
In  modest  Truth  no  light  nor  beauty  find; 
And  who,  my  child,  would  trust  the  meteor-blaze 
That  soon  mpst  (ail,  and  leave  the  wanderer  blind, 

More  dark  and  helpless  far  than  if  it  ne'er  had  sinned  ? 

"  Fancy  enervates  while  it  soothes  the  heart, 
And,  while  it  dazzles,  wounds  the  mental  sight; 
To  joy  each  heightening  charm  it  can  Impart, 
But  wraps  the  hour  of  woe  in  tenfold  night. 
And  often,  where  no  real  ills  affright, 
Its  visionary  fiends,  an  endless  train, 
Assail  with  equal  or  superior  might, 
And  through  the  throbbing  heart,  and  dizzy  brain, 


XXXII. 

More  wouldst  thou  know — yon  tower  survey, 
Yon  couch  unprcss'd  since  parting  day, 
Yon  untrimm'd  lamp,  whose  yellow  gleam 
Is  mingling  with  the  cold  moonbeam, 
And  yon  thin  form  ! — the  hectic  red 
On  his  pale  cheek  unequal  spread;3 
The  head  reclined,  the  loosen'd  hair, 
The  limbs  relax'd,  the  mournful  air. — 
See,  he  looks  up ; — a  woeful  smile 
Lightens  his  woe-worn  cheek  a  while,— 
'Tis  Fancy  wakes  some  idle  thought, 
To  gild  the  ruin  she  has  wrought ; 
For,  like  the  bat  of  Indian  brakes, 
Her  pinions  fan  the  wound  she  makes, 
And  soothing  thus  the  dreamer's  pain, 
She  drinks  his  life-blood  from  the  vein.4 
Now  to  the  lattice  turn  his  eyes, 
Vain  hope !  to  see  the  sun  arise. 
The  moon  with  clouds  is  still  o'ercast, 
Still  howls  by  fits  the  stormy  blast; 
Another  hour  must  wear  away 
Ere  the  east  kindle  into  day ; 
And  hark !  to  waste  that  weary  hour, 
He  tries  the  minstrel's  magic  power. 

XXXIII. 

Sons- 

TO  THE  MOON.5 
Hail  to  thy  cold  and  clouded  beam, 

Pale  pilgrim  of  the  troubled  sky ! 
Hail,  though  the  mists  that  o'er  thee  stream 

Lend  to  thy  brow  their  sullen  dye  !6 
How  should  thy  pure  and  peaceful  eye 

Untroubled  view  our  scenes  below, 
Or  how  a  tearless  beam  supply 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe ! 

And  shivering  nerves,  shoot  stings  of  more  than  mortal 
pain." 

Beattie. 

8  MS. :  "  On  his  pale  cheek  in  crimson  glow  ; 
The  short  and  painful  sighs  that  show 
The  shrivell'd  lip,  the  teeth's  white  row, 
The  head  reclined,"  &c. 


*  MS. 


"  the  sleeper's  pain 


Drinks  his  dear  life-blood  from  the  vein." 


6  The  little  poem  that  follows  is,  in  our  judgment,  one  of 
the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  attempts  in  this  kind.  He  certainly 
is  not  in  general  successful  as  a  song-writer;  but,  without 
any  ext  raordinary  effort,  here  are  pleasing  thoughts,  polished 
expressions,  and  musical  versification." — Monthly  Review. 

8  MS. :  "  Are  tarnishing  thy  lovely  dye ! 
A  sad  excuse  let  Fancy  try — 

How  should  so  kind  a  planet  show 
Her  stainless  silver's  lustre  high, 

To  light  a  world  of  war  and  woe !" 


EOKEBY. 


299 


Fair  Queen !  I  will  not  blame  thee  now, 

As  once  by  Greta's  fairy  side ; 
Each  little  cloud  that  dimin'd  thy  brow 

Did  then  an  angel's  beauty  hide. 
And  of  the  shades  I  then  could  chide, 

Still  are  the  thoughts  to  memory  dear, 
For,  while  a  softer  strain  I  tried, 

They  hid  my  blush,  and  calm'd  my  fear. 

Then  did  I  swear  thy  ray  serene 

Was  form'd  to  light  some  lonely  dell, 
By  two  fond  lovers  only  seen, 

Reflected  from  the  crystal  well, 
Or  sleeping  on  their  mossy  cell, 

Or  quivering  on  the  lattice  bright, 
Or  glancing  on  their  couch,  to  tell 

How  swiftly  wanes  the  summer  night ! 

XXXIV. 

He  starts — a  step  at  this  lone  hour ! 
A  voice  ! — his  father  seeks  the  tower, 
With  haggard  look  and  troubled  sense, 
Fresh  from  his  dreadful  conference. 
"  Wilfrid !  what,  not  to  sleep  address'd  ? 
Thou  hast  no  cares  to  chase  thy  rest. 
Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston  Moor;1 
Bertram  brings  warrant  to  secure 
His  treasures,  bought  by  spoil  and  blood, 
For  the  state's  use  and  public  good. 
The  menials  will  thy  voice  obey ; 
Let  his  commission  have  its  way,2 
In  every  point,  in  every  word." — 
Then,  in  a  whisper, — "  Take  thy  sword ! 
Bertram  is — what  I  must  not  tell. 
I  hear  his  hasty  step — farewell  !"3 


Hofceul}. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


Far  in  the  chambers  of  the  west 
The  gale  had  sigh'd  itself  to  rest ; 


1  MS. :  "  Here's  Risingham  brings  tidings  sure, 

Mortham  has  fall'n  on  Marston  Moor ; 
And  he  hath  warrant  to  secure,"  &c. 

2  MS. :  "  See  that  they  give  his  warrant  way." 

*  With  the  MS.  of  stanzas  xxviii.  to  xxxiv.  Scott  thus 
addresses  his  printer: — "  I  send  you  the  whole  of  the  canto. 
I  wish  Erskine  and  you  would  look  it  over  together,  and  con- 
sider whether,  upon  the  whole  matter,  it  is  likely  to  make 
an  impression.  If  it  does  really  come  to  good,  I  think  there 
are  no  limits  to  the  interest  of  that  style  of  composition  ;  for 
the  variety  of  life  and  character  are  boundless. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  to  give  Matilda  a  mother  or  not. 
Decency  requires  she  could  have  one ;  but  she  is  as  likely  to 
be  in  my  way  as  the  gudeman's  mother,  according  to  the  pro- 
verb, is  always  in  that  of  the  gudewife.  Yours  truly,  W.  S." — 
Abbotsford  {Oat.  1812). 


The  moon  was  cloudless  now  and  clear, 
But  pale,  and  soon  to  disappear. 
The  thin  gray  clouds  wax  dimly  light 
On  Brusleton  and  Houghton  height ; 
And  the  rich  dale  that  eastward  lay 
Waited  the  wakening  touch  of  day 
To  give  its  woods  and  cultured  plain, 
And  towers  and  spires,  to  light  again. 
But,  westward,  Stanmore's  shapeless  swell, 
And  Lunedale  wild,  and  Kelton-fell, 
And  rock-begirdled  Gilmanscar, 
And  Arkingarth,  lay  dark  afar ; 
While,  as  a  livelier  twilight  falls, 
Emerge  proud  Barnard's  banner'd  walls. 
High  crown'd  he  sits,  in  dawning  pale, 
The  sovereign  of  the  lovely  vale. 

II. 

What  prospects,  from  his  watch-tower  high, 
Gleam  gradual  on  the  warder's  eye ! — 
Far  sweeping  to  the  east  he  sees 
Down  his  deep  wood  the  course  of  Tees,* 
And  tracks  his  wanderings  by  the  steam 
Of  summer  vapors  from  the  stream ; 
And  ere  he  paced  his  destined  hour 
By  Brackenbury's  dungeon  tower,5 
These  silver  mists  shall  melt  away, 
And  dew  the  woods  with  glittering  spray. 
Then  in  broad  lustre  shall  be  sliQwn 
That  mighty  trench  of  living  stone,6 
And  each  huge  trunk  that  from  the  side 
Reclines  him  o'er  the  darksome  tide, 
Where  Tees,  full  many  a  fathom  low, 
Wears  with  his  rage  no  common  foej 
For  pebbly  bank,  nor  sand-bed  here, 
Nor  clay-mound,  checks  his  fierce  career, 
Condemn'd  to  mine  a  channeled  way 
O'er  solid  sheets  of  marble  gray. 

III. 

Nor  Tees  alone,  in  dawning  bright, 
Shall  rush  upon  the  ravish'd  sight ; 
But  many  a  tributary  stream 
Each  from  its  own  dark  dell  shall  gleam : 


"We  cannot  close  the  first  canto  without  bestowing  the 
highest  praise  on  it.  The  whole  design  of  the  picture  is  ex- 
cellent ;  and  the  contrast  presented  to  the  gloomy  and  fearful 
opening  by  the  calm  and  innocent  conclusion  is  masterly. 
Never  were  two  characters  more  clearly  and  forcibly  set  in 
opposition  than  those  of  Bertram  and  Wilfrid.  Oswald  com- 
pletes the  group  :  and,  for  the  moral  purposes  of  the  painter, 
is  perhaps  superior  to  the  others.    He  is  admirably  designed 

'  that  middle  course  to  steer, 

To  cowardice  and  craft  so  dear.' " 

Monthly  Review. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  L. 

5  MS. :  "  Betwixt  the  gate  and  Baliol's  tower." 

6  MS. :  "  Those  deep-hewn  banks  of  living  stone." 


300 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Staindrop,  who,  from  her  sylvan  bowers,1 

Salutes  proud  Raby's  battled  towers ; 

The  rural  brook  of  Egliston, 

And  Balder,  named  from  Odin's  son; 

And  Greta,  to  whose  banks  ere  long 

We  lead  the  lovers  of  the  song; 

And  silver  Lune,  from  Stanmore  wild, 

And  fairy  Thorsgill's  murmuring  child, 

And  last  and  least,  but  loveliest  still, 

Romantic  Deepdale's  slender  rill. 

Who  in  that  dimwood  glen  hath  stray'd, 

Yet  longM  for  Roslin's  magic  glade  ? 

Who,  wandering  there,   hath  sought  to 

change 
Even  for  that  vale  so  stern  and  strange, 
Where  Cartland's  Crags,  fantastic  rent, 
Through  her  green  copse  like  spires  are  sent? 
Yet,  Albin,  yet  the  praise  be  thine, 
Thy  scenes  and  story  to  combine ! 
Thou  bidst  him  who  by  Roslin  strays 
List  to  the  deeds  of  other  days  ;2 
'Mid  Cartland's  Crags  thou  show'st  the 

cave, 
The  refuge  of  thy  champion  brave  ;3 
Giving  each  rock  its  storied  tale, 
Pouring  a  lay  for  every  dale, 
Knitting,  as  with  a  moral  band, 
Thy  native  legends  with  thy  land, 
To  lend  each  scene  the  interest  high 
Which  genius  beams  from  Beauty's  eye. 

IV. 

Bertram  awaited  not  the  sight 

Which  sunrise  shows  from  Barnard's  height, 

But  from  the  towers,  preventing  day, 

With  Wilfrid  took  his  early  way, 

While  misty  dawn  and  moonbeam  pale 

Still  mingled  in  the  silent  dale. 

By  Barnard's  bridge  of  stately  stone 

The  southern  bank  of  Tees  they  won ; 

Their  winding  path  then  eastward  cast, 

And  Egliston's  gray  ruins  pass'd  ;* 

Each  on  his  own  deep  visions  bent, 

Silent  and  sad  they  onward  went. 

Well  may  you  think  that  Bertram's  mood5 

To  Wilfrid  savage  seem'd  and  rude; 

Well  may  you  think  bold  Risingham 

Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame; 

And  small  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 

Such  uncongenial  souls  between. 

1  MS.:  "Staindrop,  who,  on  her  sylvan  way, 

Salutes  proud  Rally's  turrets  gray" 

2  See  Notes  to  the  song  of  Fair  Roaabelle,  in  the  "Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel." 

3  Cartland  Crags,  near  Lanark,  celebrated  as  among  the 
favorite  retreats  of  Sir  William  Wallace. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

6  MS.:  "  For  brief  the  intercourse,  I  ween, 
Such  uncongenial  souls  between ; 
Well  may  you  think  stern  Risingham 
Held  Wilfrid  trivial,  poor,  and  tame; 


Stern  Bertram  shunn'd  the  nearer  way, 
Through   Rokeby's  park  and  chase  that 

lay, 
And,  skirting  high  the  valley's  ridge, 
They  cross'd  by  Greta's  ancient  bridge. 
Descending  where  her  waters  wind 
Free  for  a  space  and  unconfined, 
As,  'scaped  from  Brignall's  darkwood  glen, 
She  seeks  wild  Mortham's  deeper  den. 
There,  as  his  eye  glanced  o'er  the  mound 
Raised  by  that  Legion6  long  renown'd, 
Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim, 
Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  fame, 
"  Stern  sons  of  war !"  sad  Wilfrid  sigh'd, 
"  Behold  the  boast  of  Roman  pride ! 
What  now  of  all  your  toils  are  known? 
A  grassy  trench,  a  broken  stone!" — 
This  to  himself;  for  moral  strain 
To  Bertram  were  address'd  in  vain. 

VI. 

Of  different  mood,  a  deeper  sigh 
Awoke  when  Rokeby's  turrets  high7 
Were  northward  in  the  dawning  seen 
To  rear  them  o'er  the  thicket  green. 
Oh  then,  though  Spenser's  self  had  stray'd 
Beside  him  through  the  lovely  glade, 
Lending  his  rich  luxuriant  glow 
Of  fancy,  all  its  charms  to  show, 
Pointing  the  stream  rejoicing  free, 
As  captive  set  at  liberty, 
Flashing  her  sparkling  waves  abroad,8 
And  clamoring  joyful  on  her  road ; 
Pointing  where,  up  the  sunny  banks, 
The  trees  retire  in  scatter'd  ranks, 
Save  where,  advanced  before  the  rest, 
On  knoll  or  hillock  rears  his  crest, 
Lonely  and  huge,  the  giant  oak, 
As  champions,  when  their  band  is  broke, 
Stand  forth  to  guard  the  rearward  post, 
The  bulwark  of  the  scatter'd  host — 
All  this,  and  more,  might  Spenser  say, 
Yet  waste  in  vain  his  magic  lay, 
While  Wilfrid  eyed  the  distant  tower 
Whose  lattice  lights  Matilda's  bower. 

VII. 

The  open  vale  is  soon  pass'd  o'er, 
Rokeby,  though  nigh,  is  seen  no  more  ;9 

And  nought  of  mutual  interest  lay 
To  bind  the  comrades  of  the  way." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

8  MS. :  "  Flashing  to  heaven  her  sparkling  spray, 

And  clamoring  joyful  on  her  way." 

9  MS. :  "  And  Rokeby's  tower  is  seen  no  more ; 

Sinking  'mid  Greta's  thickets  green, 
Journeyers  seek  another  scene." 


Glen  of  the  l  .ki.ta. 


The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  tin   river's  darksonu  bed." 

ROKEBY,  Canto  II. 


KOKEBY. 


301 


Sinking  'mid  Greta's  thickets  deep, 

A  wild  and  darker  course  they  keep, 

A  stern  and  lone  yet  lovely  road 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  minstrel  trode  I1 

Broad  shadows  o'er  their  passage  fell, 

Deeper  and  narrower  grew  the  dell ; 

It  seem'd  some  mountain,  rent  and  riven, 

A  channel  for  the  stream  had  given, 

So  high  the  cliffs  of  limestone  gray 

Hung  beetling  o'er  the  torrent's  way, 

Yielding,  along  their  rugged  base,2 

A  flinty  footpath's  niggard  space, 

Where  he  who  winds  'twixt  rock  and  wave 

May  hear  the  headlong  torrent  rave, 

And  like  a  steed  in  frantic  fit, 

That  flings  the  froth  from  curb  and  bit,3 

May  view  her  chafe  her  waves  to  spray, 

O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  way, 

Till  foam-globes  on  her  eddies  ride, 

Thick  as  the  schemes  of  human  pride 

That  down  life's  current  drive  amain, 

As  frail,  as  frothy,  and  as  vain ! 

VIII. 

The  cliffs  that  rear  their  haughty  head 
High  o'er  the  river's  darksome  bed 
Were  now  all  naked,  wild,  and  gray, 
Now  waving  all  with  greenwood  spray ; 
Here  trees  to  every  crevice  clung, 
And  o'er  the  dell  their  branches  hung ; 
And  there,  all  splinter'd  and  uneven, 
The  shiver'd  rocks  ascend  to  heaven ; 
Oft,  too,  the  ivy  swath'd  their  breast,* 
And  wreathed  its  garland  round  their  crest, 
Or  from  the  spires  bade  loosely  flare 
Its  tendrils  in  the  middle  air ; 
As  pennons  wont  to  wave  of  old 
O'er  the  high  feast  of  baron  bold, 
When  revell'd  loud  the  feudal  rout, 
And  the  arch'd  halls  return'd  their  shout. 
Such  and  more  wild  is  Greta's  roar, 
And  such  the  echoes  from  her  shore; 
And  so  the  ivied  banners  gleam,5 
Waved  wildly  o'er  the  brawling  stream. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  P. 

s  MS.:  "Yielding  their  rugged  base  beside 

A  {  flinty  ,  )  path  by  Greta's  tide." 
(.  niggard  ) 

3  MS. :  "  That  flings  the  foam  from  curb  and  bit, 
/•tawny  -\ 
Chafing  her  waves  to<  whiten  >  wrath, 

(.spungy  J 
O'er  every  rock  that  bars  her  path, 
Till  down  her  boiling  eddies  ride,"  &c. 

*  MS. :  "  The  frequent  ivy  swathed  their  breast, 

And  wreathed  its  tendrils  round  their  crest, 

Or  from  their  summit  bade  them  fall, 

And  tremble  o'er  the  Greta's  brawl." 

r  green 
6  MS. :  "  And  so  the  ivy's  banners  <  „ipam 

f  Waved  wildly  trembling  o'er  the  scene." 
I  Waved  wild  above  the  clamorous  stream." 


IX. 

Now  from  the  stream  the  rocks  recede, 

But  leave  between  no  sunny  mead, 

No,  nor  the  spot  of  pebbly  sand, 

Oft  found  by  such  a  mountain  strand  ;6 

Forming  such  warm  and  dry  retreat 

As  fancy  deems  the  lonely  seat 

Where  hermit,  wandering  from  his  cell, 

His  rosary  might  love  to  tell. 

But  here,  'twixt  rock  and  river,  grew 

A  dismal  grove  of  sable  yew,7 

With  whose  sad  tints  were  mingled  seen 

The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green. 

Seem'd  that  the  trees  their  shadows  cast, 

The  earth  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast ; 

For  never  knew  that  swarthy  grove 

The  verdant  hue  that  fairies  love ; 

Nor  wilding  green,  nor  woodland  flower, 

Arose  within  its  baleful  bower : 

The  dank  and  sable  earth  receives 

Its  only  carpet  from  the  leaves, 

That,  from  the  withering  branches  cast, 

Bestrew'd  the  ground  with  every  blast. 

Though  now  the  sun  was  o'er  the  hill, 

In  this  dark  spot  'twas  twilight  still,8 

Save  that  on  Greta's  farther  side 

Some  straggling  beams  through  copsewood  glide ; 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

That  dingle's  deep  and  funeral  shade 

With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 

Which,  glimmering  through  the  ivy  spray, 

On  the  opposing  summit  lay. 


The  lated  peasant  shunn'd  the  dell ; 

For  Superstition  wont  to  tell 

Of  many  a  grisly  sound  and  sight, 

Scaring  his  path  at  dead  of  night. 

When  Christmas  logs  blaze  high  and  wide, 

Such  wonders  speed  the  festal  tide ; 

While  Curiosity  and  Fear, 

Pleasure  and  Pain,  sit  crouching  near, 

Till  childhood's  cheek  no  longer  glows, 

And  village  maidens  lose  the  rose. 


«  MS. 


•  "  a  torrent's  strand ; 


Where  in  the  warm  and  dry  retreat 
May  fancy  form  some  hermit's  seat." 


7  MS. :  "  A  darksome  grove  of  funeral  yew, 

Where  trees  a  baleful  shadow  cast, 
The  ground  that  nourish'd  them  to  blast, 
Mingled  with  whose  sad  tints  were  seen 
The  blighted  fir's  sepulchral  green." 

8  MS. :  "  In  this  dark  grove  'twas  twilight  still, 

-       Save  that  upon  the  rocks  opposed 

Some  straggling  beams  of  morn  reposed, 

And  wild  and  savage  contrast  made 

That  bleak  and  dark  funereal  shade 

With  the  bright  tints  of  early  day, 

Which,  struggling  through  the  greenwood  spray, 

Upon  the  rock's  wild  summit  lay." 


302 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  thrilling  interest  rises  higher,1 

The  circle  closes  nigh  and  nigher, 

And  shuddering  glance  is  cast  behind, 

As  louder  moans  the  wintry  wind. 

Believe  that  fitting  scene  was  laid 

For  such  wild  tales  in  Mortham  glade ; 

For  who  had  seen,  on  Greta's  side, 

By  that  dim  light  fierce  Bertram  stride, 

In  such  a  spot,  at  such  an  hour, — 

If  touch'd  by  Superstition's  power, 

Might  well  have  deem'd  that  hell  had  given 

A  murderer's  ghost  to  upper  heaven, 

While  Wilfrid's  form  had  seem'd  to  glide 

Like  his  pale  victim  by  his  side. 

XI. 

Nor  think  to  village  swains  alone 
Are  these  unearthly  terrors  known ; 
For  not  to  rank  nor  sex  confined 
In  this  vain  ague  of  the  mind : 
Hearts  firm  as  steel,  as  marble  hard, 
'Gainst  faith,  and  love,  and  pity  barr'd, 
Have  quaked,  like  aspen  leaves  in  May, 
Beneath  its  universal  sway. 
Bertram  has  listed  many  a  tale 
Of  wonder  in  his  native  dale, 
That  in  his  secret  soul  retain'd 
The  credence  they  in  childhood  gain'd : 
Nor  less  his  wild  adventurous  youth 
Believed  in  every  legend's  truth ; 
Learn'd  when,  beneath  the  tropic  gale, 
Full  swell'd  the  vessel's  steady  sail, 
And  the  broad  Indian  moon  her  light 
Pour'd  on  the  watch  of  middle  night, 
When  seamen  love  to  hear  and  tell 
Of  portent,  prodigy,  and  spell  :2 
What  gales  are  sold  on  Lapland's  shore,3 
How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar,* 
Of  witch,  of  mermaid,  and  of  sprite, 
Of  Erick's  cap  and  Elmo's  light  ;5 
Or  of  that  Phantom  Ship,  whose  form 
Shoots  like  a  meteor  through  the  storm ; 
When  the  dark  scud  comes  driving  hard, 
And  lower'd  is  every  topsail-yard, 


1  M.S.:  "The  interest  rises  high  and  higher." 
s  The  MS.  has  not  the  two  following  couplet*. 
3  "  Also  I  shall  shew  very  briefly  what  force  conjurers  and 
witches  have  in  constraining  the  elements  enchanted  by  them 
or  others,  that  they  may  exceed  or  fall  short  of  their  natural 
order;  premising  this,  that  I  lie  extream  land  of  North  Fin- 
land and  Lapland  was  so  taught  witchcraft  formerly  in  hea- 
thenish times,  as  if  they  had  learned  tins  cursed  art  from 
Zoroastres  the  Persian  ;  though  other  inhabitants  by  the  sea- 
coasts  are  reported  to  be  bewitched  with  tin-  same  madness; 
for  they  exercise  this  devilish  art,  of  all  the  arts  of  the  world, 
to  admiration  ;  and  in  this,  or  such  other  like  mischief,  they 
commonly  agree.  The  Finlanders  were  wont  formerly, 
amongst  their  other  errors  of  gentilisme,  to  sell  winds  to  mer- 
chants that  were  stopt  on  their  coasts  by  contrary  weather; 
and  when  they  had  their  price,  they  knit  three  magical  knots, 
not  like  to  the  laws  of  Cassius,  bound  up  with  a  thong,  and 


And  canvas,  wove  in  earthly  looms, 
No  more  to  brave  the  storm  presumes, 
Then,  'mid  the  war  of  sea  and  sky, 
Top  and  top-gallant  hoisted  high, 
Full  spread  and  crowded  every  sail, 
The  Demon  Frigate  braves  the  gale  ;8 
And  well  the  doom'd  spectators  know 
The  harbinger  of  wreck  and  woe. 

XII. 

Then,  too,  were  told,  in  stifled  tone, 
Marvels  and  omens  all  their  own; 
How,  by  some  desert  isle  or  key,7 
Where  Spaniards  wrought  their  cruelty, 
Or  where  the  savage  pirate's  mood 
Repaid  it  home  in  deeds  of  blood, 
Strange  nightly  sounds  of  woe  and  fear 
Appall'd  the  listening  Bucanier, 
Whose  light-arm'd  shallop  anchor'd  lay 
In  ambush  by  the  lonely  bay. 
The  groan  of  grief,  the  shriek  of  pain, 
Ring  from  the  moonlight  groves  of  cane ; 
The  fierce  adventurer's  heart  they  scare, 
Who  wearies  memory  for  a  prayer, 
Curses  the  road-stead,  and  with  gale 
Of  early  morning  lifts  the  sail, 
To  give,  in  thirst  of  blood  and  prey, 
A  legend  for  another  bay. 

XIII. 

Thus,  as  a  man,  a  youth,  a  child, 
Train'd  in  the  mystic  and  the  wild, 
With  this  on  Bertram's  soul  at  times 
Rush'd  a  dark  feeling  of  his  crimes ; 
Such  to  his  troubled  soul  their  form, 
As  the  pale  Death  Ship  to  the  storm, 
And  such  their  omen  dim  and  dread, 
As  shrieks  and  voices  of  the  dead. 
That  pang,  whose  transitory  force8 
Hover'd  'twixt  horror  and  remorse, — 
That  pang,  perchance,  his  bosom  press'd, 
As  Wilfrid  sudden  he  address'd : 
"  Wilfrid,  this  glen  is  never  trod 
Until  the  sun  rides  high  abroad ; 


they  gave  them  unto  the  merchants ;  observing  that  rule,  that 
when  they  unloosed  the  first,  they  should  have  a  good  gale  of 
wind ;  when  the  second,  a  stronger  wind ;  but  when  they  untied 
the  third,  they  should  have  such  cruel  tempests,  that  they 
should  not  be  able  to  look  out  of  the  forecastle  to  avoid  the 
rocks,  nor  move  a  foot  to  pull  down  the  sails,  nor  stand  at  the 
helm  to  govern  the  ship ;  and  they  made  an  unhappy  trial  of 
the  truth  of  it  who  denied  that  there  was  any  such  power  in 
those  knots."— Olaus  Magnus'  History  of  the  Goths,  Swedes, 
and  Vandals.  Lond.  1658,  fol.  p.  47.— [See  Note  to  "  The  Pirate," 
"  Sale  of  Winds,"  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xxiv.  p.  136.] 


4  See  Appendix,  Note  Q. 
0  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 


6  Ibid.  Note  R. 
»  Ibid.  Note  T. 


8  MS.:  "Its  fell  though  transitory  force 
Ilovers  'twixt  pity  and  remorse." 


ROKEBY. 


303 


Yet  twice  have  I  beheld  to-day 

A  Form  that  seem'd  to  dog  our  way ; 

Twice  from  my  glance  it  seem'd  to  flee, 

And  shroud  itself  by  cliff  or  tree. 

How  think'st  thou  ? — Is  our  path  waylaid  ? 

Or  hath  thy  sire  my  trust  betray'd  ? 

If  so" Ere,  starting  from  his  dream, 

That  turn'd  upon  a  gentler  theme, 
Wilfrid  had  roused  him  to  reply, 
Bertram  sprang  forward,  shouting  high, 
"  Whate'er  thou  art,  thou  now  shalt  stand  !"- 
And  forth  he  darted,  sword  in  hand. 

XIV. 

As  bursts  the  levin  in  its  wrath,1 
He  shot  him  down  the  sounding  path ; 
Rock,  wood,  and  stream,  rang  wildly  out 
To  his  loud  step  and  savage  shout.2 
Seems  that  the  object  of  his  race 
Hath  scaled  the  cliffs ;  his  frantic  chase 
Sidelong  he  turns,  and  now  'tis  bent 
Right  up  the  rock's  tall  battlement ; 
Straining  each  sinew  to  ascend, 
Foot,  hand,  and  knee,  their  aid  must  lend. 
Wilfrid,  all  dizzy  with  dismay, 
Views  from  beneath  his  dreadful  way : 
Now  to  the  oak's  warp'd  roots  he  clings, 
Now  trusts  his  weight  to  ivy  strings ; 
Now,  like  the  wild  goat,  must  he  dare 
An  unsupported  leap  in  air  ;3 
Hid  in  the  shrubby  rain-course  now, 
You  mark  him  by  the  crashing  bough, 
And  by  his  corselet's  sullen  clank, 
And  by  the  stones  spurn'd  from  the  bank, 
And  by  the  hawk  scared  from  her  nest, 
And  ravens  croaking  o'er  their  guest, 
Who  deem  his  forfeit  limbs  shall  pay 
The  tribute  of  his  bold  essay. 

XV. 

See,  he  emerges ! — desperate  now4 

All  farther  course— Yon  beetling  brow, 

In  craggy  nakedness  sublime, 

What  heart  or  foot  shall  dare  to  climb  ? 

It  bears  no  tendril  for  his  clasp, 

Presents  no  angle  to  his  grasp : 


1  MS. :  "  As  bursts  the  levin-boli  j  in  j  wrath.' 

2  MS.:  "To  his  fierce  step  and  savage  shout. 

f  rae 
Seems  that  the  object  of  his  <    , 


race 
lase 
Had  scaled  the  cliffs ;  his  desperate  chase." 

s  MS.:  "A  desperate  leap  through  empty  air; 
Hid  in  the  copse-clad  rain-course  now." 

4  MS. :  "  See,  he  emerges ! — desperate  now 
Toward  the  naked  beetling  brow 
His  progress — heart  and  foot  must  fail 
Yon  upmost  crag's  bare  peak  to  scale." 

6  MS. :  "  Perch'd  like  an  eagle  on  its  top, 
Balanced  on  its  uncertain  prop ; 


Sole  stay  his  foot  may  rest  upon 

Is  yon  earth-bedded  jutting  stone. 

Balanced  on  such  precarious  prop,5 

He  strains  his  grasp  to  reach  the  top. 

Just  as  the  dangerous  stretch  he  makes, 

By  heaven,  his  faithless  footstool  shakes ! 

Beneath  his  tottering  bulk  it  bends, 

It  sways,  ...  it  loosens,  ...  it  descends ! 

And  downward  holds  its  headlong  way, 

Crashing  o'er  rock  and  copsewood  spray. 

Loud  thunders  shake  the  echoing  dell ! — 

Fell  it  alone  ? — alone  it  fell. 

Just  on  the  very  verge  of  fate, 

The  hardy  Bertram's  falling  weight 

He  trusted  to  his  sinewy  hands, 

And  on  the  top  unharm'd  he  stands ! — 6 

XVI. 

Wilfrid  a  safer  path  pursued ; 
At  intervals  where,  roughly  hew'd, 
Rude  steps  ascending  from  the  dell 
Render'd  the  cliffs  accessible. 
By  circuit  slow  he  thus  attain'd 
The  height  that  Risingham  had  gain'd, 
And  when  he  issued  from  the  wood, 
Before  the  gate  of  Mortham  stood.7 
'Twas  a  fair  scene!  the  sunbeam  lay 
On  battled  tower  and  portal  gray ; 
And  from  the  grassy  slope  he  sees 
The  Greta  flow  to  meet  the  Tees, 
Where,  issuing  from  her  darksome  bed, 
She  caught  the  morning's  eastern  red, 
And  through  the  softening  vale  below 
Roll'd  her  bright  waves,  in  rosy  glow, 
All  blushing  to  her  bridal  bed,8 
Like  some  shy  maid  in  convent  bred ; 
While  linnet,  lark,  and  blackbird  gay, 
Sing  forth  her  nuptial  roundelay. 

XVII. 

'Twas  sweetly  sung  that  roundelay ; 
That  summer  morn  shone  blithe  and  gay ; 
But  morning  beam,  and  wild  bird's  call, 
Awaked  not  Mortham's  silent  hall.9 
No  porter,  by  the  low-brow'd  gate, 
Took  in  the  wonted  niche  his  seat ; 


Just  as  the  perilous  stretch  he  makes, 
By  heaven,  his  tottering  footstool  shakes !" 

6  Opposite  to  this  line  the  MS.  has  this  note,  meant  to 
amuse  Mr.  Ballantyne : — "  If  my  readers  will  not  allow  that 
I  have  climbed  Parnassus,  they  must  grant  that  I  have  turned 
the  Kittle  Nine  Steps."— [See  note  to  "  Bedgauntlet,"  Waverley 
Novels,  vol.  xxxv.  p.  6.] 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

8  MS.:  "As  some  fair  maid,  in  cloister  bred, 

Is  blushing  to  her  bridal  led." 

9  "The  beautiful  prospect  commanded  by  that  eminence, 
seen  under  the  cheerful  light  of  a  summer's  morning,  is 
finely  contrasted  with  the  silence  and  solitude  of  the  place." 
— Critical  Review. 


304 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


To  the  paved  court  no  peasant  drew ; 
Waked  to  their  toil  no  menial  crew ; 
The  maiden's  carol  was  not  heard, 
As  to  her  morning  task  she  fared ; 
In  the  void  offices  around 
Rung  not  a  hoof,  nor  bay'd  a  hound, 
Nor  eager  steed,  with  shrilling  neigh, 
Accused  the  lagging  groom's  delay ; 
Untrimm'd,  undress'd,  neglected  now, 
Was  alley'd  walk  and  orchard  bough ; 
All  spoke  the  master's  absent  care,1 
All  spoke  neglect  and  disrepair. 
South  of  the  gate,  an  arrow  flight, 
Two  mighty  elms  their  limbs  unite, 
As  if  a  canopy  to  spread 
O'er  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead ; 
For  their  huge  boughs  in  arches  bent 
Above  a  massive  monument, 
Carved  o'er  in  ancient  Gothic  wise, 
With  many  a  scutcheon  and  device : 
There,  spent  with  toil  and  sunk  in  gloom, 
Bertram  stood  pondering  by  the  tomb. 

XVIII. 
"  It  vanish'd,  like  a  flitting  ghost ! 
Behind  this  tomb,"  he  said,  "  'twas  lost — 
This  tomb,  where  oft  I  deem'd  lies  stored 
Of  Mortham's  Indian  wealth  the  hoard. 
'Tis  true,  the  aged  servant  said 
Here  his  lamented  wife  is  laid  ;2 
But  weightier  reasons  may  be  guess'd 
For  their  lord's  strict  and  stern  behest 
That  none  should  on  his  steps  intrude 
Whene'er  he  sought  this  solitude. — 
An  ancient  mariner  I  knew, 
What  time  I  sail'd  with  Morgan's  crew, 
Who  oft,  'mid  our  carousals,  spake 
Of  Raleigh,  Forbisher,  and  Drake ; 
Adventurous  hearts !  who  barter'd,  bold, 
Their  English  steel  for  Spanish  gold. 
Trust  not,  would,  his  experience  say, 
Captain  or  comrade  with  your  prey ; 
But  seek  some  charnel,  when,  at  full, 
The  moon  gilds  skeleton  and  skull : 
There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap, 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep  ;3 
Sure  stewards  they,  if  fitting  spell 
Their  service  to  the  task  compel. 
Lacks  there  such  charnel  ? — kill  a  slave,* 
Or  prisoner,  on  the  treasure-grave, 
And  bid  his  discontented  ghost 
Stalk  nightly  on  his  lonely  post. — 

1  MS. :  "  All  spoke  the  master  absent  far, 

All  spoke  j  ^S  e°   an,  \  civil  war. 
r         I.  the  woes  of  J 

Close  by  the  gate,  an  arch  combined, 

Two  haughty  elms  their  branches  twined.' 

'  MS. :  "  Here  lies  the  partner  of  his  bed ; 

But  weightier  reasons  should  appear 

For  all  his  moonlight  wanderings  here, 


Such  was  his  tale.     Its  truth,  I  ween, 
Is  in  my  morning  vision  seen." 

XIX. 

"Wilfrid,  who  scorn'd  the  legend  wild, 

In  mingled  mirth  and  pity  smiled, 

Much  marvelling  that  a  breast  so  bold 

In  such  fond  tale  belief  should  hold  ;5 

But  yet  of  Bertram  sought  to  know 

The  apparition's  form  and  show. — 

The  power  within  the  guilty  breast, 

Oft  vanquish'd,  never  quite  suppress'd, 

That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 

To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 

And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 

In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell, — 6 

That  power  in  Bertram's  breast  awoke ; 

Scarce  conscious  he  was  heard,  he  spoke : 

"  'Twas  Mortham's  form,  from  foot  to  head ! 

His  morion,  with  the  plume  of  red, 

His  shape,  his  mien — 'twas  Mortham,  right 

As  when  I  slew  him  in  the  fight." — 

"Thou  slay  him? — thou?" — With  conscious  start 

He  heard,  then  mann'd  his  haughty  heart — 

"  I  slew  liSh !  I ! — I  had  forgot 

Thou,  stripling,  knew'st  not  of  the  plot 

But  it  is  spoken — nor  will  I 

Deed  done,  or  spoken  word,  deny. 

I  slew  him — I — for  thankless  pride ; 

'Twas  by  this  hand  that  Mortham  died !" 

XX. 

Wilfrid,  of  gentle  hand  and  heart, 

Averse  to  every  active  part, 

But  most  averse  to  martial  broil, 

From  danger  shrunk,  and  turn'd  from  toil ; 

Yet  the  meek  lover  of  the  lyre 

Nursed  one  brave  spark  of  noble  fire ; 

Against  injustice,  fraud,  or  wrong, 

His  blood  beat  high,  his  hand  wax'd  strong. 

Not  his  the  nerves  that  could  sustain, 

Unshaken,  danger,  toil,  and  pain ; 

But  when  that  spark  blazed  forth  to  flame,7 

He  rose  superior  to  his  frame. 

And  now  it  came,  that  generous  mood : 

And,  in  full  current  of  his  blood, 

On  Bertram  he  laid  desperate  hand, 

Placed  firm  his  foot,  and  drew  his  brand. 

"  Should  every  fiend  to  whom  thou'rt  sold 

Rise  in  thine  aid,  I  keep  my  hold. — 

Arouse  there,  ho !  take  spear  and  sword ! 

Attach  the  murderer  of  your  lord !" 

And  for  the  sharp  rebuke  they  got 
That  pried  around  his  favorite  spot." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 

*  MS.:  "Lacks  there  such  charnel-vault  ?— a  slave, 
Or  prisoner,  slaughter  on  the  grave." 

6  MS. :  "  Should  faith  in  such  a  fable  hold." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

i  MS.:  "But  when  blazed  forth  that  noble  flame." 


ROKEBY. 


305 


XXI. 

A  moment,  fix'd  as  by  a  spell, 

Stood  Bertram — It  seem'd  miracle, 

That  one  so  feeble,  soft,  and  tame, 

Set  grasp  on  warlike  Risingham.1 

But  when  he  felt  a  feeble  stroke,2 

The  fiend  within  the  ruffian  woke ! 

To  wrench  the  sword  from  Wilfrid's  hand, 

To  dash  him  headlong  on  the  sand, 

Was  but  one  moment's  work, — one  more 

Had  drench'd  the  blade  in  Wilfrid's  gore ; 

But,  in  the  instant  it  arose, 

To  end  his  life,  his  love,  his  woes, 

A  warlike  form,  that  mark'd  the  scene, 

Presents  his  rapier  sheathed  between, 

Parries  the  fast-descending  blow, 

And  steps  'twixt  Wilfrid  and  his  foe ; 

Nor  then  unscabbarded  his  brand, 

But,  sternly  pointing  with  his  hand, 

With  monarch's  voice  forbade  the  fight, 

And  motion'd  Bertram  from  his  sight. 

"  Go,  and  repent,"  he  said,  "  while  time 

Is  given  thee ;  add  not  crime  to  crime." 

XXII. 
Mute,  and  uncertain,  and  amazed, 
As  on  a  vision  Bertram  gazed ! 
'Twas  Mortham's  bearing,  bold  and  high,3 
His  sinewy  frame,  his  falcon  eye, 
His  look  and  accent  of  command, 
The  martial  gesture  of  his  hand, 
His  stately  form,  sjiare-built  and  tall, 
His  war-bleach'd  locks — 'twas  Mortham 

all. 
Through  Bertram's  dizzy  brain  career4 
A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear ; 
His  wavering  faith  received  not  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
But  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  lord,  in  living  flesh  and  blood. — 
What  spectre  can  the  charnel  send 
So  dreadful  as  an  injured  friend  ? 
Then,  too,  the  habit  of  command, 
Used  by  the  leader  of  the  band, 
When  Risingham,  for  many  a  day, 
Had  march'd  and  fought  beneath  his  sway, 
Tamed  him — and,  with  reverted  face, 
Backwards  he  bore  his  sullen  pace  ;5 


i  "  The  sudden  impression  made  on  the  mind  of  Wilfrid  by 
this  avowal  is  one  of  the  happiest  touches  of  moral  poetry. 
The  effect  which  the  unexpected  burst  of  indignation  and 
valor  produces  on  Bertram  is  as  finely  imagined." — Critical 
Review.  "This  most  animating  scene  is  a  worthy  compan- 
ion to  the  rencounter  of  Fitz-James  and  Roderick  Dhu,  in 
the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.' " — Monthly  Review. 


8  MS.:  "At  length,  at  slight  and  feeble  stroke, 

That  razed  the  skin,  his  \  \  awoke." 

I  rage  J 

20 


Oft  stopp'd,  and  oft  on  Mortham  stared, 
And  dark  as  rated  mastiff  glared ; 
But  when  the  tramp  of  steeds  was  heard, 
Plunged  in  the  glen  and  disappear'd ; — 
Nor  longer  there  the  Warrior  stood, 
Retiring  eastward  through  the  wood  ;6 
But  first  to  Wilfrid  warning  gives, 
"  Tell  thou  to  none  that  Mortham  lives." 

XXIII. 

Still  rung  these  words  in  Wilfrid's  ear, 

Hinting  he  knew  not  what  of  fear  ; 

When  nearer  came  the  coursers'  tread, 

And,  with  his  father  at  their  head, 

Of  horsemen  arm'd  a  gallant  power 

Rein'd  up  their  steeds  before  the  tower.7 

"  Whence  these  pale  looks,  my  son  ?"  he  said : 

"Where's  Bertram?— Why  that  naked  blade  ?"- 

Wilfrid  ambiguously  replied 

(For  Mortham's  charge  his  honor  tied), 

"  Bertram  is  gone — the  villain's  word 

Avouch'd  him  murderer  of  his  lord ! 

Even  now  we  fought — but,  when  your  tread 

Announced  you  nigh,  the  felon  fled." 

In  Wycliffe's  conscious  eye  appear 

A  guilty  hope,  a  guilty  fear  ; 

On  his  pale  brow  the  dewdrop  broke, 

And  his  lip  quiver'd  as  he  spoke : — 

XXIV. 

"A  murderer! — Philip  Mortham  died 
Amid  the  battle's  wildest  tide. 
Wilfrid,  or  Bertram  raves,  or  you ! 
Yet,  grant  such  strange  confession  true, 
Pursuit  were  vain — let  him  fly  far — 
Justice  must  sleep  in  civil  war." 
A  gallant  Youth  rode  near  his  side, 
Brave  Rokeby's  page,  in  battle  tried ; 
That  morn,  an  embassy  of  weight 
He  brought  to  Barnard's  castle  gate, 
And  follow'd  now  in  Wycliffe's  train, 
An  answer  for  his  lord  to  gain. 
His  steed,  whose  arch'd  and  sable  neck 
An  hundred  wreaths  of  foam  bedeck, 
Chafed  not  against  the  curb  more  high 
Than  he  at  Oswald's  cold  reply ; 
He  bit  his  lip,  implored  his  saint 
(His  the  old  faith) — then  burst  restraint. 


3  MS. :  "  'Twas  Mortham's  spare  and  sinewy  frame, 
His  falcon  eye,  his  glance  of  flame." 
"  A  thousand  thoughts,  and  all  of  fear, 
Dizzied  his  brain  in  wild  career ; 
Doubting,  and  not  receiving  quite 
The  form  he  saw  as  Mortham's  sprite, 
Still  more  he  fear'd  it,  if  it  stood 
His  living  lord,  in  flesh  and  blood." 
"  Slow  he  retreats  with  sullen  pace." 
"  Retiring  through  the  thickest  wood." 
"  Rein'd  up  their  steeds  by  Mortham  tower." 


«  MS. 


MS. 

MS. 
MS. 


306 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXV. 

"Yes!  I  beheld  his  bloody  fall,* 
By  that  base  traitor's  dastard  ball, 
Just  when  I  thought  to  measure  sword, 
Presumptuous  hope !  with  Mortham's  lord. 
And  shall  the  murderer  'scape,  who  slew 
His  leader,  generous,  brave,  and  true  ?2 
Escape,  while  on  the  dew  you  trace 
The  marks  of  his  gigantic  pace  ? 
No !  ere  the  sun  that  dew  shall  dry,8 
False  Risinghain  shall  yield  or  die. — 
Ring  out  the  castle  larum  bell ! 
Arouse  the  peasants  with  the  knell ! 
Meantime  disperse — ride,  gallants,  ride ! 
Beset  the  wood  on  every  side. 
But  if  among  you  one  there  be 
That  honors  Mortham's  memory, 
Let  him  dismount  and  follow  me ! 
Else  on  your  crests  sit  fear  and  shame, 
And  foul  suspicion  dog  your  name!" 

XXVI. 

Instant  to  earth  young  Redmond  sprung ; 
Instant  on  earth  the  harness  rung 
Of  twenty  men  of  Wycliffe's  band, 
Who  waited  not  their  lord's  command. 
Redmond  his  spurs  from  buskins  drew, 
His  mantle  from  his  shoulders  threw, 
His  pistols  in  his  belt  he  placed, 
The  greenwood  gain'd,  the  footsteps  traced, 
Shouted  like  huntsman  to  his  hounds, 
"  To  cover,  hark !" — and  in  he  bounds. 
Scarce  heard  was  Oswald's  anxious  cry, 
"  Suspicion !  yes — pursue  him — fly — 
But  venture  not,  in  useless  strife, 
On  ruffian  desperate  of  his  life ; 
Whoever  finds  him  shoot  him  dead  !* 
Five  hundred  nobles  for  his  head  !" 

XXVII. 

The  horsemen  gallop'd,  to  make  good 
Each  path  that  issued  from  the  wood. 
Loud  from  the  thickets  rung  the  shout 
Of  Redmond  and  his  eager  rout ; 

1  MS.:  "Yes!  I  beheld  him  foully  slain 

By  that  base  traitor  of  his  train." 
s  MS.:  "A  knight  so  generous,  brave,  and  true?" 
3  MS. :  "  that  dew  shall  drain, 


*  MS. 
thus, — 


or, 


False  Risingham  shall  be  kill'd  or  ta'en." 
:  To  the  Printer. — "  On  the  disputed  line,  it  may  stand 

'  Whoever  finds  him,  strike  him  dead ;' 


'  Who  first  shall  find  him,  strike  him  dead.' 
But  I  think  the  addition  of  felon,  or  any  such  word,  will  im- 
pair the  strength  of  the  passage.  Oswald  is  too  anxious  to 
use  epithets,  and  is  hallooing  after  the  men,  by  this  time 
entering  the  wood.  The  simpler  the  line  the  better.  In  my 
humble  opinion,  shoot  him  dead  was  much  better  than  any 
other.    It  implies,  Do  not  even  approach  him;  kill  him  at  a  dis- 


With  them  was  Wilfrid,  stung  with  ire, 

And  envying  Redmond's  martial  fire,5 

And  emulous  of  fame. — But  where 

Is  Oswald,  noble  Mortham's  heir? 

He,  bound  by  honor,  law,  and  faith, 

Avenger  of  his  kinsman's  death  ? — 

Leaning  against  the  elmin  tree, 

With  drooping  head  and  slacken'd  knee, 

And  clenched  teeth,  and  close-clasp'd  hands, 

In  agony  of  soul  he  stands ! 

His  downcast  eye  on  earth  is  bent, 

His  soul  to  every  sound  is  lent; 

For  in  each  shout  that  cleaves  the  air, 

May  ring  discovery  and  despair.6 

XXVIII. 

What  'vail'd  it  him  that  brightly  play'd 
The  morning  sun  on  Mortham's  glade  ? 
All  seems  in  giddy  round  to  ride, 
Like  objects  on  a  stormy  tide, 
Seen  eddying  by  the  moonlight  dim, 
Imperfectly  to  sink  and  swim. 
What  'vail'd  it  that  the  fair  domain, 
Its  battled  mansion,  hill,  and  plain, 
On  which  the  sun  so  brightly  shone, 
Envied  so  long,  was  now  his  own  ?7 
The  lowest  dungeon,  in  that  hour, 
Of  Brackenbury's  dismal  tower,8 
Had  been  his  choice,  could  such  a  doom 
Have  open'd  Mortham's  bloody  tomb ! 
Forced,  too,  to  turn  unwilling  ear 
To  each  surmise  of  hope  or  fear 
Murmur'd  among  the  rustics  round, 
Who  gather'd  at  the  larum  sound, 
He  dared  not  turn  his  head  away, 
E'en  to  look  up  to  heaven  to  pray, 
Or  call  on  hell,  in  bitter  mood, 
For  one  sharp  death-shot  from  the  wood ! 

XXIX. 

At  length,  o'erpast  that  dreadful  space, 
Back  straggling  came  the  scatter'd  chase ; 
Jaded  and  weary,  horse  and  man, 
Return'd  the  troopers,  one  by  one. 

tance.  I  leave  it,  however,  to  you,  only  saying  that  I  never 
shun  common  words  when  they  are  to  the  purpose.  As  to 
your  criticisms,  I  cannot  but  attend  to  them,  because  they 
touch  passages  with  which  lam  myself  discontented. — W.  S." 

6  MS.:  "Jealovs  of  Redmond's  noble  fire." 

6  "  Opposed  to  this  animated  picture  of  ardent  courage  and 
ingenuous  youth,  that  of  a  guilty  conscience,  which  imme- 
diately follows,  is  indescribably  terrible,  and  calculated  to 
achieve  the  highest  and  noblest  purposes  of  dramatic  fic- 
tion."— Critical  Jietdew. 

i  "The  contrast  of  the  beautiful  morning,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  the  rich  domain  of  Mortham,  which  Oswald  was  come 
to  seize,  with  the  dark  remorse  and  misery  of  his  mind,  is 
powerfully  represented  (Non  damns  el  fundus  I  &c.  Ac.)." — 
Monthly  Reiriew. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  X. 


EOKEBY. 


307 


Wilfrid,  the  last,  arrived  to  say, 
All  trace  was  lost  of  Bertram's  way, 
Though  Redmond  still,  up  Brignall  wood,1 
The  hopeless  quest  in  vain  pursued. — 
Oh,  fatal  doom  of  human  race ! 
What  tyrant  passions  passions  chase ! 
Remorse  from  Oswald's  brow  is  gone, 
Avarice  and  pride  resume  their  throne  ;2 
The  pang  of  instant  terror  by, 
They  dictate  thus  their  slave's  reply : — 

XXX. 

"  Ay,  let  him  range  like  hasty  hound ! 
And  if  the  grim  wolf's  lair  be  found, 
Small  is  my  care  how  goes  the  game 
With  Redmond  or  with  Risingham. — 
Nay,  answer  not,  thou  simple  boy  I 
Thy  fair  Matilda,  all  so  coy 
To  thee,"  is  of  another  mood 
To  that  bold  youth  of  Erin's  blood. 
Thy  ditties  will  she  freely  praise, 
And  pay  thy  pains  with  courtly  phrase ; 
In  a  rough  path  will  oft  command — 
Accept  at  least — thy  friendly  hand ; 
His  she  avoids,  or,  urged  and  pray'd, 
Unwilling  takes  his  proffer'd  aid, 
While  conscious  passion  plainly  speaks 
In  downcast  look  and  blushing  cheeks. 
Whene'er  he  sings,  will  she  glide  nigh, 
And  all  her  soul  is  in  her  eye ; 
Yet  doubts  she  still  to  tender  free 
The  wonted  words  of  courtesy. 
These  are  strong  signs! — yet  wherefore 

sigh, 
And  wipe,  effeminate,  thine  eye  ? 
Thine  shall  she  be,  if  thou  attend 
The  counsels  of  thy  sire  and  friend. 

XXXI. 

"  Scarce  wert  thou  gone,  when  peep  of  light8 
Brought  genuine  news  of  Marston's  fight. 
Brave  Cromwell  turn'd  the  doubtful  tide, 
And  conquest  bless'd  the  rightful  side ; 
Three  thousand  Cavaliers  lie  dead, 
Rupert  and  that  bold  Marquis  fled ; 
Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 
Of  these,  committed  to  my  charge, 
Is  Rokeby,  prisoner  at  large ; 
Redmond,  his  page,  arrived  to  say 
He  reaches  Barnard's  towers  to-day. 


1  MS. :  "  Though  Redmond  still,  as  unsubdued." 

2  The  MS.  adds : 

"  Of  Mortham's  treasure  now  he  dreams, 
Now  nurses  more  ambitious  schemes." 

8  MS. :  "  This  Redmond  brought,  at  peep  of  light, 

The  news  of  Marston's  happy  fight." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  Y. 


Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee  I* 

Go  to  her  now — be  bold  of  cheer, 

While  her  soul  floats  'twixt  hope  and  fear ; 

It  is  the  very  change  of  tide, 

When  best  the  female  heart  is  tried — 

Pride,  prejudice,  and  modesty, 

Are  in  the  current  swept  to  sea  ;5 

And  the  bold  swain  who  plies  his  oar, 

May  lightly  row  his  bark  to  shore." 


HokdJg. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


I. 

The  hunting  tribes  of  air  and  earth 
Respect  the  brethren  of  their  birth  ;6 
Nature,  who  loves  the  claim  of  kind, 
Less  cruel  chase  to  each  assign'd. 
The  falcon,  poised  on  soaring  wing, 
Watches  the  wild  duck  by  the  spring  ; 
The  slow-hound  wakes  the  fox's  lair ; 
The  greyhound  presses  on  the  hare ; 
The  eagle  pounces  on  the  lamb ; 
The  wolf  devours  the  fleecy  dam : 
Even  tiger  fell,  and  sullen  bear, 
Their  likeness  and  their  lineage  spare ; 
Man,  only,  mars  kind  Nature's  plan, 
And  turns  the  fierce  pursuit  on  man ; 
Plying  war's  desultory  trade, 
Incursion,  flight,  and  ambuscade,7 
Since  Nimrod,  Cush's  mighty  son, 
At  first  the  bloody  game  begun. 

II. 

The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way, 

And  knows  in  distant  forest  far 

Camp  his  red  brethren  of  the  war ; 

He,  when  each  double  and  disguise 

To  baffle  the  pursuit  he  tries, 

Low  crouching  now  his  head  to  hide 

Where  swampy  streams  through  rushes  glide,1 

Now  covering  with  the  wither'd  leaves 

The  foot-prints  that  the  dew  receives  :9 


6  MS. :  "  In  the  warm  ebb  are  swept  to  sea." 

«  MS. :  "  The  { lower    j  tribes  of  earth  and  air 
(meaner  J 

In  the  wild  chase  their  kindred  spare." 

The  second  couplet  interpolated. 

7  MS. :  "  Invasion,  flight,  and  ambuscade." 

8  MS. :  "  Where  the  slow  waves  through  rushes  glide.' 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 


308 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


He,  skill'd  in  every  sylvan  guile, 
Knows  not,  nor  tries,  such  various  wile 
As  Risinghain,  when  on  the  wind 
Arose  the  loud  pursuit  behind. 
In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 
Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 
When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 
To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry,1 
Announcing  Jedwood-axe  and  spear, 
And  Lid'sdale  riders  in  the  rear ; 
And  well  his  venturous  life  had  proved 
The  lessons  that  his  childhood  loved. 

III. 
Oft  had  he  shown,  in  climes  afar, 
Each  attribute  of  roving  war : 
The  sharpen'd  ear,  the  piercing  eye, 
The  quick  resolve  in  danger  nigh ; 
The  speed  that  in  the  flight  or  chase 
Outstripp'd  the  Charib's  rapid  race ; 
The  steady  brain,  the  sinewy  limb, 
To  leap,  to  climb,  to  dive,  to  swim  ; 
The  iron  frame,  inured  to  bear 
Each  dire  inclemency  of  air. 
Nor  less  confirm'd  to  undergo 
Fatigue's  faint  chill,  and  famine's  throe. 
These  arts  he  proved,  his  life  to  save, 
In  peril  oft  by  land  and  wave, 
On  Arawaca's  desert  shore, 
Or  where  La  Plata's  billows  roar, 
When  oft  the  sons  of  vengeful  Spain 
Track'd  the  marauder's  steps  in  vain. 
These  arts,  in  Indian  warfare  tried, 
Must  save  him  now  by  Greta's  side. 

IV. 

'Twas  then,  in  hour  of  utmost  need, 

He  proved  his  courage,  art,  and  speed. 

Now  slow  he  stalk'd  with  stealthy  pace, 

Now  started  forth  in  rapid  race, 

Oft  doubling  back  in  mazy  train, 

To  blind  the  trace  the  dews  retain  ;2 

Now  clombe  the  rocks  projecting  high, 

To  baffle  the  pursuer's  eye ; 

Now  sought  the  stream,  whose  brawling  sound 

The  echo  of  his  footsteps  drown'd. 

But  if  the  forest  verge  he  nears, 

There  trample  steeds,  and  glimmer  spears; 

If  deeper  down  the  copse  he  drew, 

He  heard  the  rangers'  loud  halloo, 

Beating  each  cover  while  they  came, 

As  if  to  start  the  sylvan  game. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 
1  MS.:  "Where  traces  in  the  dew  remain." 
3  MS.:  "And  oft  his  soul  within  him  rose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes; 
And  oft,  like  tiger  toil-beset, 
That  in  each  pass  finds  foe  and  net,"  4c. 

*  In  the  MS.  the  stanza  concludes  thus : — 


'Twas  then — like  tiger  close  beset1 
At  every  pass  with  toil  and  net, 
Counter'd,  where'er  he  turns  his  glare, 
By  clashing  arms  and  torches'  flare, 
Who  meditates,  with  furious  bound, 
To  burst  on  hunter,  horse,  and  hound, — * 
'Twas  then  that  Bertram's  soul  arose, 
Prompting  to  rush  upon  his  foes : 
But  as  that  crouching  tiger,  cow'd 
By  brandish'd  steel  and  shouting  crowd, 
Retreats  beneath  the  jungle's  shroud, 
Bertram  suspends  his  purpose  stern, 
And  couches  in  the  brake  and  fern, 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye.5 


Then  Bertram  might  the  bearing  trace 

Of  the  bold  youth  who  led  the  chase ; 

Who  paused  to  list  for  every  sound, 

Climb  every  height  to  look  around, 

Then  rushing  on  with  naked  sword, 

Each  dingle's  bosky  depths  explored. 

'Twas  Redmond — by  the  azure  eye; 

'Twas  Redmond — by  the  locks  that  fly 

Disorder'd  from  his  glowing  cheek ; 

Mien,  face,  and  form,  young  Redmond  speak. 

A  form  more  active,  light,  and  strong, 

Ne'er  shot  the  ranks  of  war  along ; 

The  modest  yet  the  manly  mien 

Might  grace  the  court  of  maiden  queen ; 

A  face  more  fair  you  well  might  find,6 

For  Redmond's  knew  the  sun  and  wind, 

Nor  boasted,  from  their  tinge  when  free, 

The  charm  of  regularity ; 

But  every  feature  had  the  power 

To  aid  the  expression  of  the  hour : 

Whether  gay  wit,  and  humor  sly, 

Danced  laughing  in  his  light-blue  eye ; 

Or  bended  brow,  and  glance  of  fire, 

And  kindling  cheek,  spoke  Erin's  ire ; 

Or  soft  and  sadden'd  glances  show 

Her  ready  sympathy  with  woe ; 

Or  in  that  wayward  mood  of  mind, 

When  various  feelings  are  combined, 

When  joy  and  sorrow  mingle  near, 

And  hope's  bright  wings  are  check'd  by 

fear, 
And  rising  doubts  keep  transport  down, 
And  anger  lends  a  short-lived  frown ; 
In  that  strange  mood  which  maids  approve 
Even  when  they  dare  not  call  it  love ; 


"Suspending  yet  his  purpose  stern, 
He  couch'd  him  in  the  brake  and  fern, 
Hiding  his  face,  lest  foemen  spy 
The  sparkle  of  his  swarthy  eye." 
'  6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 
«  These  viz  couplets  were  often  quoted  by  the  late  Lord 
Kinnedder  as  giving,  in  his  opinion,  an  excellent  portrait 
of  the  author  himself.— Ed. 


ROKEBY. 


309 


With  every  change  his  features  play'd, 
As  aspens  show  the  light  and  shade.1 

VI. 

Well  Risingham  young  Redmond  knew ; 
And  much  he  marvell'd  that  the  crew, 
Roused  to  revenge  bold  Mortham  dead, 
Were  by  that  Mortham's  foeman  led ; 
For  never  felt  his  soul  the  woe 
That  wails  a  generous  foeman  low, 
Far  less  that  sense  of  justice  strong 
That  wreaks  a  generous  foeman's  wrong. 
But  small  his  leisure  now  to  pause ; 
Redmond  is  first,  whate'er  the  cause  ;2 
And  twice  that  Redmond  came  so  near 
Where  Bertram  couch'd  like  hunted  deer, 
The  very  boughs  his  steps  displace 
Rustled  against  the  ruffian's  face, 
Who,  desperate,  twice  prepared  to  start, 
And  plunge  his  dagger  in  his  heart ! 
But  Redmond  turn'd  a  different  way, 
And  the  bent  boughs  resumed  their  sway, 
And  Bertram  held  it  wise,  unseen, 
Deeper  to  plunge  in  coppice  green. 
Thus,  circled  in  his  coil,  the  snake, 
When  roving  hunters  beat  the  brake, 
Watches  with  red  and  glistening  eye, 
Prepared,  if  heedless  step  draw  nigh, 
With  forked  tongue  and  venom 'd  fang 
Instant  to  dart  the  deadly  pang ; 
But  if  the  intruders  turn  aside, 
Away  his  coils  unfolded  glide, 
And  through  the  deep  savannah  wind, 
Some  undisturb'd  retreat  to  find. 

VII. 

But  Bertram,  as  he  backward  drew, 
And  heard  the  loud  pursuit  renew, 
And  Redmond's  hollo  on  the  wind, 
Oft  mutter'd  in  his  savage  mind — 
.  "  Redmond  Q'Neale  !  were  thou  and  I 
Alone  this  day's  event  to  try, 
With  not  a  second  here  to  see, 
But  the  gray  cliff  and  oaken  tree, — 
That  voice  of  thine,  that  shouts  so  loud, 
Should  ne'er  repeat  its  summons  proud  ! 
No !  nor  e'er  try  its  melting  power 
Again  in  maiden's  summer  bower." 
Fluded,  now  behind  him  die, 
Faint  and  more  faint,  each  hostile  cry : 

1  In  the  MS.  this  image  comes  after  the  line  "  To  aid  the 
expression  of  the  hour,"  and  the  couplet  stands : 
"  And  like  a  flexile  aspen  play'd 
Alternately  in  light  and  shade." 
8  MS. :  "  The  chase  he  heads,  whate'er  the  cause." 

3  MS. :  "  and  limbs  to  start, 

And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 
Scarce  felt  his  weary  frame  repose." 
*  The  Campanula  Latifolia,  grand  throatwort,  or  Canter- 


He  stands  in  Scargill  wood  alone, 
Nor  hears  he  now  a  harsher  tone 
Than  the  hoarse  cushat's  plaintive  cry, 
Or  Greta's  sound  that  murmurs  by  ; 
And  on  the  dale,  so  lone  and  wild, 
The  summer  sun  in  quiet  smiled. 

VIII. 

He  listen'd  long  with  anxious  heart, 

Ear  bent  to  hear,  and  foot  to  start,3 

And,  while  his  stretch'd  attention  glows, 

Refused  his  weary  frame  repose. 

'Twas  silence  all — he  laid  him  down, 

Where  purple  heath  profusely  strown, 

And  throatwort  with  its  azure  bell,* 

And  moss  and  thyme,  his  cushion  swell. 

There,  spent  with  toil,  he  listless  eyed 

The  course  of  Greta's  playful  tide ; 

Beneath,  her  banks  now  eddying  dun, 

Now  brightly  gleaming  to  the  sun, 

As,  dancing  over  rock  and  stone, 

In  yellow  light  her  currents  shone, 

Matching  in  hue  the  favorite  gem 

Of  Albin's  mountain  diadem. 

Then,  tired  to  watch  the  current's  play, 

He  turn'd  his  weary  eyes  away, 

To  where  the  bank  opposing  show'd 

Its  huge,  square  cliffs  through  shaggy  wood.6 

One,  prominent  above  the  rest, 

Rear'd  to  the  sun  its  pale  gray  breast ; 

Around  its  broken  summit  grew 

The  hazel  rude,  and  sable  yew ; 

A  thousand  varied  lichens  dyed 

Its  waste  and  weatherbeaten  side, 

And  round  its  rugged  basis  lay, 

By  time  or  thunder  rent  away, 

Fragments  that,  from  its  frontlet  torn, 

Were  mantled  now  by  verdant  thorn. 

Such  was  the  scene's  wild  majesty, 

That  fill'd  stern  Bertram's  gazing  eye.6 

IX. 

In  sullen  mood  he  lay  reclined, 
Revolving,  in  his  stormy  mind, 
The  felon  deed,  the  fruitless  guilt, 
His  patron's  blood  by  treason  spilt ; 
A  crime,  it  seem'd,  so  dire  and  dread 
That  it  had  power  to  wake  the  dead. 
Then,  pondering  on  his  life  betray'd7 
By  Oswald's  art  to  Redmond's  blade, 


bury  bells,  grows  in  profusion  upon  the  beautiful  banks  of 
the  river  Greta,  where  it  divides  the  manors  of  Brignall  and 
Scargill,  about  three  miles  above  Greta  Bridge. 

5  MS. :  "  show'd, 

"With  many  a  rocky  fragment  rude, 
Its  old  gray  cliffs  and  shaggy  wood." 
«  The  MS.  adds: 

"  Yet  as  he  gazed  he  fail'd  to  find 
According  image  touch  his  mind." 
1  MS. :  "  Then  thought  he  on  his  life  betray'd." 


310 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


In  treacherous  purpose  to  withhold, 
So  seeru'd  it,  Mortham's  promised  gold, 
A  deep  and  full  revenge  he  vow'd 
On  Redmond,  forward,  fierce,  and  proud  ; 
Revenge  on  Wilfrid — on  his  sire 
Redoubled  vengeance,  swift  and  dire ! — 
If,  in  such  mood  (as  legends  say, 
And  well  believed  that  simple  day), 
The  Enemy  of  Man  has  power 
To  profit  by  the  evil  hour, 
Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge  I1 
But  though  his  vows,  with  such  a  fire 
Of  earnest  and  intense  desire 
For  vengeance  dark  and  fell,  were  made,2 
As  well  might  reach  hell's  lowest  shade, 
No  deeper  clouds  the  grove  embrown'd, 
No  nether  thunders  shook  the  ground ; 
The  demon  knew  his  vassal's  heart, 
And  spared  temptation's  needless  art.3 


Oft,  mingled  with  the  direful  theme, 

Came  Mortham's  form — Was  it  a  dream  ?' 

Or  had  he  seen,  in  vision  true,  ■ 

That  very  Mortham  whom  he  slew  ? 

Or  had  in  living  flesh  appear'd  * 

The  only  man  on  earth  he  fear'd  ? — 

To  try  the  mystic  cause  intent, 

His  eyes,  that  on  the  cliff  were  bent, 

Counter'd  at  once  a  dazzling  glance, 

Like  sunbeam  flash'd  from  sword  or  lance.7 

At  once  he  started  as  for  fight, 

But  not  a  foeman  was  in  sight  ? 

He  heard  the  cushat's  murmur  hoarse, 

He  heard  the  river's  sounding  course ; 

The  solitary  woodlands  lay 

As  slumbering  in  the  summer  ray. 

He  gazed,  like  lion  roused,  around, 

Then  sunk  again  upon  the  ground. 

'Twas  but,  he  thought,  some  fitful  beam, 

Glanced  sudden  from  the  sparkling  stream; 

Then  plunged  him  from  his  gloomy  train 

Of  ill-connected  thoughts  again, 

Until  a  voice  behind  hhn  cried, 

"  Bertram !  well  met  on  Greta  side." 

XI. 

Instant  his  sword  was  in  his  hand — 
As  instant  sunk  the  ready  brand ; 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 

*  MS. :  "  For  deep  and  dark  revenge  were  made, 
As  well  might  wake  hell's  lowest  shade." 

8  "  Bertram  is  now  alone :  the  landscape  around  is  truly 
grand,  partially  illuminated  by  the  sun  ;  and  we  are  reminded 
of  the  scene  in  the  '  Robbers,'  in  which  something  of  a  similar 
contrast  is  exhibited  between  the  beauties  of  external  nature 
and  the  agitations  of  human  passion.  It  is  in  such  pictures 
that  Mr.  Scott  delights  and  excels." — Monthly  Reii'-ew.  One 
is  surprised  that  the  reviewer  did  not  quote  Milton  rather 
than  Schiller: 


Yet,  dubious  still,  opposed  he  stood 

To  him  that  issued  from  the  wood : 

"  Guy  Denzil !  is  it  thou  ?"  he  said ; 

"  Do  we  two  meet  in  Scargill  shade  ? — 

Stand  back  a  space ! — thy  purpose  show, 

Whether  thou  comest  as  friend  or  foe. 

Report  hath  said  that  Denzil's  name 

From  Rokeby's  band  was  razed  with  shame." — 

"  A  shame  I  owe  that  hot  O'Neale, 

Who  told  his  knight,  in  peevish  zeal, 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  clowns 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.5 

I  reck  not.    In  a  war  to  strive, 

Where,  save  the  leaders,  none  can  thrive, 

Suits  ill  my  mood ;  and  better  game 

Awaits  us  both,  if  thou'rt  the  same 

Unscrupulous,  bold  Risingham,6 

Who  watched  with  me  in  midnight  dark, 

To  snatch  a  deer  from  Rokeby  park. 

How  think'st  thou?" — "Speak  thy  purpose 

out; 
I  love  not  mystery  or  doubt." — 

XII. 

"  Then  list.    Not  far  there  lurk  a  crew 

Of  trusty  comrades,  stanch  and  true, 

Glean'd  from  both  factions — Roundheads,  freed 

From  cant  of  sermon  and  of  creed  ; 

And  Cavaliers,  whose  souls,  like  mine, 

Spurn  at  the  bonds  of  discipline. 

Wiser,  we  judge,  by  dale  and  wold 

A  warfare  of  our  own  to  hold, 

Than  breathe  our  last  on  battle-down, 

For  cloak  or  surplice,  mace  or  crown. 

Our  schemes  are  laid,  our  purpose  set, 

A  chief  and  leader  lack  we  yet. — 

Thou  art  a  wanderer,  it  is  said ; 

For  Mortham's  death,  thy  steps  waylaid,1 

Thy  head  at  price — so  say  our  spies, 

Who  range  the  valley  in  disguise. 

Join  then  with  us : — though  wild  debate 

And  wrangling  rend  our  infant  state, 

Each,  to  an  equal  loth  to  bow, 

Will  yield  to  chief  renown'd  as  thou." — 

XIII. 
"  Even  now,"  thought  Bertram,  passion-stirr'd, 
"  I  call'd  on  hell,  and  hell  has  heard  !8 
What  lack  I,  vengeance  to  command, 
But  of  stanch  comrades  such  a  band  ?9 

"The  fiend 


Saw  undelighted  all  delight." — Ed. 

4  MS. :  "  Look'd  round — no  foeman  was  in  sight." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

8  MS. :  "Unscrupulous,  gallant  Risingham." 

7  MS. :  "  Thy  head  at  price,  thy  steps  waylaid." 

8  "  I  but  half  wish'd 

To  see  the  devil,  and  he's  here  already." — Otway. 
*  MS. :  "  What  lack  I,  my  revenge  to  quench, 
But  such  a  band  of  comrades  stanch  ?" 


ROKEBY. 


311 


This  Denzil,  vow'd  to  every  evil, 

Might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil. 

Well,  be  it  so !  each  knave  and  fool 

Shall  serve  as  my  revenge's  tool." — 

Aloud,  "  I  take  thy  proffer,  Guy; 

But  tell  me  where  thy  comrades  lie." — 

"  Not  far  from  hence,"  Guy  Denzil  said ; 

"  Descend,  and  cross  the  river's  bed, 

Where  rises  yonder  cliff  so  gray." — 

"  Do  thou,"  said  Bertram,  "  lead  the  way." 

Then  mutter'd,  "  It  is  best  make  sure ; 

Guy  Denzil's  faith  was  never  pure." 

He  follow'd  down  the  steep  descent, 

Then  through  the  Greta's  streams  they  went ; 

And,  when  they  reach'd  the  farther  shore, 

They  stood  the  lonely  cliff  before. 

XIV. 
With  wonder  Bertram  heard  within 
The  flinty  rock  a  murmur'd  din ; 
But  when  Guy  pull'd  the  wilding  spray 
And  brambles  from  its  base  away,1 
He  saw,  appearing  to  the  air, 
A  little  entrance,  low  and  square, 
Like  opening  cell  of  hermit  lone, 
Dark,  winding  through  the  living  stone. 
Here  enter'd  Denzil,  Bertram  here ; 
And  loud  and  louder  on  their  ear, 
As  from  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
Resounded  shouts  of  boisterous  mirth. 
Of  old,  the  cavern,  strait  and  rude, 
In  slaty  rock  the  peasant  hew'd ; 
And  Brignall's  woods,  and  Scargill's,  wave, 
E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave,2 
Where,  far  within  the  darksome  rift, 
The  wedge  and  lever  ply  their  thrift.  .    , 
But  war  had  silenced  rural  trade, 
And  the  deserted  mine  was  made 
The  banquet-hall  and  fortress  too 
Of  Denzil  and  his  desperate  crew. — 
There  Guilt  his  anxious  revel  kept ; 
There,  on  his  sordid  pallet,  slept 
Guilt-born  Excess,  the  goblet  drain'd 
Still  in  his  slumbering  grasp  retain'd  ; 
Regret  was  there,  his  eye  still  cast 
With  vain  repining  on  the  past  ; 
Among  the  feasters  waited  near 
Sorrow,  and  unrepentant  Fear, 


1  MS.:  "But  when  Guy  Denzil  pull'd  the  spray 
And  brambles  from  its  roots  away, 
He  saw,  forth  issuing  to  the  air." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

s  "We  should  here  have  concluded  our  remarks  on  the 
characters  of  the  drama,  had  not  one  of  its  subordinate  per- 
sonages been  touched  with  a  force  of  imagination  which 
renders  it  worthy  even  of  prominent  regard  and  attention. 
The  poet  has  just  presented  us  with  the  picture  of  a  gang  of 
banditti,  on  which  he  has  bestowed  some  of  the  most  gloomy 
coloring  of  his  powerful  pencil.    In  the  midst  of  this  horri- 


And  Blasphemy,  to  frenzy  driven, 
With  his  own  crimes  reproaching  Heaven ; 
While  Bertram  show'd,  amid  the  crew, 
The  Master-Fiend  that  Milton  drew. 

XV. 

Hark !  the  loud  revel  wakes  again, 

To  greet  the  leader  of  the  train. 

Behold  the  group  by  the  pale  lamp, 

That  struggles  with  the  earthy  damp. 

By  what  strange  features  Vice  hath  known 

To  single  out  and  mark  her  own ! 

Yet  some  there  are  whose  brows  retain 

Less  deeply  stamp'd  her  brand  and  stain. 

See  yon  pale  stripling  !3  when  a  boy, 

A  mother's  pride,  a  father's  joy ! 

Now,  'gainst  the  vault's  rude  walls  reclined, 

An  early  image  fills  his  mind : 

The  cottage,  once  his  sire's,  he  sees, 

Embower'd  upon  the  banks  of  Tees ; 

He  views  sweet  Winston's  woodland  scene, 

And  shares  the  dance  on  Gainford  green. 

A  tear  is  springing — but  the  zest 

Of  some  wild  tale,  or  brutal  jest, 

Hath  to  loud  laughter  stirr'd  the  rest. 

On  him  they  call,  the  aptest  mate 

Forjovial  sdng  and  merry  feat : 

Fast  flies  his  dream — with  dauntless  air, 

As  one  victorious  o'er  Despair, 

He  bids  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Till  sense  and  sorrow  both  are  drown'd ; 

And  soon,  in  merry  wassail,  he,* 

The  life  of  all  their  revelry, 

Peals  his  loud  song ! — The  Muse  has  found 

Her  blossoms  on  the  wildest  ground, 

'Mid  noxious  weeds  at  random  strew'd, 

Themselves  all  profitless  and  rude. — 

With  desperate  merriment  he  sung, 

The  cavern  to  the  chorus  rung; 

Yet  mingled  with  his  reckless  glee 

Remorse's  bitter  agony. 

XVI. 

Song.5 
Oh,  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen. 


ble  group  is  distinguished  the  exquisitely  natural  and  inte- 
resting portrait  which  follows : — 

'  See  yon  pale  stripling !'  Ac." 

Critical  Review. 
4  MS. :  "  And  soon  the  loudest  wassailer  he, 

And  life  of  all  their  revelry." 
6  Scott  revisited  Rokeby  in  1812,  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
freshing his  memory;  and  Mr.  Morritt  says, — "I  had,  of 
course,  had  many  previous  opportunities  of  testing  the  almost 
conscientious  fidelity  of  his  local  descriptions ;  but  I  could  not 
help  being  singularly  struck  with  the  lights  which  this  visit 
threw  on  that  characteristic  of  his  composition.    The  morn- 


312 


SCOTT'S   POETICA'L   WORKS. 


And  as  I  rode  by  Dalton  Ilall, 

Beneath  the  turrets  high, 
A  maiden  on  the  castle  wall 

Was  singing  merrily, — 
CHORUS. 
"  Oh,  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign  our  English  queen." — 

"  If,  maiden,  thou  wouldst  wend  with  me, 

To  leave  both  tower  and  town, 
Thou  first  must  guess  what  life  lead  we, 

That  dwell  by  dale  and  down ; 
And  if  thou  canst  that  riddle  read, 

As  read  full  well  you  may, 
Then  to  the  greenwood  shall  thou  speed, 

As  blithe  as  Queen  of  May." — 
CHORUS. 
Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green ; 
I'd  rather  rove  with  Edmund  there 

Than  reign  our  Euglish  queen. 

XVII. 
"  I  read  you,  by  your  bugle-horn, 

And  by  your  palfrey  good, 
I  read  you  for  a  ranger,  sworn 

To  keep  the  king's  greenwood." — 
"  A  ranger,  lady,  winds  his  horn, 

And  'tis  at  peep  of  light ; 
His  blast  is  heard  at  merry  morn, 

And  mine  at  dead  of  night." — 
CHORUS. 

Yet  sung  she,  "  Brignall  banks  are  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  gay ; 
I  would  I  were  with  Edmund  there, 

To  reign  his  Queen  of  May ! 

"  With  burnish'd  brand  and  musketoon, 

So  gallantly  you  come, 
I  read  you  for  a  bold  dragoon, 

That  list  the  tuck  of  drum."— 
"  I  list  no  more  the  tuck  of  drum, 

No  more  the  trumpet  hear ; 
But  when  the  beetle  sounds  his  hum, 

My  comrades  take  the  spear. 


ing  after  he  arrived  he  said,  '  You  have  often  given  me  mate- 
rials for  romance ;  now  I  want  a  good  robber's  cave  and  an 
old  church  of  the  right  sort.'  We  rode  out,  and  he  found 
what  he  wanted  in  the  ancient  slate  quarries  of  Brignall  and 
the  ruined  Abbey  of  Egliston.  I  observed  him  noting  down 
even  the  peculiar  little  wild  flowers  and  herbs  that  accident- 
ally grew  round  and  on  the  side  of  a  bold  crag  near  his  in- 
tended cave  of  Guy  Denzil;  and  could  not  help  saying  that, 
as  he  was  not  to  be  upon  oath  in  his  work,  daisies,  violets, 
and  primroses  would  be  as  poetical  as  any  of  the  humble 
plants  he  was  examining.  I  laughed,  in  short,  at  his  scru- 
pulousness; but  I  understood  him  when  he  replied  that  'in 
nature  herself  no  two  scenes  were  exactly  alike,  and  that 
whoever  copied  truly  what  was  before  his  eyes  would  possess 
the  same  variety  in  his  descriptions,  and  exhibit  apparently 


CHORUS. 
"  And  oh,  though  Brignall's  banks  be  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  be  gay, 
Yet  mickle  must  the  maiden  dare 

Would  reign  my  Queen  of  May ! 

XVIII. 
"  Maiden  !  a  nameless  life  I  lead, 

A  nameless  death  I'll  die  1 
The  fiend  whose  lantern  lights  the  mead1 

Were  better  mate  than  I ! 
And  when  I'm  with  my  comrades  met,' 

Beneath  the  greenwood  bough, 
What  once  we  were  we  all  forget, 

Nor  think  what  we  are  now. 
CHORUS. 
"  Yet  Brignall  banks  are  fresh  and  fair, 

And  Greta  woods  are  green, 
And  you  may  gather  garlands  there 

Would  grace  a  summer  queen." 

When  Edmund  ceased  his  simple  song, 
Was  silence  on  the  sullen  throng, 
Till  waked  some  ruder  mate  their' glee 
With  note  of  coarser  minstrelsy. 
But,  far  apart,  in  dark  divan, 
Denzil  and  Bertram  many  a  plan, 
Of  import  foul  and  fierce,  design'd, 
While  still  on  Bertram's  grasping  mind 
The  wealth  of  murder'd  Mortham  hung ; 
Though  half  he  fear'd  his  daring  tongue, 
When  it  should  give  his  wishes  birth,3 
Might  raise  a  spectre  from  the  earth ! 

XIX. 

At  length  his  wondrous  tale  he  told : 
When,  scornful,  smiled  his  comrade  bold ; 
For,  traiu'd  in  license  of  a  court, 
Religion's  self  was  Denzil's  sport ; 
Then  judge  in  what  contempt  he  held 
The  visionary  tales  of  eld ! 
His  awe  for  Bertram  scarce  repress'd 
The  unbeliever's  sneering  jest. 
"  'Twere  hard,"  he  said,  "  for  sage  or  seer4 
To  spell  the  subject  of  your  fear; 
Nor  do  I  boast  the  art  renown'd 
Vision  and  omen  to  expound. 

an  imagination  as  boundless  as  the  range  of  nature  in  the 
scenes  he  recorded ;  whereas  whoever  trusted  to  imagination 
would  soon  find  his  own  mind  circumscribed  and  contracted 
to  a  few  favorite  images.'  "—Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  p.  19. 
1  MS. :  "  The  goblin-light  on  fen  and  mead." 
s  MS. :  "And  were  I  with  my  true  love  set 
i  Under  the  greenwood  bough, 

What  once  I  was  she  must  forget, 
Nor  think  what  I  am  now." 

8  MS.:  "give  the  project  birth." 

*  MS. :  "  '  'Twere  hard,  my  friend,'  he  said,  '  to  spell 
The  morning  vision  that  you  tell ; 
Nor  am  I  seer,  for  art  renown'd, 
Bark  dreams  and  omens  to  expound. 
Yet,  if  my  faith  I  must  afford,' "  &c. 


KOKEBY. 


313 


Yet,  faith  if  I  must  needs  afford 
To  spectre  watching  treasured  hoard, 
As  ban-dog  keeps  his  master's  roof, 
Bidding  the  plunderer  stand  aloof, 
This  doubt  remains — thy  goblin  gaunt 
Hath  chosen  ill  his  ghostly  haunt ; 
For  why  his  guard  on  Mortham  hold, 
When  Bokeby  castle  hath  the  gold 
Thy  patron  won  on  Indian  soil,1 
By  stealth,  by  piracy,  and  spoil  ?" 

XX. 

At  this  he  paused — for  angry  shame 

Lower'd  on  the  brow  of  Kisingham. 

He  blush'd  to  think  that  he  should  seem 

Asserter  of  an  airy  dream, 

And  gave  his  wrath  another  theme. 

"  Denzil,"  he  says,  "  though  lowly  laid, 

Wrong  not  the  memory  of  the  dead ; 

For,  while  he  lived,  at  Mortham's  look 

Thy  very  soul,  Guy  Denzil,  shook! 

And  when  he  tax'd  thy  breach  of  word 

To  yon  fair  Rose  of  Allenford, 

I  saw  thee  crouch  like  chasten'd  hound,2 

Whose  back  the  huntsman's  lash  hath  found. 

Nor  dare  to  call  his  foreign  wealth 

The  spoil  of  piracy  or  stealth ; 

He  won  it  bravely  with  his  brand, 

When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land.8 

Mark,  too — I  brook  no  idle  jeer, 

Nor  couple  Bertram's  name  with  fear ; 

Mine  is  but  half  the  demon's  lot, 

For  I  believe,  but  tremble  not. — 

Enough  of  this. — Say,  why  this  hoard 

Thou  deem'st  at  Bokeby  castle  stored ; 

Or  think'st  that  Mortham  would  bestow 

His  treasure  with  his  faction's  foe  ?" 

XXI. 

Soon  quench'd  was  Denzil's  ill-timed  mirth  ;4 

Bather  he  would  have  seen  the  earth 

Give  to  ten  thousand  spectres  birth, 

Than  venture  to  awake  to  flame 

The  deadly  wrath  of  Itisingham. 

Submiss  he  answer'd, — "  Mortham's  mind, 

Thou  know'st,  to  joy  was  ill  inclined. 

In  youth,  'tis  said,  a  gallant  free, 

A  lusty  reveller,  was  he ; 

But  since  return'd  from  over  sea, 

A  sullen  and  a  silent  mood 

Hath  numb'd  the  current  of  his  blood. 

Hence  he  refused  each  kindly  call 

To  Bokeby's  hospitable  hall, 

"  hath  his  gold, 


1  MS.:  

The  gold  Be  won  on  Indian  soil." 

*  MS. : "  like  rated  hound."     3  See  App.  Note  2  F. 

*  MS. :  "  Denzil's  mood  of  mirth ; 

He  would  have  rather  seen  the  earth,"  &c. 
6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

"  There  was  a  laughing  devil  in  his  sneer, 
That  raised  emotions  both  of  rage  and  fear ; 


And  our  stout  knight,  at  dawn  of  morn 

Who  loved  to  hear  the  bugle-horn, 

Nor  less,  when  eve  his  oaks  embrown'd, 

To  see  the  ruddy  cup  go  round, 

Took  umbrage  that  a  friend  so  near 

Befused  to  share  his  chase  and  cheer ; 

Thus  did  the  kindred  barons  jar, 

Ere  they  divided  in  the  war. 

Yet,  trust  me,  friend,  Matilda  fair 

Of  Mortham's  wealth  is  destined  heir." —  ■ 

XXII. 

"  Destined  to  her !  to  yon  slight  maid  ! 
The  prize  my  life  had  wellnigh  paid, 
When  'gainst  Laroche,  by  Cayo's  wave, 
I  fought  my  patron's  wealth  to  save ! — 6 
Denzil,  I  knew  him  long,  yet  ne'er 
Knew  him  that  joyous  cavalier 
Whom  youthful  friends  and  early  fame 
Call'd  soul  of  gallantry  and  game. 
A  moody  man  he  sought  our  crew, 
Desperate  and  dark,  whom  no  one  knew ; 
And  rose,  as  men  with  us  must  rise, 
By  scorning  life  and  all  its  ties. 
On  each  adventure  rash  he  roved, 
As  danger  for  itself  he  loved ; 
On  his  sad  brow  nor  mirth  nor  wine 
Could  e'er  one  wrinkled  knot  untwine ; 
111  was  the  omen  if  he  smiled, 
For  'twas  in  peril  stern  and  wild ; 
But  when  he  laugh'd,  each  luckless  mate 
Might  hold  our  fortune  desperate. 
Foremost  he  fought  in  every  broil, 
Then  scornful  turn'd  him  from  the  spoil ; 
Nay,  often  strove  to  bar  the  way 
Between  his  comrades  and  their  prey ; 
Breaching,  even  then,  to  such  as  we, 
Hot  with  our  dear-bought  victory, 
Of  mercy  and  humanity. 

XXIII. 
"  I  loved  him  well — His  fearless  part, 
His  gallant  leading,  won  my  heart ; 
And  after  each  victorious  fight, 
'Twas  I  that  wrangled  for  his  right,6 
Bedeem'd  his  portion  of  the  prey 
That  greedier  mates  had  torn  away : 
In  field  and  storm  thrice  saved  his  life, 
And  once  amid  our  comrades'  strife. — 7 
Yes,  I  have  loved  thee !     Well  hath  proved 
My  toil,  my  danger,  how  I  loved ! 
Yet  will  I  mourn  no  more  thy  fate, 
Ingrate  in  life,  in  death  ingrate. 

And  where  his  frown  of  hatred  darkly  fell, 
Hope  withering  fled,  and  Mercy  sigh'd  farewell." 

Byron's  Works,  vol.  ix.  p.  272. 

«  MS. :  "  And  when  ( the  )  bloody  fight  was  done, 
(his  ) 

I  wrangled  for  the  share  he  won." 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 


314 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Rise  if  thou  canst !"  he  look'd  around, 
And  sternly  stamp'd  upon  the  ground — 
"  Rise,  with  thy  bearing  proud  and  high, 
Even  as  this  morn  it  met  mine  eye, 
And  give  me,  if  thou  darest,  the  lie !" 
He  paused — then,  calm  and  passion-freed, 
Bade  Denzil  with  his  tale  proceed. 

XXIV. 

"  Bertram,  to  thee  I  need  not  tell 
What  thou  hast  cause  to  wot  so  well,1 
How  Superstition's  nets  were  twined 
Around  the  Lord  of  Mortham's  mind  ;2 
But  since  he  drove  thee  from  his  tower, 
A  maid  he  found  in  Greta's  bower, 
Whose  speech,  like  David's  harp,  had  sway 
To  charm  his  evil  fiend  away. 
I  know  not  if  her  features  moved 
Remembrance  of  the  wife  he  loved ; 
But  he  would  gaze  upon  her  eye, 
Till  his  mood  soften'd  to  a  sigh. 
He,  whom  no  living  mortal  sought 
To  question  of  his  secret  thought, 
Now  every  thought  and  care  confess'd 
To  his  fair  niece's  faithful  breast ; 
Nor  was  there  aught  of  rich  and  rare, 
In  earth,  in  ocean,  or  in  air, 
But  it  must  deck  Matilda's  hair. 
Her  love  still  bound  bim  unto  life  ;3 
But  then  awoke  the  civil  strife, 
And  menials  bore,  by  his  commands, 
Three  coffers,  with  their  iron  bands, 
From  Mortham's  vault,  at  midnight  deep, 
To  her  lone  bower  in  Rokeby  keep, 
Ponderous  with  gold  and  plate  of  pride,4 
His  gift,  if  he  in  battle  died." — 

XXV. 

"  Then  Denzil,  as  I  guess,  lays  train 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain ; 
Else,  wherefore  should  he  hover  here,5 
Where  many  a  peril  waits  him  near, 
For  all  his  feats  of  war  and  peace, 
For  plunder'd  boors,  and  harts  of,  greese  ?6 
Since  through  the  hamlets  as  he  fared, 
What  hearth  has  Guy's  marauding  spared, 
Or  where  the  chase  that  hath  not  rung7 
With  Denzil's  bow,  at  midnight  strung?" — 
"  I  hold  my  wont — my  rangers  go 
Even  now  to  track  a  milk-white  doe.8 

i  MS.:  "To  thee,  my  friend,  I  need  not  tell 

What  thou  hast  cause  to  know  so  well." 

*  MS.:  "Around  thy  captain's  moody  mind." 
3  MS. :  "  But  it  must  be  Matilda's  share. 

This,  too,  still  hound  him  unto  life." 

*  MS. :  "  From  a  strong  vault  in  Mortham  tower, 

In  secret  to  Matilda's  bower, 
Ponderous  with  ore  and  gems  of  pride." 
6  MS.:  "Then  may  I  guess  thou  hast  some  train 
These  iron-banded  chests  to  gain  ; 
Else,  why  should  Denzil  hover  here." 


By  Rokeby  Hall  she  takes  her  lair,  * 

In  Greta  wood  she  harbors  fair, 

And  when  my  huntsman  marks  her  way, 

What  think'st  thou,  Bertram,  of  the  prey  ? 

Were  Rokeby's  daughter  in  our  power, 

We  rate  her  ransom  at  her  dower." — 

XXVI. 

"  'Tis  well ! — there's  vengeance  in  the  thought, 

Matilda  is  by  Wilfrid  sought : 

And  hot-brain'd  Redmond  too,  'tis  said, 

Pays  lover's  homage  to  the  maid. 

Bertram  she  scorn'd — if  met  by  chance, 

She  turn'd  from  me  her  shuddering  glance, 

Like  a  nice  dame,  that  will  not  brook 

On  what  she  hates  and  loathes  to  look ; 

She  told  to  Mortham  she  could  ne'er 

Behold  me  without  secret  fear, 

Foreboding  evil ; — She  may  rue 

To  find  her  prophecy  fall  true ! — 

The  war  has  weeded  Rokeby's  train, 

Few  followers  in  his  halls  remain ; 

If  thy  scheme  miss,  then,  brief  and  bold, 

We  are  enow  to  storm  the  hold,  ' 

Bear  off  the  plunder  and  the  dame, 

And  leave  the  castle  all  in  flame." — 

XXVII. 
"  Still  art  thou  Valor's  venturous  son ! 
Yet  ponder  first  the  risk  to  run : 
The  menials  of  the  castle,  true, 
And  stubborn  to  their  charge,  though  few  ;9 
The  wall  to  scale — the  moat  to  cross — 

The  -wicket-grate — the  inner  fosse  " 

— "  Fool !  If  we  blench  for  toys  like  these, 

On  what  fair  guerdon  can  we  seize?10 

Our  hardiest  venture,  to  explore 

Some  wretched  peasant's  fenceless  door, 

And  the  best  prize  we  bear  away, 

The  earnings  of  his  sordid  day." — 

"  A  while  thy  hasty  taunt  forbear : 

In  sight  of  road  more  sure  and  fair, 

Thou  wouldst  not  choose,  in  blindfold  wrath, 

Or  wantonness,  a  desperate  path  ? 

List,  then ; — for  vantage  or  assault, 

From  gilded  vane  to  dungeon-vault, 

Each  pass  of  Rokeby  house  I  know : 

There  is  one  postern,  dark  and  low, 

That  issues  at  a  secret  spot,11 

By  most  neglected  or  forgot. 


8  Deer  in  season. 
'  MS.:  


" '  that  doth  not  know. 

The  midnight  clang  of  Denzil's  bow?'— 
1 1  hold  my  sport,' "  &c. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H.    ' 

9  MS. :  "  The  menials  of  the  castle,  few, 

But  stubborn  to  their  charge,  and  true." 

10  MS.:  "What  prize  of  vantage  shall  we  seize?" 

11  MS. :  "  That  issues  level  with  the  moat." 


ROKEBY. 


315 


Now,  could  a  spial  of  our  train 
On  fair  pretext  admittance  gain, 
That  sally-port  might  be  unbarr'd : 
Then,  vain  were  battlement  and  ward !" — 

XXVIII. 
"  Now  speak'st  thou  well : — to  me  the  same, 
If  force  or  art  shall  urge  the  game ; 
Indifferent,  if  like  fox  I  wind,1 
Or  spring  like  tiger  on  the  hind. — 
But,  hark !  our  merry -men  so  gay 
Troll  forth  another  roundelay." — * 

Sons. 
"  A  weary  lot  is  thine,  fair  maid, 

A  weary  lot  is  thine ! 
To  pull  the  thorn  thy  brow  to  braid, 

And  press  the  rue  for  wine ! 
A  lightsome  eye,  a  soldier's  mien,3 

A  feather  of  the  blue, 
A  doublet  of  the  Lincoln  green, — 

No  more  of  me  you  knew, 

My  love! 
No  more  of  me  you  knew. 

"  This  morn  is  merry  June,  I  trow, 

The  rose  is  budding  fain  ;* 
But  she  shall  bloom  in  winter  snow, 

Ere  we  two  meet  again." 
He  turn'd  his  charger  as  he  spake, 

Upon  the  river  shore,5 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 

Said,  "  Adieu  for  evermore, 

My  love !    • 
And  adieu  for  evermore." — 6 

XXIX. 

"  What  youth  is  this,  your  band  among, 
The  best  for  minstrelsy  and  song  ? 
In  his  wild  notes  seem  aptly  met 
A  strain  of  pleasure  and  regret." — 
"  Edmund  of  Winston  is  his  name ; 
The  hamlet  sounded  with  the  fame 
Of  early  hopes  his  childhood  gave, — 
Now  centred  all  in  Brignall  cave ! 
I  watch  him  well — his  wayward  course 
Shows  oft  a  tincture  of  remorse. 


1  MS. :  "  I  care  not  if  a  fox  I  wind." 

s  MS. :  "  our  merry-men  again 

Are  frolicking  in  blithesome  strain." 

s  MS. :  "  A  laughing  eye,  a  dauntless  mien." 

*  MS. :  To  the  Printer. — "  The  abruptness  as  to  the  song  is 
unavoidable.  The  music  of  the  drinking  party  could  only 
operate  as  a  sudden  interruption  to  Bertram's  conversation, 
however  naturally  it  might  be  introduced  among  the  feasters, 
who  were  at  some  distance. 

"Fain,  in  old  English  and  Scotch,  expresses,  I  think,  a  pro- 
pensity to  give  and  receive  pleasurable  emotions,  a  sort  of 
fondness  which  may,  without  harshness,  I  think,  be  applied 
to  a  rose  in  the  act  of  blooming.  You  remember '  Jockey  fow 
and  Jenny  fain.' — W.  S." 


Some  early  love-shaft  grazed  his  heart,7 

And  oft  the  scar  will  ache  and  smart. 

Yet  is  he  useful ; — of  the  rest 

By  fits  the  darling  and  the  jest, 

His  harp,  his  story,  and  his  lay, 

Oft  aid  the  idle  hours  away  ;8 

When  unemploy'd,  each  fiery  mate 

Is  ripe  for  mutinous  debate. 

He  tuned  his  strings  e'en  now — again 

He  wakes  them,  with  a  blither  strain." 

XXX. 

SOITIJ. 
ALLEN-A-DALE. 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fagot  for  burning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  furrow  for  turning, 
Allen-a-Dale  has  no  fleece  for  the  spinning, 
Yet  Allen-a-Dale  has  red  gold  for  the  winning. 
Come,  read  me  my  riddle !  come,  hearken  my  tale ! 
And  tell  me  the  craft  of  bold  Allen-a-Dale. 

The  Baron  of  Bavensworth9  prances  in  pride, 
And  he  views  his  domains  upon  Arkindale  side. 
The  mere  for  his  net,  and  the  land  for  his  game, 
The  chase  for  the  wild,  and  the  park  for  the  tame ; 
Yet  the  fish  of  the  lake,  and  the  deer  of  the  vale, 
Are  less  free  to  Lord  Dacre  than  Allen-a-Dale ! 

Allen-a-Dale  was  ne'er  belted  a  knight, 

Though  his  spur  be  as  sharp,  and  his  blade  be  as 

bright ; 
Allen-a-Dale  is  no  baron  or  lord, 
Yet  twenty  tall  yeomen10  will  draw  at  his  word ; 
And  the  best  of  our  nobles  his  bonnet  will  veil, 
Who  at  Rere-cross11  on  Stanmore  meets  AUen-a-Dale. 

Allen-a-Dale  to  his  wooing  is  come ; 
The  mother,  she  ask'd  of  his  household  and  home: 
"  Though  the  castle  of  Richmond  stand  fair  on  the  hill, 
My  hall,"  quoth  bold  Allen,  "  shows  gallanter  still ; 
'Tis  the  blue  vault  of  heaven,  with  its  crescent  so  pale, 
And  with  all  its  bright  spangles !"  said  AUen-a-Dale. 

The  father  was  steel,  and  the  mother  was  stone; 
They  lifted  the  latch,  and  they  bade  him  be  gone  ; 
But  loud,  on  the  morrow,  their  wail  and  their  cry : 
He  had  laugh'd  on  the  lass  with  his  bonny  black  eye, 

6  MS.:  "Upon  the  (Greta     \  shore." 
I  Scottish  J 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 

7  MS.:  ("scathcdl his  heart." 

I " seared   ) 

8  MS. :  "  Oft  helps  the  weary  night  away." 

9  The  ruins  of  Ravensworth  Castle  stand  in  the  North  Riding 
of  Yorkshire,  about  three  miles  from  the  town  of  Richmond, 
and  adjoining  to  the  waste  called  the  Forest  of  Arkingarth. 
It  belonged  originally  to  the  powerful  family  of  Fitz-Hugh, 
from  whom  it  passed  to  the  lords  Dacre  of  the  South. 

10  MS. :  "  But  a  score  of  good  fellows,"  &c. 
u  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 


316 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  she  fled  to  the  forest  to  hear  a  love-tale, 
And  the  youth  it  was  told  by  was  Allen-a-Dale ! 

XXXI. 

"  Thou  seest  that,  whether  sad  or  gay, 

Love  mingles  ever  in  his  lay. 

But  when  his  boyish  wayward  fit 

Is  o'er,  he  hath  address  and  wit ; 

Oh !  'tis  a  brain  of  fire,  can  ape 

Each  dialect,  each  various  shape." — 

"  Nay,  then,  to  aid  thy  project,  Guy — 

Soft !  who  comes  here  ?" — "  My  trusty  spy. 

Speak,  Hamlin!  hast  thou  lodged  our  deer?" — 1 

"  I  have — but  two  fair  stags  are  near. 

I  watch'd  her  as  she  slowly  stray'd 

From  Egliston  up  Thorsgill  glade ; 

But  Wilfrid  Wycliffe  sought  her  side, 

And  then  young  Redmond,  in  his  pride, 

Shot  down  to  meet  them  on  their  way  : 

Much,  as  it  seem'd,  was  theirs  to  say ; 

There's  time  to  pitch  both  toil  and  net, 

Before  their  path  be  homeward  set." 

A  hurried  and  a  whisper'd  speech 

Did  Bertram's  will  to  Denzil  teach ; 

Who,  turning  to  the  robber  band, 

Bade  four,  the  bravest,  take  the  brand. 


foofcefy). 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  high, 
Triumphant  through  Northumbrian  sky, 
Till,  hovering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  Reged's  Britons  dread  the  yoke,2 
And  the  broad  shadow  of  her  wing 
Blacken'd  each  cataract  and  spring, 
Where  Tees  in  tumult  leaves  his  source, 
Thundering  o'er  Caldron  and  High-Force, — 3 
Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Fix'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name,4 
Rear'd  high  their  altar's  rugged  stone, 
And  gave  their  gods  the  land  they  won. 
Then,  Balder,  one  bleak  garth  was  thine, 
And  one  sweet  brooklet's  silver  line, 
And  Woden's  Croft  did  title  gain 
From  the  stern  Father  of  the  Slain ; 
But  to  the  Monarch  of  the  Mace, 
That  held  in  fight  the  foremost  place, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

3  The  Tees  rises  about  the  skirts  of  Crossfell,  and  falls  over 
the  cataracts  named  in  the  text  before  it  leaves  the  moun- 


To  Odin's  son,  and  Sifia's  spouse, 
Near  Stratforth  high  they  paid  their  vows, 
Remember'd  Thor's  victorious  fame, 
And  gave  the  dell  the  Thunderer's  name. 

II. 
Yet  Scald  or  Kemper  err  d,  I  ween, 
Who  gave  that  soft  and  quiet  scene, 
With  all  its  varied  light  and  shade, 
And  every  little  sunny  glade, 
And  the  blithe  brook  that  strolls  along 
Its  pebbled  bed  with  summer  song, 
To  the  grim  god  of  blood  and  scar, 
The  grisly  King  of  Northern  War. 
Oh,  better  were  its  banks  assign'd 
To  spirits  of  a  gentler  kind  1 
For  where  the  thicket-groups  recede, 
And  the  rath  primrose  decks  the  mead,* 
The  velvet  grass  seems  carpet  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  lively  feet. 
Yon  tufted  knoll,  with  daisies  strown, 
Might  make  proud  Oberon  a  throne, 
While,  hidden  in  the  thicket  nigh, 
Puck  should  brood  o'er  his  frolic  sly  ; 
And  where  profuse  the  wood-vetch  clings 
Round  ash  and  elm,  in  verdant  rings, 
Its  pale  and  azure-pencill'd  flower 
Should  canopy  Titania's  bower. 

III. 

Here  rise  no  cliffs  the  vale  to  shade ; 
But,  skirting  every  sunny  glade, 
In  fair  variety  of  green 
The  woodland  lends  its  sylvan  screen. 
Hoary,  yet  haughty,  frowns  the  oak, 
Its  boughs  by  weight  of  ages  broke ; 
And  towers  erect,  in  sable  spire, 
The  pine-tree  scathed  by  lightning  fire ; 
The  drooping  ash  and  birch,  between, 
Hang  their  fair  tresses  o'er  the  green, 
And  all  beneath,  at  random  grow 
Each  coppice  dwarf  of  varied  show, 
Or,  round  the  stems  profusely  twined, 
Fling  summer  odors  on  the  wind. 
Such  varied  group  Urbino's  hand 
Round  him  of  Tarsus  nobly  plann'd, 
What  time  he  bade  proud  Athens  own 
On  Mars's  Mount  the  God  Unknown ! 
Then  gray  Philosophy  stood  nigh, 
Though  bent  by  age,  in  spirit  high  : 
There  rose  the  scar-seam'd  veteran's  spear, 
There  Grecian  Beauty  bent  to  hear, 
While  Childhood  at  her  foot  was  placed, 
Or  clung  delighted  to  her  waist. 

tains  which  divide  the   North    Riding  from  Cumberland. 
High-Force  is  seventy-five  feet  in  height. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 
6  MS. :  "  The  early  primrose  decks  the  mead, 
And  the  short  velvet  grass  seems  meet 
For  the  light  fairies'  frolic  feet." 


EOKEBY. 


317 


IV. 

And  "  Eest  we  here,"  Matilda  said, 
And  sat  her  in  the  varying  shade. 
"  Chance-met,  we  well  may  steal  an  hour, 
To  friendship  due,  from  fortune's  power. 
Thou,  Wilfrid,  ever  kind,  must  lend 
Thy  counsel  to  thy  sister-friend ; 
And,  Redmond,  thou,  at  my  behest, 
No  further  urge  thy  desperate  quest : 
For  to  my  care  a  charge  is  left, 
Dangerous  to  one  of  aid  bereft, 
Wellnigh  an  orphan,  and  alone, 
Captive  her  sire,  her  house  o'erthrown." 
Wilfrid,  with  wonted  kindness  graced, 
Beside  her  on  the  turf  she  placed ; 
Then  paused,  with  downcast  look  and  eye, 
Nor  bade  young  Redmond  seat  him  nigh. 
Her  conscious  diffidence  he  saw, 
Drew  backward,  as  in  modest  awe, 
And  sat  a  little  space  removed, 
Unmark'd  to  gaze  on  her  he  loved. 

V. 

Wreathed  in  its  dark-brown  rings,  her  hair 
Half  hid  Matilda's  forehead  fair, 
Half  hid  and  half  reveal'd  to  view 
Her  full  dark  eye  of  hazel  hue. 
The  rose,  with  faint  and  feeble  streak, 
So  slightly  tinged  the  maiden's  cheek, 
That  you  had  said  her  hue  was  pale  ;l 
But  if  she  faced  the  summer  gale, 
Or  spoke,  or  sung,  or  quicker  moved, 
Or  heard  the  praise  of  those  she  loved, 
Or  when  of  interest  was  express'd2 
Aught  that  waked  feeling  in  her  breast, 
The  mantling  blood  in  ready  play 
Rivall'd  the  blush  of  rising  day. 
There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 
That  suited  well  the  forehead  high, 
The  eyelash  dark,  and  downcast  eye ; 
The  mild  expression  spoke  a  mind 
In  duty  firm,  composed,  resign'd ; 
'Tis  that  which  Roman  art  has  given, 
To  mark  their  maiden  Queen  of  Heaven. 
In  hours  of  sport,  that  mood  gave  way3 
To  fancy's  light  and  frolic  play ; 


1  MS. :  "  That  you  had  said  her  cheek  was  pale ; 

'But  if  she  faced  the  morning  gale, 
Or  longer  spoke,  or  quicker  moved." 

2  MS. :  "  Or  aught  of  interest  was  express'd 

That  waked  a  feeling  in  her  breast, 

The  mantling  Mood,  { like  morninS  beam" 
I  in  ready  play." 

3  MS. :  "  In  fitting  hours  the  mood  gave  way 

To  Fancy's  light  and  frolic  play, 
When  the  blithe  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 
When  oft  her  doting  sire  would  call 
His  Maudlin  merriest  of  them  all." 


And  when  the  dance,  or  tale,  or  song, 
In  harmless  mirth  sped  time  along, 
Full  oft  her  doating  sire  would  call 
His  Maud  the  merriest  of  them  all. 
But  days  of  war  and  civil  crime 
Allow'd  but  ill  such  festal  time, 
And  her  soft  pensiveness  of  brow 
Had  deepen'd  into  sadness  now. 
In  Marston  field  her  father  ta'en, 
Her  friends  dispersed,  brave  Mortham 

slain, 
While  every  ill  her  soul  foretold 
From  Oswald's  thirst  of  power  and  gold, 
And  boding  thoughts  that  she  must  part 
With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, — 4 
All  lower'd  around  the  lovely  maid, 
To  darken  her  dejection's  shade. 

VI. 
Who  has  not  heard — while  Erin  yet 
Strove  'gainst  the  Saxon's  iron  bit — 
Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  O'Neale 
In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel,5 
Against  St.  George's  cross  blazed  high 
The  banners  of  his  Tanistry, 
To  fiery  Essex  gave  the  foil, 
And  reign'd  a  prince  on  Ulster  soil? 
But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride 
When  that  brave  marshal  fought  and  died,6 
And  Avon-Duff  to  ocean  bore 
His  billows  red  with  Saxon  gore. 
'Twas  first  in  that  disastrous  fight 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  might.1 
There  had  they  fallen  'mongst  the  rest, 
But  pity  touch'd  a  chieftain's  breast ; 
The  Tanist  he  to  great  O'Neale  :8 
He  check'd  his  followers'  bloody  zeal, 
To  quarter  took  the  kinsmen  bold, 
And  bore  them  to  his  mountain  hold, 
Gave  them  each  sylvan  joy  to  know 
Slieve-Donard's  cliffs  and  woods  could  show,9 
Shared  with  them  Erin's  festal  cheer, 
Show'd  them  the  chase  of  wolf  and  deer, 
And,  when  a  fitting  time  was  come, 
Safe  and  unransoni'd  sent  them  home, 
Loaded  with  many  a  gift,  to  prove 
A  generous  foe's  respect  and  love. 


*  MS. :  "  With  a  soft  vision  of  her  heart, 

That  stole  its  seat,  ere  yet  she  knew 
The  guard  to  early  passion  due." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  O.  6  Ibid.  Note  2  P. 

*  MS. :  "  And,  by  the  deep  resounding  More, 

The  English  veterans  heap'd  the  shore. 
It  was  in  that  disastrous  fight 
That  Rokeby  proved  his  youthful   )  might » 
Rokeby  and  Mortham  proved  their  / 
8  MS. :  "  A  kinsman  near  to  great  O'Neale." 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 

*  MS. :  "  Gave  them  each  varied  joy  to  know 

The  woods  of  Ophalie  could  show." 


318 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


VII. 

Years  speed  away.    On  Rokeby's  head 
Some  touch  of  early  snow  was  shed ; 
Calm  he  enjoy'd,  by  Greta's  wave, 
The  peace  which  James  the  Peaceful  gave, 
While  Mortham,  far  beyond  the  main, 
Waged  his  fierce  wars  on  Indian  Spain. — 
It  chanced  upon  a  wintry  night,1 
That  whiten'd  Stanmore's  stormy  height, 
The  chase  was  o'er,  the  stag  was  kill'd, 
In  Rokeby  Hall  the  cups  were  fill'd, 
And  by  the  huge  stone  chimney  sate 
The  Knight  in  hospitable  state. 
Moonless  the  sky,  the  hour  was  late, 
When  a  loud  summons  shook  the  gate, 
And  sore  for  entrance  and  for  aid 
A  voice  of  foreign  accent  pray'd. 
The  porter  answer'd  to  the  call, 
And  instant  rush'd  into  the  hall 
A  Man,  whose  aspect  and  attire2 
Startled  the  circle  by  the  fire. 

VIII. 

His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread8 

Around  his  bare  and  matted  head ; 

On  leg  and  thigh,  close  stretch'd  and  trim, 

His  vesture  show'd  the  sinewy  limb ; 

In  saffron  dyed,  a  linen  vest 

Was  frequent  folded  round  his  breast; 

A  mantle  long  and  loose  he  wore, 

Shaggy  with  ice,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 

He  clasp'd  a  burden  to  his  heart, 

And,  resting  on  a  knotted  dart, 

The  snow  from  hair  and  beard  he  shook, 

And  round  him  gazed  with  wilder'd  look. 

Then  up  the  hall,  with  staggering  pace, 

He  hasten'd  by  the  blaze  to  place, 

Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 

His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 

To  Rokeby,  next,  he  louted  low, 

Then  stood  erect  his  tale  to  show,4 

With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone,5 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne.8 

"  Sir  Richard,  Lord  of  Rokeby,  hear ! 

Turlough  O'Neale  salutes  thee  dear; 

He  graces  thee,  and  to  thy  care 

Young  Redmond  gives,  his  grandson  fair. 

He  bids  thee  breed  him  as  thy  son, 

For  Turlough's  days  of  joy  are  done ; 


•  "stormy  night, 


i  MS.:  

When  early  snow  clad  Stanmore's  height." 
2  MS. :  "  And  instant  into  Rokeby  Hall 

A  stranger  rush'd,  whose  wild  attire 

Startled,"  &c. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R.  . 

4  MS.:  "Shaggy  with  snow,  and  stain'd  with  gore. 

His  features  as  his  dress  were  wild, 

And  in  his  arms  he  bore  a  child. 

With  staggering  and  unequal  pace, 

He  hastened  by  the  blaze  to  place, 


And  other  lords  have  seized  his  land, 
And  faint  and  feeble  is  his  hand; 
And  all  the  glory  of  Tyrone 
Is  like  a  morning  vapor  flown. 
To  bind  the  duty  on  thy  soul, 
He  bids  thee  think  on  Erin's  bowl  !T 
If  any  wrong  the  young  O'Neale, 
He  bids  thee  think  of  Erin's  steel. 
To  Mortham  first  this  charge  was  due, 
But,  in  his  absence,  honors  you. — 
Now  is  my  master's  message  by, 
And  Ferraught  will  contented  die." 

IX. 

His  look  grew  fix'd,  his  cheek  grew 

pale, 
He  sunk  when  he  had  told  his  tale ; 
For,  hid  beneath  his  mantle  wide, 
A  mortal  wound  was  in  his  side. 
Vain  was  all  aid — in  terror  wild, 
And  sorrow,  scream'd  the  orphan  Child. 
Poor  Ferraught  raised  his  wistful  eyes, 
And  faintly  strove  to  soothe  his  cries ; 
All  reckless  of  his  dying  pain, 
He  blest  and  blest  him  o'er  again ! 
And  kiss'd  the  little  hands  outspread, 
And  kiss'd  and  cross'd  the  infant  head, 
And,  in  his  native  tongue  and  phrase, 
Pray'd  to  each  saint  to  watch  his  days  ; 
Then  all  his  strength  together  drew, 
The  charge  to  Rokeby  to  renew. 
When  half  was  falter'd  from  his  breast, 
And  half  by  dying  signs  express'd, 
"  Bless  the  O'Neale !"  he  faintly  said, 
And  thus  the  faithful  spirit  fled. 

X. 

'Twas  long  ere  soothing  might  prevail 
Upon  the  Child  to  end  the  tale ; 
And  then  he  said  that  from  his  home 
His  grandsire  had  been  forced  to  roam, 
Which  had  not  been  if  Redmond's  hand 
Had  but  had  strength  to  draw  the  brand, 
The  brand  of  Lenaugh  More  the  Red, 
That  hung  beside  the  gray  wolf's  head. — 
'Twas  from  his  broken  phrase  descried, 
His  foster-father  was  his  guide,8 
Who,  in  his  charge,  from  Ulster  bore 
Letters  and  gifts  a  goodly  store; 


Half  lifeless  from  the  bitter  air, 
His  load,  a  Boy  of  beauty  rare. 
To  Rokeby  then,  with  solemn  air, 
He  turn'd  his  errand  to  declare." 

&  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  S. 

»  MS. :  "To  bind  the  charge  upon  thy  soul, 
Remember  Erin's  social  bowl !" 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 


ROKEBY. 


319 


But  ruffians  met  them  in  the  wood : 
Ferraught  in  battle  boldly  stood, 
Till  wounded  and  o'erpower'd  at  length, 
And  stripp'd  of  all,  his  failing  strength  . 
Just  bore  him  here — and  then  the  Child 
Renew'd  again  his  moaning  wild.1 

XL 
The  tear  down  childhood's  cheek  that  flows 
Is  like  the  dewdrop  on  the  rose ; 
When  next  the  summer  breeze  comes  by, 
And  waves  the  bush,  the  flower  is  dry. 
Won  by  their  care,  the  orphan  Child 
Soon  on  his  new  protector  smiled, 
With  dimpled  cheek  and  eye  so  fair, 
Through  his  thick  curls  of  flaxen  hair. 
But  blithest  laugh'd  that  cheek  and  eye 
When  Rokeby's  little  Maid  was  nigh ; 
'Twas  his,  with  elder  brother's  pride, 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide  ;2 
His  native  lays  in  Irish  tongue 
To  soothe  her  infant  ear  he  sung, 
And  primrose  twined  with  daisy  fair, 
To  form  a  chaplet  for  her  hair. 
By  lawn,  by  grove,  by  brooklet's  strand, 
The  children  still  were  hand  in  hand, 
And  good  Sir  Richard  smiling  eyed 
The  early  knot  so  kindly  tied. 

XII. 

But  summer  months  bring  wilding  shoot 

From  bud  to  bloom,  from  bloom  to  fruit ; 

And  years  draw  on  our  human  span, 

From  child  to  boy,  from  boy  to  man  ; 

And  soon  in  Rokeby's  woods  is  seen 

A  gallant  boy  in  hunter's  green. 

He  loves  to  wake  the  felon  boar, 

In  his  dark  haunt  on  Greta's  shore, 

And  loves  against  the  deer  so  dun 

To  draw  the  shaft,  or  lift  the  gun  : 

Yet  more  he  loves,  in  autumn  prime, 

The  hazel's  spreading  boughs  to  climb, 

And  down  its  cluster'd  stores  to  hail, 

Where  young  Matilda  holds  her  veil. 

And  she,  whose  veil  receives  the  shower,5 

Is  alter'd  too,  and  knows  her  power ; 

Assumes  a  monitress's  pride, 

Her  Redmond's  dangerous  sports  to  chide ; 

Yet  listens  still  to  hear  him  tell 

How  the  grim  wild-boar*  fought  and  fell, 

How  at  his  fall  the  bugle  rung, 

Till  rock  and  greenwood  answer  flung; 


1  Here  follows  in  the  MS.  a  stanza  of  sixteen  lines,  which 
the  author  subsequently  dispersed  through  stanzas  xv.  and 
xvi.,  pott. 

8  MS. :  "  Three  years  more  old,  'twas  Redmond's  pride 
Matilda's  tottering  steps  to  guide." 

3  MS. :  "  And  she  on  whom  these  treasures  shower." 

*  MS. : "  grim  sanglier." 


Then  blesses  her,  that  man  can  find 
A  pastime  of  such  savage  kind  !5 

XIII. 

But  Redmond  knew  to  weave  his  tale 

So  well  with  praise  of  wood  and  dale, 

And  knew  so  well  each  point  to  trace 

Gives  living  interest  to  the  chase, 

And  knew  so  well  o'er  all  to  throw 

His  sj>irit's  wild  romantic  glow, 

That,  while  she  blamed,  and  while  she  fear'd, 

She  loved  each  venturous  tale  she  heard. 

Oft,  too,  when  drifted  snow  and  rain 

To  bower  and  hall  their  steps  restrain, 

Together  they  explored  the  page 

Of  glowing  bard  or  gifted  sage ; 

Oft,  placed  the  evening  fire  beside, 

The  minstrel  art  alternate  tried, 

While  gladsome  harp  and  lively  lay 

Bade  winter  night  flit  fast  away : 

Thus,  from  their  childhood,  blending  still 

Their  sport,  their  study,  and  their  skill, 

An  union  of  the  soul  they  prove, 

But  must  not  think  that  it  was  love. 

But  though  they  dared  not,  envious  Fame 

Soon  dared  to  give  that  union  name ; 

And  when  so  often,  side  by  side, 

From  year  to  year  the  pair  she  eyed, 

She  sometimes  blamed  the  good  old  Knight 

As  dull  of  ear  and  dim  of  sight, 

Sometimes  his  purpose  would  declare 

That  young  O'Neale  should  wed  his  heir. 

XIV. 
The  suit  of  Wilfrid  rent  disguise 
And  bandage  from  the  lovers'  eyes  ;6 
'Twas  plain  that  Oswald,  for  his  son, 
Had  Rokeby's  favor  wellnigh  won. 
Now  must  they  meet  with  change  of  cheer, 
With  mutual  looks  of  shame  and  fear ; 
Now  must  Matilda  stray  apart, 
To  school  her  disobedient  heart ; 
And  Redmond  now  alone  must  rue 
The  love  he  never  can  subdue. 
But  factions  rose,  and  Rokeby  sware,7 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  heir ; 
And  Redmond,  nurtured  while  a  child 
In  many  a  bard's  traditions  wild, 
Now  sought  the  lonely  wood  or  stream, 
To  cherish  there  a  happier  dream, 
Of  maiden  won  by  sword  or  lance, 
As  in  the  regions  of  romance ; 


&  MS. :  "  Then  bless'd  himself  that  man  can  find 
A  pastime  of  such  cruel  kind." 

6  MS. : "  from  their  hearts  and  eyes." 

1  MS. :  "  And  Redmond,  too,  apart  must  rue 
The  love  he  never  can  subdue ; 
Then  came  the  war,  and  Rokeby  said, 
No  rebel's  son  should  wed  his  maid." 


320 


SCOTT'S    TOETICAL    WORKS. 


And  count  the  heroes  of  his  line,1 
Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine,1 
Shane-Dymas  wild,3  and  Geraldine,* 
And  Connan-More,  who  vow'd  his  race 
For  ever  to  the  fight  and  chase, 
And  cursed  him,  of  his  lineage  born, 
Should  sheathe  the  sword  to  reap  the 

corn, 
Or  leave  the  mountain  and  the  wold 
To  shroud  himself  in  castled  hold. 
From  such  examples  hope  he  drew, 
And  brighten'd  as  the  trumpet  blew. 

XV. 

If  brides  were  won  by  heart  and  blade, 
Redmond  had  both  his  cause  to  aid, 
And  all  beside  of  nurture  rare 
That  might  beseem  a  baron's  heir. 
Turlough  O'Neale,  in  Erin's  strife, 
On  Rokeby's  Lord  bestow'd  his  life, 
And  well  did  Rokeby's  generous  Knight 
Young  Redmond  for  the  deed  requite. 
Nor  was  his  liberal  care  and  cost 
Upon  the  gallant  stripling  lost: 
Seek  the  North-Riding  broad  and  wide, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  steed  bestride  ; 
From  Tynemouth  search  to  Cumberland, 
Like  Redmond  none  could  wield  a  brand ; 
And  then  of  humor  kind  and  free, 
And  bearing  him  to  each  degree 
With  frank  and  fearless  courtesy, 
There  never  youth  was  form'd  to  steal 
Upon  the  heart  like  brave  O'Neale. 

XVI. 

Sir  Richard  loved  him  as  his  son ; 
And  when  the  days  of  peace  were  done, 
And  to  the  gales  of  war  he  gave 
The  banner  of  his  sires  to  wave, 
Redmond,  distinguish'd  by  his  care, 
He  chose  that  honor'd  flag  to  bear,5 
And  named  his  page,  the  next  degree, 
In  that  old  time,  to  chivalry.6 
In  five  pitch'd  fields  he  well  maintain'd 
The  honor'd  place  his  worth  obtain'd, 
And  high  was  Redmond's  youthful  name 
Blazed  in  the  roll  of  martial  fame. 
Had  fortune  smiled  on  Marston  fight, 
The  eve  had  seen  him  dubb'd  a  knight; 


1  MS.:  "Thought  on  the  / heroes     }0f  his  line, 
I  founders ) 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine, 

Shane-Dymas  wild,  and  Connan-Mar, 

Who  vow'd  his  race  to  wounds  and  war, 

And  cursed  all,  of  his  lineage  born, 

Who  sheathed  the  sword  to  reap  the  corn 

Or  left  the  greenwood  and  the  wold, 

To  shroud  himself  in  house  or  hold." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 


Twice,  'mid  the  battle's  doubtful  strife, 
Of  Rokeby's  Lord  he  saved  the  life, 
But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made, 
He  kiss'd  and  then  resign'd  his  blade,7 
And  yielded  him  an  easy  prey 
To  those  who  led  the  Knight  away  ; 
Resolved  Matilda's  sire  should  prove 
In  prison,  as  in  fight,  his  love. 

XVII. 
When  lovers  meet  in  adverse  hour, 
'Tis  like  a  sun-glimpse  through  a  shower, 
A  watery  ray,  an  instant  seen 
The  darkly  closing  clouds  between. 
As  Redmond  on  the  turf  reclined, 
The  past  and  present  fill'd  his  mind  :8 
"  It  was  not  thus,"  Affection  said, 
"  I  dream'd  of  my  return,  dear  maid  ! 
Not  thus,  when  from  thy  trembling  hand 
I  took  the  banner  and  the  brand, 
When  round  me,  as  the  bugles  blew, 
Their  blades  three  hundred  warriors  drew, 
And,  while  the  standard  I  unroll'd, 
Clash'd  their  bright  arms  with  clamor 

bold. 
Where  is  that  banner  now  ? — its  pride 
Lies  whelm'd  in  Ouse's  sullen  tide ! 
Where  now  those  warriors? — in  their  gore 
They  cumber  Marston's  dismal  moor ! 
And  what  avails  a  useless  brand, 
Held  by  a  captive's  shackled  hand, 
That  only  would  his  life  retain 
To  aid  thy  sire  to  bear  his  chain  !" 
Thus  Redmond  to  himself  apart ; 
Nor  lighter  was  his  rival's  heart, — 
For  Wilfrid,  while  his  generous  soul 
Disdain'd  to  profit  by  control, 
By  many  a  sign  could  mark  too  plain, 
Save  with  such  aid,  his  hopes  were  vain.— 
But  now  Matilda's  accents  stole 
On  the  dark  visions  of  their  soul, 
And  bade  their  mournful  musing  fly, 
Like  mist  before  the  zephyr's  sigh. 

XVIII. 

"  I  need  not  to  my  friends  recall 

How  Mortham  shunn'd  my  father's  hall ; 

A  man  of  silence  and  of  woe, 

Yet  ever  anxious  to  bestow 


s  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 
4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X. 
0  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Y. 

7  MS. :  "  His  valor  saved  old  Rokeby's  life, 

But  when  he  saw  him  prisoner  made, 
He  kiss'd  and  then  flung  down  his  blade." 

8  After  this  line  the  MS.  has : 

"  His  ruin'd  hopes,  impending  woes- 
Till  in  his  eye  the  tear-drop  rose." 


EOKEBY. 


321 


On  my  poor  self  whate'er  could  prove 

A  kinsman's  confidence  and  love. 

My  feeble  aid  could  sometimes  chase 

The  clouds  of  sorrow  for  a  space : 

But  oftener,  fix'd  beyond  my  power,1 

I  mark'd  his  deep  despondence  lower. 

One  dismal  cause,  by  all  unguess"d, 

His  fearful  confidence  confess'd ; 

And  twice  it  was  my  hap  to  see 

Examples  of  that  agony 

Which  for  a  season  can  o'erstrain 

And  wreck  the  structure  of  the  brain. 

He  had  the  awful  power  to  know 

The  approaching  mental  overthrow, 

And  while  his  mind  had  courage  yet 

To  struggle  with  the  dreadful  fit, 

The  victim  writhed  against  its  throes,* 

Like  wretch  beneath  a  murderer's  blows. 

This  malady,  I  well  could  mark, 

Sprung  from  some  direful  cause  and  dark ; 

But  still  he  kept  its  source  conceal'd, 

Till  arming  for  the  civil  field; 

Then  in  my  charge  he  bade  me  hold 

A  treasure  huge  of  gems  and  gold, 

With  this  disjointed  dismal  scroll, 

That  tells  the  secret  of  his  soul, 

In  such  wild  words  as  oft  betray 

A  mind  by  anguish  forced  astray." — 

XIX. 

mortham's  history. 
"  Matilda !  thou  hast  seen  me  start, 
As  if  a  dagger  thrill'd  my  heart, 
When  it  has  happ'd  some  casual  phrase 
Waked  memory  of  my  former  days. 
Believe  that  few  can  backward  cast 
Their  thoughts  with  pleasure  on  the  past ; 
But  I ! — my  youth  was  rash  and  vain,3 
And  blood  and  rage  my  manhood  stain, 
And  my  gray  hairs  must  now  descend 
To  my  cold  grave  without  a  friend ! 
Even  thou,  Matilda,  wilt  disown 
Thy  kinsman,  when  his  guilt  is  known. 
And  must  I  lift  the  bloody  veil 
That  hides  my  dark  and  fatal  tale ! 
I  must — I  will — Pale  phantom,  cease ! 
Leave  me  one  little  hour  in  peace ! 
Thus  haunted,  think'st  thou  I  have  skill 
Thine  own  commission  to  fulfill  ? 
Or,  while  thou  point'st  with  gesture  fierce 
Thy  blighted  cheek,  thy  bloody  hearse, 
How  can  I  paint  thee  as  thou  wert, 
So  fair  in  face,  so  warm  in  heart ! 


i  MS. 


2  MS. 

3  MS. 
*  MS. 

21 


"  But  oftener  'twas  my  hap  to  see 
Such  storms  of  bitter  agony 
As  for  the  moment  would  o'erstrain 
And  wreck  the  balance  of  the  brain." 
"  beneath  his  throes." 


"  my  youth  was  folly's  reign." 

"Until  thy  father,  then  afar." 


XX. 

"  Yes,  she  was  fair ! — Matilda,  thou 
Hast  a  soft  sadness  on  thy  brow ; 
But  hers  was  like  the  sunny  glow 
That  laughs  on  earth  and  all  below ! 
We  wedded  secret — there  was  need — 
Differing  in  country  and  in  creed ; 
And,  when  to  Mortham's  tower  she  came. 
We  mentioned  not  her  race  and  name, 
Until  thy  sire,  who  fought  afar,* 
Should  turn  him  home  from  foreign  war, 
On  whose  kind  influence  we  relied 
To  soothe  her  father's  ire  and  pride. 
Few  months  we  lived  retired,  unknown 
To  all  but  one  dear  friend  alone, 
One  darling  friend — I  spare  his  shame, 
I  will  not  write  the  villain's  name ! 
My  trespasses  I  might  forget,5 
And  sue  in  vengeance  for  the  debt 
Due  by  a  brother  worm  to  me, 
Ungrateful  to  God's  clemency,8 
That  spared  me  penitential  time, 
Nor  cut  me  off  amid  my  crime. — 

XXI. 

"  A  kindly  smile  to  all  she  lent, 

But  on  her  husband's  friend  'twas  bent 

So  kind  that  from  its  harmless  glee7 

The  wretch  misconstrued  villainy. 

Bepulsed  in  his  presumptuous  love, 

A  vengeful  snare  the  traitor  wove. 

Alone  we  sat — the  flask  had  flow'd, 

My  blood  with  heat  unwonted  glow'd, 

When  through  the  alley'd  walk  we  spied 

With  hurried  step  my  Edith  glide, 

Cowering  beneath  the  verdant  screen, 

As  one  unwilling  to  be  seen. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  fiendish  smile 

That  curl'd  the  traitor's  cheek  the  while ! 

Fiercely  I  question'd  of  the  cause ; 

He  made  a  cold  and  artful  pause, 

Then  pray'd  it  might  not  chafe  my  mood — 

'  There  was  a  gallant  in  the  wood !' 

We  had  been  shooting  at  the  deer ; 

My  cross-bow  (evil  chance!)  was  near: 

That  ready  weapon  of  my  wrath 

I  caught,  and,  hasting  up  the  path,8 

In  the  yew  grove  my  wife  I  found, 

A  stranger's  arms  her  neck  had  bound ! 

I  mark'd  his  heart — the  bow  I  drew — 

I  loosed  the  shaft^'twas  more  than  true  I 

I  found  my  Edith's  dying  charms 

Lock'd  in  her  murder'd  brother's  arms ! 


6  MS. 
«  MS. 

7  MS. 

8  MS. 


"  I,  a  poor  debtor,  should  forget." 
"  Forgetting  God's  own  clemency.'' 
"  So  kindly  that  from  harmless  glee." 
"  I  caught  a  cross-bow  that  was  near, 
The  readiest  weapon  of  my  wrath, 
And  hastening  up  the  Greta  path." 


322 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


He  came  in  secret  to  inquire 
Her  state,  and  reconcile  her  sire.1 

XXII. 

"All  fled  my  rage — the  villain  first 
Whose  craft  my  jealousy  had  nursed; 
He  sought  in  far  and  foreign  clime 
To  'scape  the  vengeance  of  his  crime. 
The  manner  of  the  slaughter  done 
Was  known  to  few,  my  guilt  to  none ; 
Some  tale  my  faithful  steward  framed — 
I  know  not  what — of  shaft  misaim'd ; 
And  even  from  those  the  act  who  knew 
He  hid  the  hand  from  which  it  flew. 
Untouch'd  by  human  laws  I  stood, 
But  God  had  heard  the  cry  of  blood! 
There  is  a  blank  upon  my  mind, 
A  fearful  vision  ill-defined, 
Of  raving  till  my  flesh  was  torn, 
Of  dungeon-bolts  and  fetters  worn — 
And  when  I  waked  to  woe  more  mild, 
And  question'd  of  my  infant  child — 
(Have  I  not  written  that  she  bare 
A  boy,  like  summer  morning  fair?) — 
With  looks  confused  my  menials  tell 
That  armed  men  in  Mortham  dell 
Beset  the  nurse's  evening  way, 
And  bore  her,  with  her  charge,  away. 
My  faithless  friend,  and  none  but  he, 
Could  profit  by  this  villainy ; 
Him  then  I  sought,  with  purpose  dread 
Of  treble  vengeance  on  his  head ! 
He  'scaped  me — but  my  bosom's  wound 
Some  faint  relief  from  wandering  found; 
And  over  distant  land  and  sea 
I  bore  my  load  of  misery. 

XXIII. 
"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  led 
Among  a  daring  crew  and  dread,2 
With  whom  full  oft  my  hated  life 
I  ventured  in  such  desperate  strife, 
That  even  my  fierce  associates  saw 
My  frantic  deeds  with  doubt  and  awe. 
Much  then  I  learn'd,  and  much  can  show, 
Of  human  guilt  and  human  woe, 
Yet  ne'er  have,  in  my  wanderings,  known 
A  wretch  whose  sorrows  match'd  my  own  !- 
It  chanced  that,  after  battle  fray, 
Upon  the  bloody  field  we  lay ; 
The  yellow  moon  her  lustre  shed 
Upon  the  wounded  and  the  dead, 
While,  sense  in  toil  and  wassail  drown'd, 
My  ruffian  comrades  slept  around, 
There  came  a  voice — its  silver  tone 
Was  soft,  Matilda,  as  thine  own — 


1  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 


1  Ah,  wretch !'  it  said,  '  what  makest  thou  here. 
While  unavenged  my  bloody  bier, 
While  unprotected  lives  mine  heir, 
Without  a  father's  name  and  care  ?' 

XXIV. 

"  I  heard — obey'd — and  homeward  drew; 

The  fiercest  of  our  desperate  crew 

I  brought  at  time  of  need  to  aid 

My  purposed  vengeance,  long  delay'd. 

But,  humble  be  my  thanks  to  Heaven, 

That  better  hopes  and  thoughts  has  given, 

Ami  by  our  Lord's  dear  prayer  has  taught, 

Mercy  by  mercy  must  be  bought! — 

Let  me  in  misery  rejoice — 

I've  seen  his  face — I've  heard  his  voice — 

I  claim'd  of  him  my  only  child — 

As  he  disown'd  the  theft  he  smiled  I 

That  very  calm  and  callous  look, 

That  fiendish  sneer  his  visage  took, 

As  when  he  said,  in  scornful  mood, 

'  There  is  a  gallant  in  the  wood !' — 

I  did  not  slay  him  as  he  stood — 

All  praise  be  to  my  Maker  given ! 

Long  suffrance  is  one  path  to  heaven." 

XXV. 

Thus  far  the  woeful  tale  was  heard, 
When  something  in  the  thicket  stirr'd. 
Up  Redmond  sprung ;  the  villain  Guy 
(For  he  it  was  that  lurk'd  so  nigh) 
Drew  back — he  durst  not  cross  his  steel 
A  moment's  space  with  brave  O'Neale, 
For  all  the  treasured  gold  that  rests 
In  Mortham's  iron-banded  chests. 
Redmond  resumed  his  seat ; — he  said, 
Some  roe  was  rustling  in  the  shade. 
Bertram  laugh'd  grimly  when  he  saw 
His  timorous  comrade  backward  draw: 
"  A  trusty  mate  art  thou,  to  fear 
A  single  arm,  and  aid  so  near ! 
Yet  have  I  seen  thee  mark  a  deer. 
Give  me  thy  carabine — I'll  show 
An  art  that  thou  wilt  gladly  know, 
How  thou  may'st  safely  quell  a  foe." 

XXVI. 

On  hands  and  knees  fierce  Bertram  drew 
The  spreading  birch  and  hazels  through, 
Till  he  had  Redmond  full  in  view; 
The  gun  he  levell'd — Mark  like  this 
Was  Bertram  never  known  to  miss, 
When  fair  opposed  to  aim  there  sate 
An  object  of  his  mortal  hate. 
That  day  young  Redmond's  death  had  seen, 
But  twice  Matilda  came  between 


2  MS. 


"  'Twas  then  that  fate  my  footsteps  threw 
Among  a  wild  and  daring  crew." 


ROKEBY. 


323 


The  carabine  and  Redmond's  breast, 
Just  ere  the  spring  his  finger  press'd. 
A  deadly  oath  the  ruffian  swore, 
But  yet  his  fell  design  forbore. 
"  It  ne'er,"  he  mutter'd,  "  shall  be  said 
That  thus  I  scath'd  thee,  haughty  maid !" 
Then  moved  to  seek  more  open  aim, 
When  to  his  side  Guy  Denzil  came : 
"  Bertram,  forbear ! — we  are  undone 
For  ever,  if  thou  fire  the  gun. 
By  all  the  fiends,  an  armed  force 
Descends  the  dell,  of  foot  and  horse ! 
We  perish  if  they  hear  a  shot — 
Madman !  we  have  a  safer  plot — 
Nay,  friend,  be  ruled,  and  bear  thee  back ! 
Behold,  down  yonder  hollow  track, 
The  warlike  leader  of  the  band 
Comes,  with  his  broadsword  in  his  hand." 
Bertram  look'd  up ;  he  saw,  he  knew 
That  Denzil's  fears  had  counsell'd  true, 
Then  cursed  his  fortune  and  withdrew, 
Threaded  the  woodlands  undescried, 
And  gain'd  the  cave  on  Greta  side. 

XXVII. 
They  whom  dark  Bertram,  in  his  wrath, 
Doom'd  to  captivity  or  death, 
Their  thoughts  to  one  sad  subject  lent, 
Saw  not  nor  heard  the  ambushment. 
Heedless  and  unconcern'd  they  sate, 
While  on  the  very  verge  of  fate ; 
Heedless  and  unconcern'd  remain'd, 
When  Heaven  the  murderer's  arm  restrain'd ; 
As  ships  drift  darkling  down  the  tide, 
Nor  see  the  shelves  o'er  which  they  glide. 
Uninterrupted  thus  they  heard 
What  Mortham's  closing  tale  declared. 
He  spoke  of  wealth  as  of  a  load 
By  Fortune  on  a  wretch  bestow'd, 
In  bitter  mockery  of  hate, 
His  cureless  woes  to  aggravate ; 
But  yet  he  pray'd  Matilda's  care 
Might  save  that  treasure  for  his  heir — 
His  Edith's  son — for  still  he  raved, 
As  confident  his  life  was  saved ; 
In  frequent  vision,  he  averr'd, 
He  saw  his  face,  his  voice  he  heard ; 
Then  argued  calm — had  murder  been, 
The  blood,  the  corpses,  had  been  seen ; 
Some  had  pretended,  too,  to  mark 
On  Windermere  a  stranger  bark, 
Whose  crew,  with  jealous  care,  yet  mild, 
Guarded  a  female  and  a  child. 
While  these  faint  proofs  he  told  and  press'd, 
Hope  seem'd  to  kindle  in  his  breast ; 
Though  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 
It  warp'd  his  judgment  and  his  brain.1 


1  MS. 


"  Hope,  inconsistent,  vague,  and  vain, 
Seem'd  on  the  theme  to  warp  his  brain." 


XXVIII. 

These  solemn  words  his  story  close : — 
"  Heaven  witness  for  me,  that  I  chose 
My  part  in  this  sad  civil  fight, 
Moved  by  no  cause  but  England's  right. 
My  country's  groans  have  bid  me  draw 
My  sword  for  gospel  and  for  law ; — 
These  righted,  I  fling  arms  aside, 
And  seek  my  son  through  Europe  wide. 
My  wealth,  on  which  a  kinsman  nigh 
Already  casts  a  grasping  eye, 
With  thee  may  unsuspected  lie. 
When  of  my  death  Matilda  hears, 
Let  her  retain  her  trust  three  years ; 
If  none,  from  me,  the  treasure  claim, 
Perish'd  is  Mortham's  race  and  name. 
Then  let  it  leave  her  generous  hand, 
And  flow  in  bounty  o'er  the  land  ; 
Soften  the  wounded  prisoner's  lot, 
Rebuild  the  peasant's  ruin'd  cot ; 
So  spoils,  acquired  by  fight  afar, 
Shall  mitigate  domestic  war." 

XXIX. 

The  generous  youths,  who  well  had  known 

Of  Mortham's  mind  the  powerful  tone, 

To  that  high  mind,  by  sorrow  swerved, 

Gave  sympathy  his  woes  deserved  ;a 

But  Wilfrid  chief,  who  saw  reveal'd 

Why  Mortham  wish'd  his  life  conceal'd, 

In  secret,  doubtless,  to  pursue 

The  schemes  his  wilder'd  fancy  drew. 

Thoughtful  he  heard  Matilda  tell 

That  she  would  share  her  father's  cell, 

His  partner  of  captivity, 

Where'er  his  prison-house  should  be ; 

Yet  grieved  to  think  that  Rokeby  Hall, 

Dismantled,  and  forsook  by  all, 

Open  to  rapine  and  to  stealth, 

Had  now  no  safeguard  for  the  wealth 

Intrusted  by  her  kinsman  kind, 

And  for  such  noble  use  design'd. 

"  Was  Barnard  Castle  then  her  choice," 

Wilfrid  inquired  with  hasty  voice, 

"  Since  there  the  victor's  laws  ordain 

Her  father  must  a  space  remain  ?" 

A  flutter'd  hope  his  accents  shook, 

A  flutter'd  joy  was  in  his  look. 

Matilda  hasten'd  to  reply, 

For  anger  flash'd  in  Rednjond's  eye  ; — 

"  Duty,"  she  said  with  gentle  grace, 

"  Kind  Wilfrid,  has  no  choice  of  place ; 

Else  had  I  for  my  sire  assign'd 

Prison  less  galling  to  his  mind, 

Than  that  his  wild-wood  haunts  which 

sees 
And  hears  the  murmur  of  the  Tees, 

8  MS. :  "  To  that  high  mind,  thus  warp'd  and  swerved, 
The  pity  gave  his  woes  deserved." 


324 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Recalling  thus,  with  every  glance, 
What  captive's  sorrow  can  enhance; 
But  where  those  woes  are  highest,  there 
Needs  Rokeby  most  his  daughter's  care." 

XXX. 

He  felt  the  kindly  check  she  gave, 

And  stood  abash'd — then  answer'd  grave : — 

"  I  sought  thy  purpose,  noble  maid, 

Thy  doubts  to  clear,  thy  schemes  to  aid. 

I  have  beneath  mine  own  command, 

So  wills  my  sire,  a  gallant  band, 

And  well  could  send  some  horsemen  wight 

To  bear  the  treasure  forth  by  night, 

And  so  bestow  it  as  you  deem 

In  these  ill  days  may  safest  seem." — 

"  Thanks,  gentle  Wilfrid,  thanks,"  she  said : 

"Oh,  be  it  not  one  day  delay'd ! 

And,  more,  thy  sister-friend  to  aid, 

Be  thou  thyself  content  to  hold, 

In  thine  own  keeping,  Mortham's  gold, 

Safest  with  thee." — While  thus  she  spoke, 

Arm'd  soldiers  on  their  converse  broke, 

The  same  of  whose  approach  afraid, 

The  ruffians  left  their  ambuscade. 

Their  chief  to  Wilfrid  bended  low, 

Then  look'd  around  as  for  a  foe. 

"  What  mean'st  thou,  friend  ?"  young  Wycliffe  said, 

"  Why  thus  in  arms  beset  the  glade  ?" — 

"  That  would  I  gladly  learn  from  you  ; 

For  up  my  squadron  as  I  drew, 

To  exercise  our  martial  game 

Upon  the  moor  of  Barninghame,1 

A  stranger  told  you  were  waylaid, 

Surrounded,  and  to  death  betray'd. 

He  had  a  leader's  voice,  I  ween, 

A  falcon  glance,  a  warrior's  mien. 

He  bade  me  bring  you  instant  aid ; 

I  doubted  not,  and  I  obey'd." 

XXXI. 

Wilfrid  changed  color,  and,  amazed, 
Turn'd  short,  and  on  the  speaker  gazed; 
While  Redmond  every  thicket  round 
Track'd  earnest  as  a  questing  hound, 
And  Denzil's  carabine  he  found; 
Sure  evidence,  by  which  they  knew 
The  warning  was  as  kind  as  true.2 
Wisest  it  seem'd,  with  cautious  speed 
To  leave  the  dell.    It  was  agreed 
That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair, 
And  fitting  guard,  should  home  repair  ;s 

1  MS. :  "  In  martial  exercise  to  move 
Upon  the  open  moor  above." 

8  MS.:  "And  they  the  gun  of  Denzil  find; 
A  witness  sure  to  every  mind 
The  warning  was  as  true  as  kind." 

*  MS. :  "  It  was  agreed 

That  Redmond,  with  Matilda  fair, 
Should  straight  to  Rokeby  Hall  repair, 


At  nightfall  Wilfrid  should  attend, 
With  a  strong  band,  his  sister-friend, 
To  bear  with  her  from  Rokeby's  bowers 
To  Barnard  Castle's  lofty  towers, 
Secret  and  safe,  the  banded  chests 
In  which  the  wealth  of  Mortham  rests. 
This  hasty  purpose  fix'd,  they  part, 
Each  with  a  grieved  and  anxious  heart. 


Hofccty). 


CANTO   FIFTH. 


I. 

The  sultry  summer  day  is  done, 
The  western  hills  have  hid  the  sun, 
But  mountain  peak  and  village  spire 
.  Retain  reflection  of  his  fire. 
Old  Barnard's  towers  are  purple  still, 
To  those  that  gaze  from  Toller  Hill ; 
Distant  and  high,  the  tower  of  Bowes 
Like  steel  upon  the  anvil  glows ; 
And  Stanmore's  ridge,  behind  that  lay, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  parting  day, 
In  crimson  and  in  gold  array'd, 
Streaks  yet  a  while  the  closing  shade, 
Then  slow  resigns  to  darkening  heaven 
The  tints  which  brighter  hours  had  given. 
Thus  aged  men,  full  loth  and  slow, 
The  vanities  of  life  forego, 
And  count  their  youthful  follies  o'er, 
Till  Memory  lends  her  light  no  more.4 

II. 

The  eve,  that  slow  on  upland  fades, 
Has  darker  closed  on  Rokeby's  glades, 
Where,  sunk  within  their  banks  profound, 
Her  guardian  streams  to  meeting  wound. 
The  stately  oaks,  whose  sombre  frown 
Of  noontide  made  a  twilight  brown, 
Impervious  now  to  fainter  light, 
Of  twilight  make  an  early  night.5 
Hoarse  into  middle  air  arose 
The  vespers  of  the  roosting  crows, 
And  with  congenial  murmurs  seem 
To  wake  the  Genii  of  the  stream  ; 

And,  foes  so  near  them,  known  so  late, 
A  guard  should  tend  her  to  the  gate." 

*  "The  fifth  canto  opens  with  an  evening  scene,  of  its 
accustomed  beauty  when  delineated  by  Mr.  Scott.  The 
mountain  fading  in  the  twilight  is  nobly  imagined."— 
Monthly  Review. 

6  MS. : "  a  darksome  night." 


\j 


=  -t 


S3         »     F 


ROKEBY. 


325 


For  louder  clamor'd  Greta's  tide, 
And  Tees  in  deeper  voice  replied, 
And,  fitful  waked,  the  evening  wind 
Fitful  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd.1 
Wilfrid,  whose  fancy-nurtured  soul 
Felt  in  the  scene  a  soft  control, 
With  lighter  footstep  press'd  the  ground, 
And  often  paused  to  look  around  ; 
And  though  his  path  was  to  his  love, 
Could  not  hut  linger  in  the  grove, 
To  drink  the  thrilling  interest  dear, 
Of  awful  pleasure  check'd  by  fear. 
Such  inconsistent  moods  have  we, 
Even  when  our  passions  strike  the  key. 

III. 

Now,  through  the  wood's  dark  mazes  past, 
The  opening  lawn  he  reach'd  at  last, 
Where,  silver'd  by  the  moonlight  ray, 
The  ancient  Hall  before  him  lay.2 
Those  martial  terrors  long  were  fled 
That  frown'd  of  old  around  its  head : 
The  battlements,  the  turrets  gray, 
Seem'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay  ;3 
On  barbican  and  keep  of  stone 
Stern  Time  the  foeman's  work  had  done. 
Where  banners  the  invader  braved, 
The  harebell  now  and  wallflower  waved ; 
In  the  rude  guard-room,  where  of  yore 
Their  weary  hours  the  warders  wore, 
Now,  while  the  cheerful  fagots  blaze, 
On  the  paved  floor  the  spindle  plays  ;* 
The  flanking  guns  dismounted  lie, 
The  moat  is  ruinous  and  dry,5 
The  grim  portcullis  gone — and  all 
The  fortress  turn'd  to  peaceful  hall. 

IV. 

But  yet  precautions,  lately  ta'en,6 

Show'd  danger's  day  revived  again  ; 

The  court-yard  wall  show'd  marks  of  care 

The  fall'n  defences  to  repair, 

Lending  such  strength  as  might  withstand 

The  insult  of  marauding  band. 

The  beams  once  more  were  taught  to  bear 

The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air, 

And  not,  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er, 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  jealous  door, 


1  MS. :  "  By  fits  awaked,  the  evening  wind 
By  fits  in  sighs  its  breath  resign'd." 
s  MS. :  "  Old  Rokeby's  towers  before  him  lay." 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 

*  MS. :  "  The  weary  night  the  warders  wore, 

Now,  by  the  fagot's  glancing  light, 
The  maidens  plied  the  spindle's  sleight." 
6  MS. :  "  The  beams  had  long  forgot  to  bear 
The  trembling  drawbridge  into  air ; 
The  huge  portcullis  gone,"  &c. 

•  MS. :  "  But  yet  precaution  show'd,  and  fear, 

That  dread  of  evil  times  was  here : 


And  when  he  enter'd,  bolt  and  bar 
Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar ; 
Then,  as  he  cross'd  the  vaulted  porch, 
The  old  gray  porter  raised  his  torch, 
And  view'd  him  o'er,  from  foot  to  head, 
Ere  to  the  hall  his  steps  he  led. 
That  huge  old  hall,  of  knightly  state, 
Dismantled  seem'd  and  desolate. 
The  moon  through  transom-shafts  of  stone, 
Which  cross'd  the  latticed  oriels,  shone, 
And  by  the  mournful  light  she  gave, 
The  Gothic  vault  seem'd  funeral  cave. 
Pennon  and  banner  waved  no  more 
O'er  beams  of  stag  and  tusks  of  boar, 
Nor  glimmering  arms  were  marshall'd 

seen 
To  glance  those  sylvan  spoils  between. 
Those  arms,  those  ensigns,  borne  away, 
Accomplish'd  Rokeby's  brave  array, 
But  all  were  lost  on  Marston's  day ! 
Yet  here  and  there  the  moonbeams  fall 
Where  armor  yet  adorns  the  wall, 
Cumbrous  of  size,  uncouth  to  sight, 
And  useless  in  the  modern  fight ! 
Like  veteran  relic  of  the  wars, 
Known  only  by  neglected  scars. 

V. 

Matilda  soon  to  greet  him  came, 
And  bade  them  light  the  evening  flame ; 
Said,  all  for  parting  was  prepared, 
And  tarried  but  for  Wilfrid's  guard. 
But  then,  reluctant  to  unfold7 
His  father's  avarice  of  gold, 
He  hinted  that,  lest  jealous  eye 
Should  on  their  precious  burden  pry, 
He  judged  it  best  the  castle  gate 
To  enter  when  the  night  wore  late ; 
And  therefore  he  had  left  command 
With  those  he  trusted  of  his  band, 
That  they  should  be  at  Rokeby  met 
What  time  the  midnight  watch  was  set. 
Now  Redmond  came,  whose  anxious  care 
Till  then  was  busied  to  prepare 
All  needful,  meetly  to  arrange 
The  mansion  for  its  mournful  change. 
With  Wilfrid's  care  and  kindness  pleased, 
His  cold  unready  hand  he  seized, 


There  were  late  marks  of  jealous  1 
For  there  were  recent  marks  of   /        ' 
The  fall'n  defences  to  repair ; 
And  not  till  question'd  o'er  and  o'er 

For  Wilfrid  oped  the  {  studded  I  door, 
r  (jealous  ) 

And,  on  his  entry,  bolt  and  bar 

Resumed  their  place  with  sullen  jar." 

1  MS. :  "  Confused  he  stood,  as  loth  to  say 

What  might  his  sire's  base  mood  display ; 
Then  hinted,  lest  some  curious  eye." 


326 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  press'd  it,  till  his  kindly  strain 
The  gentle  youth  retorn'd  again. 
S     m'd  as  Ix  tween  them  this  was  -aid, 
•■  \  while  K't  j<  alousy  be  dead; 
And  let  our  contest  be,  whose  care 
Shall  beet  assist  this  helpless  fair." 

VI. 

There  was  no  speech  the  truce  to  bind, 

It  was  a  compact  of  the  mind, — 

A  generous  thought,  at  once  impress'd 

<  in  either  rival's  generous  breast. 

Matilda  well  the  secret  took, 

From  sudden  change  of  mien  and  look ; 

And — for  not  small  had  been  her  fear 

Of  jealous  ire  and  danger  near — 

Felt,  even  in  her  dejected  state, 

A  joy  beyond  the  reach  of  fate. 

They  closed  beside  the  chimney's  blaze, 

And  talk'd,  and  hoped  for  happier  days, 

And  lent  their  Bpirite'  rising  glow 

A  while  to  gild  impending  woe; — 

High  privilege  of  youthful  time, 

Worth  all  the  pleasures  of  our  prime! 

The  bickering  fagot  sparkled  bright, 

And  gave  the  scene  of  love  to  sight, 

Bade  Wilfrid's  cheek  more  lively  glow, 

Play'd  on  Matilda's  neck  of  snow, 

Her  nut-brown  curls  and  forehead  high, 

And  laugh'd  in  Redmond's  azure  eye. 

Two  lovers  by  the  maiden  sate, 

Without  a  glance  of  jealous  hate; 

The  maid  her  lovers  sat  between, 

With  open  brow  and  equal  mien; — 

It  is  a  sight  but  rarely  spied, 

Thanks  to  man's  wrath  and  woman's  pride. 

VII. 

While  thus  in  peaceful  guise  they  sate, 
A  knock  alarm'd  the  outer  gate, 
And  ere  the  tardy  porter  stirr'd, 
The  tinkling  of  a  harp  was  heard. 
A  manly  voice,  of  mellow  swell, 
Bore  burden  to  the  music  well. 

Song. 
Summer  eve  is  gone  and  past, 
Summer  dew  is  falling  fast ; 
I  have  wander'd  all  the  day, 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray  ! 
Gentle  hearts,  of  gentle  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  i» ! 

Hut  the  -teni  porter  an-  wer  ijave, 

With  "  Get  thee  hence,  thou  strolling  knave! 


1  MS. :  "  Oh,  bid  not  me  bear  sword  and  shield, 
Or  struggle  to  the  bloody  field  ; 
For  gentler  art  thia  hand  was  made." 


The  king  wants  soldiers ;  war,  I  trow, 
Were  meeter  trade  for  such  as  thou." 
At  this  unkind  reproof,  again 
Answer'd  the  ready  minstrel's  strain. 

Song  nsunua. 
Bid  not  me,  in  battle-field, 
Buckler  lift,  or  broadsword  wield ! 
All  my  strength  and  all  my  art 
Is  to  touch  the  gentle  heart1 
With  the  wizard  notes  that  ring 
From  the  peaceful  minstrel-string. 

The  porter,  all  unmoved,  replied, — 
"  Depart  in  peace,  with  Heaven  to  guide  ; 
If  longer  by  the  gate  thou  dwell, 
Trust  me,  thou  shalt  not  part  so  well." 

VIII. 
With  somewhat  of  appealing  look, 
The  harper's  part  young  Wilfrid  took : 
"  These  notes  so  wild  and  ready  thrill, 
They  show  no  vulgar  minstrel's  skill ; 
Hard  were  his  task  to  seek  a  home 
More  distant,  since  the  night  is  come ; 
And  for  his  faith  I  dare  engage — 
Your  Harpool's  blood  is  sour'd  by  age ; 
His  gate,  once  readily  display'd, 
To  greet  the  friend,  the  poor  to  aid, 
Now  even  to  me,  though  known  of  old, 
Did  but  reluctantly  unfold." — 
"  Oh  blame  not,  as  poor  Harpool's  crime, 
An  evil  of  this  evil  time. 
He  deems  dependent  on  his  care 
The  safety  of  his  patron's  heir, 
Nor  judges  meet  to  ope  the  tower 
To  guest  unknown  at  parting  hour,2 
Urging  his  duty  to  excess 
Of  rough  and  stubborn  faithfulness. 
For  this  poor  harper,  I  would  fain 
He  may  relax : — Hark  to  his  strain !" — 

IX. 

Song  rcsunutr. 
I  have  song  of  war  for  knight, 
Lay  of  love  for  lady  bright, 
Fairy  tale  to  lull  the  heir, 
Goblin  grim  the  maids  to  scare. 
Dark  the  night,  and  long  till  day ; 
Do  not  bid  me  farther  stray ! 

Rokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 
I  can  count  them  name  by  name  ;3 
Legends  of  their  line  there  be, 
Known  to  few,  but  known  to  me ; 


2  MS. :  "  To  vagrants  at  our  parting  hour.' 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 


KOKEBY. 


327 


If  you  honor  Rokeby's  kin, 
Take  the  wandering  harper  in  ! 

Rokeby's  lords  had  fair  regard 
For  the  harp  and  for  the  bard ; 
Baron's  race  throve  never  well, 
Where  the  curse  of  minstrel  fell. 
If  you  love  that  noble  kin, 
Take  the  weary  harper  in  I 

"  Hark !  Harpool  parleys — there  is  hope," 
Said  Redmond,  "  that  the  gate  will  ope." — 
— "  For  all  thy  brag  and  boast,  I  trow, 
Nought  know'st  thou  of  the  Felon  Sow,"1 
Quoth  Harpool,  "  nor  how  Greta  side 
She  roam'd,  and  Rokeby  forest  wide ; 
Nor  how  Ralph  Rokeby  gave  the  beast 
To  Richmond's  friars  to  make  a  feast. 
Of  Gilbert  Griffinson  the  tale 
Goes,  and  of  gallant  Peter  Dale, 
That  well  could  strike  with  sword  amain, 
And  of  the  valiant  son  of  Spain, 
Friar  Middleton,  and  blithe  Sir  Ralph ; 
There  were  a  jest  to  make  us  laugh ! 
If  thou  canst  tell  it,  in  yon  shed 
Thou'st  won  thy  supper  and  thy  bed." 

X. 

Matilda  smiled ;  "  Cold  hope,"  said  she, 
"  From  Harpool's  love  of  minstrelsy ! 
But,  for  this  harper,  may  we  dare, 
Redmond,  to  mend  his  couch  and  fare  ?" — 
"  Oh,  ask  me  not ! — At  minstrel-string 
My  heart  from  infancy  would  spring ; 
Nor  can  I  hear  its  simplest  strain, 
But  it  brings  Erin's  dream  again, 
When  placed  by  Owen  Lysagh's  knee 
(The  Filea  of  O'Neale  was  he,2 
A  blind  and  bearded  man,  whose  eld 
Was  sacred  as  a  prophet's  held), 
I've  seen  a  ring  of  rugged  kerne, 
With  aspects  shaggy,  wild,  and  stern, 
Enchanted  by  the  master's  lay, 
Linger  around  the  livelong  day, 
Shift  from  wild  rage  to  wilder  glee, 
To  love,  to  grief,  to  ecstasy,3 
And  feel  each  varied  change  of  soul 
Obedient  to  the  bard's  control. — 
Ah,  Clandeboy  !  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-Donard's  oak  shall  light  no  more  ;* 
Nor  Owen's  harp,  beside  the  blaze, 
Tell  maiden's  love,  or  hero's  praise ! 
The  mantling  brambles  hide  thy  hearth, 
Centre  of  hospitable  mirth ; 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

8  MS. :  "  to  sympathy." 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 


All  undistinguish'd  in  the  glade, 
My  sires'  glad  home  is  prostrate  laid, 
Their  vassals  wander  wide  and  far, 
Serve  foreign  lords  in  distant  war, 
And  now  the  stranger's  sons  enjoy 
The  lovely  woods  of  Clandeboy !" 
He  spoke,  and  proudly  turn'd  aside, 
The  starting  tear  to  dry  and  hide. 

XL 
Matilda's  dark  and  soften'd  eye 
Was  glistening  ere  O'Neale's  was  dry. 
Her  hand  upon  his  arm  she  laid, — 
"  It  is  the  will  of  Heaven,"  she  said. 
"  And  think'st  thou,  Redmond,  I  can  part 
From  this  loved  home   with  lightsome 

heart, 
Leaving  to  wild  neglect  whate'er 
Even  from  my  infancy  was  dear? 
For  in  this  calm  domestic  bound 
Were  all  Matilda's  pleasures  found. 
That  hearth,  my  sire  was  wont  to  grace, 
Full  soon  may  be  a  stranger's  place  ;5 
This  hall,  in  which  a  child  I  play'd, 
Like  thine,  dear  Redmond,  lowly  laid, 
The  bramble  and  the  thorn  may  braid ; 
Or,  pass'd  for  aye  from  me  and  mine, 
It  ne'er  may  shelter  Rokeby's  line. 
Yet  is  this  consolation  given, 
My  Redmond, — 'tis  the  will  of  Heaven." 
Her  word,  her  action,  and  her  phrase, 
Were  kindly  as  in  early  days ; 
For  cold  reserve  had  lost  its  power, 
In  sorrow's  sympathetic  hour. 
Young  Redmond  dared  not  trust  his  voice  ; 
But  rather  had  it  been  his  choice 
To  share  that  melancholy  hour, 
Than,  arm'd  with  all  a  chieftain's  power,6 
In  full  possession  to  enjoy 
Slieve-Donard  wide,  and  Clandeboy. 

XII. 

The  blood  left  Wilfrid's  ashen  cheek ; 
Matilda  sees,  and  hastes  to  speak : — 
"  Happy  in  friendship's  ready  aid, 
Let  all  my  murmurs  here  be  staid ! 
And  Rokeby's  maiden  will  not  part 
From  Rokeby's  Hall  with  moody  heart. 
This  night  at  least,  for  Rokeby's  fame, 
The  hospitable  hearth  shall  flame, 
And,  ere  its  native  heir  retire, 
Find  for  the  wanderer  rest  and  fire, 
While  this  poor  harper,  by  the  blaze,7 
Recounts  the  tale  of  other  days. 


6  MS. :  "  That  hearth,  my  father's  honor'd  place, 
Full  soon  may  see  a  stranger's  face." 

*  MS. :  "  Tanist's  power." 

i  MS. :  "  Find  for  the  needy  room  and  fire, 

And  this  poor  wanderer,  by  the  blaze." 


328 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Bi«l  Harpool  ope  the  door  with  speed, 
Admit  liim,  ami  relieve  each  need. — 
Meantime,  kind  Wyclifle,  wilt  thou  try 
Thy  minstrel  skill  '.■'—Nay,  no  reply—1 
And  look  not  sad !— I  guess  thy  thought, 
Tliv  ver-c  with  laurels  would  he  bought; 
And  poor  Matilda,  landless  now, 
II  :•.-  not  a  garland  for  thy  brow. 
True,  I  must  leave  sweet  Rokeby's  glades, 
Nor  wander  more  in  Greta  shades ; 
But  sure,  no  rigid  jailer,  thou 
Wilt  a  short  prison-walk  allow, 
Where  summer  flowers  grow  wild  at  will, 
On  Marwood  Chase  and  Toller  Hill  ;3 
Then  holly  green  and  lily  gay 
Shall  twine  in  guerdon  of  thy  lay."5 
The  mournful  youth,  a  space  aside, 
To  tune  Matilda's  harp  applied; 
And  then  a  low  sad  descant  rung, 
Am  prelude  to  the  lay  he  sung. 

XIII. 

Oh,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree ! 
Too  lively  glow  the  lilies  light, 
The  varnish'd  holly's  all  too  bright, 
The  May-flower  and  the  eglantine 
May  shade  a  brow  less  sad  than  mine ; 
But,  Lady,  weave  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree ! 

Let  dimpled  Mirth  his  temples  twine 
With  tendrils  of  the  laughing  vine; 
The  manly  oak,  the  pensive  yew, 
To  patriot  and  to  sage  be  due ; 
The  myrtle  bough  bids  lovers  live, 
But  that  Matilda  will  not  give ; 
Then,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree ! 

Let  merry  England  proudly  rear 

Her  blended  roses,  bought  so  dear; 

Lei  Ali'in  hind  1 1 ■  •  r  bonnet  blue 

With  heath  and  harebell  dipp'd  in  dew; 


>  MS. 


"  what  tliink'st  thou 

Of  yonder  harp ?—  Nay,  dear  thy  brow.' 


'  Marwoml  Cliasc  i-  the  ulcl  park  extending  along  theDur- 
lenri  ride  of  the  Tees,  attached  to  Barnard  Castle.  Toller  Hill 
Is  an  eminence  on  the  Yorkshire  >idi  of  the  river,  command- 
ing a  snperb  view  of  the  ruins. 

8  MS.:  "  Where  rose  and  lily  T  will  twine 
In  guerdon  of  a  song  of  thine." 

4  "  Mr.  Scott  has  imparted  a  delicacy  (we  mean  in  the  col- 
oring, for  of  the  design  we  cannot  approve),  a  sweetness,  and 
a  melancholy  smile  to  this  parting  picture  that  really  enchant 
us.  Poor  Wilfrid  is  sadly  discomfited  by  the  last  instance  of 
nt  to  Redmond  ;  and  Matilda  endeavors  to  cheer 
Dim  by  requesting,  in  the  prettiest  and  yet  in  the  most  touch- 
ing manner, '  kind  WycliuV  to  try  his  minstrelsy.    We  will 


On  favor'd  Erin's  crest  be  seen 
The  flower  she  loves  of  emerald  green — 
But,  Lady,  twine  no  wreath  for  me, 
Or  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Strike  the  wild  harp,  while  maids  prepare 
The  ivy  meet  for  minstrel's  hair; 
And,  while  his  crown  of  laurel-leaves 
With  bloody  hand  the  victor  weaves, 
Let  the  loud  trump  his  triumph  tell ; 
But  when  you  hear  the  passing-bell, 
Then,  Lady,  twine  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  twine  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

Yes !  twine  for  me  the  cypress  bough ; 
But  oh,  Matilda,  twine  not  now ! 
Stay  till  a  few  brief  months  are  past, 
And  I  have  look'd  and  loved  my  last ! 
When  villagers  my  shroud  bestrew 
With  pansies,  rosemary,  and  rue, — 
Then,  Lady,  weave  a  wreath  for  me, 
And  weave  it  of  the  cypress-tree. 

XIV. 
O'Neale  observed  the  starting  tear, 
And  spoke  with  kind  and  blithesome  cheer— 
"  No,  noble  Wilfrid  !  ere  the  day 
When  mourns  the  land  thy  silent  lay, 
Shall  many  a  wreath  be  freely  wove 
By  hand  of  friendship  and  of  love. 
I  would  not  wish  that  rigid  Fate 
Had  doom'd  thee  to  a  captive's  state, 
Whose  hands  are  bound  by  honor's  law, 
Who  wears  a  sword  he  must  not  draw ; 
But  were  it  so,  in  minstrel  pride 
The  land  together  would  we  ride, 
On  prancing  steeds,  like  harpers  old, 
Bound  for  the  halls  of  barons  bold  ;5 
Each  lover  of  the  lyre  we'd  seek, 
From   Michael's  Mount  to  Skiddaw's 

Peak, 
Survey  wild  Albin's  mountain  strand, 
And  roam  green  Erin's  lovely  land, 
While  thou  the  gentler  souls  should  move 
With  lay  of  pity  and  of  love, 


here  just  ask  Mr.  Scott  whether  this  would  not  be  actual  in- 
fernal and  intolerable  torture  to  a  man  who  had  any  soul? 
Why,  then,  make  his  heroine  even  the  unwilling  cause  of 
s4ch  misery?  Matilda  had  talked  of  twining  a  wreath  for  her 
poet  of  holly  green  and  lily  gay,  and  he  sings,  broken-hearted, 
'The  Cypress  Wreath.'  We  have,  however,  inserted  this  as 
one  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Scott's  songs." — Monthly  Review. 

6  MS. :  "  I  would  not  wish  thee  | ln  |  degree 

So  lost  to  hope  as  falls  to  me ; 

_,   .   fwert,  thou  such, )  .        .     .     ,      .,„ 
But  <  ..  .,  '  f  in  minstrel  pride 

( if  thou  wert,      J 

The  land  we'd  traverse  side  by  side, 

On  prancing  steeds,  like  minstrels  old, 

r™'   *  Li  i  the  halls  of  barons  bold." 

That  sought  (. 


EOKEBY. 


329 


And  I,  thy  mate,  in  rougher  strain, 
Would  sing  of  war  and  warriors  slain. 
Old  England's  bards  were  vanquish'd 

then, 
And  Scotland's  vaunted  Hawthornden,1 
And,  silenced  on  Iernian  shore, 
M'Curtin's  harp  should  charm  no  more  I"2 
In  lively  mood  he  spoke,  to  wile 
From  Wilfrid's  woe-worn  cheek  a  smile. 

XV. 

"  But,"  said  Matilda,  "  ere  thy  name, 

Good  Redmond,  gain  its  destined  fame 

Say,  wilt  thou  kindly  deign  to  call 

Thy  brother-minstrel  to  the  hall  ? 

Bid  all  the  household,  too,  attend, 

Each  in  his  rank  a  humble  friend  ; 

I  know  their  faithful  hearts  will  grieve 

When  their  poor  Mistress  takes  her  leave ; 

So  let  the  horn  and  beaker  flow 

To  mitigate  their  parting  woe." 

The  harper  came ; — in  youth's  first  prime 

Himself;  in  mode  of  olden  time 

Ilis  garb  was  fashion'd,  to  express 

The  ancient  English  minstrel's  dress,3 

A  seemly  gown  of  Kendal  green, 

With  gorget  closed  of  silver  sheen ; 

His  harp  in  silken  scarf  was  slung, 

And  by  his  side  an  anlace  hung. 

It  seem'd  some  masquer's  quaint  array, 

For  revel  or  for  holiday. 

XVI. 
He  made  obeisance  with  a  free 
Yet  studied  air  of  courtesy. 
Each  look  and  accent,  framed  to  please, 
Seem'd  to  affect  a  playful  ease ; 
His  face  was  of  that  doubtful  kind 
That  wins  the  eye,  but  not  the  mind ; 
Yet  harsh  it  seem'd  to  deem  amiss 
Of  brow  so  young  and  smooth  as  this. 
His  was  the  subtle  look  and  sly, 
That,  spying  all,  seems  nought  to  spy ; 
Round  all  the  group  his  glances  stole, 
Unmark'd  themselves,  to  mark  the  whole. 
Yet  sunk  beneath  Matilda's  look, 
Nor  could  the  eye  of  Redmond  brook.* 
To  the  suspicious,  or  the  old, 
Subtle  and  dangerous  and  bold 
Had  seem'd  this  self-invited  guest; 
But  young  our  lovers, — and  the  rest, 


1  Drummond  of  Hawthornden  was  in  the  zenith  of  his  re- 
putation as  a  poet  during  the  Civil  Wars.    He  died  in  1649. 

«  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E.  »  Ibid.  Note  3  F. 

*  MS. :  "  Nor  could  keen  Eedmond's  aspect  hrook." 

6  MS. :  "  Came  blindfold  to  the  Castle  hall, 
As  if  to  bear  her  funeral  pall." 

e  "  But  the  Spirit  of  the  Lord  departed  from  Saul,  and  an 
evil  spirit  from  the  Lord  troubled  him. 


Wrapt  in  their  sorrow  and  their  fear 
At  parting  of  their  Mistress  dear, 
Tear-blinded  to  the  Castle  hall5 
Came  as  to  bear  her  funeral  pall. 

XVII. 

All  that  expression  base  was  gone 

When  waked  the  guest  his  minstrel  tone ; 

It  fled  at  inspiration's  call, 

As  erst  the  demon  fled  from  Saul.6 

More  noble  glance  he  cast  around, 

More  free-drawn  breath  inspired  the  sound, 

His  pulse  beat  bolder  and  more  high, 

In  all  the  pride  of  minstrelsy ! 

Alas !  too  soon  that  pride  was  o'er, 

Sunk  with  the  lay  that  bade  it  soar ! 

His  soul  resumed,  with  habit's  chain, 

Its  vices  w.ild  and  follies  vain, 

And  gave  the  talent,  with  him  born, 

To  be  a  common  curse  and  scorn. 

Such  was  the  youth  whom  Rokeby's  Maid, 

With  condescending  kindness,  pray'd 

Here  to  renew  the  strains  she  loved, 

At  distance  heard  and  well  approved. 

XVIII. 

Song. 

THE   HARP. 

I  was  a  wild  and  wayward  boy, 

My  childhood  scorn'd  each  childish  toy, 

Retired  from  all,  reserved  and  coy, 

To  musing  prone, 
I  woo'd  my  solitary  joy, 

My  Harp  alone. 

My  youth,  with  bold  Ambition's  mood, 
Desj>ised  the  humble  stream  and  wood, 
Where  my  poor  father's  cottage  stood, 

To  fame  unknown ; — 
What  should  my  soaring  views  make  good  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

Love  came  with  all  his  frantic  fire, 
And  wild  romance  of  vain  desire  :7 
The  baron's  daughter  heard  my  lyre, 

And  praised  the  tone ; — 
What  could  presumptuous  hope  inspire  ? 

My  Harp  alone ! 

At  manhood's  touch  the  bubble  burst, 
And  manhood's  pride  the  vision  curst, 


"  And  Saul  said  unto  his  servants,  Provide  me  now  a  man 
that  can  play  well,  and  bring  him  to  me.  And  ifeeame  to  pass, 
when  the  evil  spirit  from  God  was  upon  Saul,  that  David  took 
an  harp,  and  played  with  his  hand :  So  Saul  was  refreshed, 
and  was  well,  and  the  evil  spirit  departed  from  him." — 
1  Samuel,  chap.  xvi.  14,  17,  23. 

7  MS. :  "  Love  came,  with  all  his  ardent  fire, 
His  frantic  dream,  his  wild  desire." 


330 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  all  that  had  my  folly  nursed 

l/.\  e'a  sway  to  own  ; 
Yet  spared  the  sjm'11  that  lull'd  me  first, 

My  Harp  aloue! 

Woe  oame  with  war,  and  want  with  woe; 
And  it  was  mine  to  undergo 
Each  outrage  of  the  rebel  foe: — * 

Can  aught  atone 
My  fields  laid  waste,  my  cot  laid  low? 

My  Harp  alone! 

Ambition's  dreams  I've  seen  depart, 
Have  rued  of  penury  the  smart, 
Have  felt  of  love  the  venom'd  dart, 

When  hope  was  flown; 
Yet  rests  one  solace  to  my  heart, — 

My  Harp  alone! 

Then  over  mountain,  moor,  and  hill, 
My  faithful  Harp,  I'll  bear  thee  still; 
And  when  this  life  of  want  and  ill 

Is  wellnigh  gone, 
Thy  strings  mine  elegy  shall  thrill, 

My  Harp  alone ! 

XIX. 
'"A  pleasing  lay!"  Matilda  said; 
But  Harpool  shook  his  old  gray  head, 
And  took  his  baton  and  his  torch, 
To  seek  his  guard-room  in  the  porch. 
Edmund  observed;  with  sudden  change, 
Among  the  strings  his  fingers  range. 
Until  they  waked  a  bolder  glee 
Of  military  melody; 
Then  paused  amid  the  martial  sound, 
And  look'd  witli  well-feign'd  fear  around; — 2 
"  None  to  this  noble  house  belong," 
He  said,  "that  would  a  minstrel  wrong, 
Whose  fate  lias  been,  through  good  and  ill, 
To  love  his  Royal  Master  still; 
And  with  your  honored  leave,  would  fain 
Rejoice  you  with  a  loyal  strain." 

Then,  as  assured  by  sign  and  look, 
The  warlike  tone  again  he  took; 
And  Harpool  atoppM,  and  turn'd  to  hear 
A  ditty  of  the  Cavalier. 

XX. 

Song. 

THE  OAVAXJHB. 
While  the  'lawn  on  the  mountain  was  misty  and  gray, 
My  true  love  has  mounted  his  steed  and  away 

1  MS. :  "  Aim  dooniM  at  once  to  undergo 
Each  ruled  outrage  of  the  foe." 
1  Ms.-.  "And  looking  timidly  around." 

3  Ms.:  "of  proud  London  town, 

That  the  North  lias  lirave  nobles  to  fight  for  the 
I  inwn." 
*  Lu  the  Mrf.,  the  lust  quatrain  of  this  song  is, 


Over  hill,  over  valley,  o'er  dale,  and  o'er  down  ; 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for  the 
Crown  I 

He  has  doff 'd  the  silk  doublet  the  breastplate  to  bear, 
He  has  placed  the  steel  cap  o'er  his  long  flowing  hair, 
From  his  belt  to  his  stirrup  his  broadsword  hangs 

down, — 
Heaven  shield  the  brave  Gallant  that  fights  for  the 

Crown ! 

For  the  rights  of  fair  England  that  broadsword  he 

draws, 
Her  King  is  his  leader,  her  Church  is  his  cause; 
His  watchword  is  honor,  his  pay  is  renown, — 
God  strike  with  the  Gallant  that  strikes  for  the  Crown ! 

They  may  boast  of  their  Fairfax,  their  Waller,  and  all 
The  roundheaded  rebels  of  Westminster  Hall; 
But  tell  these  bold  traitors  of  London's  proud  town 
That  the  spears  of  the  North  have  encircled  the 
Crown.3 

There's  Derby  and  Cavendish,  dread  of  their  foes ; 
There's  Erin's  high  Ormond,  and  Scotland's  Montrose! 
Would  you  match  the  base  Skippon,  and  Massey,  and 

Brown, . 
With  the  Barons  of  England,  that  fight  for  the  Crown? 

Now  joy  to  the  crest  of  the  brave  Cavalier! 
Be  his  banner  unconquer'd,  resistless  his  spear, 
Till  in  peace  and  in  triumph  his  toils  he  may  drown, 
In  a  pledge  to  fair  England,  her  Church,  and  her 
Crown.* 

XXI. 

"  Alas  !"  Matilda  said,  "  that  strain, 
VJ  ... 

Good  harper,  now  is  heard  in  vain ! 

The  time  has  been,  at  such  a  sound, 

When  Rokeby's  vassals  gather'd  round, 

An  hundred  manly  hearts  would  bound; 

But  now  the  stirring  verse  we  hear, 

Like  trump  in  dying  soldier's  ear  !5 

Listless  and  sad  the  notes  we  own, 

The  power  to  answer  them  is  flown. 

Yet  not  without  his  meet  applause 

Be  he  that  sings  the  rightful  cause, 

Even  when  the  crisis  of  its  fate 

To  human  eye  seems  desperate. 

While  Rokeby's  Heir  such  power  retains, 

Let  this  slight  guerdon  pay  thy  pains : — 

And  lend  thy  harp ;  I  fain  would  try 

If  my  poor  skill  can  aught  supply, 

"If  they  boast  that  fair  Reading  by  treachery  fell, 
Of  Stratton  and  Lansdoune  the  Cornish  can  tell, 
And  the  North  tell  of  Bramham  and  Adderton  Down, 
Where  God  bless  the  brave  gallants  who  fought  for  the 

Crown." 
6  MS. :  "  But  now  it  sinks  upon  the  ear 

Like  dirge  beside  a  hero's  bier." 


ROKEBY. 


331 


Ere  yet  I  leave  my  fathers'  hall, 

To  mourn  the  cause  in  which  we  fall." 

XXII. 

The  harper,  with  a  downcast  look, 
And  trembling  hand,  her  bounty  took. — 
As  yet,  the  conscious  pride  of  art 
Had  steel'd  him  in  his  treacherous  part ; 
A  powerful  spring,  of  force  unguess'd, 
That  hath  each  gentler  mood  suppress'd, 
And  reign'd  in  many  a  human  breast ; 
From  his  that  plans  the  red  campaign, 
To  his  that  wastes  the  woodland  reign. 
The  failing  wing,  the  bloodshot  eye,1 
The  sportsman  marks  with  apathy, 
Each  feeling  of  his  victim's  ill 
Drown'd  in  his  own  successful  skill. 
The  veteran,  too,  who  now  no  more 
Aspires  to  head  the  battle's  roar,2 
Loves  still  the  triumph  of  his  art, 
And  traces  on  the  pencill'd  chart 
Some  stern  invader's  destined  way, 
Through  blood  and  ruin,  to  his  prey ; 
Patriots  to  death,  and  towns  to  flame, 
He  dooms,  to  raise  another's  name, 
And  shares  the  guilt,  though  not  the  fame. 
What  pays  him  for  his  span  of  time 
Spent  in  premeditating  crime  ? 
What  against  pity  arms  his  heart? — 
It  is  the  conscious  pride  of  art.3 

XXIII. 

But  principles  in  Edmund's  mind 
Were  baseless,  vague,  and  undefined. 
His  soul,  like  bark  with  rudder  lost, 
On  Passion's  changeful  tide  was  tost ; 
Nor  Vice  nor  Virtue  had  the  power 
Beyond  the  impression  of  the  hour; 
And  oh,  when  Passion  rules,  how  rare 
The  hours  that  fall  to  Virtue's  share ! 
Yet  now  she  roused  her — for  the  pride, 
That  lack  of  sterner  guilt  supplied', 
Could  scarce  support  him  when  arose 
The  lay  that  mourned  Matilda's  woes. 


THE  FAKEWELL. 

The  sound  of  Rokeby's  woods  I  hear, 
They  mingle  with  the  song : 

Dark  Greta's  voice  is  in  mine  ear, 
I  must  not  hear  them  long. 

From  every  loved  and  native  haunt 
The  native  Heir  must  stray, 


1  MS. :  "  Marking,  with  sportive  cruelty, 

The  failing  wing,  the  bloodshot  eye." 

2  MS. :  "  The  veteran  chief,  whose  broken  age 

No  more  can  lead  the  battle's  rage." 

3  "  Surely,  no  poet  has  ever  paid  a  finer  tribute  to  the 
power  of  his  art  than  in  the  foregoing  description  of  its 


And,  like  a  ghost  whom  sunbeams  daunt, 
Must  part  before  the  day. 

Soon  from  the  halls  my  fathers  rear'd 

Their  scutcheons  may  descend, 
A  line  so  long  beloved  and  fear'd 

May  soon  obscurely  end. 
No  longer  here  Matilda's  tone 

Shall  bid  those  echoes  swell ; 
Yet  shall  they  hear  her  proudly  own 

The  cause  in  which  we  fell. 

The  Lady  paused,  and  then  again 
Resumed  the  lay  in  loftier  strain.4 

XXIV. 

Let  our  halls  and  towers  decay, 

Be  our  name  and  line  forgot, 
Lands  and  manors  pass  away, — 

We  but  share  our  Monarch's  lot. 
If  no  more  our  annals  show 

Battles  won  and  banners  taken, 
Still  in  death,  defeat,  and  woe, 

Ours  be  loyalty  unshaken ! 

Constant  still  in  danger's  hour, 

Princes  own'd  our  fathers'  aid ; 
Lands  and  honors,  wealth  and  power,5 

Well  their  loyalty  repaid. 
Perish  wealth,  and  power,  and  pride ! 

Mortal  boons  by  mortals  given ; 
But  let  Constancy  abide, — 

Constancy's  the  gift  of  Heaven. 

XXV. 

While  thus  Matilda's  lay  was  heard, 
A  thousand  thoughts  in  Edmund  stirr'd. 
In  peasant  life  he  might  have  known 
As  fair  a  face,  as  sweet  a  tone ; 
But  village  notes  could  ne'er  supply 
That  rich  and  varied  melody ; 
And  ne'er  in  cottage  maid  was  seen 
The  easy  dignity  of  mien, 
Claiming  respect,  yet  waiving  state, 
That  marks  the  daughters  of  the  great. 
Yet  not,  perchance,  had  these  alone 
His  schemes  of  purposed  guilt  o'erthrown ; 
But  while  her  energy  of  mind 
Superior  rose  to  griefs  combined, 
Lending  its  kindling  to  her  eye, 
Giving  her  form  new  majesty, — 
To  Edmund's  thoughts  Matilda  seem'd 
The  very  object  he  had  dream'd, 


effects  on  the  mind  of  this  unhappy  boy !  and  none  has  ever 
more  justly  appreciated  the  worthlessness  of  the  sublimest 
genius,  unrestrained  by  reason,  and  abandoned  by  virtue."—" 
Critical  Revi.ew. 

*  This  couplet  is  not  in  the  MS. 

6  MS. :  "  Knightly  titles,  wealth  and  power." 


332 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


When,  long  ere  guill  his  bouI  had  known, 

In  Winston  bowers  he  mused  alone, 

Taxing  his  fancy  to  combine 

The  face,  the  air,  the  voice  divine, 

Of  princess  lair,  l>y  cruel  fate 

Befl  of  her  honors,  power,  ami  state,1 

Till  to  her  rightful  realm  restored 

By  destined  hero's  conquering  sword. 

XXVI. 
"  Such  was  my  vision !"  Edmund  thought; 
"And  have  I.  then,  the  ruin  wrought 
Of  such  a  maid,  that  fancy  ne'er 
In  fairest  vision  form'd  her  peer? 
Was  it  my  hand  that  could  unclose 
The  postern  to  her  ruthless  foes? 
Foes,  Lost  to  honor,  law,  and  faith, 

Their  kindest  mercy  sudden  death  ! 

Have  I  done  this?  I,  who  have  swore 

That  if  the  globe  such  angel  bore, 

I  would  have  traced  its  circle  broad, 

To  kiss  the  ground  on  which  she  trod  ! — 

And  now — oh,  would  that  earth  would  rive, 

And  close  upon  me  while  alive  ! — 

Is  there  no  hope  ?    Is  all  then  lost? — 

Bertram's  already  on  his  post! 

Even  now,  beside  the  nail's  arch'd  door, 

I  saw  his  shadow  cross  the  floor! 

He  was  to  wait  my  signal  strain — 

A  little  respite  thus  we  gain  : 

By  what  I  heard  the  menials  say, 

Young  Wycliffe's  troop  are  on  their  way — 

Alarm  precipitates  the  crime ! 

My  harp  must  wear  away  the  time." — 

And  then,  in  accents  faint  and  low, 

He  faltcr'd  forth  a  tale  of  woe.2 

XXVII. 
Ballafc. 
"  And  whither  would  you  lead  me,  then?" 

Quoth  the  Friar  of  orders  gray; 

And  the  Ruffians  twain  replied  again, 

'•  By  a  dying  woman  to  pray." — 

"  I  sec."  hi'  said,  "  a  lovely  sight, 

A  Bight  bodes  little  harm, — 

A  lady  as  ;t  lily  bright, 

With  an  infant  on  her  arm." — 

"Then  do  thin.-  office,  Friar  gray, 

A  nd  see  thuii  shrive  her  free  !3 

■    -hall  the  sprite,  that  parts  to-night, 
Flint;  all  its  miilt  on  thee. 


'  Ms.:  "  Of  some  fair  princess  of  romance, 

uerdon  of  a  hero's  lance." 
:  The  M>.  has  not  this  couplet. 
8  MS.:      "And  see  thy  thrift  he  ti  in', 

Kl.-c  shall  tin'  soul,  that  parts  to-day, 
.Fling  all  its  guilt  on  you." 


"  Let  mass  be  said,  and  trentrals  read, 

When  thou'rt  to  convent  gone, 
And  bid  the  bell  of  St.  Benedict 

Toll  out  its  deepest  tone." 

The  shrift  is  done,  the  Friar  is  gone, 

Blindfolded  as  he  came — 
Next  morning,  all  in  Littlecot  Hall 

Were  weeping  for  their  dame. 

Wild  Darrell  is  an  alter'd  man, 

The  village  crones  can  tell ; 
He  looks  pale  as  clay,  and  strives  to  pray, 

If  he  hears  the  convent  bell. 

If  prince  or  peer  cross  Darrell's  way, 

He'll  beard  him  in  his  pride — 
If  he  meet  a  Friar  of  orders  gray, 

He  droops  and  turns  aside.4 

XXVIII. 

"  Harper !  methinks  thy  magic  lays," 
Matilda  said,  "  can  goblins  raise ! 
Wellnigh  my  fancy  can  discern, 
Near  the  dark  porch,  a  visage  stern; 
E'en  now,  in  yonder  shadowy  nook, 
I  see  it ! — Redmond,  Wilfrid,  look  ! — 
A  human  form  distinct  and  clear — 
God,  for  thy  mercy ! — It  draws  near !" 
She  saw  too  true.     Stride  after  stride, 
The  centre  of  that  chamber  wide 
Fierce   Bertram  gain'd;   then  made  a 

stand, 
And,  proudly  waving  with  his  hand, 
Thunder'd — "  Be  still,  upon  your  lives ! — 
He  bleeds  who  speaks,  he  dies  who  strives." 
Behind  their  chief,  the  robber  crew 
Forth  from  the  darken'd  portal  drew 
In  silence — save  that  echo  dread 
Return'd  their  heavy  measured  tread.5 
The  lamp's  uncertain  lustre  gave 
Their  arms  to  gleam,  their  plumes  to  wave ; 
File  after  file  in  order  pass, 
.  Like  forms  on  Banquo's  mystic  glass. 
Then,  halting  at  their  leader's  sign, 
At  once  they  form'd  aud  curved  their 

line, 
Hemming  within  its  crescent  drear 
Their  victims,  like  a  herd  of  deer. 
Another  sign,  and  to  the  aim 
Levell'd  at  once  their  muskets  came, 
As  waiting  but  their  chieftain's  word 
To  make  their  fatal  volley  heard. 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G  [to  which  the  author,  in  his 
interleaved  copy,  has  made  considerable  additions.— Ed.]. 

6  MS. :  "  Behind  him  came  his  savage  crew ; 
File  after  file,  in  order  due, 
Silent  from  that  dark  portal  pass, 
Like  forms  on  Banquo's  magic  glass." 


EOKEBY. 


333 


XXIX. 

Back  in  a  heap  the  menials  drew ; 

Yet,  even  in  mortal  terror  true, 

Their  pale  and  startled  group  oppose 

Between  Matilda  and  the  foes. 

"Oh  haste  thee,  Wilfrid!"  Redmond  cried; 

"Undo  that  wicket  by  thy  side ! 

Bear  hence  Matilda1 — gain  the  wood : 

The  pass  may  be  a  while  made  good  ; 

Thy  band,  ere  this,  must  sure  be  nigh. 

Oh  speak  not — dally  not — but  fly !" 

While  yet  the  crowd  their  motions  hide, 

Through  the  low  wicket  door  they  glide. 

Through  vaulted  passages  they  wind, 

In  Gothic  intricacy  twined ; 

Wilfrid  half  led,  and  half  he  bore, 

Matilda  to  the  postern-door, 

And  safe  beneath  the  forest  tree 

The  Lady  stands  at  liberty. 

The  moonbeams,  the  fresh  gale's  caress, 

Benew'd  suspended  consciousness ; — 

"  Where's  Redmond  ?"  eagerly  she  cries : 

"  Thou  answer'st  not — he  dies !  he  dies ! 

And  thou  hast  left  him  all  bereft 

Of  mortal  aid — with  murderers  left ! 

I  know  it  well — he  would  not  yield 

His  sword  to  man — his  doom  is  seal'd  ! 

For  my  scorn'd  life,  which  thou  hast  bought 

At  price  of  his,  I  thank  thee  not." 

XXX. 

The  unjust  reproach,  the  angry  look, 

The  heart  of  Wilfrid  could  not  brook. 

"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  my  band  so  near, 

In  safety  thou  may'st  rest  thee  here. 

For  Redmond's  death  thou  shalt  not  mourn, 

If  mine  can  buy  his  safe  return." 

He  turn'd  away — his  heart  throbb'd  high, 

The  tear  was  bursting  from  his  eye ; 

The  sense  of  her  injustice  press'd 

Upon  the  Maid's  distracted  breast, — 

"  Stay,  Wilfrid,  stay !  all  aid  is  vain !" 

He  heard,  but  turn'd  him  not  again ; 

He  reaches  now  the  postern-door, 

Now  enters — and  is  seen  no  more. 

XXXI. 

With  all  the  agony  that  e'er 
Was  gender'd  'twixt  suspense  and  fear, 
She  watch'd  the  line  of  windows  tall,2 
Whose  Gothic  lattice  lights  the  Hall, 


i  MS. :  "  Conduct  Matilda,"  &c. 

2  MS.:  "Matilda,  shrouded  by  the  trees, 
The  line  of  lofty  windows  sees." 

8  MS. :  "  The  dying  lamps  reflection  shed, 

While  all  around  the  moon's  wan  light 
On  tower  and  casement  glimmer'd  white ; 
No  sights  bode  harm,  no  sounds  bode  ill, 
It  is  as  calm  as  midnight  still." 


Distinguish'd  by  the  paly  red 

The  lamps  in  dim  reflection  shed,s 

While  all  beside  in  wan  moonlight 

Each  grated  casement  glimmer'd  white. 

No  sight  of  harm,  no  sound  of  ill, 

It  is  a  deep  and  midnight  still. 

Who  look'd  upon  the  scene  had  guess'd 

All  in  the  Castle  were  at  rest : 

When  sudden  on  the  windows  shone 

A  lightning  flash,  just  seen  and  gone  !* 

A  shot  is  heard — Again  the  flame 

Flash'd  thick  and  fast — a  volley  came ! 

Then  echo'd  wildly,  from  within, 

Of  shout  and  scream  the  mingled  din, 

And  weapon-clash  and  maddening  cry, 

Of  those  who  kill,  and  those  who  die ! 

As  fill'd  the  Hall  with  sulphurous  smoke, 

More  red,  more  dark,  the  death-flash  broke ; 

And  forms  were  on  the  lattice  cast, 

That  struck,  or  struggled,  as  they  past. 

XXXII. 

What  sounds  upon  the  midnight  wind 
Approach  so  rapidly  behind  ? 
It  is,  it  is,  the  tramp  of  steeds, 
Matilda  hears  the  sound,  she  speeds, 
Seizes  upon  the  leader's  rein — 
"  Oh,  haste  to  aid,  ere  aid  be  vain ! 
Fly  to  the  postern — gain  the  Hall !" 
From  saddle  spring  the  troopers  all  ;5 
Their  gallant  steeds,  at  liberty, 
Run  wild  along  the  moonlight  lea. 
But,  ere  they  burst  upon  the  scene, 
Full  stubborn  had  the  conflict  been. 
When  Bertram  mark'd  Matilda's  flight, 
It  gave  the  signal  for  the  fight ; 
And  Rokeby's  veterans,  seam'd  with  scars 
Of  Scotland's  and  of  Erin's  wars, 
Their  momentary  panic  o'er, 
Stood  to  the  arms  which  then  they  bore 
(For  they  were  weapon'd,  and  prepared6 
Their  Mistress  on  her  way  to  guard). 
Then  cheer'd  them  to  the  fight  O'Neale, 
Thenpeal'd  the  shot,  and  clash'd  the 

steel ; 
The  war-smoke  soon  with  sable  breath 
Darken'd  the  scene  of  blood  and  death, 
While  on  the  few  defenders  close 
The  bandits,  with  redoubled  blows, 
And,  twice  driven  back,  yet  fierce  and  fell 
Renew  the  charge  with  frantic  yell.7 


*  MS. :  "  A  brief  short  flash,"  &c. 

6  MS. :  " '  Haste  to  the  postern— gain  the  Hall !' 

Sprung  from  their  steeds  the  troopers  all." 

6  MS. :  "  For  as  it  happ'd  they  were  prepared." 

'  In  place  of  this  couplet  the  MS.  reads  — 
"  And  as  the  hall  the  troopers  gain, 
Their  aid  had  wellnigh  been  in  vain." 


334 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXXIII. 
Wilfrid  has  fall'n— bat  o'er  him  stood 
Young   Redmond,  BOil'd  with  smoke  and 

blood, 
Cheering  nia  mates  with  heart  and  hand 
Still  to  make  good  their  desperate  stand. 
"  I  p.  comrades,  up!     In  Rokeby  halls 
Ne'er  be  it  Baid  mir  courage  falls. 
What  I  faint  ye  for  their  savage  cry, 
Or  do  the  smoke-wreaths  daunt  your  eye? 
These  rafters  have  return'd  a  shout 
As  loud  at  Rokehy's  wassail  rout, 
As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas  even.1 
Stand  to  it  yet !  renew  the  fight, 
For  Rokehy's  and  Matilda's  right! 
These  slaves !  they  dare  not,  hand  to  hand, 
Bide  buffet  from  a  true  man's  brand." 
Impetuous,  active,  fierce,  and  young, 
Upon  the  advancing  foes  he  sprung. 
Woe  to  the  wretch  at  whom  is  bent 
His  brandish'd  falchion's  sheer  descent! 
Backward  they  scatter'd  as  he  came, 
Like  wolves  before  the  levin  flame,2 
When,  'mid  their  howling  conclave  driven, 
Hath  glanced  the  thunderbolt  of  heaven. 
Bertram  rush'd  on — but  Harpool  clasp'd3 
His  knees,  although  in  death  he  gasp'd, 
His  falling  corpse  before  him  flung, 
And  round  the  trammell'd  ruffian  clung. 
Just  then,  the  soldiers  fill'd  the  dome, 
And,  shunting,  charged  the  felons  home 
So  fiercely  that,  in  panic  dread, 
They  broke,  they  yielded,  fell,  or  fled.* 
Bertram's  stern  voice  they  heed  no  more, 
Though  heard  above  the  battle's  roar; 
While,  trampling  down  the  dying  man, 
He  strove,  with  volley'd  threat  and  ban, 
In  scorn  of  odds,  in  fate's  despite, 
'I'm  rally  up  the  desperate  fight.5 

XXXIV. 

Boon  murkier  clouds  the  Hall  enfold 
Than  e'er  from  battle-thunders  roll'd, 
Bo  dense,  the  combatants  scarce  know 
To  aim  or  to  avoid  the  blow. 
Smothering  and  blindfold  grows  the  fight — 
I  Jut  soon  shall  dawn  a  dismal  lighl  ! 

'Mid  cries,  and  clashing  arms,  there  came 
The  hollow  sound  of  rushing  flame; 

Lppendlx, Note  8  il. 
-  MB.:  "  Like  wolves  at  lightning's  midnight  flame.1 

3  MS.:  "Bertram  had  faced  liim  ;  while  he  gasp'd 

In  di-ai li,  his  knees  "id  Harpool  clasp'd, 

His  dying  corpse  before  him  flung." 

*  MS.:  "So  fiercely  charged  them  thai  they  bled, 
Disbanded,  yielded,  fell,  or  fled." 

&  MS.:  "To  rally  them  against  their  fate, 
And  fought  himself  as  desperate." 


New  horrors  on  the  tumult  dire 
Arise — the  Castle  is  on  fire  !6 
Doubtful  if  chance  had  cast  the  brand, 
Or  frantic  Bertram's  desperate  hand. 
Matilda  saw — for  frequent  broke 
From  the  dim  casements  gusts  of  smoke. 
Yon  tower,  which  late  so  clear  defined 
On  the  fair  hemisphere  reclined, 
That,  pencill'd  on  its  azure  pure, 
The  eye  could  count  each  embrasure, 
Now,  swath'd  within  the  sweeping  cloud, 
Seems  giant  spectre  in  his  shroud  ; 
Till,  from  each  loophole  flashing  light, 
A  spout  of  fire  shines  ruddy  bright, 
And,  gathering  to  united  glare, 
Streams  high  into  the  midnight  air; 
A  dismal  beacon,  far  and  wide 
That  waken'd  Greta's  slumbering  side.7 
Soon  all  beneath,  through  gallery  long, 
And  pendent  arch,  the  fire  flash'd  strong, 
Snatching  whatever  could  maintain, 
Raise,  or  extend,  its  furious  reign ; 
Startling,  with  closer  cause  of  dread, 
The  females  who  the  conflict  fled, 
And  now  rush'd  forth  upon  the  plain, 
Filling  the  air  with  clamors  vain. 

XXXV. 

But  ceased  not  yet,  the  Hall  within, 

The  shriek,  the  shout,  the  carnage  din, 

Till  bursting  lattices  give  proof8 

The  flames  have  caught  the  rafter'd  roof. 

What !  wait  they  till  its  beams  amain 

Crash  on  the  slayers  and  the  slain  ? 

The  alarm  is  caught — the  drawbridge  falls, 

The  warriors  hurry  from  the  walls, 

But,  by  the  conflagration's  light, 

Upon  the  lawn  renew  the  fight. 

Each  straggling  felon  down  was  hew'd, 

Not  one  could  gain  the  sheltering  wood ; 

But  forth  the  affrighted  harper  sprung, 

And  to  Matilda's  robe  he  clung. 

Her  shriek,  entreaty,  and  command, 

Stopp'd  the  pursuer's  lifted  hand.9 

Denzil  and  he  alive  were  ta'en ; 

The  rest,  save  Bertram,  all  are  slain. 

XXXVI. 

And  where  is  Bertram  ?— Soaring  high,10 
The  general  flame  ascends  the  sky ; 

8  MS.:  "Chance-kindled  'mid  the  tumult  dire, 
The  western  tower  is  all  on  fire. 
Matilda  saw,"  &c. 

7  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

8  MS. :  "  The  glowing  lattices  give  proof." 

9  MS. :  "  Her  shrieks,  entreaties,  and  commands, 

Avail'd  to  stop  pursuing  brands." 
10  MS. :  "  Where's  Bertram  now  ?    In  fury  driven, 
The  general  flame  ascends  to  heaven  ; 
The  gather'd  groups  of  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  red  and  roaring  blaze." 


ROKEBY. 


335 


In  gather'd  group  the  soldiers  gaze 
Upon  the  broad  and  roaring  blaze, 
When,  like  infernal  demon,  sent, 
Red  from  his  penal  element, 
To  plague  and  to  pollute  the  air, — 
His  face  all  gore,  on  fire  his  hair, — 
Forth  from  the  central  mass  of  smoke 
The  giant  form  of  Bertram  broke ! 
His  brandish'd  sword  on  high  he  rears, 
Then  plunged  among  opposing  spears ; 
Round  his  left  arm  his  mantle  truss'd, 
Received  and  foil'd  three  lances'  thrust j1 
Nor  these  his  headlong  course  withstood,2 
Like  reeds  he  snapp'd  the  tough  ash-wood. 
In  vain  his  foes  around  him  clung ; 
With  matchless  force  aside  he  flung 
Their  boldest, — as  the  bull,  at  bay, 
Tosses  the  ban-dogs  from  his  way, 
Through  forty  foes  his  path  he  made, 
And  safely  gain'd  the  forest  glade. 

XXXVII. 

Scarce  was  this  final  conflict  o'er, 
When  from  the  postern  Redmond  bore 
Wilfrid,  who,  as  of  life  bereft, 
Had  in  the  fatal  Hall  been  left,3 
Deserted  there  by  all  his  train ; 
But  Redmond  saw,  and  turn'd  again. — 
Beneath  an  oak  he  laid  him  down, 
That  in  the  blaze  gleam'd  ruddy  brown, 
And  then  his  mantle's  clasp  undid ; 
Matilda  held  his  drooping  head, 
Till,  given  to  breathe  the  freer  air, 
Returning  life  repaid  their  care. 
He  gazed  on  them  with  heavy  sigh, — 
"  I  could  have  wish'd  even  thus  to  die !" 
No  more  he  said — for  now  with  speed 
Each  trooper  had  regain'd  his  steed ; 
The  ready  palfreys  stood  array'd, 
For  Redmond  and  for  Rokeby's  Maid ; 
Two  Wilfrid  on  his  horse  sustain, 
One  leads  his  charger  by  the  rein. 
But  oft  Matilda  look'd  behind, 
As  up  the  vale  of  Tees  they  wind, 
Where  far  the  mansion  of  her  sires 
Beacon'd  the  dale  with  midnight  fires. 
In  gloomy  arch  above  them  spread, 
The  clouded  heavens  lower'd  bloody  red ; 
Beneath,  in  sombre  light,  the  flood 
Appear'd  to  roll  in  waves  of  blood. 
Then,  one  by  one,  was  heard  to  fall 
The  tower,  the  donjon-keep,  the  hall. 


1  The  MS.  wants  this  couplet. 

8  MS. :  "  In  vain  the  opposing  spears  withstood." 

8  MS. :  "  Had  in  the  smouldering  hall  been  left." 

4  "The  castle  on  fire  has  an  awful  sublimity,  which  would 
throw  at  a  humble  distance  the  boldest  reaches  of  the  picto- 


Each  rushing  down  with  thunder  sound, 
A  space  the  conflagration  drown'd ; 
Till,  gathering  strength,  again  it  rose, 
Announced  its  triumph  in  its  close, 
Shook  wide  its  light  the  landscape  o'er, 
Then  sunk — and  Rokeby  was  no  more  I4 


iRofeeijg. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


The  summer  sun,  whose  early  power 
Was  wont  to  gild  Matilda's  bower, 
And  rouse  her  with  his  matin  ray5 
Her  duteous  orisons  to  pay, — 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  seen 
The  flowers  unfold  on  Rokeby  green, 
But  sees  no  more  the  slumbers  fly 
From  fair  Matilda's  hazel  eye ; 
That  morning  sun  has  three  times  broke 
On  Rokeby's  glades  of  elm  and  oak, 
But,  rising  from  their  sylvan  screen, 
Marks  no  gray  turrets  glance  between. 
A  shapeless  mass  lie  keep  and  tower, 
That,  hissing  to  the  morning  shower, 
Can  but  with  smouldering  vapor  pay 
The  early  smile  of  summer  day. 
The  peasant,  to  his  labor  bound, 
Pauses  to  view  the  blacken'd  mound, 
Striving,  amid  the  ruin'd  space, 
Each  well-remember'd  spot  to  trace. 
That  length  of  frail  and  fire-scorch'd  wall 
Once  screen'd  the  hospitable  hall ; 
When  yonder  broken  arch  was  whole, 
'Twas  there  was  dealt  the  weekly  dole ; 
And  where  yon  tottering  columns  nod, 
The  chapel  sent  the  hymn  to  God. — 
So  flits  the  world's  uncertain  span ! 
Nor  zeal  for  God,  nor  love  for  man, 
Gives  mortal  monuments  a  date 
Beyond  the  power  of  Time  and  Fate. 
The  towers  must  share  the  builder's  doom ; 
Ruin  is  theirs,  and  his  a  tomb : 
But  better  boon  benignant  Heaven 
To  Faith  and  Charity  has  given, 


rial  art.  .  .  .  We  refer  our  readers  to  Virgil's  ships,  or  to  his 
Troy  in  flames ;  and  though  the  Virgilian  pictures  be  drawn 
on  a  very  extensive  canvas,  with  confidence  we  assert  that 
the  castle  on  fire  is  much  more  magnificent.  It  is,  in  truth, 
incomparably  grand." — British  Critic. 


5  MS. 


■ "  glancing  ray." 


336 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  bids  the  Christian  hope  sublime 
Transcend  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time.1 

II. 

Now  the  third  night  of  summer  came, 

Sim.-  that  which  witness'd  Rokeby's  name. 

On  Brignall  cliffs  and  Scargill  brake 

'1  be  ..-,\  let's  homilies  awake, 

The  bittern  Bcream'd  from  rush  and  flag, 

The  raven  slumber'd  on  his  crag, 

Forth  from  his  den  the  otter  drew, — 

Grayling  and  trout  their  tyrant  knew, 

As  between  recti  ami  Bedge  lie  peers, 

With  fierce  round  snout  and  sharpen'd  ears,2 

Or,  prowling  by  the  moonbeam  cool, 

Watches  the  stream  or  swims  the  pool; — 

Perch'd  on  his  wonted  eyrie  high, 

Sleep  seal'd  the  tercelet's  wearied  eye, 

That  all  the  day  had  watch'd  so  well 

The  cushat  dart  across  the  dell. 

In  dubious  beam  reflected  shone 

That  lofty  cliff"  of  pale  gray  stone, 

Beside  whose  base  the  secret  cave 

To  rapine  late  a  refuge  gave. 

The  crag's  wild  crest  of  copse  and  yew 

On  Greta's  breast  dark  shadows  threw ; 

Shadows  that  met  or  shunn'd  the  sight, 

With  every  change  of  fitful  light ; 

As  hope  and  fear  alternate  chase 

Our  course  through  life's  uncertain  race. 

III. 

Gliding  by  crag  and  copsewood  green, 
A  solitary  form  was  seen 
To  trace  with  stealthy  pace  the  wold, 
Like  fox  that  seeks  the  midnight  fold, 
And  pauses  oft,  and  cowers  dismay'd, 
At  every  breath  that  stirs  the  shade, 
lie  passes  now  the  ivy  bush, — 
The  owl  has  seen  him,  and  is  hush  ; 
lie  passes  now  the  dodder'd  oak, — 
Ye  heard  the  startled  raven  croak; 
Lower  ami  lower  he  descends, 
Bustle  the  haves,  the  brushwood  bends; 
The  otter  hears  him  tread  the  shore, 
And  dives,  and  is  beheld  no  more; 
And  by  the  cliff  of  pair  gray  stone 
The  midnight  wanderer  stands  alone. 
Methinks  that  by  the  moon  we  trace 
A  well-nmimher'd  form  and  face! 
That  stripling  shape,  that  cheek  so  pale, 
Combine  to  tell  a  rueful  tide, 


1  MS.:  "And  bid!  our  hopes  ascend  sublime 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  Fate  and  Time." 

"  Faith,  prevailing  o'er  his  sullen  doom, 
As  bursts  the  morn  on  night's  unfathoni'd  gloom, 
Lured  his  dim  eye  to  deathless  hope  sublime, 
Beyond  the  realms  of  nature  and  of  time." 

Campbell. 


Of  powers  misused,  of  passion's  force, 
Of  guilt,  of  grief,  and  of  remorse! 
'Tis  Edmund's  eye,  at  every  sound 
That  Sings  that  guilty  glance  around;        / 
'Tis  Kdnmnd's  trembling  haste  divides 
The  brushwood  that  the  cavern  hides; 
And,  when  its  narrow  porch  lies  bare,3 
'Tis  Edmund's  form  that  enters  there. 

IV. 
Ilis  flint  and  steel  have  sparkled  bright, 
A  lamp  hath  lent  the  cavern  light. 
Fearful  and  quick  his  eye  surveys 
Each  angle  of  the  gloomy  maze. 
Since  last  he  left  that  stern  abode, 
It  seem'd  as  none  its  floor  had  trode ; 
Untouch'd  appear'd  the  various  spoil, 
The  purchase  of  his  comrades'  toil; 
Masks  and  disguises  grimed  with  mud, 
Arms  broken  and  defiled  with  blood, 
And  all  the  nameless  tools  that  aid 
Night-felons  in  their  lawless  trade, 
Upon  the  gloomy  walls  were  hung, 
Or  lay  in  nooks  obscurely  flung.* 
Still  on  the  sordid  board  appear 
The  relics  of  the  noontide  cheer : 
Flagons  and  emptied  flasks  were  there,5 
And  bench  o'erthrown,  and  shatter'd  chair; 
And  all  around  the  semblance  show'd, 
As  when  the  final  revel  glow'd, 
When  the  red  sun  was  setting  fast, 
And  parting  pledge  Guy  Denzil  past. 
"  To  Rokeby  treasure-vaults !"  they  quaff  d, 
And  shouted  loud,  and  wildly  laugh'd, 
Pour'd  maddening  from  the  rocky  door, 
And  parted — to  return  no  more ! 
They  found  in  Rokeby  vaults  their  doom, — 
A  bloody  death,  a  burning  tomb ! 


There  his  own  peasant  dress  he  spies, 
Doff  d  to  assume  that  quaint  disguise ; 
And,  shuddering,  thought  upon  his  glee, 
When  prank'd  in  garb  of  minstrelsy. 
"  Oh,  be  the  fatal  art  accurst," 
He  cried,  "  that  moved  my  folly  first ; 
Till,  bribed  by  bandits'  base  applause, 
I  burst  through  God's  and  Nature's  laws ! 
Three  summer  days  are  scantly  past 
Since  I  have  trod  this  cavern  last, 
A  thoughtless  wretch,  and  prompt  to  err — 
But,  oh,  as  yet  no  murderer ! 

s  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

»  MS. :  "sally-port  lies  hare." 

*  MS. :  "  Or  on  the  floors  disordered  flung." 
6  MS.:  "Seats  overthrown  and  flagons  drain'd, 
Still  on  the  cavern  floor  remain'd, 
And  all  the  cave  that  semblance  bore, 
It  show'd  when  late  the  revel  wore." 


EOKEBY. 


337 


Even  now  I  list  my  comrades'  cheer, 

That  general  laugh  is  in  mine  ear, 

Which  raised  my  pulse  and  steel'd  my  heart, 

As  I  rehearsed  my  treacherous  part — 

And  would  that  all  since  then  could  seem 

The  phantom  of  a  fever's  dream ! 

But  fatal  Memory  notes  too  well 

The  horrors  of  the  dying  yell 

From  my  despairing  mates  that  broke, 

When  flash'd  the  fire  and  roll'd  the  smoke ; 

When  the  avengers  shouting  came, 

And  hemm'd  us  'twixt  the  sword  and  flame ! 

My  frantic  flight, — the  lifted  brand, — 

That  angel's  interposing  hand ! 

If  for  my  life,  from  slaughter  freed, 
I  yet  could  pay  some  grateful  meed ! 
Perchance  this  object  of  my  quest 
May  aid" — he  turn'd,  nor  spoke  the  rest. 

VI. 

Due  northward  from  the  rugged  hearth, 

With  paces  five  he  metes  the  earth, 

Then  toil'd  with  mattock  to  explore 

The  entrails  of  the  cavern  floor, 

Nor  paused  till,  deep  beneath  the  ground, 

His  search  a  small  steel  casket  found. 

Just  as  he  stoop'd  to  loose  its  hasp, 

His  shoulder  felt  a  giant  grasp ; 

He  started  and  look'd  up  aghast, 

Then  shriek'd ! — 'Twas  Bertram  held  him  fast. 

"  Fear  not !"  he  said ;  but  who  could  hear 

That  deep  stern  voice  and  cease  to  fear  ? 

"  Fear  not ! — By  heaven,  he  shakes  as  much 

As  partridge  in  the  falcon's  clutch." — 

He  raised  him,  and  unloosed  his  hold, 

While  from  the  opening  casket  roll'd 

A  chain  and  reliquaire  of  gold.1 

Bertram  beheld  it  with  surprise, 

Gazed  on  its  fashion  and  device, 

Then,  cheering  Edmund  as  he  could, 

Somewhat  he  smooth'd  his  rugged  mood : 

For  still  the  youth's  half-lifted  eye 

Quiver'd  with  terror's  agony, 

And  sidelong  glanced,  as  to  explore, 

In  meditated  flight,  the  door. 

"Sit,"  Bertram  said,  "from  danger  free: 

Thou  canst  not,  and  thou  shalt  not,  flee. 

Chance  brings  me  hither ;  hill  and  plain 

I've  sought  for  refuge-place  in  vain.2 

And  tell  me  now,  thou  aguish  boy, 

What  makest  thou  here?  what  means  this 

toy? 
Denzil  and  thou,  I  mark'd,  were  ta'en ; 
What  lucky  chance  unbound  your  chain  ? 


i  MS. 


"  carcanet  of  gold." 


2  The  MS.  adds:— 

"  No  surer  shelter  from  the  foe 
Than  what  this  cavern  can  bestow." 
22 


I  deem'd,  long  since  on  Baliol's  tower 

Your  heads  were  warp'd  with  sun  and  shower.* 

Tell  me  the  whole — and,  mark  !  nought  e'er 

Chafes  me  like  falsehood,  or  like  fear." 

Gathering  his  courage  to  his  aid, 

But  trembling  still,  the  youth  obey'd. 

VII. 
"  Denzil  and  I  two  nights  pass'd  o'er 
In  fetters  on  the  dungeon  floor. 
A  guest  the  third  sad  morrow  brought; 
Our  hold  dark  Oswald  Wyclifie  sought,* 
And  eyed  my  comrade  long  askance, 
With  fix'd  and  penetrating  glance. 
'  Guy  Denzil  art  thou  call'd  ?' — '  The  same.' — 
'  At  Court  who  served  wild  Buckinghame ; 
Thence  banish'd,  won  a  keeper's  place, 
So  Villiers  will'd,  in  Marwood  Chase ; 
That  lost — I  need  not  tell  thee  why — 
Thou  madest  thy  wit  thy  wants  supply, 
Then  fought  for  Rokeby : — Have  I  guess'd 
My  prisoner  right  ?' — '  At  thy  behest.' — 5 
He  paused  a  while,  and  then  went  on 
With  low  and  confidential  tone ; — 
Me,  as  I  judge,  not  then  he  saw, 
Close  nestled  in  my  couch  of  straw. — 
'  List  to  me,  Guy.    Thou  know'st  the  great 
Have  frequent  need  of  what  they  hate ; 
Hence,  in  their  favor  oft  we  see 
Unscrupled,  useful  men  like  thee. 
Were  I  disposed  to  bid  thee  live, 
What  pledge  of  faith  hast  thou  to  give  ?' 

VIII. 

"  The  ready  Fiend,  who  never  yet 

Hath  fail'd  to  sharpen  Denzil's  wit, 

Prompted  his  lie — '  His  only  child 

Should  rest  his  pledge.' — The  Baron  smiled, 

And  turn'd  to  me — '  Thou  art  his  son  ?' 

I  bow'd — our  fetters  were  undone, 

And  we  were  led  to  hear  apart 

A  dreadful  lesson  of  his  art. 

Wilfrid,  he  said,  his  heir  and  son, 

Had  fair  Matilda's  favor  won ; 

And  long  since  had  their  union  been, 

But  for  her  father's  bigot  spleen, 

Whose  brute  and  blindfold  party  rage 

Would,  force  per  force,  her  hand  engage 

To  a  base  kern  of  Irish  earth, 

Unknown  his  lineage  and  his  birth, 

Save  that  a  dying  ruffian  bore 

The  infant  brat  to  Rokeby  door. 

Gentle  restraint,  he  said,  would  lead 

Old  Rokeby  to  enlarge  his  creed ; 


•  "  perch'd  in  sun  and  shower." 


3  MS.: 

4  MS. :  "  With  the  third  morn  that  baron  old, 

Dark  Oswald  Wycliffe,  sought  the  hold." 

5  MS. :  "  '  And  last  didst  ride  in  Rokeby's  band. 

Art  thou  the  man  ?' — '  At  thy  command.' " 


338 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  fair  occasion  he  must  find 
For  such  restraint  well  meant  and  kind, 
The  Knight  being  render'd  to  his  charge 
But  as  a  prisoner  at  large. 

IX. 

"  lie  school'd  lis  in  a  well-forged  tale, 

Of  scheme  the  Castle  walls  to  scale,1 

To  which  was  leagued  each  Cavalier 

That  dwells  upon  the  Tyne  and  Wear; 

That  Rokeby,  his  parole  forgot, 

Had  dealt  with  us  to  aid  the  plot. 

Such  was  the  charge,  which  Denzil's  zeal 

Of  hate  to  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 

Proffer'd,  as  witness,  to  make  good, 

Even  though  the  forfeit  were  their  blood. 

I  scrupled,  until  o'er  and  o'er 

His  prisoners'  safety  Wycliffe  swore ; 

And  then — alas !  what  needs  there  more  ? 

I  knew  I  should  not  live  to  say 

The  proffer  I  refused  that  day; 

Ashamed  to  live,  yet  loth  to  die, 

I  soil'd  me  with  their  infamy  !" — 

"  Poor  youth,"  said  Bertram,  "  wavering  still,2 

Unfit  alike  for  good  or  ill ! 

But  what  fell  next?" — "  Soon  as  at  large3 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge, 

There  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 

Was  seen  so  well  a  painted  rage 

As  Oswald  show'd !    With  loud  alarm 

He  call'd  his  garrison  to  arm ; 

From  tower  to  tower,  from  post  to  post, 

He  hurried  as  if  all  were  lost ; 

Consign'd  to  dungeon  and  to  chain 

The  good  old  Knight  and  all  his  train  ; 

Warn'd  each  suspected  Cavalier, 

Within  his  limits,  to  appear 

To-morrow,  at  the  hour  of  noon, 

In  the  high  church  of  Eglistone." — 


"  Of  Eglistone ! — Even  now  I  pass'd," 
Said  Bertram,  "  as  the  night  closed  fast ; 
Torches  and  cressets  gleam'd  around, 
I  heard  the  eaw  and  hammer  sound, 
And  I  could  mark  they  toil'd  to  raise 
A  scaffold,  hung  with  sable  baize, 


1  MS. :  "  He  school'd  us  then  to  tell  a  tale, 
Of  plot  the  Castle  walls  to  scale, 
To  which  had  sworn  each  Cavalier." 


a  MS. 


1  sore  bestad ! 


Wavering  alike  in  good  and  bad." 

8  MS. :  "  Oh,  when  at  large 

Was  scroll'd  and  sign'd  our  fatal  charge, 
You  never  yet,  on  tragic  stage, 
Beheld  so  well  a  painted  rage." 

*  After  this  line  the  MS.  reads: — 

"Although  his  soldiers  snatch'd  away, 
When  in  my  very  grasp,  my  prey. — 


Which  the  grim  headsman's  scene  display'd, 
Block,  axe,  and  sawdust  ready  laid. 
Some  evil  deed  will  there  be  done, 
Unless  Matilda  wed  his  son ; — 
She  loves  him  not — 'tis  shrewdly  guess'd 
That  Redmond  rules  the  damsel's  breast. 
This  is  a  turn  of  Oswald's  skill  ; 

But  I  may  meet  and  foil  him  still ! * 

How  earnest  thou  to  thy  freedom?" — "  There 

Lies  mystery  more  dark  and  rare. 

In  midst  of  Wyeliffe's  well-feign'd  rage, 

A  scroll  was  otfer'd  by  a  page, 

Who  told,  a  muffled  horseman  late 

Had  left  it  at  the  Castle  gate. 

He  broke  the  seal — his  cheek  show'd  change, 

Sudden,  portentous,  wild,  and  strange ; 

The  mimic  passion  of  his  eye 

Was  turn'd  to  actual  agony; 

His  hand  like  summer  sapling  shook, 

Terror  and  guilt  were  in  his  look. 

Denzil  he  judged,  in  time  of  need, 

Fit  counsellor  for  evil  deed ; 

And  thus  apart  his  counsel  broke, 

While  with  a  ghastly  smile  he  spoke : — 

XI. 

"  '  As  in  the  pageants  of  the  stage, 
The  dead  awake  in  this  wild  age.5 
Mortham — whom  all  men  deem'd  decreed 
In  his  own  deadly  snare  to  bleed, 
Slain  by  a  bravo,  whom,  o'er  sea, 
He  train'd  to  aid  in  murdering  me, — 
Mortham  has  'scaped !    The  coward  shot 
The  steed,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not.'  "6 
Here,  with  an  execration  fell, 
Bertram  leap'd  up,  and  paced  the  cell : — 
"  Thine  own  gray  head,  or  bosom  dark," 
He  mutter'd,  "  may  be  surer  mark !" 
Then  sat,  and  sign'd  to  Edmund,  pale 
With  terror,  to  resume  his  tale. 
"  Wycliffe  went  on : — '  Mark  with  what 

flights 
Of  wilder'd  reverie  he  writes : — 

©fjt  ittter. 
"  'Ruler  of  Mortham's  destiny! 
Though  dead,  thy  victim  lives  to  thee.7 


Edmund,  how  cam'st  thou  free?"— "Oh,  there 
Lies  mystery,"  &c. 
6  MS. :  "  The  dead  arise  in  this  wild  age, 

Mortham— whom  righteous  Heaven  decreed 
Caught  in  his  own  fell  snare  to  bleed." 
*  "  '  Mortham  escaped — the  coxvard  shot 
The  horse,  but  harm'd  the  rider  not,' 
is  truly  laughable.    How  like  the  denouement  of  the  Covent 
Garden  tragedy  !  in  which  the  hero  is  supposed  to  have  been 
killed,  but  thus  accounts  for  his  escape: 

'  I  through  the  coat  was,  not  the  body,  run !' " 

Monthly  Review. 
i  MS. :  "  Though  dead  to  all,  he  lives  to  thee." 


EOKEBY. 


339 


Once  had  he  all  that  binds  to  life, 
A  lovely  child,  a  lovelier  wife ; 
Wealth,  fame,  and  friendship,  were  his  own — 
Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  they  are  flown.1 
Mark  how  he  pays  thee : — To  thy  hand 
He  yields  his  honors  and  his  land,2 
One  boon  premised : — Restore  his  child ! 
And,  from  his  native  land  exiled, 
Mortham  no  more  returns  to  claim 
His  lands,  his  honors,  or  his  name ; 
Refuse  him  this,  and  from  the  slain 
Thou  shalt  see  Mortham  rise  again.'— 

XII. 

"  This  billet  while  the  Baron  read, 
His  faltering  accents  show'd  his  dread ; 
He  press'd  his  forehead  with  his  palm, 
Then  took  a  scornful  tone  and  calm  : — 
'  Wild  as  the  winds,  as  billows  wild ! 
What  wot  I  of  his  spouse  or  child  ? 
Hither  he  brought  a  joyous  dame, 
Unknown  her  lineage  or  her  name : 
Her,  in  some  frantic  fit,  he  slew ; 
The  nurse  and  child  in  fear  withdrew. 
Heaven  be  my  witness !  wist  I  where 
To  find  this  youth,  my  kinsman's  heir, — 
Unguerdon'd,  I  would  give  with  joy 
The  father's  arms  to  fold  his  boy, 
And  Mortham's  lands  and  towers  resign 
To  the  just  heirs  of  Mortham's  line.' — 
Thou  know'st  that  scarcely  e'en  his  fear 
Suppresses  Denzil's  cynic  sneer ; — 
'  Then  happy  is  thy  vassal's  part,' 
He  said,  '  to  ease  his  patron's  heart! 
In  thine  own  jailer's  watchful  care 
Lies  Mortham's  just  and  rightful  heir ; 
Thy  generous  wish  is  fully  won, — 
Redmond  O'Neale  is  Mortham's  son.' — 

XIII. 

"  Up  starting'with  a  frenzied  look, 
His  clenched  hand  the  Baron  shook : 
'  Is  hell  at  work  ?  or  dost  thou  rave, 
Or  darest  thou  palter  with  me,  slave ! 
Perchance  thou  wot'st  not,  Barnard's  towers 
Have  racks,  of  strange  and  ghastly  powers.' 
Denzil,  who  well  his  safety  knew, 
Firmly  rejoin'd,  '  I  tell  thee  true. 
Thy  racks  could  give  thee  but  to  know 
The  proofs  which  I,  untortured,  show. — 
It  chanced  upon  a  winter  night, 
When  early  snow  made  Stanmore  white — 
That  very  night  when  first  of  all 
Redmond  O'Neale  saw  Rokeby  Hall — 

1  MS. :  "  Wealth,  fame,  and  happiness,  his  own — 

Thou  gavest  the  word,  and  all  is  flown." 

2  The  MS.  adds: 

"Nay  more,  ere  one  day's  course  had  run, 
He  rescued  twice  from  death  thy  son. 
Mark  his  demand. — Restore  his  child !" 


It  was  my  goodly  lot  to  gain 

A  reliquary  and  a  chain, 

Twisted  and  chased  of  massive  gold. 

— Demand  not  how  the  prize  I  hold ! 

It  was  not  given,  nor  lent,  nor  sold. — 

Gilt  tablets  to  the  chain  were  hung, 

With  letters  in  the  Irish  tongue. 

I  hid  my  spoil,  for  there  was  need 

That  I  should  leave  the  land  with  sj>eed ; 

Nor  then  I  deem'd  it  safe  to  bear 

On  mine  own  person  gems  so  rare. 

Small  heed  I  of  the  tablets  took, 

But  since  have  spell'd  them  by  the  book, 

When  some  sojourn  in  Erin's  land 

Of  their  wild  speech  had  given  command. 

But  darkling  was  the  sense ;  the  phrase 

And  language  those  of  other  days, 

Involved  of  purpose,  as  to  foil 

An  interloper's  prying  toil. 

The  words,  but  not  the  sense,  I  knew, 

Till  fortune  gave  the  guiding  clew. 

XIV. 

"  '  Three  days  since  was  that  clew  reveal'd, 

In  Thorsgill  as  I  lay  conceal'd,3 

And  heard  at  full  when  Rokeby's  Maid 

Her  uncle's  history  display'd ; 

And  now  I  can  interpret  well 

Each  syllable  the  tablets  tell. 

Mark,  then :  Fair  Edith  was  the  joy 

Of  old  O'Neale  of  Clandeboy ; 

But  from  her  sire  and  country  fled, 

In  secret  Mortham's  Lord  to  wed. 

O'Neale,  his  first  resentment  o'er, 

Despatch'd  his  son  to  Greta's  shore, 

Enjoining  he  should  make  him  known 

(Until  his  further  will  were  shown) 

To  Edith,  but  to  her  alone. 

What  of  their  ill-starr'd  meeting  fell, 

Lord  Wycliffe  knows,  and  none  so  well. 

XV. 

"  '  O'Neale  it  was  who,  in  despair, 
Robb'd  Mortham  of  his  infant  heir; 
He  bred  him  in  their  nurture  wild, 
And  call'd  him  murder'd  Connel's  child. 
Soon  died  the  nurse  ;  the  Clan  believed 
What  from  their  Chieftain  they  received. 
His  purpose  was,  that  ne'er  again4 
The  boy  should  cross  the  Irish  main ; 
But,  like  his  mountain  sires,  enjoy 
The  woods  and  wastes  of  Clandeboy. 
Then  on  the  land  wild  troubles  came, 
And  stronger  Chieftains  urged  a  claim, 

3  MS. :  "  It  chanced,  three  days  since,  I  was  laid 
Conceal'd  in  Thorsgill's  bosky  shade." 


*  MS. : 


•  "  never  more 


The  boy  should  visit  Albion's  shore." 


340 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  wrested  from  the  old  man's  hands 
His  native  towers,  his  father's  lands. 
Unable  then,  amid  the  strife, 
To  guard  young  Redmond's  rights  or  life, 
Late  and  reluctant  he  restores 
The  infant  to  his  native  shores, 
With  goodly  gifts  and  letters  stored, 
With  many  a  deep  conjuring  word, 
To  Mortham  and  to  Rokeby's  Lord. 
Nought  knew  the  clod  of  Irish  earth, 
Who  was  the  guide,  of  Redmond's  birth  ; 
But  deeni'd  his  Chief's  commands  were 

laid 
On  both,  by  both  to  be  obey'd.1 
How  he  was  wounded  by  the  way, 
I  need  not,  and  I  list  not,  say.' — 

XVI. 

"  '  A  wondrous  tale !  and,  grant  it  true, 
What,'  Wydiffe  answer'd,  'might  I  do? 
Heaven  knows,  as  willingly  as  now 
I  raise  the  bonnet  from  my  brow, 
Would  I  my  kinsman's  manors  fair2 
Restore  to  Mortham,  or  his  heir ; 
But  Mortham  is  distraught — O'Neale 
Has  drawn  for  tyranny  his  steel, 
Malignant  to  our  rightful  cause, 
And  train'd  in  Rome's  delusive  laws. 
Hark  thee  apart !' — They  whisper'd  long, 
Till  Denzil's  voice  grew  bold  and  strong: — 
'  My  proofs !  I  never  will,'  he  said, 
'  Show  mortal  man  where  they  are  laid. 
Nor  hope  discovery  to  foreclose, 
By  giving  me  to  feed  the  crows ; 
For  I  have  mates  at  large,  who  know 
Where  I  am  wont  such  toys  to  stow. 
Free  me  from  peril  and  from  band, 
These  tablets  are  at  thy  command ; 
Nor  were  it  hard  to  form  some  train 
To  wile  old  Mortham  o'er  the  main. 
Then,  lunatic's  nor  papist's  hand 
Should  wrest  from  thine  the  goodly  land.' — 
— '  I  like  thy  wit,'  said  Wycliffe,  '  well ; 
But  here  in  hostage  shalt  thou  dwell. 
Thy  son,  unless  my  purpose  err, 
May  prove  the  trustier  messenger. 
A  scroll  to  Mortham  shall  he  bear 
From  me,  and  fetch  these  tokens  rare. 
Gold  shalt  thou  have,  and  that  good  store, 
And  freedom,  his  commission  o'er ; 
But  if  his  faith  should  chance  to  fail, 
The  gibbet  frees  fliee  from  the  jail.' — 

XVII. 
"  Mesh'd  in  the  net  himself  had  twined, 
What  subterfuge  could  Denzil  find? 

1  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

2  MS. :  "  Would  I  my  kinsman's  lands  resign 

To  Mortham's  self  and  Mort Lam's  Hue: 


He  told  me,  with  reluctant  sigh, 

That  hidden  here  the  tokens  lie;3 

Conjured  my  swift  return  and  aid, 

By  all  he  scoff'd  and  disobey'd,4 

And  look'd  as  if  the  noose  were  tied, 

And  I  the  priest  who  left  his  side. 

This  scroll  for  Mortham  Wycliffe  gave, 

Whom  I  must  seek  by  Greta's  wave  ; 

Or  in  the  hut  where  chief  he  hides, 

Where  ThorsgilFs  forester  resides. 

(Thence  chanced  it,  wandering  in  the  glade, 

That  he  descried  our  ambuscade.) 

I  was  dismiss'd  as  evening  fell, 

And  reach'd  but  now  this  rocky  cell." — 

"  Give  Oswald's  letter." — Bertram  read, 

And  tore  it  fiercely,  shred  by  shred : — 

"All  lies  and  villainy !  to  blind 

His  noble  kinsman's  generous  mind, 

And  train  him  on  from  day  to  day, 

Till  he  can  take  his  life  away. — 

And  now,  declare  thy  purpose,  youth, 

Nor  dare  to  answer  save  the  truth  ; 

If  aught  I  mark  of  Denzil's  art, 

I'll  tear  the  secret  from  thy  heart !" — 

XVIII. 
"  It  needs  not.    I  renounce,"  he  said, 
"  My  tutor  and  his  deadly  trade. 
Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  declare 
To  Mortham,  Redmond  is  his  heir ; 
Tq  tell  him  in  what  risk  he  stands, 
And  yield  these  tokens  to  his  hands. 
Fix'd  was  my  purpose  to  atone, 
Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done ; 
And  fix'd  it  rests — if  I  survive 
This  night,  and  leave  this  cave  alive." — 
"  And  Denzil  ?" — "  Let  them  ply  the  rack, 
Even  till  his  joints  and  sinews  crack  ! 
If  Oswald  tear  him  limb  from  limb, 
What  ruth  can  Denzil  claim  from  him 
Whose  thoughtless  youth  he  led  astray, 
And  damn'd  to  this  unhallow'd  way? 
He  school'd  me  faith  and  vows  were  vain ; 
Now  let  my  master  reap  his  gain." — 
"  True,"  answer'd  Bertram,  "  'tis  his  meed ; 
There's  retribution  in  the  deed. 
But  thou — thou  art  not  for  our  course, 
Hast  fear,  hast  pity,  hast  remorse; 
And  he,  with  us  the  gale  who  braves, 
Must  heave  such  cargo  to  the  waves, 
Or  lag  with  overloaded  prore, 
While  barks  unburden'd  reach  the  shore." 

XIX. 

He  paused,  and,  stretching  him  at  length, 
Seem'd  to  repose  his  bulky  strength. 

Bui  Mortham  raves— and  this  O'Neale 

Has  drawn,"  &c. 
3  MS. :  "  In  secret  where  the  tokens  lie." 
*  MS. :  "  By  ties  he  scoff'd,"  &c. 


EOKEBY. 


341 


Communing  with  his  secret  mind, 
As  half  he  sat,  and  half  reclined, 
One  ample  hand  his  forehead  press'd, 
And  one  was  dropp'd  across  his  breast. 
The  shaggy  eyebrows  deeper  came 
Above  his  eyes  of  swarthy  flame ; 
His  lip  of  pride  a  while  forbore 
The  haughty  curve  till  then  it  wore ; 
The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look 
A  shade  of  darken'd  sadness  took, — 1 
For  dark  and  sad  a  presage  press'd 
Resistlessly  on  Bertram's  breast, — 
And  when  he  spoke,  his  wonted  tone, 
So  fierce,  abrupt,  and  brief,  was  gone. 
His  voice  was  steady,  low,  and  deep, 
Like  distant  waves  when  breezes  sleep ; 
And  sorrow  mix'd  with  Edmund's  fear, 
Its  low  unbroken  depth  to  hear. 

XX. 

"  Edmund,  in  thy  sad  tale  I  find 
The  woe  that  warp'd  my  patron's  mind : 
'Twould  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye 
In  other  men,  but  mine  are  dry. 
Mortham  must  never  see  the  fool 
That  sold  himself  base  Wycliffe's  tool ; 
Yet  less  from  thirst  of  sordid  gain, 
Than  to  avenge  supposed  disdain. 
Say,  Bertram  rues  his  fault, — a  word, 
Till  now,  from  Bertram  never  heard ; 
Say,  too,  that  Mortham's  Lord  he  prays 
To  <hink  but  on  their  former  days ; 
On  Quariana's  beach  and  rock, 
On  Cayo's  bursting  battle-shock, 
On  Darien's  sands  and  deadly  dew, 
And  on  the  dart  Tlatzeca  threw ; — 
Perchance  my  patron  yet  may  hear 
More  that  may  grace  his  comrade's  bier.! 
My  soul  hath  felt  a  secret  weight, 
A  warning  of  approaching  fate : 
A  priest  had  said,  '  Return,  repent !' 
As  well  to  bid  that  rock  be  rent. 
Firm  as  that  flint  I  face  mine  end ; 
My  heart  may  burst,  but  cannot  bend.3 

XXI. 

"  The  dawning  of  my  youth,  with  awe 
And  prophecy,  the  Dalesmen  saw ; 
For  over  Redesdale  it  came, 
As  bodeful  as  their  beacon-flame. 
Edmund,  thy  years  were  scarcely  mine, 
When,  challenging  the  Clans  of  Tyne 
To  bring  their  best  my  brand  to  prove, 
O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove  ;4 


1  MS. :  "  A  darken'd  sad  expression  took 

The  unalter'd  fierceness  of  his  look. 

8  MS. :  "  Perchance  that  Mortham  yet  may  hear 
Something  to  grace  his  comrade's  bier." 

3  MS. ; "  ne'er  shall  bend." 


But  Tynedale,  nor  in  tower  nor  town, 
Held  champion  meet  to  take  it  down. 
My  noontide,  India  may  declare ; 
Like  her  fierce  sun  I  fired  the  air ! 
Like  him,  to  wood  and  cave  bade  fly 
Her  natives,  from  mine  angry  eye. 
Panama's  maids  shall  long  look  pale 
When  Risingham  inspires  the  tale ; 
Chili's  dark  matrons  long  shall  tame 
The  froward  child  with  Bertram's  name. 
And  now,  my  race  of  terror  run, 
Mine  be  the  eve  of  tropic  sun ! 
No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 
No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay ; 
With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 
He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed, 
Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 
Then  sinks  at  once — and  all  is  night. — 

XXII. 

"  Now  to  thy  mission,  Edmund.    Fly, 
Seek  Mortham  out,  and  bid  him  hie 
To  Richmond,  where  his  troops  are  laid, 
And  lead  his  force  to  Redmond's  aid. 
Say,  till  he  reaches  Eglistone, 
A  friend  will  watch  to  guard  his  son.5 
Now,  fare  thee  well ;  for  night  draws  on, 
And  I  would  rest  me  here  alone." 
Despite  his  ill-dissembled  fear, 
There  swam  in  Edmund's  eye  a  tear ; 
A  tribute  to  the  courage  high 
Which  stoop'd  not  in  extremity, 
But  strove,  irregularly  great, 
To  triumph  o'er  approaching  fate ! 
Bertram  beheld  the  dewdrop  start, 
It  almost  touch'd  his  iron  heart : — 
"  I  did  not  think  there  lived,"  he  said, 
"  One  who  would  tear  for  Bertram  shed." 
He  loosen'd  then  his  baldric's  hold, 
A  buckle  broad  of  massive  gold ; — 
"  Of  all  the  spoil  that  paid  his  pains, 
But  this  with  Risingham  remains ; 
And  this,  dear  Edmund,  thou  shalt  take, 
And  wear  it  long  for  Bertram's  sake. 
Once  more — to  Mortham  speed  amain ; 
Farewell !  and  turn  thee  not  again." 

XXIII. 

The  night  has  yielded  to  the  morn, 
And  far  the  hours  of  prime  are  worn. 
Oswald,  who,  since  the  dawn  of  day, 
Had  cursed  his  messenger's  delay, 
Impatient  question'd  now  his  train, 
"  Was  Denzil's  son  return'd  again  ?" 


4  See  Appendix,  Note  3  I. 

6  MS. :  "  With  him  and  Fairfax  for  his  friend, 
No  risk  that  Wyeliffe  dares  contend. 
Tell  him  the  while,  at  Egliston 
There  will  be  one  to  guard  his  son." 


342 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


It  chanced  there  answer'd  of  the  crew 

A  menial  who  young  Edmund  knew: 

"  No  son  of  Denzil  this,"  he  said ; 

"  A  peasant  boy  from  Winston  glade, 

For  song  and  minstrelsy  renown'd, 

And  knavish  pranks,  the  hamlets  round." — 

"  Not  Denzil's  son ! — From  Winston  vale ! — 

Then  it  was  false,  that  specious  tale ; 

Or,  worse — he  hath  despatch'd  the  youth 

To  show  to  Mortham's  Lord  its  truth. 

Fool  that  I  was ! — but  'tis  too  late ; — 

This  is  the  very  turn  of  fate ! — 1 

The  tale,  or  true  or  false,  relies 

On  Denzil's  evidence ! — He  dies ! — 

Ho !  Provost  Marshal !  instantly 

Lead  Denzil  to  the  gallows-tree ! 

Allow  him  not  a  parting  word ; 

Short  be  the  shrift,  and  sure  the  cord ! 

Then  let  his  gory  head  appall 

Marauders  from  the  Castle  wall. 

Lead  forth  thy  guard,  that  duty  done, 

With  best  despatch  to  Eglistone. — 

— Basil,  tell  Wilfrid  he  must  straight 

Attend  me  at  the  Castle  gate." — 

XXIV. 

"  Alas !"  the  old  domestic  said, 

And  shook  his  venerable  head, 

"  Alas,  my  Lord !  full  ill  to-day 

May  my  young  master  brook  the  way  I 

The  leech  has  spoke  with  grave  alarm 

Of  unseen  hurt,  of  secret  harm, 

Of  sorrow  lurking  at  the  heart, 

That  mars  and  lets  his  healing  art." — ■ 

"  Tush,  tell  not  me ! — Romantic  boys 

Pine  themselves  sick  for  airy  toys. 

I  will  find  cure  for  Wilfrid  soon ; 

Bid  him  for  Eglistone  be  boune, 

And  quick  !— I  hear  the  dull  death-drum 

Tell  Denzil's  hour  of  fate  is  come." 

He  paused  with  scornful  smile,  and  then 

Resumed  his  train  of  thought  agen. 

"  Now  comes  my  fortune's  crisis  near ! 

Entreaty  boots  not — instant  fear, 

Nought  else,  can  bend  Matilda's  pride, 

Or  win  her  to  be  Wilfrid's  bride. 

But  when  she  sees  the  scaffold  placed, 

With  axe  and  block  and  headsman  graced, 

And  when  she  deems  that  to  deny 

Dooms  Redmond  and  her  sire  to  die, 

She  must  give  way. — Then,  were  the  line 

Of  Rokeby  once  combined  with  mine, 


1  MS. :  "  This  is  the  crisis  of  my  fate." 
'-'  MB. :  "  .Marks  the  dark  cloud  sweep  down  the  Tees." 
3  "This  subordinate  villain  thus  meets  the  reward  which 
he  deserves.  He  is  altogether  one  of  the  minor  sketches  of  the 
poem,  but  still  adds  a  variety  and  a  life  to  the  group.  He  is 
besides  absolutely  necessary  for  the  development  of  the  plot ; 
and  indeed  a  peculiar  propriety  in  this  respect  is  observable 


I  gain  the  weather-gage  of  fate ! 

If  Mortham  come,  he  comes  too  late, 

While  I,  allied  thus  and  prepared, 

Bid  him  defiance  to  his  beard. — 

— If  she^rove  stubborn,  shall  I  dare 

To  drop  the  axe? — Soft!  pause  we  there. 

Mortham  still  lives — yon  youth  may  tell 

His  tale — and  Fairfax  loves  him  well; — 

Else,  wherefore  should  I  now  delay 

To  sweep  this  Redmond  from  my  way  ? — 

But  she  to  piety  perforce 

Must  yield. — Without  there !  sound  to  horse." 

XXV. 

'Twas  bustle  in  the  court  below, — 

"  Mount,  and  march  forward!" — Forth  they  go; 

Steeds  neigh  and  trample  all  around, 

Steel  rings,  spears  glimmer,  trumpets  sound. — 

Just  then  was  sung  his  parting  hymn  ; 

And  Denzil  turn'd  his  eyeballs  dim, 

And,  scarcely  conscious  what  he  sees, 

Follows  the  horsemen  down  the  Tees  ;2 

And  scarcely  conscious  what  he  hears, 

The  trumpets  tingle  in  his  ears. 

O'er  the  long  bridge  they're  sweeping  now, 

The  van  is  hid  by  greenwood  bough ; 

But  ere  the  rearward  had  pass'd  o'er, 

Guy  Denzil  heard  and  saw  no  more  !3 

One  stroke  upon  the  Castle  bell 

To  Oswald  rung  his  dying  knell. 

XXVI. 

Oh  for  that  pencil,  erst  profuse 
Of  chivalry's  emblazon 'd  hues, 
That  traced  of  old,  in  Woodstock  bower,' 
The  pageant  of  the  Leaf  and  Flower, 
And  bodied  forth  the  tourney  high, 
Held  for  the  hand  of  Emily ! 
Then  might  I  paint  the  tumult  broad 
That  to  the  crowded  abbey  flow'd, 
And  pour'd,  as  with  an  ocean's  sound, 
Into  the  church's  ample  bound ! 
Then  might  I  show  each  varying  mien, 
Exulting,  woeful,  or  serene, — 
Indifference,  with  his  idiot  stare, 
And  Sympathy,  with  anxious  air; 
Paint  the  dejected  Cavalier, 
Doubtful,  disarm 'd,  and  sad  of  cheer; 
And  his  proud  foe,  whose  formal  eye 
Claim'd  conquest  now  and  mastery ; 
And  the  brute  crowd,  whose  envious  zeal 
Huzzas  each  turn  of  Fortune's  wheel, 


throughout  the  story.  No  character,  and,  comparatively 
speaking,  but  little  description,  is  introduced  that  is  unes- 
M'ntiul  to  the  narrative;  it  proceeds  clearly,  if  not  rapidly, 
throughout;  and  although  the  plot  becomes  additionally 
involved  to  appearance  as  it  advances,  all  is  satisfactorily 
explained  at  the  last,  or  rather  explains  itself  by  gradual 
uuravelment." — Monthly  Review. 


ROKEBY. 


343 


And  loudest  shouts  when  lowest  lie 
Exalted  worth  and  station  high. 
Yet  what  may  such  a  wish  avail? 
"lis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale,1 
Hurrying,  as  hest  I  can,  along, 
The  hearers  and  the  hasty  song ; — 
Like  traveller  when  approaching  home, 
Who  sees  the  shades  of  evening  come, 
And  must  not  now  his  course  delay, 
Or  choose  the  fair  but  winding  way ; 
Nay,  scarcely  may  his  pace  suspend, 
Where  o'er  his  head  the  wildings  bend, 
To  bless  the  breeze  that  cools  his  brow, 
Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough. 

XXVII. 

The  reverend  pile  lay  wild  and  waste, 

Profaned,  dishonor'd,  and  defaced. 

Through  storied  lattices  no  more 

In  soften'd  light  the  sunbeams  pour, 

Gilding  the  Gothic  sculpture  rich 

Of  shriqe,  and  monument,  and  niche. 

The  Civil  fury  of  the  time 

Made  sport  of  sacrilegious  crime  ;2 

For  dark  Fanaticism  rent 

Altar,  and  screen,  and  ornament, 

And  peasant  hands  the  tombs  o'erthrew 

Of  Bowes,  of  Rokeby,  and  Fitz-Hugh.3 

And  now  was  seen,  unwonted  sight, 

In  holy  walls  a  scaffold  dight ! 

Where  once  the  priest,  of  grace  divine 

Dealt  to  his  flock  the  mystic  sign, 

There  stood  the  block  display'd,  and  there 

The  headsman  grim  his  hatchet  bare  ; 

And  for  the  word  of  Hope  and  Faith, 

Resounded  loud  a  doom  of  death. 

Thrice  the  fierce  trumpet's  breath  was  heard, 

And  echo'd  thrice  the  herald's  word, 

Dooming,  for  breach  of  martial  laws, 

And  treason  to  the  Commons'  cause, 

The  Knight  of  Rokeby  and  O'Neale 

To  stoop  their  heads  to  block  and  steel. 

The  trumpets  flourish'd  high  and  shrill, 

Then  was  a  silence  dead  and  still ; 

And  silent  prayers  to  Heaven  were  cast, 

And  stifled  sobs  were  bursting  fast, 

1  The  Quarterly  Reviewer,  after  quoting  from 

"  'Tis  mine  to  tell  an  onward  tale," 
to 

"  Or  snatch  a  blossom  from  the  bough," 

adds,  "Assuredly,  if  such  lines  as  these  had  occurred  more 
frequently  in  '  Rokeby,'  it  would  have  extorted  our  unqual- 
ified admiration;  and  although  we  lament  that  numerous 
little  blemishes,  which  might  easily  be  removed,  have  been 
suffered  to  remain ;  that  many  of  the  poetical  ornaments, 
though  justly  conceived,  are  faintly  and  indistinctly  drawn ; 
and  that  those  finishing  touches  which  Mr.  Scott  has  the 
talent  of  placing  with  peculiar  taste  and  propriety  are  too 
sparingly  scattered, — we  readily  admit  that  he  has  told  his 
'  onward  tale '  with  great  vigor  and  animation,  and  that  he 


Till  from  the  crowd  began  to  rise 
Murmurs  of  sorrow  or  surprise, 
And  from  the  distant  aisles  there  came 
Deep-mutter'd  threats,  with  Wyclitfe's  name.4 

XXVIII. 

But  Oswald,  guarded  by  his  band, 

Powerful  in  evil,  waved  his  hand, 

And  bade  Sedition's  voice  be  dead, 

On  peril  of  the  murmurer's  head. 

Then  first  his  glance  sought  Rokeby's  Knight;5 

Who  gazed  on  the  tremendous  sight 

As  calm  as  if  he  came  a  guest 

To  kindred  baron's  feudal  feast,6 

As  calm  as  if  that  trumpet-call 

Were  summons  to  the  banner'd  hall ; 

Firm  in  his  loyalty  he  stood, 

And  prompt  to  seal  it  with  his  blood. 

With  downcast  look  drew  Oswald  nigh, — 

He  durst  not  cope  with  Rokeby's  eye ! — 7 

And  said,  with  low  and  faltering  breath, 

"  Thou  know'st  the  terms  of  life  and  death." 

The  Knight  then  turn'd,  and  sternly  smiled : 

"  The  maiden  is  mine  only  child, 

Yet  shall  my  blessing  leave  her  head 

If  with  a  traitor's  son  she  wed." 

Then  Redmond  spoke :  "  The  life  of  one 

Might  thy  malignity  atone  ;8 

On  me  be  flung  a  double  guilt! 

Spare  Rokeby's  blood,  let  mine  be  spilt!" 

WyclifTe  had  listen'd  to  his  suit, 

But  dread  prevail'd,  and  he  was  mute. 

XXIX. 

And  now  he  pours  his  choice  of  fear 

In  secret  on  Matilda's  ear : 

"  An  union  form'd  with  me  and  mine 

Ensures  the  faith  of  Rokeby's  line. 

Consent,  and  all  this  dread  array, 

Like  morning  dream,  shall  pass  away ; 

Refuse,  and,  by  my  duty  press'd, 

I  give  the  word — thou  know'st  the  rest." 

Matilda,  still  and  motionless, 

With  terror  heard  the  dread  address, 

Pale  as  the  sheeted  maid  who  dies 

To  hopeless  love  a  sacrifice ; 


has  generally  redeemed  his  faults  by  the  richness  and  variety 
of  his  fancy,  or  by  the  interest  of  his  narrative." 

2  The  MS.  has  not  this  nor  the  preceding  couplet. 

3  MS.:  "And  peasants'  base-born  hands  o'erthrew 

The  tombs  of  Lacy  and  Fitz-Hugh." 

"Muttering  of  threats,  and  Wycliffe's  name." 

"Then  from  his  victim  sought  to  know 

The  working  of  his  tragic  show ; 

And  first  his  glance,"  Ac. 

"  To  some  high  baron's  feudal  feast. 

And  that  loud-pealing  trumpet-call 

Was  summons,"  &c. 
MS. :  "  He  durst  not  meet  his  scornful  eye." 
MS. :  "  the  blood  of  one 


<  MS.: 
6  MS.: 


MS. 


Might  this  malignant  plot  atone." 


344 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Then  -wrung  her  hands  in  agony, 
And  round  her  cast  bewilder'd  eye  ; 
Now  on  the  scaffold  glanced,  and  now 
On  Wycliffe's  unrelenting  brow. 
She  veil'd  her  face,  and,  with  a  voice 
Scarce  audible, — "  I  make  my  choice ! 
Spare  but  their  lives! — for  aught  beside, 
Let  Wilfrid's  doom  my  fate  decide. 
He  once  was  generous !" — As  she  spoke, 
Dark  Wycliffe's  joy  in  triumph  broke: — 
"  Wilfrid,  where  loiter'd  ye  so  late  ? 
Why  upon  Basil  rest  thy  weight  ? — 
Art  spell-bound  by  enchanter's  wand  ? — 
Kneel,  kneel,  and  take  her  yielded  hand;1 
Thank  her  with  raptures,  simple  boy ! 
Should  tears  and  trembling  speak  thy  joy?" 
"  Oh  hush,  my  sire  !     To  prayer  and  tear 
Of  mine  thou  hast  refused  thine  ear; 
But  now  the  awful  hour  draws  on 
When  truth  must  speak  in  loftier  tone." 

XXX. 

He  took  Matilda's  hand  :2 — "  Dear  maid, 

Conldst  thou  so  injure  me,"  he  said, 

"  Of  thy  poor  friend  so  basely  deem, 

As  blend  with  him  this  barbarous  scheme? 

Alas !  my  efforts  made  in  vain 

Might  well  have  saved  this  added  pain.3 

But  now,  bear  witness  earth  and  heaven, 

That  ne'er  was  hope  to  mortal  given, 

So  twisted*  with  the  strings  of  life 

As  this — to  call  Matilda  wife  ! 

I  bid  it  now  for  ever  part, 

And  with  the  effort  bursts  my  heart!" 

His  feeble  frame  was  worn  so  low, 

With  wounds,  with  watching,  and  with  woe, 

That  nature  could  no  more  sustain 

The  agony  of  mental  pain. 

He  kneel'd — his  lip  her  hand  had  press'd, — 5 

Just  then  he  felt  the  stern  arrest. 


1  In  place  of  this  and  the  preceding  couplet,  the  MS.  has: 
"Successful  was  the  scheme  he  plann'd: 
'Kneel,  Wilfrid  :  take  her  yielded  hand;'" 

*  MS.:  "He  kneel'd,  and  took  her  hand." 
3  MS.:  "To  save  the  complicated  pain." 

*  MS. :  "  blended." 

6  MS. :  "  His  lips  upon  her  hands  were  press'd, 
Just  as  he  felt  the  stern  arrest." 

*  "The  character  of  Wilfrid  is  as  extensively  drawn,  and 
even  more  so,  perhaps,  than  that  of  Hertram.  And  amidst 
the  fine  and  beautiful  moral  reflections  accompanying  it,  a 
deep  insight  into  the  human  heart  is  discernible:  we  bad 
almost  said  an  intuition  more  penetrating  than  even  his  to 
whom  were  given  those  'golden  keys'  that  'unlock  the  gates 
of  joy.' 

'Of  horror  that  and  thrilling  fears, 

Or  ope  the  secret  source  of  sympathetic  tears.' " 

British  Critic. 

"In  delineating  the  actors  of  this  dramatic  talc,  we  have 
little  hesitation  in  saying  that  Mr.  Scott  has  been  more  sue- 


Lower  and  lower  sunk  his  head, — 
They  raised  him, — but  the  life  was  fled ! 
Then,  first  alarm'd,  his  sire  and  train 
Tried  every  aid,  but  tried  in  vain. 
The  soul,  too  soft  its  ills  to  bear, 
Had  left  our  mortal  hemisphere, 
And  sought  in  better  world  the  meed 
To  blameless  life  by  Heaven  decreed.6 

XXXI. 

The  wretched  sire  beheld,  aghast, 

With  Wilfrid  all  his  projects  past; 

All  turn'd  and  centred  on  his  son, 

On  Wilfrid  all — and  he  was  gone. 

"  And  I  am  childless  now,"  he  said  ; 

"  Childless,  through  that  relentless  maid  I 

A  lifetime's  arts,  in  vain  essay'd, 

Are  bursting  on  their  artist's  head ! — 

Here  lies  my  Wilfrid  dead— and  there 

Comes  hated  Mortham  for  his  heir, 

Eager  to  knit  in  happy  band 

With  Rokeby's  heiress  Redmond's  hand. 

And  shall  their  triumph  soar  o'er  all 

The  schemes  deep-laid  to  work  their  fall? 

No ! — deeds  which  prudence  might  not  dare 

Appall  not  vengeance  and  despair. 

The  murd'ress  weeps  upon  his  bier — 

I'll  change  to  real  that  feign'd  tear ! 

They  all  shall  share  destruction's  shock ; — 

Ho  !  lead  the  captives  to  the  block !" — 

But  ill  his  Provost  could  divine 

His  feelings,  and  forbore  the  sign. 

"  Slave !  to  the  block ! — or  I,  or  they, 

Shall  face  the  judgment-seat  this  day !" 

XXXII. 

The  outmost  crowd  have  heard  a  sound 
Like  horse's  hoof  on  harden'd  ground ; 
Nearer  it  came,  and  yet  more  near, — 
The  very  death's-men  paused  to  hear. 


cessful  than  on  any  former  occasion.  Wilfrid,  a  person  of  the 
first  importance  in  the  whole  management  of  the  plot,  exhib- 
its an  assemblage  of  qualities  not  unfrequently  combined  in 
real  life,  but,  so  far  as  we  can  recollect,  never  before  repre- 
sented in  poetry.  It  is,  indeed,  a  character  which  required 
to  be  touched  with  great  art  and  delicacy.  The  reader  gen- 
erally expects  to  find  beauty  of  form,  strength,  grace,  and 
agility,  united  with  powerful  passions,  in  the  prominent  fig- 
ures of  romance;  because  these  visible  qualities  are  the  most 
frequent  themes  of  panegyric,  and  usually  the  best  passports 
to  admiration.  The  absence  of  them  is  supposed  to  throw  an 
air  of  ridicule  on  the  pretensions  of  a  candidate  for  love  or 
glory.  An  ordinary  poet,  therefore,  would  have  despaired 
of  awakening  our  sympathy  in  favor  of  that  lofty  and  gen- 
erous spirit  and  keen  sensibility  which  at  once  animate  and 
consume  the  frail  and  sickly  frame  of  Wilfrid;  yet  Wilfrid 
is,  in  fact,  extremely  interesting;  and  his  death,  though  ob- 
viously necessary  to  the  condign  punishment  of  Oswald,  to 
the  future  repose  of  Matilda,  and  consequently  to  the  con- 
summation of  the  poem,  leaves  strong  emotions  of  pity  and 
regret  in  the  mind  of  the  reader." — Quarterly  Review. 


ROKEBY. 


345 


'Tis  in  the  churchyard  now — the  tread 
Hath  waked  the  dwelling  of  the  dead ! 
Fresh  sod,  and  old  sepulchral  stone, 
Return  the  tramp  in  varied  tone. 
All  eyes  upon  the  gateway  hung, 
When  through  the  Gothic  arch  there  sprung 
A  horseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed — 
Sable  his  cloak,  his  plume,  his  steed.1 
Fire  from  the  flinty  floor  was  spurn'd, 
The  vaults  unwonted  clang  return'd  ! — 
One  instant's  glance  around  he  threw, 
From  saddlebow  his  pistol  drew. 
Grimly  determined  was  his  look ! 
His  charger  with  the  spurs  he  strook — 
All  scatter'd  backward  as  he  came, 
For  all  knew  Bertram  Risingham  ! 
Three  bounds  that  noble  courser  gave  ;2 
The  first  has  reach'd  the  central  nave, 
The  second  clear'd  the  chancel  wide, 
The  third — he  was  at  Wycliffe's  side. 
Full  levell'd  at  the  Baron's  head, 
Rung  the  report — the  bullet  sped — 
And  to  his  long  account,  and  last, 
Without  a  groan  dark  Oswald  past ! 
All  was  so  quick,  that  it  might  seem 
A  flash  of  lightning,  or  a  dream. 

XXXIII. 

While  yet  the  smoke  the  deed  conceals, 
Bertram  his  ready  charger  wheels ; 
But  flounder'd  on  the  pavement  floor 
The  steed,  and  down  the  rider  bore, 
And,  bursting  in  the  headlong  sway, 
The  faithless  saddle-girths  gave  way. 
'Twas  while  he  toil'd  him  to  be  freed, 
And  with  the  rein  to  raise  the  steed, 
That  from  amazement's  iron  trance 
All  Wycliffe's  soldiers  waked  at  once. 
Sword,  halberd,  musket-but,  their  blows 
Hail'd  upon  Bertram  as  he  rose ; 
A  score  of  pikes,  with  each  a  wound, 
Bore  down  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground  ;s 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  K. 

2  MS. :  "  Three  bounds  he  made,  that  noble  steed ; 

The  first  the  {  Lacies'  tomb       }  has  freed." 
(.chancels  bound) 
8  MS.:  "Oppress'd  and  pinn'd  him  to  the  ground." 
*  MS.:  "And  when,  by  odds  borne  down  at  length." 
»  MS. :  "  He  bore." 

6  MS. :  "  Had  more  of  laugh  in  it  than  moan." 

7  MS. :  "  But  held  their  weapons  ready  set, 

Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  him  yet." 

8  MS. :  "  But  Basil  check'd  them  with  disdain, 

And  flung  a  mantle  o'er  the  slain." 

9  "Whether  we  see  him  scaling  the  cliffs  in  desperate 
course,  and  scaring  the  hawks  and  the  ravens  from  their 
nests ;  or,  while  the  castle  is  on  fire,  breaking  from  the  cen- 
tral mass  of  smoke ;  or  amidst  the  terrific  circumstances  of 
his  death,  when  his 

'  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan,' 


But  still  his  struggling  force  he  rears 
'Gainst  hacking  brands  and  stabbing  spears, 
Thrice  from  assailants  shook  him  free, 
Once  gain'd  his  feet,  and  twice  his  knee. 
By  tenfold  odds  oppress'd  at  length,* 
Despite  his  struggles  and  his  strength, 
He  took5  a  hundred  mortal  wounds, 
As  mute  as  fox  'mongst  mangling  hounds ; 
And  when  he  died,  his  parting  groan 
Had  more  of  laughter  than  of  moan  !6 
— They  gazed,  as  when  a  lion  dies, 
And  hunters  scarcely  trust  their  eyes, 
But  bend  their  weapons  on  the  slain, 
Lest  the  grim  king  should  rouse  again  !T 
Then  blow  and  insult  some  renew'd, 
And  from  the  trunk  the  head  had  hew'd, 
But  Basil's  voice  the  deed  forbade  ;8 
A  mantle  o'er  the  corse  he  laid  : — 
"Fell  as  he  was  in  act  and  mind, 
He  left  no  bolder  heart  behind : 
Then  give  him,  for  a  soldier  meet, 
A  soldier's  cloak  for  winding-sheet."9 

XXXIV. 

No  more  of  death  and  dying  pang, 

No  more  of  trump  and  bugle  clang, 

Though  through  the  sounding  woods  there  come 

Banner  and  bugle,  trump  and  drum. 

Arm'd  with  such  powers  as  well  had  freed 

Young  Redmond  at  his  utmost  need, 

And  back'd  with  such  a  band  of  horse 

As  might  less  ample  powers  enforce ; 

Possess'd  of  every  proof  and  sign 

That  gave  an  heir  to  Mortham's  line, 

And  yielded  to  a  father's  arms 

An  image  of  his  Edith's  charms, — 

Mortham  is  come,  to  hear  and  see 

Of  this  strange  morn  the  history. 

What  saw  he  ? — not  the  church's  floor, 

Cumber'd  with  dead  and  stain'd  with  gore ; 

What  heard  he  ? — not  the  clamorous  crowd, 

That  shout  their  gratulations  loud : 


— we  mark  his  race  of  terror,  with  the  poet,  like  '  the  eve  of 
tropic  sun :' 

'  No  pale  gradations  quench  his  ray, 

No  twilight  dews  his  wrath  allay; 

With  disk  like  battle-target  red, 

He  rushes  to  his  burning  bed, 

Dyes  the  wide  wave  with  bloody  light, 

Then  sinks  at  once— and  all  is  night !'  " 

British  Critic. 

"  I  hope  you  will  like  Bertram  to  the  end ;  he  is  a  Caravag- 
gio  sketch,  which  I  may  acknowledge  to  you— but  tell  it  not 
in  Gath — I  rather  pique  myself  upon ;  and  he  is  within  the 
keeping  of  Nature,  though  critics  will  say  to  the  contrary. 
It  may  be  difficult  to  fancy  that  any  one  should  take  a  sort 
of  pleasure  in  bringing  out  such  a  character,  but  I  suppose  it 
is  partly  owing  to  bad  reading,  and  ill-directed  reading,  when 
I  was  young." — Scott  to  Miss  Baillie.    Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  49. 


346 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Redmond  he  saw  and  heard  alone, 

Clasp'd  him,  and  sohb'd,  "  My  son !  my  son  !"- 

XXXV. 

This  chanced  upon  a  summer  morn, 

When  yellow  waved  the  heavy  corn; 

But  when  brown  August  o'er  the  land 

Call'd  forth  the  reaper's  busy  band, 

A  gladsome  sight  the  sylvan  road 

From  Eglistone  to  Mortham  show'd. 

A  while  the  hardy  rustic  leaves 

The  task  to  bind  and  pile  the  sheaves, 

And  maids  their  sickles  fling  aside, 

To  gaze  on  bridegroom  and  on  bride, 

And  childhood's  wondering  group  draws  near, 

And  from  the  gleaner's  hands  the  ear 


1  MS.:  Here  the  author  of  "Rokeby"  wrote, 

"  End  of  Canto  VI." 
Stanza  xxxv.,  added  at  the  request  of  the  printer  and  an- 
other friend,  was  accompanied  by  the  following  note  to  Mr. 
Ballantyne : — 

"Dear  James: 

"  I  send  you  this  out  of  deference  to  opinions  so  strongly 
expressed ;  but  still  retaining  my  own,  that  it  spoils  one  effect 
without  producing  another. 

"W.  S." 

2  "  Mr.  Scott  has  now  confined  himself  within  much  nar- 
rower limits,  and,  by  descending  to  the  sober  annals  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  has  renounced  nearly  all  those  orna- 
ments of  Gothic  pageantry  which,  inconsequence  of  the  taste 
with  which  he  displayed  them,  had  been  tolerated,  and  even 
admired,  by  modern  readers.  He  has  subjected  his  style  to  a 
severer  code  of  criticism.  The  language  of  the  poet  is  often 
unconsciously  referred  to  the  date  of  the  incidents  which  he 
relates;  so  that  what  is  careless  or  idiomatic  escapes  censure, 
as  a  supposed  anomaly  of  antique  diction  ;  and  it  is,  perhaps, 
partly  owing  to  this  impression  that  the  phraseology  of '  Mar- 
niion'  and  of  the  'Lady  of  the  Lake'  has  appeared  to  us  to 
be  no  less  faulty  than  that  of  the  present  poem. 

"  But  be  this  as  it  may,  we  confidently  persist  in  thinking 
that  in  this  last  experiment  Mr.  Scott's  popularity  will  be  still 
further  confirmed;  because  we  have  found  by  experience 
that,  although  during  the  first  hasty  inspection  of  the  poem, 
undertaken  for  the  gratification  of  our  curiosity,  some  blem- 
ishes intruded  themselves  upon  our  notice,  the  merits  of  the 
story,  and  the  minute  shades  of  character  displayed  in  the 
conduct  of  it,  have  been  sufficient,  during  many  succeeding 
perusals,  to  awaken  our  feelings  and  to  reanimate  and  sus- 
tain our  attention. 

"The  original  fiction  from  which  the  poem  is  derived  ap- 
pears to  us  to  be  constructed  with  considerable  ability ;  but 
it  is  on  the  felicity  with  which  the  poet  has  expanded  and 
dramatized  it,  on  the  diversity  of  the  characters,  on  the  skill 
with  which  they  are  unfolded,  and  on  the  ingenuity  with 
which  every  incident  is  rendered  subservient  to  his  final  pur- 
pose, that  we  chiefly  found  our  preference  of  this  over  his 
former  productions.  From  the  first  canto  to  the  last,  nothing 
is  superfluous.  The  arrival  of  a  nocturnal  visitor  at  Barnard 
Castle  is  announced  with  such  solemnity,  the  previous  ter- 
rors of  Oswald,  the  arrogance  and  ferocity  of  Bertram,  his 
abruptness  and  discourtesy  of  demeanor,  are  so  minutely  de- 
lineated, that  the  picture  seems  as  if  it  had  been  introduced 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  displaying  the  author's  powers  of 
description ;  yet  it  is  from  this  visit  that  all  the  subsequent 
incidents  naturally  and  almost  necessarily  flow.  Our  curios- 
ity is,  at  the  very  commencement  of  the  poem,  most  power- 


Drops,  while  she  folds  them  for  a  prayer 
And  blessing  on  the  lovely  pair. 
'Twas  then  the  Maid  of  Rokeby  gave 
Her  plighted  troth  to  Redmond  brave ; 
And  Teesdale  can  remember  yet 
How  Fate  to  Virtue  paid  her  debt, 
And,  for  their  troubles,  bade  them  prove 
A  lengthen'd  life  of  peace  and  love. 


Time  and  Tide  had  thus  their  sway, 
Yielding,  like  an  April  day, 
Smiling  noon  for  sullen  morrow, 
Years  of  joy  for  hours  of  sorrow  !2 


fully  excited ;  the  principal  actors  in  the  scene  exhibit  them- 
selves distinctly  to  our  view,  the  development  of  the  plot  is 
perfectly  continuous,  and  our  attention  is  never  interrupted 
or  suffered  to  relax." — Quarterly  Review. 


"This  production  of  Mr.  Scott  altogether  abounds  in  im- 
agery and  description  less  than  either  of  its  precursors,  in 
pretty  nearly  the  same  proportion  as  it  contains  more  of  dra- 
matic incident  and  character.  Yet  some  of  the  pictures  which 
it  presents  are  highly  wrought  and  vividly  colored ;  for  ex- 
ample, the  terribly  animated  narrative,  in  the  fifth  canto, 
of  the  battle  within  the  hall,  and  the  conflagration  of  the 
mansion  of  Rokeby. 

"Several  defects,  of  more  or  less  importance,  we  noticed, 
or  imagined  that  we  noticed,  as  we  read.  It  appears  like  pre- 
sumption to  accuse  Mr.  Scott  of  any  failure  in  respect  of  cos- 
tume— of  the  manners  and  character  of  the  times  which  he 
describes — yet  the  impression  produced  on  our  minds  by  the 
perusal  has  certainly  been  that  we  are  thrown  back  in  ima- 
gination to  a  period  considerably  antecedent  to  that  which  he 
intends  to  celebrate.  The  other  faults  we  remarked  consist 
principally  in  the  too  frequent  recurrence  of  those  which  we 
have  so  often  noticed  on  former  occasions,  and  which  are  so 
incorporated  with  the  poet's  style  that  it  is  now  become  as 
useless  as  it  is  painful  to  repeat  the  censures  which  they  have 
occasioned. 

"  We  have  been  informed  that '  Rokeby '  has  hitherto  cir- 
culated less  rapidly  than  has  usually  been  the  case  with  Mr. 
Scott's  works.  If  the  fact  be  so,  we  are  inclined  to  attribute 
it  solely  to  accidental  circumstances,  being  persuaded  that  the 
defects  of  the  poem  are  only  common  to  it  with  all  the  pro- 
ductions of  its  author ;  that  they  are  even  less  numerous  than 
in  most;  and  that  its  beauties,  though  of  a  different  stamp, 
are  more  profusely  scattered,  and,  upon  the  whole,  of  a  higher 
order." — Critical  Review. 


"Such  is  'Rokeby;'  and  our  readers  must  confess  that  it  is 
a  very  interesting  tale.  Alone,  it  would  stamp  the  author  one 
of  the  most  picturesque  of  English  poets.  Of  the  story  we 
need  hardly  say  any  thing  further.  It  is  complicated  without 
being  confused,  and  so  artfully  suspended  in  its  unravelment 
as  to  produce  a  constantly-increasing  sensation  of  curiosity. 
Parts,  indeed,  of  the  catastrophe  may  at  intervals  be  fore- 
seen, but  they  are  like  the  partial  glimpses  that  we  catch  of  a 


EOKEBY. 


347 


noble  and  well-shaded  building,  which  does  not  break  on  us 
in  all  its  proportion  and  in  all  its  beauty  until  we  suddenly 
arrive  in  front.  Of  the  characters  we  have  something  to  ob- 
serve in  addition  to  our  private  remarks.  Our  readers  may 
perhaps  have  seen  that  we  have  frequently  applied  the  term 
sketch  to  the  several  personages  of  the  drama.  Now,  although 
this  poem  possesses  more  variety  of  well-sustained  character 
than  any  other  of  Mr.  Scott's  performances— although  Wil- 
frid will  be  a  favorite  with  every  lover  of  the  soft,  the  gentle, 
and  the  pathetic,  while  Edmund  offers  a  fearful  warning  to 
misused  abilities— and  although  Eedmond  is  indeed  a  man, 
compared  to  the  Cranstoun  of  the  '  Lay,'  to  the  Wilton  of 
'  Marmion,'  or  to  the  Malcolm  of  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake,' — yet 
is  Redmond  himself  but  a  sketch  compared  to  Bertram.  Here 
is  Mr.  Scott's  true  and  favorite  hero.  He  has  no  'sneaking 
kindness'  for  these  barbarians ; — he  boldly  adopts  and  patron- 
izes them.  Deloraine  (it  has  humorously  been  observed) 
would  have  been  exactly  what  Marmion  was,  could  he  have 
read  and  written ;  Bertram  is  a  happy  mixture  of  both ; — as 
great  a  villain,  if  possible,  as  Marmion ;  and,  if  possible,  as 
great  a  scamp  as  Deloraine.  His  character  is  completed  by  a 
dash  of  the  fierceness  of  Roderick  Dhu.  We  do  not  here 
enter  into  the  question  as  to  the  good  taste  of  an  author  who 
employs  his  utmost  strength  of  description  on  a  compound  of 
bad  qualities ;  but  we  must  observe,  in  the  way  of  protest  for 
the  present,  that  something  must  be  wrong  where  poetical 
effect  and  moral  approbation  are  so  much  at  variance.  We 
leave  untouched  the  general  argument,  whether  it  makes  any 
difference,  for  poetical  purposes,  that  a  hero's  vices  or  his  vir- 
tues should  preponderate.  Powerful  indeed  must  be  the 
genius  of  the  poet  who,  out  of  such  materials  as  those  above 
mentioned,  can  form  an  interesting  whole.  This,  however, 
is  the  fact ;  and  Bertram  at  times  so  overcomes  hatred  with 
admiration  that  he  (or  rather  his  painter)  is  almost  pardon- 
able for  his  energy  alone.  There  is  a  charm  about  this  spring 
of  mind  which  bears  down  all  opposition,  '  and  throws  a 
brilliant  veil  of  light  over  the  most  hideous  deformity.'  This 
is  the  fascination — this  is  the  variety  and  vigor  by  which  Mr. 
Scott  recommends  barbarous  heroes,  undignified  occurrences, 
and,  occasionally,  the  most  incorrect  language  and  the  must 
imperfect  versification — 

'  Catch  but  his  fire '— '  And  you  forgive  him  all.' " 

Monthly  Review. 


"  That '  Rokeby,'  as  a  whole,  is  equally  interesting  with  Mr. 
Scott's  former  works,  we  are  by  no  means  prepared  to  assert. 
But  if  there  be,  comparatively,  a  diminution  of  interest,  it  is 
evidently  owing  to  no  other  cause  than  the  time  or  place  of 
its  action,  the  sobriety  of  the  period,  and  the  abated  wildness 
of  the  scenery.  With  us,  the  wonder  is  that  a  period  so  late 
as  that  of  Charles  the  First  could  have  been  managed  so 
dexterously,  and  have  been  made  so  happily  subservient  to 
poetic  invention. 

"  In  the  meantime,  we  have  no  hesitation  in  declaring  our 
opinion  that  the  tale  of  '  Rokeby '  is  much  better  told  than 
those  of  the  '  Lay '  or  of  '  Marmion.'  Its  characters  are  intro- 
duced with  more  ease ;  its  incidents  are  more  natural ;  one 
event  is  more  necessarily  generated  by  another ;  the  reader's 
mind  is  kept  more  in  suspense  with  respect  to  the  termina- 
tion of  the  story ;  and  the  moral  reflections  interspersed  are 
of  a  deeper  cast.  Of  the  versification,  also,  we  can  justly 
pronounce  that  it  is  more  polished  than  in  '  Marmion'  or  the 
'  Lay ;'  and  though  we  have  marked  some  careless  lines,  yet 
even  in  the  instance  of '  bold  disorder,'  '  Rokeby '  can  furnish 
little  room  for  animadversion.    In  fine,  if  we  must  compare 


him  with  himself,  we  judge  Mr.  Scott  has  given  us  a  poem  in 
' Rokeby'  superior  to  '  Marmion'  or  the  '  Lay,'  but  not  equal, 
perhaps,  to  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  " — British  Critic. 


"  It  will  surprise  no  one  to  hear  that  Mr.  Morritt  assured 
his  friend  he  considered  '  Rokeby '  as  the  best  of  all  his  poems. 
The  admirable,  perhaps  the  unique,  fidelity  of  the  local 
descriptions  might  alone  have  swayed,  for  I  will  not  say  it 
perverted,  the  judgment  of  the  lord  of  that  beautiful  and 
thenceforth  classical  domain  ;  and,  indeed,  I  must  admit  that 

I  never  understood  or  appreciated  half  the  charm  of  this 
poem  until  I  had  become  familiar  with  its  scenery.  But 
Scott  himself  had  not  designed  to  rest  his  strength  on  these 
descriptions.  He  said  to  James  Ballantyne,  while  the  work 
was  in  progress  (September  2), '  I  hope  the  thing  will  do, 
chiefly  because  the  world  will  not  expect  from  me  a  poem  of 
which  the  interest  turns  upon  character;'  and  in  another 
letter  (October  28,  1812), '  I  think  you  will  see  the  same  sort 
of  difference  taken  in  all  my  former  poems,  of  which  I  would 
say,  if  it  is  fair  for  me  to  say  any  thing,  that  the  force  in  the 
"  Lay  "  is  thrown  on  style,  in  "  Marmion  "  on  description,  and 
in  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake  "  on  incident.'  I  suspect  some  of 
these  distinctions  may  have  been  matters  of  after-thought ; 
but  as  to  '  Rokeby '  there  can  be  no  mistake.  His  own  original 
conceptions  of  some  of  its  principal  characters  have  been 
explained  in  letters  already  cited ;  and  I  believe  no  one  who 
compares  the  poem  with  his  novels  will  doubt  that,  had  he 
undertaken  their  portraiture  in  prose,  they  would  have  come 
forth  with  effect  hardly  inferior  to  any  of  all  the  groups  he 
ever  created.  As  it  is,  I  question  whether,  even  in  his  prose, 
there  is  any  thing  more  exquisitely  wrought  out,  as  well  as 
fancied,  than  the  whole  contrast  of  the  two  rivals  for  the  love 
of  the  heroine  in  '  Rokeby ;'  and  that  heroine  herself,  too,  has 
a  very  particular  interest  attached  to  her.  Writing  to  Miss 
Edgeworth  five  years  after  this  time  (10th  March,  1818),  he  says, 

I I  have  not  read  one  of  my  poems  since  they  were  printed, 
excepting  last  year  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  which  I  liked 
better  than  I  expected,  but  not  well  enough  to  induce  me  to 
go  through  the  rest ;  so  I  may  truly  say  with  Macbeth — 

"  I  am  afraid  to  think  of  what  I've  done — 
Look  on't  again  I  dare  not." 

" '  This  much  of  Matilda  I  recollect  (for  that  is  not  so  easily 
forgotten),  that  she  was  attempted  for  the  existing  person  of 
a  lady  who  is  now  no  more,  so  that  I  am  particularly  flattered 
with  your  distinguishing  it  from  the  others,  which  are  in 
general  mere  shadows.'  I  can  have  no  doubt  that  the  lady  he 
here  alludes  to  was  the  object  of  his  own  unfortunate  first 
love ;  and  as  little,  that  in  the  romantic  generosity,  both  of 
the  youthful  poet  who  fails  to  win  her  higher  favor  and  of 
his  chivalrous  competitor,  we  have  before  us  something  more 
than  a  mere  shadow. 

"  In  spite  of  these  graceful  characters,  the  inimitable 
scenery  on  which  they  are  presented,  and  the  splendid  viva- 
city and  thrilling  interest  of  several  chapters  in  the  story — 
such  as  the  opening  interview  of  Bertram  and  Wycliffe — the 
flight  up  the  cliff  on  the  Greta — the  first  entrance  of  the  cave 
at  Brignall— the  firing  of  Rokeby  Castle— and  the  catastrophe 
in  Egliston  Abbey ;  in  spite  certainly  of  exquisitely  happy 
lines  profusely  scattered  throughout  the  whole  composition, 
and  of  some  detached  images— that  of  the  setting  of  the  tro- 
pical sun,  for  example — which  were  never  surpassed  by  any 
poet ;  in  spite  of  all  these  merits,  the  immediate  success  of 
'Rokeby'  was  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  the  'Lady  of  the 
Lake ;'  nor  has  it  ever  since  been  so  much  a  favorite  with  the 
public  at  large  as  any  other  of  his  poetical  romances.  He 
ascribes  this  failure,  in  his  introduction  of  1830,  partly  to  the 
radically  unpoetical  character  of  the  Roundheads ;  but  surely 


348 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


their  character  has  its  poetical  side  also,  had  his  prejudices 
allowed  him  to  enter  upon  its  study  with  impartial  sympathy; 
and  I  doubt  not  Mr.  Morritt  suggested  the  difficulty  on  this 
score,  when  the  outline  of  the  story  was  as  yet  undetermined, 
from  consideration  rather  of  the  poet's  peculiar  feelings,  and 
powers  as  hitherto  exhibited,  than  of  the  subject  absolutely. 
Partly  he  blames  the  satiety  of  the  public  ear,  which  had  had 
so  much  of  his  rhythm,  not  only  from  himself,  but  from 
dozens  of  mocking  birds,  male  and  female,  all  more  or  less 
applauded  in  their  day,  and  now  all  equally  forgotten.  This 
circumstance,  too,  had  probably  no  slender  effect ;  the  more 
that,  in  defiance  of  all  the  hints  of  his  friends,  he  now,  in  his 
narrative,  repeated  (with  more  negligence)  the  uniform  octo- 


syllabic couplets  of  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake '  instead  of  recur- 
ring to  the  more  varied  cadence  of  the  '  Lay '  or  '  Marmion.' 
It  is  fair  to  add  that,  among  the  London  circles  at  least,  some 
sarcastic  flings  in  Mr.  Moore's  'Twopenny  Post  Bag'  must 
have  had  an  unfavorable  influence  on  this  occasion.  But  the 
cause  of  failure  which  the  poet  himself  places  last  was  un- 
questionably the  main  one.  The  deeper  and  darker  passion 
of '  Childe  Harold,'  the  audacity  of  its  morbid  voluptuousness, 
and  the  melancholy  majesty  of  the  numbers  in  which  it  defied 
the  world,  had  taken  the  general  imagination  by  storm ;  and 
'Rokeby,'  with  many  beauties  and  some  sublimities,  was 
pitched,  as  a  whole,  on  a  key  which  seemed  tame  in  the  com- 
parison."— LucKiiAJiX.    Lij'e  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  pp.  53-58. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

On  Barnard's  towers,  and  Tees' 's  stream,  &c— P.  289. 

•'Barnard  Castle,"  saith  old  Leland,  "standeth  stately 
upon  Tees."  It  is  founded  upon  a  very  high  bank,  and  its 
ruins  impend  over  the  river,  including  within  the  area  a 
circuit  of  six  acres  and  upwards.  This  once  magnificent  fort- 
ress derives  its  name  from  its  founder,  Barnard  Baliol,  the 
ancestor  of  the  short  and  unfortunate  dynasty  of  that  name, 
which  succeeded  to  the  Scottish  throne  under  the  patronage 
of  Edward  I.  and  Edward  III.  Baliol's  Tower,  afterwards  men- 
tioned in  the  poem,  is  a  round  tower  of  great  size,  situated  at 
the  western  extremity  of  the  building.  It  bears  marks  of 
great  antiquity,  and  was  remarkable  for  the  curious  construc- 
tion of  its  vaulted  roof,  which  has  been  lately  greatly  injured 
by  the  operations  of  some  persons,  to  whom  the  tower  has 
been  leased  for  the  purpose  of  making  patent  shot!  The 
prospect  from  the  top  of  Baliol's  Tower  commands  a  rich  and 
magnificent  view  of  the  wooded  valley  of  the  Tees. 

Barnard  Castle  often  changed  masters  during  the  middle 
ages.  Upon  the  forfeiture  of  the  unfortunate  John  Baliol, 
the  first  king  of  Scotland  of  that  family,  Edward  I.  seized 
this  fortress  among  the  other  English  estates  of  his  refractory 
vassal.  It  was  afterwards  vested  in  the  Beauchamps  of  War- 
wick, and  in  the  Staffords  of  Buckingham,  and  was  also 
sometimes  in  the  possession  of  the  Bishops  of  Durham,  and 
sometimes  in  that  of  the  crown.  Richard  III.  is  said  to  have 
enlarged  and  strengthened  its  fortifications,  and  to  have  made 
it  for  some  time  his  principal  residence,  for  the  purpose  of 
bridling  and  suppressing  the  Lancastrian  faction  in  the  north- 
ern counties.  From  the  Staffords,  Barnard  Castle  passed, 
probably  by  marriage,  into  the  possession  of  the  powerful 
Nevilles,  Earls  of  Westmoreland,  and  belonged  to  the  last 
representative  of  that  family,  when  he  engaged  with  the  Earl 
of  Northumberland  in  the  ill-concerted  insurrection  of  the 
twelfth  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Upon  this  occasion,  however, 
Sir  George  Bowes  of  Sheatlam,  who  held  great  possessions  in 
the  neighborhood,  anticipated  the  two  insurgent  earls,  by 
seizing  upon  and  garrisoning  Barnard  Castle,  which  he  held 
out  for  ten  days  against  all  their  forces,  and  then  surrendered 
it  upon  honorable  terms.  See  Sadler's  Stale  Papers,  vol.  ii. 
p.  330.  In  a  ballad  contained  in  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,  vol.  L,  the  siege  is  thus  commemorated : — 

"  Then  Sir  George  Bowes  he  straight  way  rose, 

After  them  some  spoyle  to  make ; 
These  noble  erles  turned  back  againe, 

And  aye  they  vowed  that  knight  to  take. 

"  That  baron  he  to  his  castle  fled ; 

To  Barnard  Castle  then  fled  he ; 
The  uttermost  walles  were  eathe  to  won, 

The  erles  have  won  them  presentlie. 


"The  uttermost  walles  were  lime  and  brick; 

But  though  they  won  them  soon  anone, 
Long  ere  they  wan  the  innermost  walles, 

For  they  were  cut  in  rock  and  stone." 

By  the  suppression  of  this  rebellion,  and  the  consequent 
forfeiture  of  the  Earl  of  Westmoreland,  Barnard  Castle  re- 
verted to  the  crown,  and  was  sold  or  leased  out  to  Car,  Earl 
of  Somerset,  the  guilty  and  unhappy  favorite  of  James  I.  It 
was  afterwards  granted  to  Sir  Henry  Vane  the  elder,  and 
was  therefore,  in  all  probability,  occupied  for  the  Parliament, 
whose  interest  during  the  Civil  War  was  so  keenly  espoused 
by  the  Vanes.  It  is  now,  with  the  other  estates  of  that  family, 
the  property  of  the  Right  Honorable  Earl  of  Darlington. 


Note  B. 


■  no  human  ear, 


Unsharpen'd  by  revenge  and  fear, 

Could  e'er  distinguish  horse's  clank. — P.  290. 

I  have  had  occasion  to  remark,  in  real  life,  the  effect  of 
keen  and  fervent  anxiety  in  giving  acuteness  to  the  organs 
of  sense.  My  gifted  friend,  Miss  Joanna  Baillie,  whose 
dramatic  works  display  such  intimate  acquaintance  with  the 
operations  of  human  passion,  has  noi  omitted  this  remark- 
able circumstance : — 

"  Be  Monlfort  {off  his  guard).    'Tis  Rezenvelt :  I  heard  hia 
well-known  foot, 
From  the  first  staircase  mounting  step  by  step. 

Freb.  How  quick  an  ear  thou  hast  for  distant  sound ! 
I  heard  him  not. 

(Le  Montfort  looks  embarrassed,  and  is  silent.") 


Note  C. 


The  morion's  plumes  his  visage  hide, 
And  the  buff-coat,  in  ample  fold, 
Mantles  his  form's  gigantic  mould. — P. 


291. 


The  use  of  complete  suits  of  armor  was  fallen  into  disuse 
during  the  Civil  War,  though  they  were  still  worn  by  leaders 
of  rank  and  importance.  "In  the  reign  of  King  James  I.," 
says  our  military  antiquary,  "  no  great  alterations  were  made 
in  the  article  of  defensive  armor,  except  that  the  buff-coat, 
or  jerkin,  which  was  originally  worn  under  the  cuirass,  now 

(349) 


350 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


became  frequently  a  substitute  for  it,  it  having  been  found 
that  a  good  buff  leather  would  of  itself  resist  the  stroke  of  a 
sword ;  this,  however,  only  occasionally  took  place  among  the 
light-armed  cavalry  and  infantry,  complete  suits  of  armor 
being  still  used  among  the  heavy  horse.  Buff-coats  continued 
to  be  worn  by  the  city  trained-bands  till  within  the  memory 
of  persons  now  living,  so  that  defensive  armor  may,  in  some 
measure,  be  said  to  have  terminated  in  the  same  materials 
with  which  it  began,  that  is,  the  skins  of  animals,  or  lea- 
ther."— Grose's  Military  Antic/uities.  Loud.  1801,  4to,  vol.  ii. 
p.  323. 

Of  the  buff-coats,  which  were  worn  over  the  corselets, 
several  are  yet  preserved  ;  and  Captain  Grose  has  given  an 
engraving  of  one  which  wa-s  used  in  the  time  of  Charles  I. 
by  Sir  Francis  Rhodes,  Bart.,  of  Balbrough  Hall,  Derbyshire. 
They  were  usually  lined  with  silk  or  linen,  secured  before  by 
buttons,  or  by  a  lace,  and  often  richly  decorated  with  gold  or 
silver  embroidery.  From  the  following  curious  account  of  a 
dispute  respecting  a  buff-coat  between  an  old  Roundhead  cap- 
tain and  a  justice  of  the  peace,  by  whom  his  arms  were  seized 
after  the  Restoration,  we  learn  that  the  value  and  importance 
of  this  defensive  garment  were  considerable : — "  A  party  of 
horse  came  to  my  house,  commanded  by  Mr.  Peebles ;  and  he 
told  me  he  was  come  for  my  arms,  and  that  I  must  deliver 
them.  I  asked  him  for  his  order.  He  told  me  he  had  a  better 
order  than  Oliver  used  to  give ;  and,  clapping  his  hand  upon 
his  sword-hilt,  he  said  that  was  his  order.  I  told  him,  if  he 
had  none  but  that,  it  was  not  sufficient  to  take  my  arms  ;  and 
then  he  pulled  out  his  warrant,  and  I  read  it.  It  was  signed 
by  Wentworth  Armitage,  a  general  warrant  to  search  all  per- 
sons they  suspected,  and  so  left  the  power  to  the  soldiers  at 
their  pleasure.  They  came  to  us  at  Coalley  Hall,  about  sun- 
setting  ;  and  I  caused  a  candle  to  be  lighted,  and  conveyed 
Peebles  into  the  room  where  my  arms  were.  My  arms  were 
near  the  kitchen  fire;  and  there  they  took  away  fowling- 
pieces,  pistols,  muskets,  carbines,  and  such  like,  better  than 
£20.  Then  Mr.  Peebles  asked  me  for  my  buff-coat ;  and  I 
told  him  they  had  no  order  to  take  away  my  apparel.  He 
told  me  I  was  not  to  dispute  their  orders;  but  if  I  would  not 
deliver  it,  he  would  carry  me  away  prisoner,  and  had  me  out 
of  doors.  Yet  he  let  me  alone  unto  the  next  morning,  that  I 
must  wait  upon  Sir  John,  at  Halifax ;  and,  coming  before  him, 
he  threatened  me,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat,  for  it 
was  too  good  for  me  to  keep.  I  told  him  it  was  not  in  his 
power  to  demand  my  apparel ;  and  he,  growing  into  a  fit, 
called  me  rebel  and  traitor,  and  said,  if  I  did  not  send  the  coat 
with  all  speed,  he  would  send  me  where  I  did  not  like  well. 
I  told  him  I  was  ho  rebel,  and  he  did  not  well  to  call  me  so 
before  these  soldiers  and  gentlemen,  to  make  me  the  mark 
for  every  one  to  shoot  at.  I  departed  the  room ;  yet,  notwith- 
standing all  the  threatenings,  did  not  send  the  coat.  But  the 
next  day  he  sent  John  Lyster,  the  son  of  Mr.  Thomas  Lyster, 
of  Shipden  Hall,  for  this  coat,  with  a  letter,  verbatim  thus: — 
'Mr.  Hodson,  I  admire  you  will  play  the  child  so  with  me  as 
you  have  done,  in  writing  such  an  inconsiderate  letter.  Let 
me  have  the  buff-coat  sent  forthwith,  otherwise  you  shall  so 
hear  from  me  as  will  not  very  well  please  you.'  I  was  not  at 
home  when  this  messenger  came;  but  I  had  ordered  my  wife 
not  to  deliver  it,  but,  if  they  would  take  it,  let  them  look  to 
it :  and  he  took  it  away  ;  and  one  of  Sir  John's  brethren  wore 
it  many  years  after.  They  sent  Captain  Butt  to  compound 
with  my  wife  about  it:  but  I  sent  word  I  would  have  my  own 
again  ;  but  he  advised  me  to  take  a  price  for  it,  and  make  no 
more  ado.  I  said,  it  was  hard  to  take  my  arms  and  apparel 
too ;  I  had  laid  out  a  great  deal  of  money  for  them ;  I  hoped 
they  did  not  mean  to  destroy  me,  by  taking  my  goods  illegally 
from  me.  He  said  he  would  make  up  the  matter,  if  I  pleased, 
betwixt  us;  and,  it  seems,  had  brought  Sir  John  to  a  price 
for  my  coat.  I  would  not  have  taken  £10  for  it;  he  would 
have  given  about  .£4 ;  but,  wanting  my  receipt  lor  the  money, 
he  kept  both  sides,  and  I  had  never  satisfaction." — Memoirs 
of  Captain  Hodgson.    Ediu.  1806,  p.  178. 


Note  D. 

On  his  dark  face  a  scorching  dime, 
And  (oil,  had  done  the  work  of  time. 

Death  had  he  seen  by  sudden  blow, 

By  wasting  plague,  by  tortures  slow. — P.  291. 

In  this  character  I  have  attempted  to  sketch  one  of  those 
West  Indian  adventurers  who,  during  the  course  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  were  popularly  known  by  the  name  of 
Bucaniers.  The  successes  of  the  English  in  the  predatory  in- 
cursions upon  Spanish  America,  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth, 
had  never  been  forgotten ;  and,  from  that  period  downward, 
the  exploits  of  Drake  and  Raleigh  were  imitated,  upon  a 
smaller  scale  indeed,  but  with  equally  desperate  valor,  by 
small  bands  of  pirates,  gathered  from  all  nations,  but  chiefly 
French  and  English.  The  engrossing  policy  of  the  Spaniards 
tended  greatly  to  increase  the  number  of  these  freebooters, 
from  whom  their  commerce  and  colonies  suffered,  in  the  issue, 
dreadful  calamity.  The  Windward  Islands,  which  the  Span- 
iards did  not  deem  worthy  their  own  occupation,  had  been 
gradually  settled  by  adventurers  of  the  French  and  English 
nations.  But  Frederic  of  Toledo,  who  was  despatched  in  1630 
with  a  powerful  fleet  against  the  Dutch,  had  orders  from 
the  Court  of  Madrid  to  destroy  these  colonies,  whose  vicinity 
at  once  offended  the  pride  and  excited  the  jealous  suspicions 
of  their  Spanish  neighbors.  This  order  the  Spanish  admiral 
executed  with  sufficient  rigor ;  but  the  only  consequence  was 
that  the  planters,  being  rendered  desperate  by  persecution, 
began,  under  the  well-known  name  of  Bucaniers,  to  commence 
a  retaliation  so  horridly  savage  that  the  perusal  makes  the 
reader  shudder.  When  they  carried  on  their  depredations  at 
sea,  they  boarded,  without  respect  to  disparity  of  number, 
every  Spanish  vessel  that  came  in  their  way ;  and,  demeaning 
themselves,  both  in  the  battle  and  after  the  conquest,  more 
like  demons  than  human  beings,  they  succeeded  in  impress- 
ing their  enemies  with  a  sort  of  superstitious  terror,  which 
rendered  them  incapable  of  offering  effectual  resistance. 
From  piracy  at  sea,  they  advanced  to  making  predatory  de- 
scents on  the  Spanish  territories ;  in  which  they  displayed  the 
same  furious  and  irresistible  valor,  the  same  thirst  of  spoil, 
and  the  same  brutal  inhumanity  to  their  captives.  The  large 
treasures  which  they  acquired  in  their  adventures,  they  dis- 
sipated by  the  most  unbounded  licentiousness  in  gaming, 
women,  wine,  and  debauchery  of  every  species.  When  their 
spoils  were  thus  wasted,  they  entered  into  some  new  associa- 
tion, and  undertook  new  adventures.  For  further  particulars 
concerning  these  extraordinary  banditti,  the  reader  may  con- 
sult Raynal,  or  the  common  and  popular  book  called  the  His- 
tory of  the  Bucaniers. 


Note  E. 


On  Marston  heath 


Met,  front  to  front,  the  ranks  of  death. — P.  292. 

The  well-known  and  desperate  battle  of  Long-Marston  Moor, 
which  terminated  so  unfortunately  for  the  cause  of  Charles, 
commenced  under  very  different  auspices.  Prince  Rupert 
had  marched  with  an  army  of  20,000  men  for  the  relief  of 
York,  then  besieged  by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  at  the  head  of 
the  Parliamentary  army,  and  the  Earl  of  Leven,  with  the 
Scottish  auxiliary  forces.  In  this  he  so  completely  succeeded 
that  he  compelled  the  besiegers  to  retreat  to  Marston  Moor, 
a  large  open  plain,  about  eight  miles  distant  from  the  city. 
Thither  they  were  followed  by  the  prince,  who  had  now 


APPENDIX    TO    KOKEBY. 


351 


united  to  his  army  the  garrison  of  York,  probably  not  less 
than  ten  thousand  men  strong,  under  the  gallant  Marquis 
(then  Earl)  of  Newcastle.  Whitelocke  has  recorded,  with 
much  impartiality,  the  following  particulars  of  this  eventful 
day : — "  The  right  wing  of  the  Parliament  was  commanded 
by  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  and  consisted  of  all  his  horse  and 
three  regiments  of  the  Scots  horse ;  the  left  wing  was  com- 
manded by  the  Earl  of  Manchester  and  Colonel  Cromwell. 
One  body  of  their  foot  was  commanded  by  Lord  Fairfax,  and 
consisted  of  his  foot,  and  two  brigades  of  the  Scots  foot  for 
reserve ;  and  the  main  body  of  the  rest  of  the  foot  was  com- 
manded by  General  Leven. 

"  The  right  wing  of  the  prince's  army  was  commanded  by 
the  Earl  of  Newcastle;  the  left  wing  by  the  prince  himself; 
and  the  main  body  by  General  Goring,  Sir  Charles  Lucas,  and 
Major-General  Porter.  Thus  were  both  sides  drawn  up  into 
battalia. 

"July  3d,  1644.  In  this  posture  both  armies  faced  each 
other,  and  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  fight  began 
between  them.  The  prince,  with  his  left  wing,  fell  on  the 
Parliament's  right  wing,  routed  them,  and  pursued  them  a 
great  way ;  the  like  did  General  Goring,  Lucas,  and  Porter, 
upon  the  Parliament's  main  body.  The  three  generals,  giv- 
ing all  for  lost,  hasted  out  of  the  field,  and  many  of  their  sol- 
diers fled,  and  threw  down  their  arms ;  the  king's  forces  too 
eagerly  following  them,  the  victory,  now  almost  achieved  by 
them,  was  again  snatched  out  of  their  hands.  For  Colonel 
Cromwell,  with  the  brave  regiment  of  his  countrymen,  and 
Sir  Thomas  Fairfax,  having  rallied  some  of  his  horse,  fell 
upon  the  prince's  right  wing,  where  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
was,  and  routed  them ;  and  the  rest  of  their  companions  ral- 
lying, they  fell  all  together  upon  the  divided  bodies  of  Rupert 
and  Goring  and  totally  dispersed  them,  and  obtained  a  com- 
plete victory,  after  three  hours'  fight. 

"  From  this  battle  and  the  pursuit,  some  reckon  were  buried 
7000  Englishmen ;  all  agree  that  above  3000  of  the  prince's 
men  were  slain  in  the  battle,  besides  those  in  the  chase,  and 
3000  prisoners  taken,  many  of  their  chief  officers,  twenty-five 
pieces  of  ordnance,  forty-seven  colors,  10,000  arms,  two  wag- 
ons of  carabines  and  pistols,  130  barrels  of  powder,  and  all 
their  bag  and  baggage."— Whitelocke's  Memoirs,  fol.  p.  89. 
Lond.  1682. 

Lord  Clarendon  informs  us  that  the  king,  previous  to  re- 
ceiving the  true  account  of  the  battle,  had  been  informed  by 
an  express  from  Oxford  "  that  Prince  Rupert  had  not  only 
relieved  York,  but  totally  defeated  the  Scots,  with  many  par- 
ticulars to  confirm  it;  all  which  was  so  much  believed  there 
that  they  kad  made  public  fires  of  joy  for  the  victory." 


Note  F. 


Monekton  and  Mitton  told  the  news, 

How  troops  of  Roundheads  choked  the  Ouse, 

And  many  a  bonny  Scot,  aghast, 

Spurring  his  palfrey  northward,  past, 

Cursing  the  day  when  zeal  or  meed 

First  lured  their  Lesley  o'er  the  Tweed. — P.  295. 

Monekton  and  Mitton  are  villages  near  the  river  Ouse,  and 
not  very  distant  from  the  field  of  battle.  The  particulars  of 
the  action  were  violently  disputed  at  the  time :  but  the  fol- 
lowing extract  from  the  Manuscript  History  of  the  Baronial 
House  of  Somerville  is  decisive  as  to  the  flight  of  the  Scottish 
general,  the  Earl  of  Leven.  The  particulars  are  given  by  the 
author  of  the  history  on  the  authority  of  his  father,  then  the 
representative  of  the  family.  This  curious  manuscript  has 
been  published  by  consent  of  my  noble  friend,  the  present 
Lord  Somerville. 


"  The  order  of  this  great  battell,  wherin  both  armies  was 
neer  of  ane  equall  number,  consisting,  to  the  best  calculatione, 
neer  to  three  score  thousand  men  upon  both  sydes,  I  shall  not 
take  upon  me  to  discryve;  albeit,  from  the  draughts  then 
taken  upon  the  place,  and  information  I  receaved  from  this 
gentleman,  who  being  then  a  volunteer,  as  having  no  com- 
mand, had  opportunitie  and  libertie  to  ryde  from  the  one 
wing  of  the  armie  to  the  other,  to  view  all  ther  severall  squad- 
rons of  horse  and  battallions  of  foot,  how  formed,  and  in  what 
manner  drawn  up,  with  every  other  circumstance  relating  to 
the  fight,  and  that  both  as  to  the  king's  armies  and  that 
of  the  Parliament's,  amongst  whom,  until  the  engadgment, 
he  went  from  statione  to  statione  to  observe  ther  order  and 
forme ;  but  that  the  descriptione  of  this  battell,  with  the  vari- 
ous success  on  both  sides  at  the  beginning,  with  the  loss  of 
the  royal  armie,  and  the  sad  effects  that  followed  that  mis- 
fortune as  to  his  majestie's  interest,  hes  been  so  often  done 
already  by  English  authors,  little  to  our  commendatione,  how 
justly  I  shall  not  dispute,  seing  the  truth  is,  as  our  principall 
generall  fled  that  night  neer  fourtie  mylles  from  the  place  of 
the  fight,  that  part  of  the  armie  where  he  commanded  being 
totallie  routed ;  but  it  is  as  true  that  much  of  the  victorie  is 
attributed  to  the  good  conduct  of  David  Lesselie,  lieveten- 
nent-generall  of  our  horse.  Cromwell  himself,  that  minione 
of  fortune,  but  the  rod  of  God's  wrath,  to  punish  eftirward 
three  rebellious  nations,  disdained  not  to  take  orders  from 
him,  albeit  then  in  the  same  qualitie  of  command  for  the  Par- 
liament, as  being  lievetennent^generall  to  the  Earl  of  Man- 
chester's horse,  whom,  with  the  assistance  of  the  Scots  horse, 
having  routed  the  prince's  right  wing,  as  he  had  done  that 
of  the  Parliament's.  These  two  commanders  of  the  horse 
upon  that  wing  wisely  restrained  the  great  bodies  of  their 
horse  from  persuing  these  brocken  troups,  but,  wheelling  to 
the  left-hand,  falls  in  upon  the  naked  flanks  of  the  prince's 
main  battallion  of  foot,  carying  them  doune  with  great  vio- 
lence ;  nether  rnett  they  with  any  great  resistance  untill  they 
came  to  the  Marques  of  Newcastle  his  battallione  of  White 
Coats,  who,  first  peppering  them  soundly  with  ther  shott, 
when  they  came  to  charge,  stoutly  bore  them  up  with  ther 
picks  that  they  could  not  enter  to  break  them.  Here  the 
Parliament's  horse  of  that  wing  receaved  ther  greatest  losse, 
and  a  stop  for  sometyme  putt  to  ther  hoped-for  victorie ;  and 
that  only  by  the  stout  resistance  of  this  gallant  battallione, 
which  consisted  neer  of  four  thousand  foot,  until  at  length  a 
Scots  regiment  of  dragouns,  commanded  by  Collonell  Frizcall, 
with  other  two,  was  brought  to  open  them  upon  some  hand, 
which  at  length  they  did,  when  all  the  ammunitione  was 
spent.  Having  refused  quarters,  every  man  fell  in  the  same 
order  and  ranke  wherin  he  had  foughten. 

"  Be  this  execution  was  done,  the  prince  returned  from  the 
persuite  of  the  right  wing  of  the  Parliament's  horse,  which 
he  had  beatten,  and  followed  too  farre,  to  the  losse  of  the  bat- 
tell,  which  certanely,  in  all  men's  opinions,  he  might  have 
caryed  if  he  had  not  been  too  violent  upon  the  persuite; 
which  gave  his  enemies  upon  the  left-hand  opportunitie  to 
disperse  and  cut  doune  his  infantrie,  who,  haveing  cleared  the 
field  of  all  the  standing  bodies  of  foot,  wer  now,  with  many 
of  ther  oune,  standing  ready  to  receave  the 
charge  of  his  allmost  spent  horses,  if  he  should  attempt  it ; 
which  the  prince  observeing,  and  seeing  all  lost,  he  retreated 
to  Yorke  with  two  thousand  horse.  Notwithstanding  of  this, 
ther  was  that  night  such  a  consternatione  in  the  Parliament 
armies,  that  it's  believed  by  most  of  those  that  wer  there 
present,  that  if  the  prince,  haveing  so  great  a  body  of  horse 
inteire,  had  made  ane  onfall  that  night,  or  the  ensueing 
morning  be-tyme,  he  had  carryed  the  victorie  out  of  ther 
hands ;  for  it's  certane,  by  the  morning's  light,  he  had  rallyed 
a  body  of  ten  thousand  men,  wherof  ther  was  neer  three  thou- 
sand gallant  horse.  These,  with  the  assistance  of  the  toune 
and  garrisoune  of  Yorke,  might  have  done  much  to  have 
recovered  the  victorie,  for  the  loss  of  this  battell  in  effect  lost 
the  king  and  his  interest  in  the  three  kingdomes ;  his  majes- 


352 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


tie  never  being  able  eftir  tins  to  make  head  in  the  north,  but 
lost  his  garrisons  every  day. 

"As  for  Generall  Lesselic,  in  the  beginning  of  this  flight 
haveing  that  part  of  the  armie  quite  brocken,  whare  he  had 
placed  himself,  by  the  valour  of  the  prince,  he  imagined,  and 
was  confirmed  by  the  opinione  of  others  then  upun  the  place 
with  him,  that  the  battell  was  irrecoverably  lost,  seeing  they 
wer  fleeing  upon  all  hands;  theirfore  they  humblie  intreated 
his  excellence  to  reteir  and  wait  his  better  fortune,  which, 
without  farder  advyseing,  he  did  ;  and  never  drew  bridle  un- 
till  he  came  the  lenth  of  Leads,  having  riddeu  all  that  night 
with  a  cloak  of  drap  de  berrie  about  him,  belonging  to  this 
gentleman  of  whom  I  write,  then  in  his  retinue,  with  many 
other  officers  of  good  qualitie.  It  was  neer  twelve  the  next 
day  befor  they  had  the  eertancty  wl#  was  master  of  the  field, 
when  at  length  ther  arryves  ane  expresse,  sent  by  David  Les- 
selie,  to  acquaint  the  generall  tiny  bad  obtained  a  most  glo- 
rious victorie,  and  that  the  prince,  with  his  brocken  troupes, 
was  fled  from  Yorke.  This  intelligence  was  somewhat  amaze- 
ing  to  these  gentlemen  that  hud  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  dis- 
order of  the  armie  before  ther  retearing,  and  had  then  accom- 
panyed  the  generall  in  his  flight;  who,  being  much  wearyed 
that  evening  of  the  battell  with  ordering  of  his  armie,  and 
now  quite  spent  with  his  long  journey  in  the  night,  had 
castcn  himselfe  doune  upon  a  bed  to  rest,  when  this  gentle- 
man comeing  quyetly  into  his  chamber,  he  awoke,  and  hast- 
ily cryes  out,  ' Lievetennent-collonell,  what  news?'  'All  is 
safe,  may  it  please  your  excellence ;  the  Parliament's  armie 
has  obtained  a  great  victorie ;'  and  then  delyvers  the  letter. 
The  generall,  upon  the  hearing  of  this,  knocked  upon  his 
breast,  and  sayes,  '  I  would  to  God  I  had  died  upon  the  place !' 
and  then  opens  the  letter,  which,  in  a  few  lines,  gave  ane 
account  of  the  victorie,  and  in  the  close  pressed  his  speedy 
returne  to  the  armie,  which  he  did  the  next  day,  being  accom- 
panyed  some  mylles  back  by  this  gentleman,  who  then  takes 
his  leave  of  him,  and  receaved  at  parting  many  expressions 
of  kyndnesse,  with  promises  that  he  would  never  be  unmynd- 
ful  of  his  care  and  respect  towards  him ;  and  in  the  end  he 
intreats  him  to  present  his  service  to  all  his  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances in  Scotland.  Thereftir  the  generall  sets  forward 
in  his  journey  for  the  armie,  as  this  gentleman  did  for 

,  in  order  to  his  transportation  for  Scotland, 
where  he  arryved  sex  dayes  eftir  the  fight  of  Mestoune  Muir, 
and  gave  the  first  true  account  and  descriptione  of  that  great 
battell,  wherein  the  Covenanters  then  gloryed  soe  much,  that 
they  impiously  boasted  the  Lord  had  now  signally  appeared 
for  his  cause  and  people ;  it  being  ordinary  for  them,  dureing 
the  whole  time  of  this  warre,  to  attribute  the  greatnes  of 
ther  success  to  the  goodnes  and  justice  of  ther  cause,  untill 
Divine  Justice  trysted  them  with  some  crosse  dispensatione, 
and  then  you  might  have  heard  this  language  from  them, 
'That  it  pleases  the  Lord  to  give  his  oune  the  heavyest  end 
of  the  tree  to  bear,  that  the  saints  and  the  people  of  God  must 
still  be  sufferers  while  they  are  here  away,  that  the  malig- 
nant party  was  God's  rod  to  punish  them  for  their  unthank- 
fullnesse,  which  in  the  end  he  will  cast  into  the  fire;'  with 
a  thousand  other  expressions  and  scripture  citations,  pro- 
phanely  and  blasphemously  uttered  by  them,  to  palliate  ther 
villainie  and  rebellion." — Memoirs  of  the  Somcrvilles.  Edin. 
1815. 


Note  G. 


With  his  barb'd  horse,  fresh  tidings  say, 
StotU  Cromwell  has  redeem'd  the  day. — P.  295. 

Cromwell,  with  his  regiment  of  cuirassiers,  had  a  prin- 
cipal share  in  turning  the  fate  of  the  day  at  Marston  Moor; 
which  was  equally  matter  of  triumph  to  the  Independents 
and  of  grief  and  heartburning  to  the  Presbyterians  and  to 


the  Scottish.    Principal  Baillie  expresses  his  dissatisfaction 
as  follows: — 

"The  Independents  sent  up  one  quickly  to  assure  that  all 
the  glory  of  that  night  was  theirs ;  and  they  and  their  Major- 
General  Cromwell  had  done  it  all  there  alone;  but  Captain 
Stuart  afterward  showed  the  vanity  and  falsehood  of  their 
disgraceful  relation.  God  gave  us  that  victory  wonderfully. 
There  were  three  generals  on  each  side,  Lesley,  Fairfax,  and 
Manchester;  Rupert,  Newcastle,  and  King.  Within  half  an 
hour  and  less,  all  six  took  them  to  their  heels; — this  to  you 
alone.  The  disadvantage  of  the  ground,  and  violence  of  the 
flower  of  Prince  Rupert's  horse,  carried  all  our  right  wing 
down  ;  only  Eglinton  kept  ground,  to  his  great  loss;  his  lieu- 
tenant-crowner,  a  brave  man,  I  fear  shall  die,  and  his  son 
Robert  be  mutilated  of  an  arm.  Lindsay  had  the  greatest 
hazard  of  any ;  but  the  beginning  of  the  victory  was  from 
David  Lesley,  who  before  was  much  suspected  of  evil  de- 
signs: he,  with  the  Scots  and  Cromwell's  horse,  having  the 
advantage  of  the  ground,  did  dissipate  all  before  them." — 
Baujlie'S  Letters  and  Journals.    Edin.  1785,  8vo,  ii.  36. 


Note  H. 


Do  not  my  native  dales  prolong 

Of  Percy  Rede  the  tragic  song, 

Train' d  for  ward  to  his  bloody  fall 

By  Girsonfield,  that  treacherous  Hall  f — P.  295. 

Hi  a  poem  entitled  "The  Lay  of  the  Reedwater  Minstrel," 
Newcastle.  1809,  this  tale,  with  many  others  peculiar  to  the 
valley  of  the  Reed,  is  commemorated: — "The  particulars  of 
the  traditional  story  of  Parcy  Reed  of  Troughend,  and  the 
Halls  of  Girsonfield,  the  author  had  from  a  descendant  of  the 
family  of  Reed.  From  his  account  it  appears  that  Pereival 
Reed,  Esquire,  a  keeper  of  Reedsdale,  was  betrayed  by  the 
Halls  (hence  denominated  the  false-hearted  Ha's)  to  a  band 
of  moss-troopers  of  the  name  of  Crosier,  who  slew  him  at 
Batinghope,  near  the  source  of  the  Reed. 

"  The  Halls  were,  after  the  murder  of  Parcy  Reed,  held  in 
such  universal  abhorrence  and  contempt  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Reedsdale,  for  their  cowardly  and  treacherous  behavior, 
that  they  were  obliged  to  leave  the  country."  In  another 
passage  we  are  informed  that  the  ghost  of  the  injured  Bor- 
derer is  supposed  to  haunt  the  banks  of  a  brook  called  the 
Pringle.  These  Redes  of  Troughend  were  a  very  ancient 
family,  as  may  be  conjectured  from  their  deriving  their  sur- 
name from  the  river  on  which  they  had  their  mansion.  An 
epitaph  on  one  of  their  tombs  affirms  that  the  family  held 
their  lands  of  Troughend,  which  are  situated  on  the  Reed, 
nearly  opposite  to  Otterburn,  for  the  incredible  space  of  nine 
hundred  years. 


Note  I. 


And  near  the  spot  thai  gave  me  name, 
The  moated  mound  of  Risingham, 
Where  Reed  upon  her  margin  sees 
Sweet  Woodburne's  cottages  and  trees, 
Some  ancient  sculptor's  art  has  shown 
An  outlaw's  image  on  the  stone. — P.  295. 

Risingham,  upon  the  river  Reed,  near  the  beautiful  hamlet 
of  Woodburnc,  is  an  ancient  Roman  station,  formerly  called 
Habitancum.    Camden  says  that  in  his  time  the  popular 


APPENDIX   TO   EOKEBY. 


353 


account  bore  that  it  had  been  the  abode  of  a  deity,  or  giant, 
called  Magon ;  and  appeals  in  support  of  this  tradition,  as 
well  as  to  the  etymology  of  Risingharu  or  Reisenham,  which 
signifies,  in  German,  the  habitation  of  the  giants,  to  two  Ro- 
man altars  taken  out  of  the  river,  inscribed  Deo  Mogonti 
Cadenorum.  About  half  a  mile  distant  from  Risingham, 
upon  an  eminence  covered  with  scattered  birch-trees  and  frag- 
ments of  rock,  there  is  cut  upon  a  large  rock,  in  alto  relievo, 
a  remarkable  figure,  called  Robin  of  Risingham,  or  Robin  of 
Reedsdale.  It  presents  a  hunter,  with  his  bow  raised  in  one 
hand,  and  in  the  other  what  seems  to  be  a  hare.  There  is  a 
quiver  at  the  back  of  the  figure,  and  he  is  dressed  in  a  long 
coat,  or  kirtle,  coming  down  to  the  knees,  and  meeting  close, 
with  a  girdle  bound  round  him.  Dr.  Horseley,  who  saw  all 
monuments  of  antiquity  with  Roman  eyes,  inclines  to  think 
this  figure  a  Roman  archer ;  and  certainly  the  bow  is  rather 
of  the  ancient  size  than  of  that  which  was  so  formidable  in  the 
hand  of  the  English  archers  of  the  middle  ages.  But  the  rude- 
ness of  the  whole  figure  prevents  our  founding  strongly  upon 
mere  inaccuracy  of  proportion.  The  popular  tradition  is  that 
it  represents  a  giant,  whose  brother  resided  at  Woodburne,  and 
he  himself  at  Risingham.  It  adds  that  they  subsisted  by 
hunting,  and  that  one  of  them,  finding  the  game  become  too 
scarce  to  support  them,  poisoned  his  companion,  in  whose 
memory  the  monument  was  engraved.  What  strange  and 
tragic  circumstance  may  be  concealed  under  this  legend,  or 
whether  it  is  utterly  apocryphal,  it  is  now  impossible  to  dis- 
cover. 

The  name  of  Robin  of  Redesdale  was  given  to  one  of  the 
Umfravilles,  Lords  of  Prudhoe,  and  afterwards  to  one  Bil- 
liard, a  friend  and  follower  of  the  king-making  Earl  of  War- 
wick. This  person  commanded  an  army  of  Northamptonshire 
and  northern  men,  who  seized  on  and  beheaded  the  Earl 
Rivers,  father  to  Edward  the  Fourth's  queen,  and  his  son,  Sir 
John  Woodville. — See  Hoxinshed,  ad  annum,  1469. 


Note  K. 


do  thou  revere 


The  statutes  of  the  Bucanier.—V.  295. 

The  "statutes  of  the  Bucaniers"  were,  in  reality,  more 
equitable  than  could  have  been  expected  from  the  state  of 
society  under  which  they  had  been  formed.  They  chiefly 
related,  as  may  readily  be  conjectured,  to  the  distribution 
and  the  inheritance  of  their  plunder. 

When  the  expedition  was  completed,  the  fund  of  prize- 
money  acquired  was  thrown  together,  each  party  taking  his 
oath  that  he  had  retained  or  concealed  no  part  of  the  common 
stock.  If  any  one  transgressed  in  this  important  particular,  the 
punishment  was,  his  being  set  ashore  on  some  desert  key  or 
island,  to  shift  for  himself  as  he  could.  The  owners  of  the 
vessel  had  then  their  share  assigned  for  the  expenses  of  the 
outfit.  These  were  generally  old  pirates,  settled  at  Tobago, 
Jamaica,  St.  Domingo,  or  some  other  French  or  English  set- 
tlement. The  surgeon's  and  carpenter's  salaries,  with  the 
price  of  provisions  and  ammunition,  were  also  defrayed.  Then 
followed  the  compensation  due  to  the  maimed  and  wounded, 
rated  according  to  the  damage  they  had  sustained;  as  six 
hundred  pieces  of  eight,  or  six  slaves,  for  the  loss  of  an  arm 
or  leg,  and  so  in  proportion. 

"  After  this  act  of  justice  and  humanity,  the  remainder  of 
the  booty  was  divided  into  as  many  shares  as  there  were 
Bucaniers.  The  commander  could  only  lay  claim  to  a  single 
share,  as  the  rest ;  but  they  complimented  him  with  two  or 
three,  in  proportion  as  he  had  acquitted  himself  to  their  satis- 
faction. When  the  vessel  was  not  the  property  of  the  whole 
company,  the  person  who  had  fitted  it  out,  and  furnished  it 
with  necessary  arms  and  ammunition,  was  entitled  to  a  third 
23 


of  all  the  prizes.  Favor  had  never  any  influence  in  the 
division  of  the  boot}-,  for  every  share  was  determined  by  lot. 
Instances  of  such  rigid  justice  as  this  are  not  easily  met  with, 
and  they  extended  even  to  the  dead.  Their  share  was  given 
to  the  man  who  was  known  to  be  their  companion  when  alive, 
and  therefore  their  heir.  If  the  person  who  had  been  killed 
had  no  intimate,  his  part  was  sent  to  his  relations,  when  they 
were  known.  If  there  were  no  friends  nor  relations,  it  was 
distributed  in  charity  to  the  poor  and  to  churches,  which  were 
to  pray  for  the  person  in  whose  name  these  benefactions  were 
given,  the  fruits  of  inhuman  but  necessary  piratical  plun- 
ders." —  Raynajl's  History  of  European  Settlements  in  the 
East  and  West  Indies,  by  Justamond.  Lond.  1776,  8vo,  iii. 
p.  41. 


Note  L. 


•  the  course  of  Tees.—T?.  299. 


The  view  from  Barnard  Castle  commands  the  rich  and  mag- 
nificent valley  of  Tees.  Immediately  adjacent  to  the  river, 
the  banks  are  very  thickly  wooded ;  at  a  little  distance  they 
are  more  open  and  cultivated ;  but,  being  interspersed  with 
hedge-rows,  and  with  isolated  trees  of  great  size  and  age,  they 
still  retain  the  richness  of  woodland  scenery.  The  river  itself 
flows  in  a  deep  trench  of  solid  rock,  chiefly  limestone  and 
marble.  The  finest  view  of  its  romantic  course  is  from  a 
handsome  modern-built  bridge  over  the  Tees,  by  the  late  Mr. 
Morritt  of  Rokeby.  In  Leland's  time,  the  marble  quarries 
seem  to  have  been  of  some  value.  "Hard  under  the  cliff"  by 
Egliston  is  found  on  eche  side  of  Tese  very  fair  marble,  wont 
to  be  taken  up  booth  by  marbelers  of  Barnardes  Castelle  and 
of  Egliston,  and  partly  to  have  been  wrought  by  them,  and 
partly  sold  unwrought  to  others." — Itinerary.  Oxford,  1768, 
8vo,  p.  88. 


Note  M. 


Egliston's  gray  ruins. — P.  300. 

The  ruins  of  this  abbey,  or  priory  (for  Tanner  calls  it  the 
former,  and  Leland  the  latter),  are  beautifully  situated  upon 
the  angle  formed  by  a  little  dell  called  Thorsgill,  at  its  junc- 
tion with  the  Tees.  A  good  part  of  the  religious  house  is  still 
in  some  degree  habitable,  but  the  church  is  iu  ruins.  Eglis- 
ton was  dedicated  to  St.  Mary  and  St.  John  the  Baptist,  and 
is  supposed  to  have  been  founded  by  Ralph  do  Multon  about 
the  end  of  Henry  the  Second's  reign.  There  were  formerly 
the  tombs  of  the  families  of  Rokeby,  Bowes,  and  Fitz-Hugh. 


Note  N. 


•  the  mound, 


Raised  by  that  Legion  long  renowned, 

Whose  votive  shrine  asserts  their  claim, 

Of  pious,  faithful,  conquering  feme. — P.  300. 

Close  behind  the  George  Inn  at  Greta  Bridge,  there  is  a 
well-preserved  Roman  encampment,  surrounded  with  a  triple 
ditch,  lying  between  the  river  Greta  and  a  brook  called  the 
Tutta.  The  four  entrances  are  easily  to  be  discerned.  Very 
many  Roman  altars  and  monuments  have  been  found  in  the 
vicinity,  most  of  which  are  preserved  at  Rokeby  by  my  friend 
Mr.  Morritt.  Among  others  is  a  small  votive  altar,  with  the 
inscription,  leg.  vi.  vie.  p.  f.  f.,  which  has  been  rendered, 
Legio.  Sexta.  Vicirix.  Pia.  Ibrlis.  Fidelis. 


354 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


Note  O. 


■  liokeby's  turrets  high.— P.  300. 


This  ancient  manor  long  gave  name  to  a  family  by  whom 
it  is  said  to  have  been  possessed  from  the  Conquest  down- 
ward, and  who  are  at  different  times  distinguished  in  history. 
It  was  the  Baron  of  Rokeby  who  finally  defeated  the  insur- 
rection of  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  tempore  lien.  IV.,  of 
which  Holinshed  gives  the  following  account : — "  The  king, 
advertised  hereof,  caused  a  great  armie  to  be  assembled,  and 
came  forward  with  the  same  towards  his  enemies;  but  yer  the 
king  came  to  Nottingham,  Sir  Thomas,  or  (as  other  copies 
haue)Sir  Rafe  Rokesbie,  Shiritfe  of  Yorkeshire,  assembled  the 
forces  of  the  countrie  to  resist  the  earle  and  his  power ;  com- 
ing to  Grimbautbrigs,  beside  Kuaresborough,  there  to  stop 
them  the  passage ;  but  they  returning  aside,  got  to  Weather- 
bie,  and  so  to  Tadcaster,  and  finally  came  forward  unto  Bram- 
ham-moor,  near  to  Ilaizlewood,  where  they  chose  their  ground 
meet  to  fight  upon.  The  shiriffe  was  as  readie  to  giue  battell 
as  the  earle  to  receiue  it;  and  so  with  a  standard  of  S.  George 
spread,  set  fiercelie  vpon  the  earle,  who,  vnder  a  standard  of 
his  owne  armes,  encountered  his  aduersaries  with  great  man- 
hood. There  was  a  sore  incounter,  and  cruell  conflict  betwixt 
the  parties,  but  in  the  end  the  victorie  fell  to  the  shiriffe. 
The  Lord  Bardolfe  was  taken,  but  sore  wounded,  so  that  he 
shortlie  after  died  of  the  hurts.  As  for  the  Earle  of  North- 
umberland, he  was  slain  outright ;  so  that  now  the  prophecy 
was  fulfilled,  which  gaue  an  inkling  of  this  his  heauy  hap 
long  before,  namelie, 

'  Stirps  Persitina  periet  confusa  ruina.' 

For  this  earle  was  the  stoeke  and  maine  root  of  all  that  were 
left  aliue,  called  by  the  name  of  Persie;  and  of  manie  more 
by  diuers  slaughters  dispatched.  For  whose  misfortune  the 
people  were  not  a  little  sorrie,  making  report  of  the  gentle- 
man's valientnesse,  renowne,  and  honour,  and  applieing  vnto 
him  certeine  lamentable  verses  out  of  Lucaine,  saieng, 

'  Sed  nos  nee  sanguis,  nee  tantum  vulnera  nostri 
Affecere  senis :  quantum  gestata  per  urbem 
Ora  ducis,  qua?  transfixo  deformia  pilo 
Vidimus.' 

For  his  head,  full  of  siluer  horie  haires,  being  put  upon  a  stake, 
was  openlie  carried  through  London,  and  set  upon  the  bridge 
of  the  same  citie :  in  like  manner  was  the  Lord  Bardolfes." — 
Holinshed's  Clironicles.  Lond.  1808,  4to,  iii.  45.  The  Roke- 
by or  Rokesby  family  continued  to  be  distinguished  until  the 
great  Civil  War,  when,  having  embraced  the  cause  of  Charles 
L,  they  suffered  severely  by  fines  and  confiscations.  The 
estate  then  passed  from  its  ancient  possessors  to  the  family 
of  the  Robinsons,  from  whom  it  was  purchased  by  the  father 
of  my  valued  friend,  the  present  proprietor. 


Note  P. 


A  stern  and  lone  yet  lovely  road 

As  e'er  the  foot  of  minstrel  trode. — P.  301. 

What  follows  is  an  attempt  to  describe  the  romantic  glen, 
or  rather  ravine,  through  which  the  Greta  finds  a  passage 
between  Rokeby  and  Mortham;  the  former  situated  upon  the 
left  bank  of  Greta,  the  latter  on  the  right  bank,  about  half  a 
mile  nearer  to  its  junction  with  the  Tees.  The  river  runs  with 
very  great  rapidity  over  a  bed  of  solid  rock,  broken  by  many 


shelving  descents,  down  which  the  stream  dashes  with  great 
noise  and  impetuosity,  vindicating  its  etymology,  which  has 
been  derived  from  the  Gothic,  Gridan,  to  clamor.  The  banks 
partake  of  the  same  wild  and  romantic  character,  being 
chiefly  lofty  cliffs  of  limestone  rock,  whose  gray  color  con- 
tra.-ts  admirably  with  the  various  trees  and  shrubs  which  find 
root  among  their  crevices,  as  well  as  with  the  hue  of  the  ivji, 
which  clings  around  them  in  profusion,  and  hangs  down  from 
their  projections  in  long  sweeping  tendrils.  At  other  points 
the  rocks  give  place  to  precipitous  banks  of  earth,  bearing 
large  trees  intermixed  with  copsewood.  In  one  spot  the  dell, 
which  is  elsewhere  very  narrow,  widens  for  a  space  to  leave 
room  for  a  dark  grove  of  yew  trees,  intermixed  here  and  there 
with  aged  pines  of  uncommon  size.  Directly  opposite  to  this 
sombre  thicket,  the  cliffs  on  the  other  side  of  the  Greta  are 
tall,  white,  and  fringed  with  all  kinds  of  deciduous  shrubs. 
The  whole  scenery  of  this  spot  is  so  much  adapted  to  the  ideas 
of  superstition  that  it  has  acquired  the  name  of  Blockula, 
from  the  place  where  the  Swedish  witches  were  supposed  to 
hold  their  Sabbath.  The  dell,  however,  has  superstitions  of 
its  own  growth,  for  it  is  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  a  female 
spectre,  called  the  Dobie  of  Mortham.  The  cause  assigned 
for  her  appearance  is  a  lady's  having  been  whilom  murdered 
in  the  wood,  in  evidence  of  which,  her  blood  is  shown  upon 
the  stairs  of  the  old  tower  at  Mortham.  But  whether  she  was 
slain  by  a  jealous  husband,  or  by  savage  banditti,  or  by  an 
uncle  who  coveted  her  estate,  or  by  a  rejected  lover,  are  points 
upon  which  the  traditions  of  Rokeby  do  not  enable  us  to 
decide. 


Note  Q. 

How  whistle  rash  bids  tempests  roar. — P.  302. 

That  this  is  a  general  superstition  is  well  known  to  all  who 
have  been  on  ship-board,  or  who  have  conversed  with  sea- 
men. The  most  formidable  whistler  that  I  remember  to  have 
met  with  was  the  apparition  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Leakey,  who, 
about  1636,  resided,  we  are  told,  at  Mynehead,  in  Somerset, 
where  her  only  son  drove  a  considerable  trade  between  that 
port  and  Waterford,  and  was  owner  of  several  vessels.  This 
old  gentlewoman  was  of  a  social  disposition,  and  so  accept- 
able to  her  friends  that  they  used  to  say  to  her  and  to  each 
other,  it  were  a  pity  such  an  excellent  good-natured  old  lady 
should  die ;  to  which  she  was  wont  to  reply  that  whatever 
pleasure  they  might  find  in  her  company  just  now,  they  would 
not  greatly  like  to  see  or  converse  with  her  after  death,  which 
nevertheless  she  was  apt  to  think  might  happen.  According- 
ly, after  her  death  and  funeral,  she  began  to  appear  to  various 
persons  by  night  and  by  noonday,  in  her  own  house,  in  the 
town  and  fields,  at  sea  and  upon  shore.  So  far  had  she  de- 
parted from  her  former  urbanity  that  she  is  recorded  to  have 
kicked  a  doctor  of  medicine  for  his  impolite  negligence  in 
omitting  to  hand  her  over  a  stile.  It  was  also  her  humor  to 
appear  upon  the  quay  and  call  for  a  boat.  But  especially  so 
soon  as  any  of  her  son's  ships  approached  the  harbor,  "this 
ghost  would  appear  in  the  same  garb  and  likeness  as  when 
she  was  alive,  and,  standing  at  the  mainmast,  would  blow 
with  a  whistle,  and  though  it  were  never  so  great  a  calm,  yet 
immediately  there  would  arise  a  most  dreadful  storm,  that 
would  break,  wreck,  and  drown  ship  and  goods."  When  she 
had  thus  proceeded  until  her  son  had  neither  credit  to  freight 
a  vessel,  nor  could  have  procured  men  to  sail  in  it,  she  began 
to  attack  the  persons  of  his  family,  and  actually  strangled  their 
only  child  in  the  cradle.  The  rest»of  her  story,  showing  how  the 
spectre  looked  over  the  shoulder  of  her  daughter-in-law  while 
dressing  her  hair  at  a  looking-glass,  and  how  Mrs.  Leakey  the 
younger  took  courage  to  address  her,  and  how  the  beldam  de- 


APPENDIX    TO    ROKEBY. 


355 


spatched  her  to  an  Irish  prelate,  famous  for  his  crimes  and 
misfortunes,  to  exhort  him  to  repentance,  and  to  apprise  him 
that  otherwise  he  would  be  hanged,  and  how  the  bishop  was 
satisfied  with  replying  that  if  he  was  born  to  be  hanged,  he 
should  not  be  drowned ;— all  these,  with  many  more  particu- 
lars, may  be  found  at  the  end  of  one  of  John  Dunton's  pub- 
lications, called  AtTtenianism,  London,  1710,  where  the  tale  is 
engrossed  under  the  title  of  "  The  Apparition  Evidence." 


Note  E. 


Of  Erich's  cap  and  Elmo's  light. — P.  302. 

"  This  Ericus,  King  of  Sweden,  in  his  time  was  held  second 
to  none  in  the  magical  art ;  and  he  was  so  familiar  with  the 
evil  spirits,  which  he  exceedingly  adored,  that  which  way  so- 
ever he  turned  his  cap,  the  wind  would  presently  blow  that 
way.  From  this  occasion  he  was  called  Windy  Cap;  and 
many  men  believed  that  Eegnerus,  King  of  Denmark,  by  the 
conduct  of  this  Ericus,  who  was  his  nephew,  did  happily  ex- 
tend his  piracy  into  the  most  remote  parts  of  the  earth,  and 
conquered  many  countries  and  fenced  cities  by  his  cunning, 
and  at  last  was  his  coadjutor ;  that  by  the  consent  of  the 
nobles,  he  should  be  chosen  King  of  Sweden,  which  continued 
a  long  time  with  him  very  happily,  until  he  died  of  old  age." 
— Olaus,  ut  supra,  p.  45. 


Note  S. 


The  Demon  Frigate— -P.  302. 

This  is  an  allusion  to  a  well-known  nautical  superstition 
concerning  a  fantastic  vessel,  called  by  sailors  the  Flying 
Dutchman,  and  supposed  to  be  seen  about  the  latitude  of  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope.  She  is  distinguished  from  earthly  vessels 
by  bearing  a  press  of  sail  when  all  others  are  unable,  from 
stress  of  weather,  to  show  an  inch  of  canvas.  The  cause  of 
her  wandering  is  not  altogether  certain ;  but  the  general 
account  is  that  she  was  originally  a  vessel  loaded  with  great 
wealth,  on  board  of  which  some  horrid  act  of  murder  and 
piracy  had  been  committed ;  that  the  plague  broke  out 
among  the  wicked  crew  who  had  perpetrated  the  crime,  and 
that  they  sailed  in  vain  from  port  to  port,  offering,  as  the 
price  of  shelter,  the  whole  of  their  ill-gotten  wealth ;  that 
they  were  excluded  from  every  harbor,  for  fear  of  the  conta- 
gion which  was  devouring  them;  and  that,  as  a  punishment 
of  their  crimes,  the  apparition  of  the  ship  still  continues  to 
haunt  those  seas  in  which  the  catastrophe  took  place,  and  is 
considered  by  the  mariners  as  the  worst  of  all  possible  omens. 

My  late  lamented  friend,  Dr.  John  Leyden,  has  introduced 
this  phenomenon  into  his  Scenes  of  Infancy,  imputing,  with 
poetical  ingenuity,  the  dreadful  judgment  to  the  first  ship 
which  commenced  the  slave  trade  :— 

"  Stout  was  the  ship,  from  Benin's  palmy  shore 
That  first  the  weight  of  barter'd  captives  bore ; 
Bedimm'd  with  blood,  the  sun  with  shrinking  beams 
Beheld  her  bounding  o'er  the  ocean  streams ; 
But,  ere  the  moon  her  silver  horns  had  rear'd, 
Amid  the  crew  the  speckled  plague  appear'd ; 
Faint  and  despairing,  on  their  watery  bier, 
To  every  friendly  shore  the  sailors  steer ; 
Bepell'd  from  port  to  port,  they  sue  in  vain, 
And  track  with  slow  unsteady  sail  the  main. 


Where  ne'er  the  bright  and  buoyant  wave  is  seen 
To  streak  with  wandering  foam  the  sea-weeds  green, 
Towers  the  tall  mast,  a  lone  and  leafless  tree, 
Till  self-impell'd  amid  the  waveless  sea ; 
Where  summer  breezes  ne'er  were  heard  to  sing, 
Nor  hovering  snow-birds  spread  the  downy  wing, 
Fix'd  as  a  rock  amid  the  boundless  plain, 
The  yellow  stream  pollutes  the  stagnant  main, 
Till  far  through  night  the  funeral  flames  aspire, 
As  the  red  lightning  smites  the  ghastly  pyre. 

"  Still  doom'd  by  fate  on  weltering  billows  roll'd, 
Along  the  deep  their  restless  course  to  hold, 
Scenting  the  storm,  the  shadowy  sailors  guide 
The  prow,  with  sails  opposed  to  wind  and  tide ; 
The  Spectre  Ship,  in  livid  glimpsing  light, 
Glares  baleful  on  the  shuddering  watch  at  night, 
Unblest  of  God  and  man !— Till  time  shall  end, 
Its  view  strange  horror  to  the  storm  shall  lend." 


Note  T. 


by  some  desert  isle  or  key. — P.  302. 

What  contributed  much  to  the  security  of  the  Bucaniers 
about  the  Windward  Islands  was  the  great  number  of  little 
islets,  called  in  that  country  keys.  These  are  small  sandy 
patches,  appearing  just  above  the  surface  of  the  ocean,  cov- 
ered only  with  a  few  bushes  and  weeds,  but  sometimes  afford- 
ing springs  of  water,  and,  in  general,  much  frequented  by 
turtle.  Such  little  uninhabited  spots  afforded  the  pirates 
good  harbors,  either  for  refitting  or  for  the  purpose  of  am- 
bush ;  they  were  occasionally  the  hiding-place  of  their  trea- 
sure, and  often  afforded  a  shelter  to  themselves.  As  many 
of  the  atrocities  which  they  practiced  on  their  prisoners  were 
committed  in  such  spots,  there  are  some  of  these  keys  which 
even  now  have  an  indifferent  reputation  among  seamen,  and 
where  they  are  with  difficulty  prevailed  on  to  remain  ashore 
at  night,  on  account  of  the  visionary  terrors  incident  to  places 
which  have  been  thus  contaminated. 


Note  U. 


Before  the  gale  of  Mortham  stood. — P.  303. 

The  castle  of  Mortham,  which  Leland  terms  "  Mr.  Eokes- 
by's  Place,  in  ripa  citer,  scant  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  Greta 
Bridge,  and  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beneath  into  Tees,"  is  a 
picturesque  tower,  surrounded  by  buildings  of  different  ages, 
now  converted  into  a  farm-house  and  offices.  The  battle- 
ments of  the  tower  itself  are  singularly  elegant,  the  architect 
having  broken  them  at  regular  intervals  into  different  heights ; 
while  those  at  the  corners  of  the  tower  project  into  octangu- 
lar turrets.  They  are  also  from  space  to  space  covered  with 
stones  laid  across  them,  as  in  modern  embrasures,  the  whole 
forming  an  uncommon  and  beautiful  effect.  The  surround- 
ing buildings  are  of  a  less  happy  form,  being  pointed  into 
high  and  steep  roofs.  A  wall,  with  embrasures,  encloses  the 
southern  front,  where  a  low  portal  arch  affords  an  entry  to 
what  was  the  castle  court.  At  some  distance  is  most  happily 
placed,  between  the  stems  of  two  magnificent  elms,  the  monu- 
ment alluded  to  in  the  text.  It  is  said  to  have  been  brought 
from  the  ruins  of  Egliston  Priory,  and,  from  the  armory  with 
which  it  is  richly  carved,  appears  to  have  been  a  tomb  of  the 
Fitz-Hughs. 


356 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  situation  of  Mortham  is  cm  in  on  tly  beautiful,  occupying 
a  high  bank,  at  the  bottom  of  which  the  Greta  winds  out  of 
the  dark,  narrow,  and  romantic  dell  which  the  text  has  at- 
tempted to  describe,  and  flows  onward  through  a  more  open 
valley  to  meet  the  Tees  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
castle.  Mortham  is  surrounded  by  old  trees,  happily  and 
widely  grouped  with  Mr.  Morritt's  new  plantations. 


Note  V. 


There  dig,  and  tomb  your  precious  heap. 
And  bid  the  dead  your  treasure  keep. — P.  304. 

If  time  did  not  permit  the  Bucaniers  to  lavish  away  their 
plunder  in  their  usual  debaucheries,  they  were  wont  to  hide 
it,  with  many  superstitious  solemnities,  in  the  desert  islands 
and  keys  which  they  frequented,  and  where  much  treasure, 
whose  lawless  owners  perished  without  reclaiming  it,  is  still 
supposed  to  be  concealed.  The  most  cruel  of  mankind  are 
often  the  most  superstitious ;  and  these  pirates  are  said  to 
have  had  recourse  to  a  horrid  ritual,  in  order  to  secure  an 
unearthly  guardian  to  their  treasures.  They  killed  a  negro 
or  Spaniard,  and  buried  him  with  the  treasure,  believing  that 
his  spirit  would  haunt  the  spot,  and  terrify  away  all  intruders. 
I  cannot  produce  any  other  authority  on  which  this  custom 
is  ascribed  to  them  than  that  of  maritime  tradition,  which  is, 
however,  amply  sufficient  for  the  purposes  of  poetry. 


Note  W. 


Thepoirer 


That  unsubdued  and  lurking  lies 
To  take  the  felon  by  surprise, 
And  force  him,  as  by  magic  spell, 
In  his  despite  his  guilt  to  tell. — P.  304. 

All  who  are  conversant  with  the  administration  of  criminal 
justice  must  remember  many  occasions  in  which  malefactors 
appear  to  have  conducted  themselves  with  a  species  of  infa- 
tuation, either  by  making  unnecessary  confidences  respecting 
their  guilt,  or  by  sudden  or  involuntary  allusions  to  circum- 
stances by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  be  exposed.  A  remark- 
able instance  occurred  in  the  celebrated  case  of  Eugene  Aram. 
A  skeleton  being  found  near  Knaresborough,  was  supposed, 
by  the  persons  who  gathered  around  the  spot,  to  be  the  re- 
mains of  one  Clarke,  who  had  disappeared  some  years  before, 
under  circumstances  leading  to  a  suspicion  of  his  having  been 
murdered.  One  Houseman,  who  had  mingled  in  the  crowd, 
suddenly  said,  while  looking  at  the  skeleton,  and  hearing  the 
opinion  which  was  buzzed  around,  "That  is  no  more  Dan 
Clarke's  bone  than  it  is  mine!" — a  sentiment  expressed  so 
positively,  and  with  such  peculiarity  of  manner,  as  to  lead  all 
who  heard  him  to  infer  that  he  must  necessarily  know  where 
the  real  body  had  been  interred.  Accordingly,  being  appre- 
hended, he  confessed  having  assisted  Eugene  Aram  to  murder 
Clarke,  and  to  hide  his  body  in  Saint  Robert's  Cave.  It  hap- 
pened to  the  author  himself,  while  conversing  with  a  person 
accused  of  an  atrocious  crime,  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
him  professional  assistance  upon  his  trial,  to  hear  the  pris- 
oner, after  the  most  solemn  and  reiterated  protestations  that 
he  was  guiltless,  suddenly,  and,  as  it  were,  involuntarily,  in 
the  course  of  his  communications,  make  such  an  admission 
as  was  altogether  incompatible  with  innocence. 


Note  X. 

Braclcenbury's  dismal  tower.— P.  306. 

This  tower  has  been  already  mentioned.  It  is  situated  near 
the  northeastern  extremity  of  the  wall  which  encloses  Bar- 
nard Castle,  and  is  traditionally  said  to  have  been  the  prison. 
By  an  odd  coincidence,  it  bears  a  name  which  we  naturally 
connect  with  imprisonment,  from  its  being  that  of  Sir  Robert 
Brackenbury,  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  of  Loudon  under 
Edward  IV.  and  Richard  III.  There  is,  indeed,  some  reason 
to  conclude  that  the  tower  may  actually  have  derived  its 
name  from  that  family,  for  Sir  Robert  Brackenbury  himself 
possessed  considerable  property  not  far  from  Barnard  Castle. 


Note  Y. 


Nobles  and  knights,  so  proud  of  late, 
Must  fine  for  freedom  and  estate. 

Right  heavy  shall  his  ransom  be, 

Unless  that  maid  compound  with  thee  ! — P.  307. 

After  the  battle  of  Marston  Moor,  the  Earl  of  Newcastle 
retired  beyond  sea  in  disgust,  and  many  of  his  followers  laid 
down  their  arms,  and  made  the  best  composition  they  could 
with  the  Committees  of  Parliament.  Fines  were  imposed 
upon  them  in  proportion  to  their  estates  and  degrees  of  delin- 
quency, and  these  fines  were  often  bestowed  upon  such  per- 
sons as  had  deserved  well  of  the  Commons.  In  some  circum- 
stances it  happened  that  the  oppressed  cavaliers  were  fain  to 
form  family  alliances  with  some  powerful  person  among  the 
triumphant  party.  The  whole  of  Sir  Robert  Howard's  excel- 
lent comedy  of  The  Committee  turns  upon  the  plot  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Day  to  enrich  their  family,  by  compelling  Arabella, 
whose  estate  was  under  sequestration,  to  marry  their  son 
Abel,  as  the  price  by  which  she  was  to  compound  with  Par- 
liament for  delinquency ;  that  is,  for  attachment  to  the  royal 
cause. 


Note  Z. 


The  Indian,  prowling  for  his  prey, 

Who  hears  the  settlers  track  his  way. — P.  307. 

The  patience,  abstinence,  and  ingenuity,  exerted  by  the 
North  American  Indians,  when  in  pursuit  of  plunder  or  ven- 
geance, is  the  most  distinguished  feature  in  their  character; 
and  the  activity  and  address  which  they  display  in  their  re- 
treat is  equally  surprising.  Adair,  whose  absurd  hypothesis 
and  turgid  style  do  not  affect  the  general  authenticity  of  his 
anecdotes,  has  recorded  an  instance  which  seems  incredible. 

"  When  the  Chickasah  nation  was  engaged  in  a  former  war 
with  the  Muskohge,  one  of  their  young  warriors  set  off  against 

them  to  revenge  the  blood  of  a  near  relation He  went 

through  the  most  unfrequented  and  thick  parts  of  the  woods, 
as  such  a  dangerous  enterprise  required,  till  he  arrived 
opposite  to  the  great  and  old  beloved  town  of  refuge, 
Koosah,  which  stands  high  on  the  eastern  side  of  a  bold  river, 
about  250  yards  broad,  that  runs  by  the  late  dangerous  Albe- 
hama  Fort,  down  to  the  black  poisoning  Mobille,  and  so  into 
the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  he  concealed  himself  under 
cover  of  the  top  of  a  fallen  pine-tree,  in  view  of  the  ford  of 
the  old  trading-path,  where  the  enemy  now  and  then  pass  the 


APPENDIX   TO   EOKEBY. 


357 


river  in  their  light  poplar  canoes.  All  his  war-store  of  pro- 
visions consisted  of  three  stands  of  barbecued  venison,  till  he 
had  an  opportunity  to  revenge  blood  and  return  home.  He 
waited  with  watchfulness  and  patience  almost  three  days, 
when  a  young  man,  a  woman,  and  a  girl,  passed  a  little  wide 
of  him  an  hour  before  sunset.  The  former  he  shot  down, 
tomahawked  the  other  two,  and  scalped  each  of  them  in  a 
trice  in  full  view  of  the  town.  By  way  of  bravado,  he  shaked 
the  scalps  before  them,  sounding  the  awful  death-whoop,  and 
set  off  along  the  trading-path,  trusting  to  his  heels,  while  a 
great  many  of  the  enemy  ran  to  their  arms  and  gave  chase. 
Seven  miles  from  thence  he  entered  the  great  blue  ridge  of 
the  Apalache  Mountains.  About  an  hour  before  day  he  had 
run  over  seventy  miles  of  that  mountainous  tract ;  then,  after 
sleeping  two  hours  in  a  sitting  posture,  leaning  his  back 
against  a  tree,  he  set  off  again  with  fresh  speed.  As  he  threw 
away  the  venison  when  he  found  himself  pursued  by  the 
enemy,  he  was  obliged  to  support  nature  with  such  herbs, 
roots,  and  nuts,  as  his  sharp  eyes,  with  a  running  glance, 
directed  him  to  snatch  up  in  his  course.  Though  I  often 
have  rode  that  war-path  alone,  when  delay  might  have 
proved  dangerous,  and  with  as  fine  and  strong  horses  as  any 
in  America,  it  took  me  five  days  to  ride  from  the  aforesaid 
Koosah  to  this  sprightly  warrior's  place  in  the  Chickasah 
country,  the  distance  of  three  hundred  computed  miles;  yet 
he  ran  it,  and  got  home  safe  and  well  at  about  eleven  o'clock 
of  the  third  day,  which  was  only  one  day  and  a  half  and  two 
nights." — Adau.'s  History  of  the  American  Indians.  Lond. 
1775,  4to,  p.  395. 


Note  2  A. 


In  Redesdale  his  youth  had  heard 

Each  art  her  wily  dalesmen  dared, 

When  Rooken-edge,  and  Redswair  high, 

To  bugle  rung  and  blood-hound's  cry. — r.  308. 

"What  manner  of  cattle-stealers  they  are  that  inhabit 
these  valleys  in  the  marches  of  both  kingdoms,  John  Lesley, 
a  Scotch  man  himself,  and  Bishop  of  Boss,  will  inform  you. 
They  sally  out  of  their  own  borders  in  the  night,  in  troops, 
through  unfrequented  byways  and  many  intricate  windings. 
All  the  daytime  they  refresh  themselves  and  their  horses  in 
lurking-holes  they  had  pitched  upon  before,  till  they  arrive 
in  the  dark  in  those  places  they  have  a  design  upon.  As 
soon  as  they  have  seized  upon  the  booty,  they,  in  like  man- 
ner, return  home  in  the  night,  through  blind  ways,  and 
fetching  many  a  compass.  The  more  skillful  any  captain  is 
to  pass  through  those  wild  deserts,  crooked  turnings,  and 
deep  precipices,  in  the  thickest  mists,  his  reputation  is  the 
greater,  and  he  is  looked  upon  as  a  man  of  an  excellent  head. 
And  they  are  so  very  cunning  that  they  seldom  have  their 
booty  taken  from  them,  unless  sometimes  when,  by  the  help 
of  blood-hounds  following  them  exactly  upon  the  track,  they 
may  chance  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  their  adversaries.  When 
being  taken,  they  have  so  much  persuasive  eloquence,  and  so 
many  smooth  insinuating  words  at  command,  that  if  they  do 
not  move  their  judges,  nay,  and  even  their  adversaries  (not- 
withstanding the  severity  of  their  natures),  to  have  mercy, 
yet  they  incite  them  to  admiration  and  compassion." — Cam- 
den's Britannia. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  valleys  of  Tyne  and  Reed  were,  in 
ancient  times,  so  inordinately  addicted  to  these  depredations 


1  Sir  Walter  Scott  continued  to  he  fond  of  coursing  hares 
long  after  he  had  laid  aside  all  other  field-sports,  and  he 
used  to  say,  jocularly,  that  he  had  more  pleasure  in  being 


that  in  1564  the  incorporated  Merchant  Adventurers  of  New- 
castle made  a  law  that  none  born  in  these  districts  should  be 
admitted  apprentice.  The  inhabitants  are  stated  to  be  so 
generally  addicted  to  rapine  that  no  faith  should  be  reposed 
in  those  proceeding  from  "such  lewde  and  wicked  progen- 
itors." This  regulation  continued  to  stand  unrepealed  until 
1771.  A  beggar,  in  an  old  play,  describes  himself  as  "  born 
in  Redesdale,  in  Northumberland,  and  come  of  a  weight-rid* 
ing  surname,  called  the  Robsons,  good  honest  men  and  true, 
saving  a  little  shifting  for  their  living,  God  help  them .'" — a  de- 
scription which  would  have  applied  to  most  Borderers  on 
both  sides. 

Redswair,  famed  for  a  skirmish  to  which  it  gives  name 
[see  Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  15],  is  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
Carter-fell,  which  divides  England  from  Scotland.  The  Rooken 
is  a  place  upon  Reedwater.  Bertram,  being  described  as  a 
native  of  these  dales,  where  the  habits  of  hostile  depredation 
long  survived  the  union  of  the  crowns,  may  have  been,  in 
some  degree,  prepared  by  education  for  the  exercise  of  a  sim- 
ilar trade  in  the  wars  of  the  Bucaniers. 


Note  2  B. 


Hiding  his  face,  lestfoemen  spy 

The  sparkle  of  his  sivarthy  eye. — P.  308. 

After  one  of  the  recent  battles,  in  which  the  Irish  rebels 
were  defeated,  one  of  their  most  active  leaders  was  found  in 
a  bog,  in  which  he  was  immersed  up  to  the  shoulders,  while 
his  head  was  concealed  by  an  impending  ledge  of  turf.  Being 
detected  and  seized  notwithstanding  his  precaution,  he  be- 
came solicitous  to  know  how  his  retreat  had  been  discovered. 
"  I  caught,"  answered  the  Sutherland  Highlander  by  whom 
he  was  taken,  "the  sparkle  of  your  eye."  Those  who  are 
accustomed  to  mark  hares  upon  their  form  usually  discover 
them  by  the  same  circumstance.1 


Note  2  C. 


Here  stood  a  wretch,  prepared  to  change 
His  soul's  redemption  for  revenge .' — P.  310. 

It  is  agreed  by  all  the  writers  upon  magic  and  witchcraft 
that  revenge  was  the  most  common  motive  for  the  pretended 
compact  between  Satan  and  his  vassals.  The  ingenuity  of 
Reginald  Scot  has  very  happily  stated  how  such  an  opinion 
came  to  root  itself,  not  only  in  the  minds  of  the  public  and 
of  the  judges,  but  even  in  that  of  the  poor  wretches  them- 
selves who  were  accused  of  sorcery,  and  were  often  firm  be- 
lievers in  their  own  power  and  their  own  guilt: — 

"  One  sort  of  such  as  are  said  to  be  witches  are  women 
which  be  commonly  old,  lame,  blear-eyed,  pale,  foul,  and  full 
of  wrinkles ;  poor,  sullen,  superstitious,  or  papists,  or  such  as 
know  no  religion  ;  in  whose  drowsie  minds  the  devil  hath 
gotten  a  fine  seat ;  so  as  what  mischief,  mischance,  calamity, 
or  slaughter  is  brought  to  pass,  they  are  easily  perswaded  the 


considered  an  excellent  finder,  than  in  all  his  reputation  as  a 
trouvere. — Ed. 


358 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


same  is  done  by  themselves,  imprinting  on  their  minds  an 
earnest  and  constant  imagination  thereof.  ....  These  go 
from  house  to  house,  and  from  door  to  door,  for  a  pot  of  milk, 
yest,  drink,  pottage,  or  some  such  relief,  without  the  which 
they  could  hardly  live ;  neither  obtaining  for  their  service  or 
pains,  nor  yet  by  their  art,  nor  yet  at  the  devil's  hands  (with 
whom  they  are  said  to  make  a  perfect  and  visible  bargain;, 
either  beauty,  money,  promotion,  wealth,  pleasure,  honour, 
knowledge,  learning,  or  any  other  benefit  whatsoever. 

"  It  falleth  out  many  a  time  that  neither  their  necessities 
nor  their  expectation  is  answered  or  served  in  those  places 
where  they  beg  or  borrow,  but  rather  their  lewdness  is  by 
their  neighbours  reproved.  And  further,  in  tract  of  time  the 
witch  waxeth  odious  and  tedious  to  her  neighbours,  and  they 
again  are  despised  and  despited  of  her ;  so  as  sometimes  she 
curseth  one,  and  sometimes  another,  and  that  from  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  his  wife,  children,  cattle,  &c,  to  the  little 
pig  that  lieth  in  the  stie.  Thus,  in  process  of  time,  they  have 
all  displeased  her,  and  she  hath  wished  evil  luck  unto  them 
all ;  perhaps  with  curses  and  imprecations  made  in  form. 
Doubtless  (at  length)  some  of  her  neighbours  die  or  fall  sick, 
or  some  of  their  children  are  visited  with  diseases  that  vex 
them  strangely,  as  apoplexies,  epilepsies,  convulsions,  hot 
fevers,  worms,  &c.,  which,  by  ignorant  parents,  are  supposed 
to  be  the  vengeance  of  witches 

"  The  witch,  on  the  other  side,  expecting  her  neighbours' 
mischances,  and  seeing  things  sometimes  come  to  pass  accord- 
ing to  her  wishes,  curses,  and  incantations  (for  Bodin  him- 
self confesses  that  not  above  two  in  a  hundred  of  their  witeh- 
ings  or  wishings  take  effect),  being  called  before  a  justice,  by 
due  examination  of  the  circumstances  is  driven  to  see  her 
imprecations  and  desires,  and  her  neighbours'  harms  and 
losses,  to  concur,  and,  as  it  were,  to  take  effect ;  and  so  con- 
fesseth  that  she  (as  a  goddess)  hath  brought  such  things  to 
pass.  Wherein  not  only  she,  but  the  accuser,  and  also  the 
justice,  are  foully  deceived  and  abused,  as  being,  through  her 
confession,  and  other  circumstances,  perswaded  (to  the  injury 
of  God's  glory)  that  she  hath  done,  or  can  do,  that  which  is 
proper  only  to  God  himself." — Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft. 
Loud.  1655,  fol.  p.  4,  5. 


Note  2  D. 

Of  my  marauding  on  the  cloivns 

Of  Calverley  and  Bradford  downs.— P.  310. 

The  troops  of  the  king,  when  they  first  took  the  field,  were 
as  well  disciplined  as  could  be  expected  from  circumstances. 
But  as  the  circumstances  of  Charles  became  less  favorable, 
and  his  funds  for  regularly  paying  his  forces  decreased,  hab- 
its of  military  license  prevailed  among  them  in  greater  ex- 
cess. Lacy  the  player,  who  served  his  master  during  the 
Civil  War,  brought  out,  after  the  Restoration,  a  piece  called 
The  Old  Troop,  in  which  he  seems  to  have  commemorated 
some  real  incidents  which  occurred  in  his  military  career. 
The  names  of  the  officers  of  the  troop  sufficiently  express 
their  habits.  We  have  Flea-flint  Plunder-Master-General, 
Captain  Ferret-farm,  and  Quarter-Master  Burn-drop.  The 
officers  of  the  troop  are  in  league  with  these  worthies,  and 
connive  at  their  plundering  the  country,  for  a  suitable  share 
in  the  booty.  All  this  was  undoubtedly  drawn  from  the  life, 
which  Lacy  had  an  opportunity  to  study.  The  moral  of  the 
whole  is  comprehended  in  a  rebuke  given  to  the  lieutenant, 
whose  disorders  in  the  country  are  said  to  prejudice  the 
king's  cause  more  than  his  courage  in  the  field  could  recom- 
pense.   The  piece  is  by  no  means  void  of  farcical  humor. 


Note  2  E. 

BrignalCs  woods,  and  ScargiWs,  wave, 

E'en  now,  o'er  many  a  sister  cave. — P.  311. 

The  banks  of  the  Greta,  below  Rutherford  Bridge,  abound 
in  seams  of  grayish  slate,  which  are  wrought  in  some  places 
to  a  very  great  depth  under  ground,  thus  forming  artificial 
caverns,  which,  when  the  seam  has  been  exhausted,  are  grad- 
ually hidden  by  the  underwood  which  grows  in  profusion 
upon  the  romantic  banks  of  the  river.  In  times  of  public 
confusion  they  might  be  well  adapted  to  the  purposes  of  ban- 
ditti. 


Note  2  F. 


When  Spain  waged  warfare  with  our  land. — P.  313. 

There  was  a  short  war  with  Spain  in  1625-6,  which,  will  be 
found  to  agree  pretty  well  with  the  chronology  of  the  poem. 
But  probably  Bertram  held  an  opinion  very  common  among 
the  maritime  heroes  of  the  age,  that  "there  was  no  peace 
beyond  the  Line."  The  Spanish  guarda-costas  were  constantly 
employed  in  aggressions  upon  the  trade  and  settlements  of 
the  English  and  French,  and  by  their  own  severities  gave 
room  for  the  system  of  bucaniering,  at  first  adopted  in  self- 
defence  and  retaliation,  and  afterwards  persevered  in  from 
habit  and  thirst  of  plunder. 


Note  2  G. 


■  our  comrades'  strife. — P.  3 


The  laws  of  the  Bucaniers,  and  their  successors  the  Pirates, 
however  severe  and  equitable,  were,  like  other  laws,  often  set 
aside  by  the  stronger  party.  Their  quarrels  about  the  divis- 
ion of  the  spoil  fill  their  history,  and  they  as  frequently  arose 
out  of  mere  frolic,  or  the  tyrannical  humor  of  their  chiefs. 
An  anecdote  of  Teach  (called  Blackboard)  shows  that  their 
habitual  indifference  for  human  life  extended  to  their  com- 
panions, as  well  as  their  enemies  and  captives : — 

"  One  night,  drinking  in  his  cabin  with  Hands,  the  pilot, 
and  another  man,  Blackboard,  without  any  provocation,  pri- 
vately draws  out  a  small  pair  of  pistols  and  cocks  them  under 
the  table,  which  being  perceived  by  the  man,  he  withdrew 
upon  deck,  leaving  Hands,  the  pilot,  and  the  captain  together. 
When  the  pistols  were  ready,  he  blew  out  the  candles,  and, 
crossing  his  hands,  discharged  them  at  his  company.  Hands, 
the  master,  was  shot  through  the  knee,  and  lamed  for  life ; 
the  other  pistol  did  no  execution."— Johnson's  History  of 
Pirates.    Lond.  1724,  8vo,  vol.  i.  p.  38. 

Another  anecdote  of  this  worthy  may  be  also  mentioned : — 
"  The  hero  of  whom  we  are  writing  was  thoroughly  accom- 
plished this  way,  and  some  of  his  frolics  of  wickedness  were 
so  extravagant,  as  if  he  aimed  at  making  his  men  believe  he 
was  a  devil  incarnate ;  for  being  one  day  at  sea,  and  a  little 
flushed  with  drink, '  Come,'  says  he, '  let  us  make  a  hell  of  our 
own,  and  try  how  long  we  can  bear  it.'  Accordingly,  he,  with 
two  or  three  others,  went  down  into  the  hold,  and,  closing  up 
all  the  hatches,  filled  several  pots  full  of  brimstone  and  other 
combustible  matter  and  set  it  on  fire,  and  so  continued  till 
they  were  almost  suffocated,  when  some  of  the  men  cried  out 
for  air.  At  length  he  opened  the  hatches,  not  a  little  pleased 
that  he  held  out  the  longest."— Ibid.  p.  90. 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


359 


Note  2  H. 


■ — ■ my  rangers  go 

Even  now  to  track  a  milk-whiie  doe. — P.  314. 

"  Immediately  after  supper,  the  huntsman  should  go  to  his 
master's  chamber,  and  if  he  serve  a  king,  then  let  him  go  to 
the  master  of  the  game's  chamber,  to  know  in  what  quarter 
he  determineth  to  hunt  the  day  following,  that  he  may  know 
his  own  quarter ;  that  done,  he  may  go  to  bed,  to  the  end  that 
he  may  rise  the  earlier  in  the  morning,  according  to  the  time 
and  season,  and  according  to  the  place  where  he  must  hunt : 
then  when  he  is  up  and  ready,  let  him  drinke  a  good  draught, 
and  fetch  his  hound,  to  make  him  breake  his  fast  a  little :  and 
let  him  not  forget  to  fill  his  bottel  with  good  wine :  that  done, 
let  him  take  a  little  vinegar  into  the  palme  of  his  hand,  and 
put  it  in  the  nostrils  of  his  hound,  for  to  make  him  snuffe,  to 
the  end  his  scent  may  be  the  perfecter,  then  let  him  go  to 

the  wood When  the  huntsman  perceiveth  that  it  is 

time  to  begin  to  beat,  let  him  put  his  hound  before  him,  and 
beat  the  outsides  of  springs  or  thickets ;  and  if  he  find  an  hart 
or  deer  that  likes  him,  let  him  mark  well  whether  it  be  fresh 
or  not,  which  he  may  know  as  well  by  the  maner  of  his  hounds 
drawing,  as  also  by  the  eye When  he  hath  well  con- 
sidered what  manner  of  "hart  it  may  be,  and  hath  marked 
every  thing  to  judge  by,  then  let  him  draw  till  he  comes  to 
the  couert  where  he  is  gone  to :  and  let  him  harbour  him  if 
he  can,  still  marking  all  his  tokens,  as  well  by  the  slot  as  by 
the  entries,  foyles,  or  such-like.  That  done,  let  him  plash 
or  bruse  down  small  twigges,  some  aloft  and  some  below,  as 
the  art  requireth,  and  therewithal!,  whilst  his  hound  is  hote, 
let  him  beat  the  outsides,  and  make  his  ring-walkes,  twice 
or  thrice  about  the  wood." — The  Noble  Art  of  Venerie,  or  Hunt- 
ing.   Lond.  1611,  4to,  pp.  76,  77. 


Note  2  I. 


Song  ■ 


■  adieu  for  evermore. — P.  315. 


The  last  verse  of  this  song  is  taken  from  the  fragment  of 
an  old  Scottish  ballad,  of  which  I  only  recollected  two  verses 
when  the  first  edition  of  "  Rokeby "  was  published.  Mr. 
Thomas  Sheridan  kindly  pointed  out  to  me  an  entire  copy  of 
this  beautiful  song,  which  seems  to  express  the  fortunes  of 
some  follower  of  the  Stuart  family  :— 

"  It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  left  fair  Scotland's  strand, 
It  was  a'  for  our  rightful  king 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land, 
My  dear, 
That  we  e'er  saw  Irish  land. 

"  Now  all  is  done  that  man  can  do, 
And  all  is  done  in  vain ! 
My  love!  my  native  land,  adieu! 
For  I  must  cross  the  main, 
My  dear, 
For  I  must  cross  the  main. 

"  He  turn'd  him  round  and  right  about, 
All  on  the  Irish  shore, 
He  gave  his  bridle-reins  a  shake, 
With,  Adieu  for  evermore, 

My  dear, 
Adieu  for  evermore ! 


"  The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns, 
And  the  merchant  frae  the  main, 
But  I  ha'e  parted  wi'  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

"  When  day  has  gone  and  night  is  come, 

And  a'  are  boun'  to  sleep, 

I  think  on  them  that's  far  awa 

The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep, 

My  dear, 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep." 


Note  2  K. 


•  Here-cross  on  Stanmore. — P.  315. 


This  is  a  fragment  of  an  old  cross,  with  its  pediment,  sur- 
rounded with  an  intrenchment,  upon  the  very  summit  of  the 
waste  ridge  of  Stanmore,  near  a  small  house  of  entertainment 
called  the  Spittal.  It  is  called  Rere-cross,  or  Ree-cross,  of 
which  Holinshed  gives  us  the  following  explanation : — 

"  At  length  a  peace  was  concluded  betwixt  the  two  kings 
vnder  these  conditions,  that  Malcolme  should  enjoy  that  part 
of  Northumberland  which  lieth  betwixt  Tweed,  Cumberland, 
and  Stainmore,  and  doo  homage  to  the  Kinge  of  England  for 
the  same.  In  the  midst  of  Stainmore  there  shall  be  a  crosse 
set  up,  with  the  Kinge  of  England's  image  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  Kinge  of  Scotland's  on  the  other,  to  signifie  that  one 
is  march  to  England,  and  the  other  to  Scotland.  This  crosse 
was  called  the  Roi-crosse,  that  is,  the  crosse  of  the  Kinge." — 
Holinshed.    Lond.  1808,  4to,  v.  280. 

Holinshed's  sole  authority  seems  to  have  been  Boethius ; 
but  it  is  not  improbable  that  his  account  may  be  the  true 
one,  although  the  circumstance  does  not  occur  in  Wintoun's 
Chronicle.  The  situation  of  the  cross,  and  the  pains  taken  to 
defend  it,  seem  to  indicate  that  it  was  intended  for  a  land- 
mark of  importance. 


Note  2  L. 


hast  thou  lodged  our  deer  f — P.  316. 

The  duty  of  the  ranger,  or  pricker,  was  first  to  lodge  or 
harbor  the  deer,  i.  e.,  to  discover  his  retreat,  as  described  at 
length  in  Note  2  H,  and  then  to  make  his  report  to  his  prince, 
or  master : — 

"  Before  the  king  I  come  report  to  make. 

Then  husht  and  peace  for  noble  Tristrame's  sake  .  .  . 

My  liege,  I  went  this  morning  on  my  quest, 

My  hound  did  stick,  and  seem'd  to  vent  some  beast. 

I  held  him  short,  and  drawing  after  him, 

I  might  behold  the  hart  was  feeding  trym : 

His  head  was  high,  and  large  in  each  degree, 

Well  paulmed  eke,  and  seem'd  full  sound  to  be. 

Of  colour  browne,  he  beareth  eight  and  tenne, 

Of  stately  height,  and  long  he  seemed  then. 

His  beam  seem'd  great,  in  good  proportion  led, 

Well  barred  and  round,  well  pearled  near  his  head. 

He  seemed  fayre  tweene  blacke  and  berrie  brounde, 

He  seemes  well  fed  by  all  the  signes  I  found. 


360 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


For  when  I  had  well  marked  him  with  eye, 
I  stept  aside,  to  watch  where  he  would  lye. 
And  when  I  had  BO  wayted  lull  an  houre, 
That  he  might  be  at  layre  ami  in  his  boure, 
1  cast  about  to  harbour  him  full  sure ; 
My  hound  by  sent  did  me  thereof  assure  .  .  . 
"Then  if  he  ask  what  slot  or  view  I  found, 
I  say  the  slot  or  \  lew  was  long  on  ground ; 
The  toes  were  great,  the  joy nt  bones  round  and  short, 
The  shinne  bones  large,  the  dew-claws  elose  in  port: 
Short  ioynted  was  he,  hollow-footed  eke, 
An  hart  to  hunt  as  any  man  can  seeke." 

The  Art  of  Venerk,  ut  supra,  p.  97. 


Note  2  M. 

When  Denmark's  raven  soar'd  on  high, 
Triu m phanl  //trough  Xor/humbrian  sky, 
Till,  lunering  near,  her  fatal  croak 
Bade  IlegeiCs  Britons  dread  (lie  yoke. — P.  31G. 

About  the  year  of  God  866,  the  Danes,  under  their  cele- 
brated leaders  Inguar  (more  properly  Agnar)  and  Hubba, 
sons,  it  is  said,  of  the  still  more  celebrated  Regnar  Lodbrog, 
invaded  Northumberland,  bringing  with  them  the  magical 
standard  so  often  mentioned  in  poetry,  called  Reafen,  or 
Rumfan,  from  its  bearing  the  figure  of  a  raven  : — 

'  Wrought  by  the  sisters  of  the  Danish  king, 

Of  furious  Ivar  in  a  midnight  hour: 

While  the  sick  moon,  at  their  enchanted  song 

Wrapt  in  pale  tempest,  labour'd  through  the  clouds, 

The  demons  of  destruction  then,  they  say, 

Were  all  abroad,  and  mixing  with  the  woof 

Their  baleful  power :  The  sisters  ever  sung, 

'  Shake,  standard,  shake  this  ruin  on  our  foes.'  " 

Thomson  and  Mallet's  Alfred. 

The  Danes  renewed  and  extended  their  incursions,  and 
began  to  colonize,  establishing  a  kind  of  capital  at  York,  from 
which  they  spread  their  conquests  and  incursions  in  every 
direction.  Stanmore,  which  divides  the  mountains  of  West- 
moreland and  Cumberland,  was  probably  the  boundary  of 
the  Danish  kingdom  in  that  direction.  The  district  to  the 
west,  known  in  ancient  British  history  by  the  name  of  Reged, 
had  never  been  conquered  by  the  Saxons,  and  continued  to 
maintain  a  precarious  independence  until  it  was  ceded  to 
Malcolm,  King  of  Scots,  by  William  the  Conqueror,  probably 
on  account  of  its  similarity  in  language  and  manners  to  the 
neighboring  British  kingdom  of  Strath-Clyde. 

Upon  the  extent  and  duration  of  the  Danish  sovereignty 
in  Northumberland,  the  curious  may  consult  the  various 
authorities  quoted  in  the  Gesla  el  Vestigia  Danorum  extra 
Daniarn,  torn.  ii.  p.  40.  The  most  powerful  of  their  North- 
umbrian leaders  seems  to  have  been  Ivar,  called,  from  the 
extent  of  his  conquests,  Widfam,  that  is,  Tlte  Strider. 


Note  2  N. 


Beneath  the  shade  the  Northmen  came, 
Piz'd  on  each  vale  a  Runic  name. — P.  316. 

The  heathen  Danes  have  left  several  traces  of  their  religion 
in  the  upper  part  of  Teesdale.  Balder-garth,  which  derives 
its  name  from  the  unfortunate  son  of  Odin,  is  a  tract  of  waste 


land  on  the  very  ridge  of  Stanmore ;  and  a  brook,  which  falls 
into  the  Tees  near  Barnard  Castle,  is  named  after  the  same 
deity.  A  field  upon  the  banks  of  the  Tees  is  also  ternu  d 
Woden-Croft,  from  the  supreme  deity  of  the  Edda.  Thorsgill, 
of  which  a  description  is  attempted  in  stanza  ii.,  is  a  beautiful 
little  brook  and  dell,  running  up  behind  the  ruins  of  Egliston 
Abbey.  Thor  was  the  Hercules  of  the  Scandinavian  mythol- 
ogy, a  dreadful  giant-queller,  and  in  that  capacity  the  cham- 
pion of  the  gods,  and  the  defender  of  Asgard,  the  northern 
Olympus,  against  the  frequent  attacks  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Jotunhem.  There  is  an  old  poem  in  the  Edda  of  Soemund, 
called  the  "  Song  of  Thrym,"  which  turns  upon  the  loss  and 
recovery  of  the  Mace,  or  Hammer,  which  was  Thor's  principal 
weapon,  and  on  which  much  of  his  power  seems  to  have  de- 
pended. It  may  be  read  to  great  advantage  in  a  version 
equally  spirited  and  literal,  among  the  Miscellaneous  Trans- 
latiuns  and  Poems  of  the  Honorable  William  Herbert. 


Note  2  0. 


Who  has  not  heard  how  brave  CfSeale 

In  English  blood  imbrued  his  steel  f — P.  317. 

The  O'Neale  here  meant — for  more  than  one  succeeded  to 
the  chieftainship  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth — was  Hugh, 
the  grandson  of  Con  O'Neale,  called  Con  Bacco,  or  the  Lame. 
His  father,  Matthew  O'Kelly,  was  illegitimate,  and,  being  the 
son  of  a  blacksmith's  wife,  was  usually  called  Matthew  the 
Blacksmith.  His  father,  nevertheless,  destined  his  succes- 
sion to  him ;  and  he  was  created,  by  Elizabeth,  Baron  of 
Dungannon.  Upon  the  death  of  Con  Bacco,  this  Matthew 
was  slain  by  his  brother.  Hugh  narrowly  escaped  the  same 
fate,  and  was  protected  by  the  English.  Shane  O'Neale,  his 
uncle,  called  Shane  Dymas,  was  succeeded  by  Turlough 
Lynogh  O'Neale ;  after  whose  death  Hugh,  having  assumed 
the  chieftainship,  became  nearly  as  formidable  to  the  Eng- 
lish as  any  by  whom  it  had  been  possessed.  He  rebelled  re- 
peatedly, and  as  often  made  submissions,  of  which  it  was 
usually  a  condition  that  he  should  no  longer  assume  the  title 
of  O'Neale ;  in  lieu  of  which  he  was  created  Earl  of  Tyrone. 
But  this  condition  he  never  observed  longer  than  until  the 
pressure  of  superior  force  was  withdrawn.  His  baffling  the 
gallant  Earl  of  Essex  in  the  field,  and  overreaching  him  in  a 
treaty,  was  the  induction  to  that  nobleman's  tragedy.  Lord 
Mountjoy  succeeded  in  finally  subjugating  O'Neale ;  but  it  was 
not  till  the  succession  of  James,  to  whom  he  made  personal 
submission,  and  was  received  with  civility  at  court.  Yet  ac- 
cording to  Moryson,  "no  respect  to  him  could  containe  many 
weomen  in  those  parts,  who  had  lost  husbands  and  children 
in  the  Irish  warres,  from  flinging  durt  and  stones  at  the  earle 
as  he  passed,  and  from  reuiling  him  with  bitter  words;  yea, 
when  the  earl  had  been  at  court,  and  there  obtaining  his 
majestie's  direction  for  his  pardon  and  performance  of  all 
conditions  promised  him  by  the  Lord  Mountjoy,  was  about 
September  to  returne,  he  durst  not  pass  by  those  parts  with- 
out direction  to  the  shiriffes,  to  convey  him  with  troops  of 
horse  from  place  to  place,  till  he  was  safely  imbarked  and 
put  to  sea  for  Ireland."— Itinerary,  p.  296. 


Note  2  P. 


But  chief  arose  his  victor  pride 

When  that  brave  marshal  fought  and  died. — P.  317. 

The  chief  victory  which  Tyrone  obtained  over  the  English 
was  in  a  battle  fought  near  Blackwater,  while  he  besieged  a 


APPENDIX    TO    ROKEBY. 


361 


fort  garrisoned  by  the  English,  which  commanded  the  passes 
into  his  country. 

"  This  captain  and  his  few  warders  did  with  no  less  cour- 
age suffer  hunger,  and,  having  eaten  the  few  horses  they  had, 
lived  vpon  hearbes  growing  in  the  ditches  and  wals,  suffer- 
ing all  extremities,  till  the  lord-lieutenant,  in  the  moneth  of 
August,  sent  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  marshal]  of  Ireland,  with  the 
most  choice  companies  of  foot  and  horse-troopes  of  the  Eng- 
lish army,  to  victual  this  fort,  and  to  raise  the  rebels'  siege. 
When  the  English  entered  the  place  and  thicke  woods  beyond 
Armagh,  on  the  east  side,  Tyrone  (with  all  the  rebels  assem- 
bled to  him)  pricked  forward  with  rage,  enuy,  and  settled 
rancour  against  the  marshall,  assayled  the  English,  and  turn- 
ing his  full  force  against  the  marshall's  person,  had  the  sue- 
cesse  to  kill  him,  valiantly  fighting  among  the  thickest  of  the 
rebels.  Whereupon  the  English  being  dismayed  with  his 
death,  the  rebels  obtained  a  great  victory  against  them.  I 
terme  it  great,  since  the  English,  from  their  first  arriual  in 
that  kingdome,  neuer  had  received  so  great  an  ouerthrow  as 
this,  commonly  called  the  Defeat  of  Blackewater ;  thirteene 
valiant  captaines  and  1500  common  souldiers  (whereof  many 
were  of  the  old  companies  which  had  serued  in  Brittany 
vnder  General  Norreys)  were  slain  in  the  field.  The  yielding 
of  the  fort  of  Blackewater  followed  this  disaster,  when  the 
assaulted  guard  saw  no  hope  of  relief;  but  especially  vpon 
messages  sent  to  Captaine  Williams  from  our  broken  forces, 
retired  to  Armagh,  professing  that  all  their  safety  depended 
vpon  his  yielding  the  fort  into  the  hands  of  Tyrone,  without 
which  danger  Captaine  Williams  professed  that  no  want  or 
miserie  should  have  induced  him  thereunto." — Fynes  Mory- 
SOn's  Itinerary.    Lond.  1617,  fol.  part  ii.  p.  24. 

Tyrone  is  said  to  have  entertained  a  personal  animosity 
against  the  knight-marshal,  Sir  Henry  Bagnal,  whom  he  ac- 
cused of  detaining  the  letters  which  he  sent  to  Queen  Eliz- 
abeth, explanatory  of  his  conduct,  and  offering  terms  of  sub- 
mission. The  river,  called  by  the  English  Blackwater,  is 
termed  in  Irish  Avon-Duff,  which  has  the  same  signification. 
Both  names  are  mentioned  by  Spenser  in  his  "  Marriage  of 
the  Thames  and  the  Medway;"  but  I  understand  that  his 
verses  relate  not  to  the  Blackwater  of  Ulster,  but  to  a  river  of 
the  same  name  in  the  south  of  Ireland : — 

"Swift  Avon-Duff,  which  of  the  Englishmen 
Is  called  Blackwater" 


Note  2  Q. 

The  Tanisl  he  to  great  O'Neale.—P.  317. 

"Eudox.  What  is  that  which  you  call  Tanist  and  Tanistry? 
These  be  names  and  terms  never  heard  of  nor  known  to  us. 

"Iren.  It  is  a  custom  amongst  all  the  Irish,  that  presently 
after  the  death  of  one  of  their  chiefe  lords  or  captaines,  they 
doe  presently  assemble  themselves  to  a  place  generally  ap- 
pointed and  knowne  unto  them,  to  choose  another  in  his 
stead,  where  they  doe  nominate  and  elect,  for  the  most  part 
not  the  eldest  sonne,  nor  any  of  the  children  of  the  lord  de- 
ceased, but  the  next  to  him  in  blood,  that  is,  the  eldest  and 
worthiest,  as  commonly  the  next  brother  unto  him,  if  he 
have  any,  or  the  next  cousin,  or  so  forth,  as  any  is  elder  in 
that  kindred  or  sept ;  and  then  next  to  them  doe  they  choose 
the  next  of  the  blood  to  be  Tanist,  who  shall  next  succeed 
him  in  the  said  captainry,  if  he  live  thereunto. 

"  Eudox.  Do  they  not  use  any  ceremony  in  this  election  ? 
for  all  barbarous  nations  are  commonly  great  observers  of 
ceremonies  and  superstitious  rites. 

"Iren.  They  use  to  place  him  that  shall  be  their  captaine 
upon  a  stone,  always  reserved  to  that  purpose,  and  placed 


commonly  upon  a  hill.  In  some  of  which  I  have  seen  formed 
and  engraven  a  foot,  which  they  say  was  the  measure  of  their 
first  captaine's  foot;  whereon  hee  standing,  receives  an  oath 
to  preserve  all  the  ancient  former  customes  of  the  countrty 
inviolable,  and  to  deliver  up  the  succession  peaceably  to  his 
Tanist,  and  then  hath  a  wand  delivered  unto  him  by  some 
whose  proper  office  that  is ;  after  which,  descending  from  the 
stone,  he  turneth  himself  round,  thrice  forwards  and  thrice 
backwards. 

"  Eudox.  But  how  is  the  Tanist  chosen  ? 

"Iren.  They  say  he  setteth  but  one  foot  upon  the  stone, 
and  receiveth  the  like  oath  that  the  captaine  did." — Spen- 
ser's View  of  the  State  of  Ireland,  apud  Works.  Lond.  1805, 
8vo,  vol.  viii.  p.  306. 

The  Tanist,  therefore,  of  O'Neale  was  the  heir-apparent  of 
his  power.  This  kind  of  succession  appears  also  to  have  reg- 
ulated, in  very  remote  times,  the  succession  to  the  crown  of 
Scotland.  It  would  have  been  imprudent,  if  not  impossible, 
to  have  asserted  a  minor's  right  of  succession  in  those  stormy 
days,  when  the  principles  of  policy  were  summed  up  in  my 
friend  Mr.  Wordsworth's  lines: — 

"  the  good  old  rule 


Sufficeth  them  ;  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 


Note  2  R. 


His  plaited  hair  in  elf-locks  spread,  &c. — P.  318. 

There  is  here  an  attempt  to  describe  the  ancient  Irish  dress, 
of  which  a  poet  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day  has  given  us  the  fol- 
lowing particulars: — 

"  I  marvailde  in  my  mynde, 

and  thereupon  did  muse, 
To  see  a  bride  of  heavenlie  hewe 

an  ouglie  fere  to  chuse. 
This  bride  it  is  the  soile, 

the  bridegroome  is  the  karne. 
With  writhed  glibbes,  like  wicked  sprits, 

with  visage  rough  and  stearne; 
With  sculles  upon  their  poalles, 

instead  of  civill  cappes ; 
With  spcares  in  hand,  and  swordes  besydes, 

to  beare  off  after  clappes ; 
With  jackettes  long  and  large, 

which  shroude  simplicitie, 
Though  spitfull  darts  which  they  do  beare 

importe  iniquitie. 
Their  shirtes  be  very  strange, 

not  reaching  past  the  thie ; 
With  pleates  on  pleates  thei  pleated  are 

as  thick  as  pleates  may  lye. 
Whose  sleaves  hang  trailing  doune 

almost  unto  the  shoe ; 
And  with  a  mantell  commonlie 

the  Irish  karne  do  goe. 
Now  some  amongst  the  reste 

doe  use  another  weede ;  t 

A  coate  I  meane,  of  strange  devise, 

which  fancy  first  did  breade. 
His  skirts  be  very  shorte, 

with  pleates  set  thick  about, 
And  Irish  trouzes  moe  to  put 

their  strange  protactours  out." 
Derrick's  Image  of  Ireland,  apud  Somers'  Tracts. 
Edin.  1809,  4to,  vol.  i.  p.  585. 


302 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Some  curious  wooden  engravings  accompany  this  poem, 
from  which  it  would  seem  that  the  ancient  Irish  dress  was 
(the  bonnet  excepted;  very  similar  to  that  of  the  Scottish 
Highlanders.  The  want  of  a  covering  on  the  head  was  sup- 
plied by  the  mode  of  plaiting  and  arranging  the  hair,  which 
was  called  the  glibbe.  These  glibbes,  according  to  Spenser, 
were  fit  marks  for  a  thief,  since,  when  he  wished  to  disguise 
himself,  he  could  either  cut  it  off  entirely,  or  so  pull  it  over 
his  eyes  as  to  render  it  very  hard  to  recognize  him.  This, 
however,  is  nothing  to  the  reprobation  with  which  the  same 
poet  regards  that  favorite  part  of  the  Irish  dress,  the  mantle : — 

"  It  is  a  fit  house  for  an  outlaw,  a  meet  bed  for  a  rebel,  and 
an  apt  cloke  for  a  thief.  First,  the  outlaw  being  for  his  many 
crimes  and  villanyes  banished  from  the  townes  and  houses 
of  honest  men,  and  wandriug  in  waste  places  far  from  danger 
of  law,  maketh  his  mantle  his  house,  and  under  it  covereth 
himself  from  the  wrath  of  heaven,  from  the  offence  of  the 
earth,  and  from  the  sight  of  men.  When  it  raineth,  it  is  his 
pent-house ;  when  it  bloweth,  it  is  his  tent ;  when  it  freezeth, 
it  is  his  tabernacle.  In  summer  he  can  wear  it  loose,  in  win- 
ter he  can  wrap  it  close ;  at  all  times  he  can  use  it ;  never 
heavy,  never  cumbersome.  Likewise  for  a  rebel  it  is  as  ser- 
viceable ;  for  in  his  warre  that  he  maketh  (if  at  least  it  deserve 
the  name  of  warre),  when  he  still  flyeth  from  his  foe,  and 
lurketh  in  the  thicke  woods  and  straite  passages,  waiting  for 
advantages,  it  is  his  bed,  yea,  and  almost  his  household  stuff. 
For  the  wood  is  his  house  against  all  weathers,  and  his  man- 
tle is  his  couch  to  sleep  in.  Therein  he  wrappeth  himself 
round,  and  coucheth  himself  strongly  against  the  gnats, 
which  in  that  country  doe  more  annoy  the  naked  rebels 
while  they  keep  the  woods,  and  doe  more  sharply  wound 
them,  than  all  their  enemies  swords  or  speares,  which  can 
seldom  come  nigh  them:  yea,  and  oftentimes  their  mantle 
serveth  them  when  they  are  neere  driven,  being  wrapped 
about  their  left  arme,  instead  of  a  target,  for  it  is  hard  to  cut 
thorough  with  a  sword ;  besides,  it  is  light  to  beare,  light  to 
throw  away,  and  being  (as  they  commonly  are)  naked,  it  is 
to  them  all  in  all.  Lastly,  for  a  thiefe  it  is  so  handsome  as  it 
may  seem  it  was  first  invented  for  him ;  for  under  it  he  may 
cleanly  convey  any  fit  pillage  that  cometh  handsomely  in  his 
way,  and  when  he  goeth  abroad  in  the  night  in  freebooting, 
it  is  his  best  and  surest  friend ;  for  lying,  as  they  often  do,  two 
or  three  nights  together  abroad  to  watch  for  their  booty,  with 
that  they  can  prettily  shroud  themselves  under  a  bush  or 
bankside  till  they  can  conveniently  do  their  errand;  and 
when  all  is  over,  he  can  in  his  mantle  passe  through  any 
town  or  company,  being  close  hooded  over  his  head,  as  he 
useth,  from  knowledge  of  any  to  whom  he  is  indangered. 
Besides  this,  he  or  any  man  els  that  is  disposed  to  mischief 
or  villany  may,  under  his  mantle,  goe  privily  armed  without 
suspicion  of  any,  carry  his  head-piece,  his  skean,  or  pistol,  if 
he  please,  to  be  always  in  readiness." — Spenser's  View  of  the 
Slate  of  Ireland,  apud  Works,  ut  supra,  viii.  367. 

The  javelins  or  darts  of  the  Irish,  which  they  threw  with 
great  dexterity,  appear,  from  one  of  the  prints  already  men- 
tioned, to  have  been  about  four  feet  long,  with  a  strong  steel 
head  and  thick  knotted  shaft. 


Note  2  S. 


With  wild  majestic  port  and  tone, 

Like  envoy  of  some  barbarous  throne. — P.  318. 

The  Irish  chiefs,  in  their  intercourse  with  the  English  and 
with  each  other,  were  wont  to  assume  the  language  and  style 
of  independent  royalty.  Morrison  has  preserved  a  summons 
from  Tyrone  to  a  neighboring  chieftain,  which  runs  in  the 
following  terms : — 


"  O'Neale  commendeth  him  unto  you,  Morish  Fitz-Thomas ; 
O'Neale  requesteth  you,  in  God's  name,  to  take  part  with  him, 
ami  ti,^ht  for  your  conscience  and  right;  and  in  so  doing, 
O'Neale  will  spend  to  see  you  righted  in  all  your  affaires,  and 
will  help  you.  And  if  you  come  not  at  O'Neale  betwixt  this 
and  to-morrow  at  twelve  of  the  elocke,  and  take  his  part, 
O'Neale  is  not  beholding  to  you,  and  will  doe  to  the  utter- 
most of  his  power  to  overthrow  you,  if  you  come  not  to  him 
at  furthest  by  Satturday  at  noone.  From  Knocke  Lumayne 
in  Calrie,  the  fourth  of  February,  1599. 

"  ( i  Neale  requesteth  you  to  come  speake  with  him,  and  doth 
giue  you  his  word  that  you  shall  receive  no  harme  neither  in 
BOmming  nor  going  from  him,  whether  you  be  friend  or  not, 
and  bring  with  you  to  O'Neale  Gerat  Fitzgerald. 

(Subscribed)  "  O'Neale." 

Nor  did  the  royalty  of  O'Neale  consist  in  words  alone.  Sir 
John  Harrington  paid  him  a  visit  at  the  time  of  his  brace 
with  Essex,  and  after  mentioning  his  "  fern  table  and  fern 
forms,  spread  under  the  stately  canopy  of  heaven,"  he  notices 
what  constitutes  the  real  power  of  every  monarch,  the  love, 
namely,  and  allegiance  of  his  subjects.  "  His  guards,  for  the 
most  part,  were  beardless  boys  without  shirts;  who  in  the 
frost  wade  as  familiarly  through  rivers  as  water-spaniels. 
With  what  charm  such  a  master  makes  them  love  him,  I 
know  not ;  but  if  he  bid  come,  they  come ;  if  go,  they  do  go ; 
if  he  say  do  this,  they  do  it." — JS'ugw  Antique.  Loud.  1784, 
8vo,  vol.  i.  p.  251. 


Note  2  T. 


His  foster-father  teas  his  guide. — P.  31S. 

There  was  no  tie  more  sacred  among  the  Irish  than  that 
which  connected  the  foster-father,  as  well  as  the  nurse  her- 
self, with  the  child  they  brought  up. 

"  Foster-fathers  spend  much  more  time,  money,  and  affec- 
tion on  their  foster-children  than  their  own;  and  in  return 
tak*  from  them  clothes,  money  for  their  several  professions, 
and  arms,  and,  even  for  any  vicious  purposes,  fortunes  and 
cattle,  not  so  much  by  a  claim  of  right  as  by  extortion;  and 
they  will  even  carry  those  things  off  as  plunder.  All  who 
have  been  nursed  by  the  same  person  preserve  a  greater  mu- 
tual affection  and  confidence  in  each  other  than  if  they  were 
natural  brothers,  whom  they  will  even  hate  for  the  sake  of 
these.  When  chid  by  their  parents,  they  fly  to  their  foster- 
fathers,  who  frequently  encourage  them  to  make  open  war  on 
their  parents,  train  them  up  to  every  excess  of  wickedness, 
and  make  them  most  abandoned  miscreants;  as,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  nurses  make  the  young  women,  whom  they  bring 
up  for  every  excess.  If  a  foster-child  is  sick,  it  is  incredible 
how  soon  the  nurses  hear  of  it,  however  distant,  and  with 
what  solicitude  they  attend  it  by  day  and  night."— Giraldus 
Cambrensis,  quoted  by  Camden,  iv.  368. 

This  custom,  like  many  other  Irish  usages,  prevailed  till 
of  late  in  the  Scottish  Highlands,  and  was  cherished  by  the 
chiefs  as  an  easy  mode  of  extending  their  influence  and  con- 
nection ;  and  even  in  the  Lowlands,  during  the  last  century, 
the  connection  between  the  nurse  and  foster-child  was  sel- 
dom dissolved  but  by  the  death  of  one  party. 


Note  2  U. 

Great  Nial  of  the  Pledges  Nine.—V.  320. 

Neal  Naighvallach,  or  Of  the  Nine  Hostages,  is  said  to  have 
been  monarch  of  all  Ireland  during  the  end  of  the  fourth  or 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


363 


beginning  of  the  fifth  century.  He  exercised  a  predatory- 
warfare  on  the  coast  of  England  and  of  Bretagne  or  Arrnori- 
ca ;  and  from  the  latter  country  brought  off  the  celebrated 
Saint  Patrick,  a  youth  of  sixteen,  among  other  captives,  whom 
he  transported  to  Ireland.  Neal  derived  his  epithet  from 
nine  nations,  or  tribes,  whom  he  held  under  his  subjection, 
and  from  whom  he  took  hostages.  From  one  of  Neal's  sons 
were  derived  the  Kinel-eoguin,  or  Race  of  Tyrone,  which 
afforded  monarchs  both  to  Ireland  and  to  Ulster.  Neal  (ac- 
cording to  O'Flaherty's  Ogygia)  was  killed  by  a  poisoned 
arrow  in  one  of  his  descents  on  the  coast  of  Bretagne. 


Note  2  V. 


Shane-Dymas  wild. — P.  320. 

This  Shane-Dymas,  or  John  the  Wanton,  held  the  title  and 
power  of  O'Neale  in  the  earlier  part  of  Elizabeth's  reign, 
against  whom  he  rebelled  repeatedly. 

"  This  chieftain  is  handed  down  to  us  as  the  most  proud 
and  profligate  man  on  earth.  He  was  immoderately  addicted 
to  women  and  wine.  He  is  said  to  have  had  200  tuns  of  wine 
at  once  in  his  cellar  at  Dandram,  but  usquebaugh  was  his 
favourite  liquor.  He  spared  neither  age  nor  condition  of  the 
fair  sex.  Altho'  so  illiterate  that  he  could  not  write,  he  was 
not  destitute  of  address,  his  understanding  was  strong,  and 
his  courage  daring.  He  had  600  men  for  his  guard ;  4000  foot, 
1000  horse  for  the  field.  He  claimed  superiority  over  all  the 
lords  of  Ulster,  and  called  himself  king  thereof.  When  com- 
missioners were  sent  to  treat  with  him,  he  said  'That,  tho' 
the  queen  were  his  sovereign  lady,  he  never  made  peace  with 
her  bvi  at  her  lodging;  that  she  had  made  a  wise  Earl  of 
Macartymore,  but  that  he  kept  as  good  a  man  as  he;  thatjie 
cared  not  for  so  mean  a  title  as  earl ;  that  his  blood  and 
power  were  better  than  the  best;  that  his  ancestors  were 
Kings  of  Ulster;  and  that  he  would  give  place  to  none.' 
His  kinsman,  the  Earl  of  Kildarc,  having  persuaded  him  of 
the  folly  of  contending  with  the  crown  of  England,  he  re- 
solved to  attend  the  queen,  but  in  a  style  suited  to  his  princely 
dignity.  He  appeared  in  London  with  a  magnificent  train 
of  Irish  Galloglasses,  arrayed  in  the  richest  habiliments  of 
their  country,  their  heads  bare,  their  hair  flowing  on  their 
shoulders,  with  their  long  and  open  sleeves  dyed  with  saffron. 
Thus  dressed,  and  surcharged  with  military  harness,  and 
armed  with  battle-axes,  they  afforded  an  astonishing  spec- 
tacle to  the  citizens,  who  regarded  them  as  the  intruders  of 
some  very  distant  part  of  the  globe.  But  at  court  his  versa- 
tility now  prevailed  ;  his  title  to  the  sovereignty  of  Tyrone 
was  pleaded  from  English  laws  and  Irish  institutions,  and  his 
allegations  were  so  specious  that  the  queen  dismissed  him 
with  presents  and  assurances  of  favour.  In  England  this 
transaction  was  looked  on  as  the  humiliation  of  a  repentant 
rebel ;  in  Tyrone  it  was  considered  as  a  treaty  of  peace  be- 
tween two  potentates." — Camden's  Britannia,  by  Gough. 
Lond.  1806,  fol.  vol.  iv.  p.  442. 

When  reduced  to  extremity  by  the  English,  and  forsaken 
by  his  allies,  this  Shane-Dymas  fled  to  Clandeboy,  then 
occupied  by  a  colony  of  Scottish  Highlanders  of  the  family  of 
MacDonell.  He  was  at  first  courteously  received ;  but  by 
degrees  they  began  to  quarrel  about  the  slaughter  of  some 
of  their  friends  whom  Shane-Dymas  had  put  to  death,  and 
advancing  from  words  to  deeds,  fell  upon  him  with  their 
broadswords,  and  cut  him  to  pieces.  After  his  death  a  law 
was  made  that  none  should  presume  to  take  the  name  and 
title  of  O'Neale. 


Note  2  W. 


Geraldine.—P.  320. 


The  O'Neales  were  closely  allied  with  this  powerful  and 
warlike  family  ;  for  Henry  Owen  O'Neale  married  the  daugh- 
ter of  Thomas,  Earl  of  Kildare,  and  their  son  Con-More  mar- 
ried his  cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  Gerald,  Earl  of  Kildare. 
This  Con-More  cursed  any  of  his  posterity  who  should  learn 
the  English  language,  sow  corn,  or  build  houses,  so  as  to  in- 
vite the  English  to  settle  in  their  country.  Others  ascribe 
this  anathema  to  his  son  Con-Bacco.  Fearflatha  O'Gnive, 
bard  to  the  O'Neales  of  Clannaboy,  complains  in  the  same 
spirit  of  the  towers  and  ramparts  with  which  the  strangers 
had  disfigured  the  fair  sporting  fields  of  Erin. — See  Walker's 
Irish  Bards,  p.  140. 


Note  2  X. 


He  chose  that  honofd  flag  to  bear. — P.  320. 

Lacy  informs  us,  in  the  old  play  already  quoted,  how  the 
cavalry  raised  by  the  country  gentlemen  for  Charles'  ser- 
vice were  usually  officered.  "You,  cornet,  have  a  name 
that's  proper  for  all  cornets  to  be  called  by,  for  they  are  all 
beardless  boys  in  our  army.  The  most  part  of  our  horse 
were  raised  thus : — The  honest  country  gentleman  raises  the 
troop  at  his  own  charge ;  then  he  gets  a  Low-country  lieu- 
tenant to  fight  his  troop  safely ;  then  he  sends  for  his  son 
from  school  to  be  his  cornet;  and  then  he  puts  off  his  child's 
coat  to  put  on  a  buff-coat :  and  this  is  the  constitution  of  our 
army." 


Note  2  Y. 


his  page,  the  next  degree, 


In  that  old  time,  to  chivalry. — P.  320. 

Originally,  the  order  of  chivalry  embraced  three  ranks: 
1.  The  Page;  2.  The  Squire;  3.  The  Knight;— a  gradation 
which  seems  to  have  been  imitated  in  the  mystery  of  free- 
masonry. But,  before  the  reign  of  Charles  I.,  the  custom  of 
serving  as  a  squire  had  fallen  into  disuse,  though  the  order  of 
the  page  was  still,  to  a  certain  degree,  in  observance.  This 
state  of  servitude  was  so  far  from  inferring  any  thing  degrad- 
ing, that  it  was  considered  as  the  regular  school  for  acquiring 
every  quality  necessary  for  future  distinction.  The  proper 
nature  and  the  decay  of  the  institution  are  pointed  out  by 
old  Ben  Jonson,  with  his  own  forcible  moral  coloring.  The 
dialogue  occurs  between  Lovell,  "  a  compleat  gentleman,  a 
soldier,  and  a  scholar,  known  to  have  been  page  to  the  old 
Lord  Beaufort,  and  so  to  have  followed  him  in  the  French 
wars,  after  companion  of  his  studies,  and  left  guardian  to  his 
son,"  and  the  facetious  Goodstock,  host  of  the  Light  Heart. 
Lovell  had  offered  to  take  Goodstock's  son  for  his  page,  which 
the  latter,  in  reference  to  the  recent  abuse  of  the  establish- 
ment, declares  as  "  a  desperate  course  of  life :" — 

"  Lovell.  Call  you  that  desperate,  which  by  a  line 
Of  institution,  from  our  ancestors 
Hath  been  derived  down  to  us,  and  received. 
In  a  succession,  for  the  noblest  way 
Of  breeding  up  our  youth,  in  letters,  arms, 
Fair  mien,  discourses,  civil  exercise, 
And  all  the  blazon  of  a  gentleman? 
Where  can  he  learn  to  vault,  to  ride,  to  fence ; 
To  move  his  body  gracefully  ;  to  speak 
His  language  purer ;  or  to  tune  his  mind, 


364 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Or  manners,  morn  to  the  harmony  of  nature, 
Than  in  the  nurseries  of  nobility? 

"Host.  Ay,  that  was  when  the  nursery's  self  was  noble, 
And  only  virtue  made  it,  not  the  market, 
That  titles  were  not  vented  at  the  drum, 
Or  common  outcry.    Goodness  gave  the  greatness, 
And  greatness  worship:  every  house  became 
An  academy  of  honour;  and  those  parts 
We  see  departed,  in  the  practice,  now, 
Quite  from  the  institution. 

" Lovell.  Why  do  you  say  so? 
Or  think  so  enviously?    Do  they  not  still 
Learn  there  the  Centaur's  skill,  the  art  of  Thrace, 
To  ride?  or,  Pollux'  mystery,  to  fence? 
The  Pyrrhic  gestures,  both  to  dance  and  spring 
In  armour,  to  be  active  in  the  wars? 
To  study  figures,  numbers,  and  proportions, 
May  yield  them  great  in  counsels,  and  the  arts 
Grave  Nestor  and  the  wise  Ulysses  practiced? 
To  make  their  English  sweet  upon  their  tongue, 
As  reverend  Chaucer  says? 

"  Host.  Sir,  you  mistake  ; 
To  play  Sir  Pandarus,  my  copy  hath  it, 
And  carry  messages  to  Madame  Cressida ; 
Instead  of  backing  the  brave  steed  o'  mornings, 
To  court  the  chambermaid ;  and  for  a  leap 
O'  the  vaulting  horse,  to  ply  the  vaulting  house: 
For  exercise  of  arms,  a  bale  of  dice, 
Or  two  or  three  packs  of  cards  to  show  the  cheat, 
And  nimbleness  of  hand;  mistake  a  cloak 
Upon  my  lord's  back,  and  pawn  it ;  ease  his  pocket 
Of  a  superfluous  watch ;  or  geld  a  jewel 
Of  an  odd  stone  or  so;  twinge  two  or  three  buttons 
From  off  my  lady's  gown :  These  are  the  arts 
Or  seven  liberal  deadly  sciences 
Of  pagery,  or  rather  paganism, 
As  the  tides  run  ;  to  which  if  he  apply  him, 
He  may  perhaps  take  a  degree  at  Tyburn 
A  year  the  earlier  ;  come  to  take  a  lecture 
Upon  Aquinas  at  St.  Thomas  a  Watering's, 
And  so  go  forth  a  laureat  in  hemp  circle !" 

Ben  Jonson's  New  Inn,  act  i.  scene  3. 


Note  2  Z. 


Seem'd  half  abandon'd  to  decay. — P.  325. 

The  ancient  castle  of  Rokeby  stood  exactly  upon  the  site  of 
the  present  mansion,  by  which  a  part  of  its  walls  is  enclosed. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  profusion  of  fine  wood,  and  the  park  in 
which  it  stands  is  adorned  by  the  junction  of  the  Greta  and 
of  the  Tees.  The  title  of  Baron  Rokeby  of  Armagh  was,  in 
1777,  conferred  on  the  Right  Reverend  Richard  Robinson, 
Primate  of  Ireland,  descended  of  the  Robinsons,  formerly  of 
Rokeby,  in  Yorkshire. 


Note  3  A. 


JRokeby's  lords  of  martial  fame, 

lean  count  them  name  by  name. — P.  326. 

The  following  brief  pedigree  of  this  very  ancient  and  once 
powerful  family  was  kindly  supplied  to  the  author  by  Mr. 
Rokeby  of  Northamptonshire,  descended  of  the  ancient 
Barons  of  Rokeby : — 

J  Lisle.  *  Temp.  Edw.  2di.  8  Temp.  Edw.  3tii. 

4  Temp.  Henr.  7mi,  and  from  him  is  the  house  of  Skyers, 
of  a  fourth  brother. 


"  Pedigree  of  the  House  of  Rokeby. 
Sir  Alex.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  married  to  Sir  Hump.  Little's1 

daughter. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Tho.  Lumley's  daughter. 
Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Tho.  Hubborn's  daughter. 
Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Sir  Ralph  Biggot's  daughter. 
Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Sir  John  de  Melsass'  daughter 

of  Ben  net  Hall,  in  Holderness. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Sir  Brian  Stapleton's  daughter  of 

Weighill. 
Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Sir  Ralph  Ury's  daughter.* 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  daughter  of  Mansfield,  heir  of 

Morton.3 
Sir  Tho.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Stroode's  daughter  and  heir. 
Sir  Ralph    Rokeby,  Knt.,  to    Sir   James   Strangwayes' 

daughter. 
Sir  Thos.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Sir  John  Hotham's  daughter. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Danby  of  Yafforth's  daughter  and 

heir.4 
Tho.  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Robt.  Constable's  daughter  of  Cliff, 

serjt.  at  law. 
Christopher  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Lasscells  of  Brackenburgh's 

daughter.* 
Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  the  daughter  of  Thweng. 
Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Knt.,  to  Sir  Ralph  Lawson's  daugh- 
ter of  Brough. 
Frans.  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  Faucett's  daughter,  citizen  of 

London. 
Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq.,  to  the  daughter  of  Wickliffe  of  Gales. 


High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire. 
1337.  11  Edw.  3.  Ralph  Hastings  and  Thos.  de  Rokeby. 
1343.  17  Edw.  3.  Thos.  de  Rokeby,  pro  sept,  annis. 
1358.  25  Edw.  3.  Sir  Thomas  Rokeby,  Justfbiary  of  Ireland 
for   six   years ;   died  at   the  castle  of 
Kilka. 
1407.  8  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles,  defeated  and  slew  the 
Duke  of  Northumberland  at  the  battle 
of  Bramham  Moor. 
1411.  12  Hen.  4.  Thos.  Rokeby  Miles. 

1486 Thos.  Rokeby,  Esq. 

1539 Robert  Holgate,  Bish.  of  Landaff,  afterwards 

P.  of  York,  Ld.  President  of  the  Coun- 
cil for  the  Preservation  of  Peace  in  the 
North. 
Thomas  Yonge,  Archbishop  of  Yorke,  Ld. 
President. 
30  Hen.  8.  Tho.  Rokeby,  LL.D.,  one  of  the  Council. 
Jn.  Rokeby,  LL.D.,  one  of  the  Council. 
Henry  Hastings,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  Ld. 

President. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  Esq.,  one  of  the  Council. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  LL.D.,  ditto. 
Ralph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  one  of  the  Secretaries. 
Jo.  Rokeby,  Precentor  of  York. 
Sir  J.  Rokeby,  Knt.,  one  of  the  Justices  of 
the  King's  Bench. 
The  family  of  De  Rokeby  came  over  with  the  Conqueror. 
The  old  motto  belonging  to  the  family  is  In  Bivio  Dextra. 
The   arms,  argent,   chevron   sable,  between  three  rooks 

proper. 
"  There  is  somewhat  more  to  be  found  in  our  family  in  the 
Scottish  history  about  the  affairs  of  Dun-Bretton  town,  but 
what  it  is,  and  in  what  time,  I  know  not,  nor  can  have  con- 
venient leisure  to  search.  But  Parson  Blackwood,  the  Scot- 
tish cnaplain  to  the  Lord  of  Shrewsbury,  recited  to  me  once 
a  piece  of  a  Scottish  song,  wherein  was  mentioned  that  Wil- 
liam Wallis,  the  great  deliverer  of  the  Scots  from  the  English 

6  From  him  is  the  house  of  Hotham,  and  of  the  second 
brother  that  had  issue. 


1564.  6  Eliz. 


1572.  15  Eliz. 


1574.  17  Eliz. 
7  Will.  3 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


3G5 


bondage,  should,  at  Dun-Bretton,  have  been  brought  up  under 
a  Eokeby,  captain  then  of  the  place ;  and  as  he  walked  on  a 
cliff,  should  thrust  him  on  a  sudden  into  the  sea,  and  thereby 
have  gotten  that  hold,  which,  I  think,  was  about  the  33d  of 
Edw.  I.  or  before.  Thus,  leaving  our  ancestors  of  record,  we 
must  also  with  them  leave  the  Chronicle  of  Malniesbury  Ab- 
bey, called  Eulogium  Historiarum,  out  of  which  Mr.  Leland 
reporteth  this  history,  and  coppy  down  unwritten  story,  the 
which  have  yet  the  testimony  of  later  times,  and  the  fresh 
memory  of  men  yet  alive,  for  their  warrant  and  ereditt,  of 
whom  I  have  learned  it,  that  in  K.  Henry  the  7th's  reign,  one 
Ealph  Rokeby,  Esq.,  was  owner  of  Morton,  and  I  guess  that 
this  was  he  that  deceived  the  fryars  of  Richmond  with  his 
felon  swine,  on  which  a  jargon  was  made." 

The  above  is  a  quotation  from  a  manuscript  written  by 
Ralph  Rokeby ;  when  he  lived  is  uncertain. 

To  what  metrical  Scottish  tradition  Parson  Blackwood 
alluded  it  would  be  now  in  vain  to  inquire ;  but  in  Blind 
Harry's  History  of  Sir  William  Wallace  we  find  a  legend  of 
one  Rukbie,  whom  he  makes  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle  under 
the  English  usurpation,  and  whom  Wallace  slays  with  his 
own  hand : — 

"  In  the  great  press  Wallace  and  Rukbie  met, 
With  his  good  sword  a  stroke  upon  him  set ; 
Derfly  to  death  the  old  Rukbie  he  drave, 
But  his  two  sons  escaped  among  the  lave." 

These  sons,  according  to  the  romantic  Minstrel,  surren- 
dered the  castle  on  conditions,  and  went  back  to  England, 
but  returned  to  Scotland  in  the  days  of  Bruce,  when  one  of 
them  became  again  keeper  of  Stirling  Castle.  Immediately 
after  this  achievement  follows  another  engagement,  between 
Wallace  and  those  western  Highlanders  who  embraced  the 
English  interest,  at  a  pass  in  Glendonchart,  where  many 
were  precipitated  into  the  lake  over  a  precipice.  These  cir- 
cumstances may  have  been  confused  in  the  narrative  of  Par- 
son Blackwood,  or  in  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Rokeby. 

In  the  old  ballad  of  "Chevy  Chase"  there  is  mentioned, 
among  the  English  warriors,  "Sir  Raff  the  ryche  Rugbe," 
which  may  apply  to  Sir  Ralph  Rokeby,  the  tenth  baron  in  the 
pedigree.    The  more  modern  copy  of  the  ballad  runs  thus : — 

"Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  ther  was  slain, 
Whose  prowess  did  surmount." 

This  would  rather  seem  to  relate  to  one  of  the  Nevilles  of 
Raby ;  but,  as  the  whole  ballad  is  romantic,  accuracy  is  not 
to  be  looked  for. 


Note  3  B. 


■  the  Felon  Sow.— P.  327. 


The  ancient  minstrels  had  a  comic  as  well  as  a  serious 
strain  of  romance ;  and  although  the  examples  of  the  latter 
are  by  far  the  most  numerous,  they  are,  perhaps,  the  less  val- 
uable. The  comic  romance  was  a  sort  of  parody  upon  the 
usual  subjects  of  minstrel  poetry.  If  the  latter  described 
deeds  of  heroic  achievement,  and  the  events  of  the  battle,  the 
tourney,  and  the  chase,  the  former,  as  in  the  "  Tournament 
of  Tottenham,"  introduced  a  set  of  clowns  debating  in  the 


1  Both  the  MS.  and  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  read  ancestors, 
evidently  a  corruption  of  aunlers,  adventures,  as  corrected  by 
Mr.  Evans. — 2  Sow,  according  to  provincial  pronunciation. — 
3  So :  Yorkshire   dialect. — 4  Fele,  many :  Sax. — 5  A  corrup- 


field,  with  all  the  assumed  circumstances  of  chivalry ;  or,  as  in 
the  "  Hunting  of  the  Hare  "  (see  Weber's  Metrical  Romances, 
vol.  iii.),  persons  of  the  same  description  following  the  chase, 
with  all  the  grievous  mistakes  and  blunders  incident  to  such 
unpracticed  sportsmen.  The  idea,  therefore,  of  Don  Quixote's 
frenzy,  although  inimitably  embodied  and  brought  out,  was 
not,  perhaps,  in  the  abstract  altogether  original.  One  of  the 
very  best  of  these  mock  romances,  and  which  has  no  small 
portion  of  comic  humor,  is  the  hunting  of  the  felon  sow  of 
Rokeby  by  the  friars  of  Richmond.  Ralph  Eokeby,  who  (for 
the  jest's  sake  apparently)  bestowed  this  intractable  animal 
on  the  convent  of  Richmond,  seems  to  have  flourished  in  the 
time  of  Henry  VII.,  which,  since  we  know  not  the  date  of 
Friar  Theobald's  wardenship,  to  which  the  poem  refers  us, 
may  indicate  that  of  the  composition  itself.  Morton,  the 
Mortham  of  the  text,  is  mentioned  as  being  this  facetious 
baron's  place  of  residence ;  accordingly,  Leland  notices  that 
"Mr.  Rokeby  hath  a  place  called  Mortham,  a  little  beneath 
Grentey  bridge,  almost  on  the  mouth  of  Grentey."  That  no 
information  may  be  lacking  which  is  in  my  power  to  supply, 
I  have  to  notice  that  the  Mistress  Rokeby  of  the  romance, 
who  so  charitably  refreshed  the  sow  after  she  had  discomfited 
Friar  Middleton  and  his  auxiliaries,  was,  as  appears  from  the 
pedigree  of  the  Rokeby  family,  daughter  and  heir  of  Danby 
of  Yafforth. 

This  curious  poem  was  first  published  in  Mr.  Whitaker's 
History  of  Craven,  but,  from  an  inaccurate  manuscript,  not 
corrected  very  happily.  It  was  transferred  by  Mr.  Evans  to 
the  new  edition  of  his  Ballads,  with  some  well-judged  conjec- 
tural improvements.  I  have  been  induced  to  give  a  more 
authentic  and  full,  though  still  an  imperfect,  edition  of  this 
humorsome  composition,  from  being  furnished  with  a  copy 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Rokeby,  to  whom 
I  have  acknowledged  my  obligations  in  the  last  note.  It  has 
three  or  four  stanzas  more  than  that  of  Mr.  Whitaker,  and 
the  language  seems,  where  they  differ,  to  have  the  more  an- 
cient and  genuine  readings. 

The  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby  and  the  Fi-iars  of  Richmond. 

Ye  men  that  will  of  aunters1  wiuue, 
That  late  within  this  land  hath  boene, 

Of  one  I  will  you  tell ; 
And  of  a  sew5  that  was  sea3  Strang, 
Alas !  that  ever  she  lived  sae  lang, 

For  fell*  folk  did  she  whell.5 

She  was  mare6  than  other  three, 
The  grisliest  beast  that  e'er  might  be, 

Her  head  was  great  and  gray : 
She  was  bred  in  Eokeby  wood, 
There  were  few  that  thither  goed,7 

That  came  on  live8  away. 

Her  walk  was  endlong9  Greta  side ; 
There  was  no  bren10  that  durst  her  bide, 

That  was  froe11  heaven  to  hell ; 
Nor  never  man  that  had  that  might, 
That  ever  durst  come  in  her  sight, 

Her  force  it  was  so  fell. 

Ealph  of  Eokeby,  with  good  will, 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  gave  her  till,12 

Full  well  to  garre13  them  fare; 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
He  was  sent  to  fetch  her  hame, 

That  rued  him  sine14  full  sare. 


tion  of  quell,  to  kill. — 6  More,  greater.—'  Went.—8  Alive.- 
9  Along  the  side  of  Greta. — 10  Barn,  child,  man  in  general.- 
11  From.—12  To.—13  Make.—14  Since. 


3GG 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  him  tooke  he  wieht  men  two, 
Peter  Dale  was  one  of  thoe, 

That  ever  was  hrim  as  beare ;i 
And  well  durst  strike  with  sword  and  knife, 
And  light  full  manly  for  his  life, 

What  time  as  mister  ware.2 

These  three  men  went  at  God's  will, 
This  wicked  sew  while  they  came  till, 

Liggan3  under  a  tree ; 
Rugg  and  rusty  was  her  hairc ; 
She  raise  up  with  a  felon  fare,* 

To  fight  against  the  three. 

She  was  so  grisely  for  to  mrote, 
She  rave  the  earth  up  with  her  feete, 

And  hark  came  fro  the  tree ; 
When  Fryar  Middleton  her  saugh,5 
Weet  ye  well  he  might  not  laugh, 

Full  earnestly  lookt  hee. 

These  men  of  aunters  that  wa£  so  wight,8 
They  bound  them  bauldly7  for  to  fight, 

And  strike  at  her  full  sare : 
Until  a  kiln  they  garred  her  flee, 
Wold  God  send  them  the  victory, 

The  wold  ask  him  noa  mare. 

The  sew  was  in  the  kiln  hole  down, 
As  they  were  on  the  balke  aboon,8 

For9  hurting  of  their  feet ; 
They  were  so  saulted10  with  this  sew, 
That  among  them  was  a  stalworth  stew, 

The  kiln  began  to  reeke. 

Durst  noe  man  neigh  her  with  his  hand, 
But  put  a  rape11  down  with  his  wand, 

And  haltered  her  full  meete ; 
They  hurled  her  forth  against  her  will, 
Whiles  they  came  into  a  hill 

A  little  fro  the  street." 

And  there  she  made  them  such  a  fray, 
If  they  should  live  to  Doomes-day, 

They  tharrow13  it  ne'er  forgett; 
She  braded1*  upon  every  side, 
And  ran  on  them  gaping  full  wide, 

For  nothing  would  she  lett.15 

She  gave  such  brades16  at  the  band 
That  Peter  Dale  had  in  his  hand, 

He  might  not  hold  his  feet. 
She  chafed  them  to  and  fro, 
The  wight  men  was  never  soe  woe, 

Their  measure  was  not  so  meete. 


1  Fierce  as  a  bear.  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy  reads,  perhaps  in 
consequence  of  mistaking  the  MS.,  "T'other  was  Bryan  of 
Bear." — 2  Need  were.  Mr.  Whitakcr  reads  musters. — 3  Lying. 
— 4  A  fierce  countenance  or  manner. — 5  Saw. — «  Wight,  brave. 
The  Rokcby  MS.  reads  ineounlers,  and  Mr.  Whitaker,  o«n- 
cestors. — 7  Boldly. — 8  On  the  beam  above. — *  To  prevent. — 
10  Assaulted. — 11  Rope. — 12  Watting  Street.  See  the  sequel. — 
I8  Dare.— i*  Rushed.— 15  Leave  it.—16  Pulls.—"  This  line  is 
wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  copy,  whence  it  has  been  conjec- 
tured that  something  is  wanting  after  this  stanza,  which  now 
there  is  no  occasion  to  suppose. — 18  Evil  device. — 19  Blessed: 
Fr.— 20  Lost  his  color.—21  Sheltered  himself.— «  Fierce.— 
23  The  MS.  reads,  to  labour  wecre.    The  text  seems  to  mean 


She  bound  her  boldly  to  abide; 
To  Peter  Dale  she  came  aside, 

With  many  a  hideous  yell; 
She  gaped  soe  wide  and  cried  soe  hee, 
The  Fryar  seid,  "  I  conjure  thee,17 

Thou  art  a  feind  of  hell. 

"  Thou  art  come  hither  for  some  traine,1' 
I  conjure  thee  to  go  againe 

Where  thou  wast  wont  to  dwell." 
He  sayned19  him  with  erosse  and  creede, 
Took  forth  a  book,  began  to  reade 

In  St.  John  his  gospell. 

The  sew  she  would  not  Latin  heare, 
But  rudely  rushed  at  the  Frear, 

That  blinked  all  his  blee  ;2° 
And  when  she  would  have  taken  her  hold, 
The  Fryar  leaped  as  Jesus  wold, 

And  bealed21  him  with  a  tree. 

She  was  as  brim22  as  any  beare, 
For  all  their  meete  to  labour  there,23 

To  them  it  was  no  boote : 
Upon  trees  and  bushes  that  by  her  stood, 
She  ranged  as  she  was  wood,24 

And  rave  them  up  by  roote. 

He  sayd,  "  Alas,  that  I  was  Frear ! 
And  I  shall  be  rugged25  in  sunder  here, 

Hard  is  my  destinie ! 
Wist26  my  brethren  in  this  houre, 
That  I  was  sett  in  such  a  stoure,27 

They  would  pray  for  me." 

This  wicked  beast  that  wrought  this  woe 
Tooke  that  rape  from  the  other  two, 

And  then  they  fiedd  all  three ; 
They  fledd  away  by  Watling  Street, 
They  had  no  succour  but  their  feet, 

It  was  the  more  pity. 

The  feild  it  was  both  lost  and  wonne  ;28 
The  sew  went  hame,  and  that  full  soone, 

To  Morton  on  the  Greene ; 
When  Ralph  of  Rokeby  saw  the  rape,29 
He  wist30  that  there  had  been  debate, 

Whereat  the  sew  had  beene. 

He  bad  them  stand  out  of  her  way, 
For  she  had  had  a  sudden  fray, — 

"I  saw  never  so  keene; 
Some  new  things  shall  we  heare 
Of  her  and  Middleton  the  Frear, 

Some  battell  hath  there  beene." 


that,  all  their  labor  to  obtain  their  intended  meat  was  of  no 
use  to  them.    Mr.  Whitaker  reads, 

"  She  was  brim  as  any  boar, 

And  gave  a  grisly  hideous  roar, 
To  them  it  was  no  boot." 
Besides  the  want  of  connection  between  the  last  line  and  the 
two  former,  the  second  has  a  very  modern  sound,  and  the 
reading  of  the  Rokcby  MS.,  with  the  slight  alteration  in  the 
text,  is  much  better. 

24  Mad.—25  Torn,  pulled.— 28  Knew.—27  Combat,  perilous 
fight.— 28  This  stanza,  with  the  two  following  and  the  frag- 
ment of  a  fourth,  are  not  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  edition. — 29  The 
rope  about  the  sow's  neck. — 8°  Knew. 


APPENDIX    TO    ROKEBY. 


367 


But  all  that  served  him  for  nought 
Had  they  not  better  succour  sought, 

They  were  served  therefore  loe. 
Then  Mistress  Rokeby  came  anon, 
And  for  her  brought  shee  meate  full  soone, 

The  sew  came  her  unto. 

She  gave  her  meate  upon  the  flower, 
.1 

[Hiatus  valde  deflendus.] 

When  Fryar  Middleton  came  home, 
His  brethren  was  full  fain  ilkone,2 

And  thanked  God  of  his  life ; 
He  told  them  all  unto  the  end, 
How  he  had  foughten  with  a  fiend, 

And  lived  through  mickle  strife. 

"  We  gave  her  battell  half  a  day, 
And  sithin8  was  fain  to  fly  away, 

For  saving  of  our  life  ;4 
And  Pater  Dale  would  never  blinn,* 
But  as  fast  as  he  could  ryn,6 

Till  he  came  to  his  wife." 

The  warden  said,  "  I  am  full  of  woe, 
That  ever  ye  should  be  torment  so, 

But  wee  with  you  had  beene ! 
Had  wee  been  there  your  brethren  all, 
Wee  should  have  garred  the  warle7  fall, 

That  wrought  you  all  this  teyne."8 

Fryar  Middleton  said  soon,  "  Nay, 
In  faith  you  would  have  fled  away, 

When  most  mister9  had  beene  ; 
You  will  all  speake  words  at  hame, 
A  man  would  ding10  you  every  ilk  ane, 

And  if  it  be  as  I  weine." 

He  lookt  so  griesly  all  that  night, 
The  warden  said,  "  Yon  man  will  fight 

If  you  say  ought  but  good ; 
Yon  guest11  hath  grieved  him  so  sare, 
Hold  your  tongues  and  speake  noe  mare, 

He  looks  as  he  were  woode." 

The  warden  waged12  on  the  morne, 
Two  boldest  men  that  ever  were  borne, 

I  weine,  or  ever  shall  be ; 
The  one  was  Gibbert  Griffin's  son, 
Full  mickle  worship  has  he  wonne 

Both  by  land  and  sea. 

The  other  was  a  bastard  son  of  Spain, 
Many  a  Sarazin  hath  he  slain, 

His  dint13  hath  gart  them  die. 
These  two  men  the  battle  undertooke, 
Against  the  sew,  as  says  the  booke, 

And  sealed  security, 

That  they  should  boldly  bide  and  fight, 
And  skomfit  her  in  maine  and  might, 

1  This  line  is  almost  illegible. — 2  Each  one. — 3  Since  then, 
after  that. — 4  The  above  lines  are  wanting  in  Mr.  Whitaker's 
copy. — 5  Cease,  stop. — 6  Run. — 7  Warlock,  or  wizard. — 8  Harm. 
— 9  Need.— 1°  Beat.  The  copy  in  Mr.  Whitaker's  History  of 
Craven  reads,  perhaps  better, — ■ 

"  The  fiend  would  ding  you  down  ilk  one." 
11  "  Yon  guest"  may  be  yon  gest,  i.  e.,  that  adventure ;  or  it 
may  mean  yon  ghaiil,  or  apparition,  which  in  old  poems  is 


Or  therefore  should  they  die. 
The  warden  sealed  to  them  againe, 
And  said,  "  In  feild  if  ye  be  slain, 

This  condition  make  I : 

"  We  shall  for  you  pray,  sing,  and  read, 
To  Doomes-day  with  hearty  speede, 

With  all  our  progeny." 
Then  the  letters  well  was  made, 
Bands  bound  with  seales  brade,1* 

As  deedes  of  armes  should  be. 

These  men  of  armes  that  weere  so  wight, 
With  armour  and  with  brandes  bright, 

They  went  this  sew  to  see ; 
She  made  on  them  slike  a  rerd,16 
That  for  her  they  were  sare  afer'd, 

And  almost  bound  to  flee. 

She  came  roveing  them  egaine ; 
That  saw  the  bastard  son  of  Spaine, 

He  braded16  out  his  brand ; 
Full  spiteously  at  her  he  strake, 
For  all  the  fence  that  he  could  make, 

She  gat  sword  out  of  hand ; 
And  rave  in  sunder  half  his  shielde, 
And  bare  him  backward  in  the  feilde, 

He  might  not  her  gainstand. 

She  would  have  riven  his  privich  geare, 
But  Gilbert  with  his  sword  of  werre, 

He  strake  at  her  full  strong, 
On  her  shoulder  till  she  held  the  swerd ; 
Then  was  good  Gilbert  sore  afer'd, 

When  the  blade  brake  in  throng." 

Since  in  his  hands  he  hath  her  tane, 
She  tooke  him  by  the  shoulder  bane,18 

And  held  her  hold  full  fast ; 
She  strave  so  stiffly  in  that  stower,19 
That  through  all  his  rich  armour 

The  blood  came  at  the  last. 

Then  Gilbert  grieved  was  sea  sare, 
That  he  rave  ofF  both  hide  and  haire, 

The  flesh  came  fro  the  hone ; 
And  with  all  force  he  felled  her  there, 
And  wann  her  worthily  in  werre, 

And  band  her  him  alone. 

And  lift  her  on  a  horse  sea  hee, 
Into  two  paniers  well-made  of  a  tre, 

And  to  Richmond  they  did  hay  :20 
When  they  saw  her  come, 
They  sang  merrily  Te  Deum, 

The  Fryers  on  that  day.21 

They  thanked  God  and  St.  Francis, 
As  they  had  won  the  best  of  pris,22 

And  never  a  man  was  slaine : 
There  did  never  a  man  more  manly, 
Knight  Marcus,  nor  yett  Sir  Gui, 

Nor  Loth  of  Louthyane.23 

applied  sometimes  to  what  is  supernaturally  hideous.  The 
printed  copy  reads, — "The  beast  hath,"  &c. — 12  Hired,  a  York- 
shire phrase. — 13  Blow. — 14  Broad,  large. — 15  Such  like  a  roar. 
— 16  Drew  out. — "  In  the  combat. — 18  Bone. — 19  Meeting,  bat- 
tle.— 2°  Hie,  hasten. — 21  The  MS.  reads,  mistakenly,  ewrj/day. 
— 22  Price. — -3  The  father  of  Sir  Gawain,  in  the  romance  of 
Arthur  and  Merlin.    The  MS.  is  thus  corrupted — 

"  More  loth  of  Louth  Ryme." 


368 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


If  ye  will  any  more  of  this, 
In  the  Fryers  of  Richmond  'tis 

In  parchment  good  and  fine; 
And  how  Fryar  Middleton  that  was  so  kend,1 
At  Greta  Bridge  conjured  a  feind 

In  likeness  of  a  swine. 

It  is  well  known  to  many  a  man, 

That  Fryar  Theobald  was  warden  than, 

And  ttiis  fell  in  his  time; 
And  Christ  them  bless  both  farre  and  neare, 
All  that  for  solace  list  this  to  heare, 

And  him  that  made  the  rhime. 

Ralph  Rokeby  with  full  good  will, 

The  Fryers  of  Richmond  he  gave  her  till, 

This  sew  to  mend  their  fare : 
Fryar  Middleton  by  his  name, 
Would  needs  bring  the  fat  sew  hame, 

That  rued  him  since  full  sare. 


Note  3  C. 


The  Filea  of  O'Keale  was  he.— P.  327. 

The  Filea,  or  Ollamh  Re  Dan,  was  the  proper  bard,  or,  as 
the  name  literally  implies,  poet.  Each  chieftain  of  distinction 
had  one  or  more  in  his  service,  whose  office  was  usually  here- 
ditary. The  late  ingenious  Mr.  Cooper  Walker  has  assem- 
bled a  curious  collection  of  particulars  concerning  this  order 
of  men,  in  his  Historical  Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.  There 
were  itinerant  bards  of  less  elevated  rank,  but  all  were  held 
in  the  highest  veneration.  The  English,  who  considered 
them  as  chief  supporters  of  the  spirit  of  national  independ- 
ence, were  much  disposed  to  proscribe  this  race  of  poets,  as 
Edward  I.  is  said  to  have  done  in  Wales.  Spenser,  while  he 
admits  the  merit  of  Cheir  wild  poetry,  as  "savouring  of  sweet 
wit  and  good  invention,  and  sprinkled  with  some  pretty  flow- 
ers of  their  natural  device,"  yet  rigorously  condemns  the 
whole  application  of  their  poetry,  as  abased  to  "the  gracing 
of  wickedness  and  vice."  The  household  minstrel  was  ad- 
mitted even  to  the  feast  of  the  prince  whom  he  served,  and 
sat  at  the  same  table.  It  was  one  of  the  customs  of  which  Sir 
Richard  Sewry,  to  whose  charge  Richard  II.  committed  the 
instruction  of  four  Irish  monarchs  in  the  civilization  of  the 
period,  found  it  most  difficult  to  break  his  royal  disciples, 
though  he  had  also  much  ado  to  subject  them  to  other  English 
rules,  and  particularly  to  reconcile  them  to  wear  breeches. 
"The  kynge  my  souerevigne  lord's  entent  was  that  in  maner, 
countenaunce,  and  apparel  of  clothyng,  they  sholde  use  ac- 
cording to  the  maner  of  Englande,  for  the  kynge  thought  to 
make  them  all  four  knyghtes :  they  had  a  fayre  house  to  lodge 
in,  in  Duvelyn,  and  I  was  charged  to  abyde  styll  with  them, 
and  not  to  departe ;  and  so  two  or  three  dayes  I  suffered  them 
to  do  as  they  lyst,  and  sayde  nothing  to  them,  but  folowed 
their  owne  appetytes:  they  wolde  sitte  at  the  table,  and  make 
countenance  nother  good  nor  fayre.  Than  I  thought  I  shulde 
cause  them  to  chaunge  that  maner;  they  wolde  cause  their 
mynstrells,  their  seruantes,  and  varlettes,  to  sytte  with  them, 
and  to  eate  in  their  owne  dyssche,  and  to  drinke  of  their 
cuppes;  and  they  shewed  me  that  the  usage  of  their  cuntre 
was  good,  for  they  sayd  in  all  thyngs  (except  their  beddes) 
they  were  and  lived  as  co-men.  So  the  fourthe  day  I  ordayned 
other  tables  to  be  couered  in  the  hall,  after  the  usage  of  Eng- 


1  Well  known,  or  perhaps  kind,  well  disposed. 


lande,  and  I  made  these  four  knyghtes  to  sytte  at  the  hyghe 
table,  and  there  mynstrels  at  another  borde,  and  their  ser- 
uantes and  varlettes  at  another  byneth  them,  wherof  by 
semynge  they  were  displeased,  and  beheld  each  other,  and 
wolde  not  eate,  and  sayde,  how  I  wolde  take  fro  them  th  iir 
good  usage,  wherein  they  had  been  norished.  Then  I  an- 
swered them,  smylyng,  to  apeace  them,  that  it  was  not  hon- 
ourable for  their  estates  to  do  as  they  dyde  before,  and  that 
they  must  leave  it,  and  use  the  custom  of  Englande,  and  that 
it  was  the  kynge's  pleasure  they  shulde  so  do,  and  how  he  was 
charged  so  to  order  them.  When  they  harde  that,  they  suffrt  d 
it,  bycause  they  had  putte  themselfe  under  the  obesyance  of 
the  Kynge  of  Englande,  and  parceuered  in  the  same  as  long 
as  I  was  with  them ;  yet  they  had  one  use  which  I  knew  was 
well  used  in  their  cuntre,  and  that  was,  they  dyde  were  no 
breches ;  I  caused  breches  of  lynen  clothe  to  be  made  for  them. 
Whyle  I  was  with  them  I  caused  them  to  leaue  many  rude 
thynges,  as  well  in  clothyng  as  in  other  causes.  Moche  ado 
I  had  at  the  fyrst  to  cause  them  to  weare  gownes  of  sylke, 
furred  with  myneuere  and  gray ;  for  before  these  kynges 
thought  themselfe  well  apparelled  whan  they  had  on  a  man- 
tell.  They  rode  alwayes  without  saddles  and  styropes,  and 
with  great  payne  I  made  them  to  ride  after  our  usage." — 
Lord  Berners'  Fioissart.    Lond.  1812,  4to,  vol.  ii.  p.  621. 

The  influence  of  these  bards  upon  their  patrons,  and  their 
admitted  title  to  interfere  in  matters  of  the  weightiest  con- 
cern, may  also  be  proved  from  the  behavior  of  one  of  them  at 
an  interview  between  Thomas  Fitzgerald,  son  of  the  Earl  of 
Kildare,  then  about  to  renounce  the  English  allegiance,  and 
the  Lord  Chancellor  Cromer,  who  made  a  long  and  goodly 
oration  to  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose.  The  young  lord 
had  come  to  the  council  "  armed  and  weaponed,"  and  attend- 
ed by  seven  score  horsemen  in  their  shirts  of  mail ;  and  we 
are  assured  that  the  chancellor,  having  set  forth  his  oration 
"  with  such  a  lamentable  action  as  his  cheekes  were  all  be- 
blubbered  with  teares,  the  horsemen,  namelie,  such  as  under- 
stood not  English,  began  to  diuine  what  the  lord  chancellor 
meant  with  all  this  long  circumstance ;  some  of  them  report- 
ing that  he  was  preaching  a  sermon,  others  said  that  he  stood 
making  of  some  heroicall  poetry  in  the  praise  of  the  Lord 
Thomas.  And  thus  as  every  idiot  shot  his  foolish  bolt  at  the 
wise  chancellor  his  discourse,  who  in  effect  had  nought  else 
but  drop  pretious  stones  before  hogs,  one  Bard  de  £Jelan,  an 
Irish  rithmour,  and  a  rotten  sheepe  to  infect  a  whole  flocke, 
was  chatting  of  Irish  verses,  as  though  his  toong  had  run  on 
pattens,  in  commendation  of  the  Lord  Thomas,  investing  him 
with  the  title  of  Silken  Thomas,  bicaus  his  horsemens  jacks 
were  gorgeously  imbroidered  with  silke:  and  in  the  end  he 
told  him  that  he  lingered  there  ouer  long;  whereat  the  Lord 
Thomas  being  quickened,"2  as  Holinshed  expresses  it,  bade 
defiance  to  the  chancellor,  threw  down  contemptuously  the 
sword  of  office,  which,  in  his  father's  absence,  he  held  as  dep- 
uty, and  rushed  forth  to  engage  in  open  insurrection. 


Note  3  D. 


Ah,  Clandeborj  !  thy  friendly  floor 
Slieve-DonaroVs  oak  shall  light  no  more.—V.  327. 

Clandeboy  is  a  district  of  Ulster,  formerly  possessed  by  the 
sept  of  the  O'Neales,  and  Slieve-Donard  a  romantic  mountain 
in  the  same  province.  The  clan  was  ruined  after  Tyrone's 
great  rebellion,  and  their  places  of  abode  laid  desolate.  The 
ancient  Irish,  wild  and  uncultivated  in  other  respects,  did  not 
yield  even  to  their  descendants  in  practicing  the  most  free  and 

2  Holinshed.    Lond.  1808,  4to,  vol.  vi.  p.  291. 


APPENDIX   TO   ROKEBY. 


369 


extended  hospitality;  and  doubtless  the  bard  mourned  the 
decay  of  the  mansion  of  their  chiefs  in  strains  similar  to  the 
verses  of  the  British  Llywarch  Hen  on  a  similar  occasion, 
■which  are  affecting,  even  through  the  discouraging  medium 
of  a  literal  translation : — 

"  Silent-breathing  gale,  long  wilt  thou  be  heard ! 
There  is  scarcely  another  deserving  praise, 
Since  Urien  is  no  more. 

Many  a  dog  that  scented  well  the  prey,  and  aerial  hawk, 
Have  been  trained  on  this  floor 
Before  Erlleon  became  polluted. 

This  hearth,  ah,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  nettles ! 

Whilst  its  defender  lived, 

More  congenial  to  it  was  the  foot  of  the  needy  petitioner. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  green  sod ! 

In  the  lifetime  of  Owain  and  Elphin, 

Its  ample  caldron  boiled  the  prey  taken  from  the  foe. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  toad-stools! 
Around  the  viand  it  prepared,  more  cheering  was 
The  clattering  sword  of  the  fierce  dauntless  warrior. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  overgrown  with  spreading 

brambles ! 
Till  now,  logs  of  burning  wood  lay  on  it, 
Accustom'd  to  prepare  the  gifts  of  Keged ! 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  thorns ! 

More  congenial  on  it  "would  have  been  the  mix'd  group 

Of  Owain's  social  friends  united  in  harmony. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  ants ! 

More  adapted  to  it  would  have  been  the  bright  torches 

And  harmless  festivities. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  covered  with  dock-leaves ! 

More  congenial  on  its  floor  would  have  been 

The  mead,  and  the  talking  of  wine-cheer'd  warriors. 

This  hearth,  will  it  not  be  turned  up  by  the  swine ! 
More  congenial  to  it  would  have  been  the  clamor  of  men, 
And  the  circling  horns  of  the  banquet." 

Heroic  Elegies  of  Llywarch  Hen,  by  Owen. 
Lond.  1792,  8vo,  p.  41. 

"  The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  bed — 

I  must  weep  a  while,  and  then  be  silent ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 

Without  fire,  without  candle — 

Except  God  doth,  who  will  endue  me  with  patience? 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  being  lighted — 
Be  thou  encircled  with  spreading  silence ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  gloomy  seems  its  roof 
Since  the  sweet  smile  of  humanity  is  no  more — 
Woe  to  him  that  saw  it,  if  he  neglects  to  do  good ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan,  art  thou  not  bereft  of  thy  appearance? 

Thy  shield  is  in  the  grave ; 

Whilst  he  lived  there  was  no  broken  roof! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  without  love  this  night, 

Since  he  that  own'd  it  is  no  more — 

Ah,  death :  it  will  be  but  a  short  time  he  will  leave  me ! 

24 


The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  not  easy  this  night, 
On  the  top  of  the  rock  of  Hydwyth, 

Without  its  lord,  without  company,  without  the  circling 
feasts ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  songs — 
Tears  afflict  the  cheeks ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  gloomy  this  night, 
Without  fire,  without  family — 
My  overflowing  tears  gush  out ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  pierces  me  to  see  it, 
Without  a  covering,  without  fire — 
My  general  dead,  and  I  alive  myself! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  the  seat  of  chill  grief  this  night, 

After  the  respect  I  experienced  ; 

Without  the  men,  without  the  women,  who  reside  there ! 

The  hall  of  Cynddylan  is  silent  this  night, 

After  losing  its  master — 

The  great  merciful  God,  what  shall  I  do !" 

Ibid.  p.  77. 


Note  3  E. 

M'Curtin's  harp.— P.  329. 

"  MacCurtin,  hereditary  Ollamh  of  North  Munster,  and 
Filea  to  Donough,  Earl  of  Thomond  and  President  of  Mun- 
ster. This  nobleman  was  amongst  those  who  were  prevailed 
upon  to  join  Elizabeth's  forces.  Soon  as  it  was  known  that 
he  had  basely  abandoned  the  interests  of  his  country,  Mac- 
Curtin presented  an  adulatory  poem  to  MacCarthy,  chief  of 
South  Munster,  and  of  the  Eugenian  line,  who,  with  O'Neil, 
O'Donnel,  Lacy,  and  others,  were  deeply  engaged  in  protect- 
ing their  violated  country.  In  this  poem  he  dwells  with  rap- 
ture on  the  courage  and  patriotism  of  MacCarthy ;  but  the 
verse  that  should  (according  to  an  established  law  of  the  or- 
der of  the  bards)  be  introduced  in  the  praise  of  O'Brien,  he 
turns  into  severe  satire : — '  How  am  I  afflicted  (says  he)  that 
the  descendant  of  the  great  Brion  Boiromh  cannot  furnish 
me  with  a  theme  worthy  the  honor  and  glory  of  his  exalted 
race !'  Lord  Thomond,  hearing  this,  vowed  vengeance  on  the 
spirited  bard,  who  fled  for  refuge  to  the  county  of  Cork.  One 
day,  observing  the  exasperated  nobleman  and  his  equipage 
at  a  small  distance,  he  thought  it  was  in  vain  to  fly,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  suddenly  seized  with  the  pangs  of  death ;  direct- 
ing his  wife  to  lament  over  him,  and  tell  his  lordship  that 
the  sight  of  him,  by  awakening  the  sense  of  his  ingratitude, 
had  so  much  affected  him  that  he  could  not  support  it ;  and 
desired  her  at  the  same  time  to  tell  his  lordship  that  he 
entreated,  as  a  dying  request,  his  forgiveness.  Soon  as  Lord 
Thomond  arrived,  the  feigned  tale  was  related  to  him.  That 
nobleman  was  moved  to  compassion,  and  not  only  declared 
that  he  most  heartily  forgave  him,  but,  opening  his  purse, 
presented  the  fair  mourner  with  some  pieces  to  inter  him. 
This  instance  of  his  lordship's  pity  and  generosity  gave  cour- 
age to  the  trembling  bard ;  who,  suddenly  springing  up,  recited 
an  extemporaneous  ode  in  praise  of  Donough,  and,  re-entering 
into  his  service,  became  once  more  his  favorite." — Walker's 
Memoirs  of  the  Irish  Bards.    Lond.  1786,  4to,  p.  141. 


Note  3  F. 

The  ancient  English  mi?istreVs  dress.— P.  329. 

Among  the  entertainments  presented  to  Elizabeth  at  Ken- 
ilworth  Castle  was  the  introduction  of  a  person  designed  to 


370 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


represent  a  travelling  minstrel,  who  entertained  her  with  a 
solemn  story  out  of  the  Acts  of  Kiwi  Arthur.  Of  this  per- 
son's dress  and  appearanee  Mr.  Laneham  lias  given  us  a  very 
accurate  account,  transferred  by  Bishop  Percy  to  the  prelim- 
inary Dissertation  on  Minstrels,  prefixed  to  his  Reliques  of 
Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i. 


Note  3  G. 

IAUkcot  Hall.— P.  332. 

The  tradition  from  which  the  ballad  is  founded  was  sup- 
plied by  a  friend  (the  late  Lord  Webb  Seymour),  whose  ac- 
count I  will  not  do  the  injustice  to  abridge,  as  it  contains  an 
admirable  picture  of  an  old  English  hall : — 

"  Littlecote  House  stands  in  a  low  and  lonely  situation. 
On  three  sides  it  is  surrounded  by  a  park  that  spreads  over 
the  adjoining  hill ;  on  the  fourth,  by  meadows  which  are  wat- 
ered by  the  river  Kennet.  Close  on  one  side  of  the  house  is 
a  thick  grove  of  lofty  trees,  along  the  verge  of  which  runs 
one  of  the  principal  avenues  to  it  through  the  park.  It  is 
an  irregular  building  of  great  antiquity,  and  was  probably 
•erected  about  the  time  of  the  termination  of  feudal  warfare, 
when  defence  came  no  longer  to  be  an  object  in  a  country 
mansion.  Many  circumstances,  however,  in  the  interior  of 
the  house  seem  appropriate  to  feudal  times.  The  hall  is  very 
spacious,  floored  with  stones,  and  lighted  by  large  transom 
•windows,  that  are  clothed  with  casements.  Its  walls  are 
hung  with  old  military  accoutrements,  that  have  long  been 
left  a  prey  to  rust.  At  one  end  of  the  hall  is  a  range  of  coats 
of  mail  and  helmets,  and  there  is  on  every  side  abundance  of 
old-fashioned  pistols  and  guns,  many  of  them  with  match- 
locks. Immediately  below  the  cornice  hangs  a  row  of  leath- 
ern jerkins,  made  in  the  form  of  a  shirt,  supposed  to  have 
been  worn  as  armor  by  the  vassals.  A  large  oak  table,  reach- 
ing nearly  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the  other,  might  have 
feasted  the  whole  neighborhood,  and  an  appendage  to  one 
end  of  it  made  it  answer  at  other  times  for  the  old  game  of 
shuffleboard.  The  rest  of  the  furniture  is  in  a  suitable  style, 
particularly  an  arm-chair  of  cumbrous  workmanship,  con- 
structed of  wood,  curiously  turned,  with  a  high  back  and  tri- 
angular seat,  said  to  have  been  used  by  Judge  Popham  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth.  The  entrance  into  the  hall  is  at  one  end, 
by  a  low  door,  communicating  with  a  passage  that  leads  from 
the  outer  door  on  the  front  of  the  house  to  a  quadrangle1 
within ;  at  the  other  it  opens  upon  a  gloomy  staircase,  by 
which  you  ascend  to  the  first  floor,  and,  passing  the  doors  of 
some  bedchambers,  enter  a  narrow  gallery,  which  extends 
along  the  back  front  of  the  house  from  one  end  to  the  other 
of  it,  and  looks  upon  an  old  garden.  This  gallery  is  hung 
with  portraits,  chiefly  in  the  Spanish  dresses  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  In  one  of  the  bedchambers,  which  you  pass  in  going 
towards  the  gallery,  is  a  bedstead  with  blue  furniture,  which 
time  has  now  made  dingy  and  threadbare,  and  in  the  bottom 
of  one  of  the  bed  curtains  you  are  shown  a  place  where  a 
small  piece  has  been  cut  out  and  sewn  in  again,— a  circum- 
stance which  serves  to  identify  the  scene  of  the  following 
story : — 

"  It  was  on  a  dark,  rainy  night  in  the  month  of  November 
that  an  old  midwife  sat  musing  by  her  cottage  fireside,  when 
on  a  sudden  she  was  startled  by  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door. 
On  op"ning  it  she  found  a  horseman,  who  told  her  that  her 
assistance  was  required  immediately  by  a  person  of  rank,  and 
that  she  should  be  handsomely  rewarded  ;  but  that  there  were 
reasons  for  keeping  the  affair  a  strict  secret,  and  therefore  she 
must  submit  to  be  blindfolded,  and  to  be  conducted  in  that 
condition  to  the  bedchamber  of  the  lady.  With  some  hesita- 
tion the  midwife  consented ;  the  horseman  bound  her  eyes, 

'  I  think  there  is  a  chapel  on  one  side  of  it,  but  am  not 
quite  sure. 


and  placed  her  on  a  pillion  behind  him.  After  proceeding 
in  silence  for  many  miles  through  rough  and  dirty  lanes, 
they  stopped,  and  the  midwife  was  led  into  a  house,  which, 
from  the  length  of  her  walk  through  the  apartments,  as  well 
as  the  sounds  about  her,  she  discovered  to  be  the  seat  of 
wealth  and  power.  When  the  bandage  was  removed  from 
her  eyes,  she  found  herself  in  a  bedchamber,  in  which  were 
the  lady  on  whose  account  she  had  been  sent  for,  and  a  man 
of  a  haughty  and  ferocious  aspect.  The  lady  was  delivered 
of  a  fine  boy.  Immediately  the  man  commanded  the  midwife 
to  give  him  the  child,  and  catching  it  from  her,  he  hurried 
across  the  room,  and  threw  it  on  the  back  of  the  fire,  that 
was  blazing  in  the  chimney.  The  child,  however,  was  strong, 
and,  by  its  struggles,  rolled  itself  upon  the  hearth,  when  the 
rutfian  again  seized  it  with  fury,  and,  in  spite  of  the  interces- 
sion of  the  midwife,  and  the  more  piteous  entreaties  of  the 
mother,  thrust  it  under  the  grate,  and,  raking  the  live  coals 
upon  it,  soon  put  an  end  to  its  life.  The  midwife,  after  spend- 
ing some  time  in  affording  all  the  relief  in  her  power  to  the 
wretched  mother,  was  told  that  she  must  be  gone.  Her  for- 
mer conductor  appeared,  who  again  bound  her  eyes,  and 
conveyed  her  behind  him  to  her  own  home ;  he  then  paid  her 
handsomely,  and  departed.  The  midwife  was  strongly  agi- 
tated by  the  horrors  of  the  preceding  night;  and  she  imme- 
diately made  a  deposition  of  the  facts  before  a  magistrate. 
Two  circumstances  afforded  hopes  of  detecting  the  house  in 
which  the  crime  had  been  committed ;  one  was,  that  the  mid- 
wife, as  she  sat  by  the  bedside,  had,  with  a  view  to  discover 
the  place,  cut  out  a  piece  of  the  bed-curtain,  and  sewn  it  in 
again ;  the  other  was,  that  as  she  had  descended  the  staircase 
she  had  counted  the  steps.  Some  suspicions  fell  upon  one 
Darrell,  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  Littlecote  House,  and 
the  domain  around  it.  The  house  was  examined,  and  identi- 
fied by  the  midwife,  and  Darrell  was  tried  at  Salisbury  for  the 
murder.  By  corrupting  his  judge,  he  escaped  the  sentence 
of  the  law ;  but  broke  his  neck  by  a  fall  from  his  horse  in 
hunting,  in  a  few  months  after.  The  place  where  this  hap- 
pened is  still  known  by  the  name  of  Darrell's  Style, — a  spot 
to  be  dreaded  by  the  peasant  whom  the  shades  of  evening 
have  overtaken  on  his  way. 

"  Littlecote  House  is  two  miles  from  Hungerford,  in  Berk- 
shire, through  which  the  Bath  road  passes.  The  fact  occurred 
in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  All  the  important  circumstances 
I  have  given  exactly  as  they  are  told  in  the  country;  some 
trifles  only  are  added,  either  to  render  the  whole  connected 
or  to  increase  the  impression." 

To  Lord  Webb's  edition  of  this  singular  story  the  author 
can  now  add  the  following  account,  extracted  from  Aubrey's 
Correspondence.  It  occurs  among  other  particulars  respect- 
ing Sir  John  Popham : — 

ii  Sir  *  *  *  Dayrell,  of  Littlecote,  in  Corn.  Wilts,  having 
gott  his  lady's  waiting-woman  with  child,  when  her  travell 
came,  sent  a  servant  with  a  horse  for  a  midwife,  whom  he 
was  to  bring  hoodwinked.  She  was  brought,  and  layd  the 
woman,  but  as  soon  as  the  child  was  born,  she  sawe  the  knight 
take  the  child  and  murther  it,  and  burn  it  in  the  fire  in  the 
chamber.  She  having  done  her  businesse,  was  extraordinarily 
rewarded  for  her  paines,  and  sent  blindfolded  away.  This 
horrid  action  did  much  run  in  her  mind,  and  she  had  a  desire 
to  discover  it,  but  knew  not  where  'twas.  She  considered 
with  herself  the  time  that  she  was  riding,  and  how  many  miles 
she  might  have  rode  at  that  rate  in  that  time,  and  that  it 
must  be  some  great  person's  house,  for  the  roome  was  12  foot 
high  ;  and  she  should  know  the  chamber  if  she  sawe  it.  She 
went  to  a  justice  of  peace,  and  search  was  made.  The  very 
chamber  found.  The  knight  was  brought  to  his  tryall ;  and, 
to  be  short,  this  judge  had  this  noble  house,  parke,  and  man- 
ner, and  (I  thinkc)  more,  for  a  bribe  to  save  his  life. 

"Sir  John  Popham  gave  sentence  according  to  lawe,  but 
being  a  great  person  and  a  favourite,  he  procured  a  noli  pro- 

SOJI/t." 

With  this  tale  of  terror  the  author  has  combined  some  cir- 


APPENDIX    TO   EOKEBY. 


371 


cumstances  of  a  similar  legend  which  was  current  at  Edin- 
burgh during  his  childhood. 

About  the  beginning  of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  the 
large  castles  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  and  even  the  secluded 
hotels,  like  those  of  the  French  noblesse,  which  they  possessed 
in  Edinburgh,  were  sometimes  the  scenes  of  strange  and 
mysterious  transactions,  a  divine  of  singular  sanctity  was 
called  up  at  midnight  to  pray  with  a  person  at  the  point  of 
death.  This  was  no  unusual  summons;  but  what  followed 
was  alarming.  He  was  put  into  a  sedan-chair,  and  after  he 
had  been  transported  to  a  remote  part  of  the  town,  the  bearers 
insisted  upon  his  being  blindfolded.  The  request  was  enforced 
by  a  cocked  pistol,  and  submitted  to;  but  in  the  course  of  the 
discussion,  he  conjectured,  from  the  phrases  employed  by  the 
chairmen,  and  from  some  part  of  their  dress,  not  completely 
concealed  by  their  cloaks,  that  they  were  greatly  above  the 
menial  station  they  had  assumed.  After  many  turns  and 
windings,  the  chair  was  carried  up  stairs  into  a  lodging,  where 
his  eyes  were  uncovered,  and  he  was  introduced  into  a  bed- 
room, where  he  found  a  lady,  newly  delivered  of  an  infant. 
He  was  commanded  by  his  attendants  to  say  such  prayers 
by  her  bedside  as  were  fitting  for  a  person  not  expected 
to  survive  a  mortal  disorder.  He  ventured  to  remonstrate, 
and  observe  that  her  safe  delivery  warranted  better  hopes. 
But  he  was  sternly  commanded  to  obey  the  orders  first  given, 
and  with  difficulty  recollected  himself  sufficiently  to  acquit 
himself  of  the  task  imposed  on  him.  He  was  then  again 
hurried  into  the  chair;  but  as  they  conducted  him  down 
stairs,  he  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol.  He  was  safely  con- 
ducted home ;  a  purse  of  gold  was  forced  upon  him ;  but  he 
was  warned,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  least  allusion  to  this 
dark  transaction  would  cost  him  his  life.  He  betook  himself 
to  rest,  and,  after  long  and  broken  musing,  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep.  From  this  he  was  awakened  by  his  servant,  with  the 
dismal  news  that  a  fire  of  uncommon  fury  had  broken  out  in 
the  house  of  *  *  *  *,  near  the  head  of  the  Canongate,  and 
that  it  was  totally  consumed;  with  the  shocking  addition, 
that  the  daughter  of  the  proprietor,  a  young  lady  eminent 
for  beauty  and  accomplishments,  had  perished  in  the  flames. 
The  clergyman  had  his  suspicions,  but  to  have  made  them 
public  would  have  availed  nothing.  He  was  timid ;  the  family 
was  of  the  first  distinction  ;  above  all,  the  deed  was  done,  and 
could  not  be  amended.  Time  wore  away,  however,  and  with 
it  his  terrors.  He  became  unhappy  at  being  the  solitary  de- 
positary of  this  fearful  mystery,  and  mentioned  it  to  some  of 
his  brethren,  through  whom  the  anecdote  acquired  a  sort  of 
publicity.  The  divine,  however,  had  been  long  dead,  and  the 
story  in  some  degree  forgotten,  when  a  fire  broke  out  again  on 
the  very  same  spot  where  the  house  of  *  *  *  *  had  formerly 
stood,  and  which  was  now  occupied  by  buildings  of  an  inferior 
description.  When  the  flames  were  at  their  height,  the  tumult 
which  usually  attends  such  a  scene  was  suddenly  suspended 
by  an  unexpected  apparition.  A  beautiful  female,  in  a  night- 
dress, extremely  rich,  but  at  least  half  a  century  old,  appeared 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  fire,  and  uttered  these  tremendous 
words  in  her  vernacular  idiom :  *vtn&s  burned,  twice  burned ; 
the  third  time  I'll  scare  you  all !"  The  belief  in  this  story 
was  formerly  so  strong  that  on  a  fire  breaking  out,  and  seem- 
ing to  approach  the  fatal  spot,  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
anxiety  testified  lest  the  apparition  should  make  good  her 
denunciation. 


Note  3  H. 


"  Enmity  did  continue  betweene  Howell  ap  Rys  ap  Howell 
Vaughan  and  the  sonnes  of  John  ap  Meredith.  After  the 
death  of  Evan  ap  Rebert,  Griffith  ap  Gronw  (cosen-gernian  to 
John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  of  Gwynfryn,  who  had  long  served 
in  France,  and  had  charge  there)  comeing  home  to  live  in  the 
countrey,  it  happened  that  a  servant  of  his,  comeing  to  fish  in 
Stymllyn,  his  fish  was  taken  away,  and  the  fellow  beaten  by 
Howell  ap  Rys  his  servants,  and  by  his  commandment. 
Griffith  ap  John  ap  Gronw  took  the  matter  in  such  dudgeon 
that  he  challenged  Howell  ap  Rys  to  the  field,  which  he  re- 
fusing, assembling  his  cosins  John  ap  Meredith's  sonnes  and 
his  friends  together,  assaulted  Howell  in  his  own  house,  after 
the  maner  he  had  seene  in  the  French  warres,  and  consumed 
with  fire  his  barnes  and  his  out-houses.  Whilst  he  was  thus 
assaulting  the  hall,  which  Howell  ap  Rys  and  many  other 
people  kept,  being  a  very  strong  house,  he  was  shot,  out  of  a 
crevice  of  the  house,  through  the  sight  of  his  beaver  into  the 
head,  and  slayne  outright,  being  otherwise  armed  at  all 
points.  Notwithstanding  his  death,  the  assault  of  the  house 
was  continued  with  great  vehemence,  the  doores  fired  with 
great  burthens  of  straw ;  besides  this,  the  smoake  of  the  out- 
houses and  barnes  not  farre  distant  annoyed  greatly  the  de- 
fendants, for  that  most  of  them  lay  under  boordes  and  benches 
upon  the  floore,  in  the  hall,  the  better  to  avoyd  the  smoake. 
During  this  scene  of  confusion  onely  the  old  man,  Howell  ap 
Rys,  never  stooped,  but  stood  valiantly  in  the  midst  of  the 
floore,  armed  with  a  gleve  in  his  hand,  and  called  unto  them, 
and  bid  '  them  arise  like  men,  for  shame,  for  he  had  knowne 
there  as  great  a  smoake  in  that  hall  upon  Christmas-even.' 
In  the  end,  seeing  the  house  could  noe  longer  defend  them, 
being  overlayed  with  a  multitude,  upon  parley  betweene  them, 
Howell  ap  Rys  was  content  to  yeald  himself  prisoner  to  Mor- 
ris ap  John  ap  Meredith,  John  ap  Meredith's  eldest  sonne,  soe 
as  he  would  swear  unto  him  to  bring  him  safe  to  Carnarvon 
Castle,  to  abide  the  triall  of  the  law  for  the  death  of  Graff'  ap 
John  ap  Gronw,  who  was  cosen-german  removed  to  the  said 
Howell  ap  Rys,  and  of  the  very  same  house  he  was  of.  Which 
Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  undertaking,  did  put  a  guard 
about  the  said  Howell  of  his  trustiest  friends  and  servants, 
who  kept  and  defended  him  from  the  rage  of  his  kindred,  and 
especially  of  Owen  ap  John  ap  Meredith,  his  brother,  who  was 
very  eager  against  him.  They  passed  by  leisure  thence  like 
a  campe  to  Carnarvon :  the  whole  countrie  being  assembled, 
Howell  his  friends  posted  a  horseback  from  one  place  or  other 
by  the  way,  who  brought  word  that  he  was  come  thither  safe, 
for  they  were  in  great  fear  lest  he  should  be  murthered,  and 
that  Morris  ap  John  ap  Meredith  could  not  be  able  to  defend 
him,  neither  durst  any  of  Howell's  friends  be  there,  for  fear 
of  the  kindred.  In  the  end,  being  delivered  by  Morris  ap  John 
ap  Meredith  to  the  Constable  of  Carnarvon  Castle,  and  there 
kept  safely  in  ward  untill  the  assises,  it  fell  out  by  law,  that  the 
burning  of  Howell's  houses,  and  assaulting  him  in  his  owne 
house,  was  a  more  haynous  offence  in  Morris  ap  John  ap  Mere- 
dith and  the  rest,  than  the  death  of  Graff  ap  John  ap  Gronw 
in  Howell,  who  did  it  in  his  own  defence;  whereupon  Morris 
ap  John  ap  Meredith,  with  thirty-five  more,  were  indicted  of 
felony,  as  appeareth  by  the  copie  of  the  indictment,  which  I 
had  from  the  records." — Sir  John  Wynne's  Histvry  of  the 
Gwydir  Family.    Lond.  1770,  8vo,  p.  116. 


As  thick  a  smoke  these  hearths  have  given 
At  Hallow-tide  or  Christmas  even. — P.  334. 

Such  an  exhortation  was,  in  similar  circumstances,  actually 
given  to  his  followers  by  a  Welsh  chieftain  : — 


Note  3  I. 

O'er  Hexham's  altar  hung  my  glove. — P.  341. 

This  custom  among  the  Redesdale  and  Tynedale  Borderers 
is  mentioned  in  the  interesting  Life  of  Barnard  Gilpin,  where 
some  account  is  given  of  these  wild  districts,  which  it  was  the 
custom  of  that  excellent  man  regularly  to  visit: — 

"This  custom  (of  duels)  still  prevailed  on  the  Borders, 
where  Saxon  barbarism  held  its  latest  possession.     These 


372 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


wild  Northumbrians,  indeed,  went  beyond  the  ferocity  of 
their  ancestors.  They  were  not  content  with  a  duel:  each 
contending  party  used  to  muster  what  adherents  he  could, 
and  commence  a  kind  of  petty  war.  So  that  a  private  grudge 
would  often  occasion  much  bloodshed. 

"  It  happened  that  a  quarrel  of  this  kind  was  on  foot  when 
Mr.  Gilpin  was  at  Rothbury,  in  those  parts.  During  the  two 
c.i  three  first  days  of  his  preaching,  the  contending  parties 
observed  some  decorum,  and  never  appeared  at  church  to- 
gether. At  length,  however,  they  met.  One  party  had  been 
early  at  church,  and  just  as  Mr.  Gilpin  began  his  sermon,  the 
Other  entered.  They  stood  not  long  silent.  Inflamed  at  the 
sight  of  each  other,  they  began  to  clash  their  weapons,  tor 
they  were  all  armed  with  javelins  and  swords,  and  mutually 
approached.  Awed,  however,  by  the  sacredness  of  the  place, 
the  tumult  iu  some  degree  ceased.  Mr.  Gilpin  proceeded: 
when  again  the  combatants  began  to  brandish  their  weapons, 
and  draw  towards  each  other.  As  a  fray  seemed  near,  Mr. 
Gilpin  stepped  from  the  pulpit,  went  between  them,  and  ad- 
dressed tin'  leaders,  put  an  end  to  the  quarrel,  for  the  present, 
but  could  not  effect  an  entire  reconciliation.  They  promised 
him,  however,  that  till  the  sermon  was  over  they  would  make 
no  more  disturbance.  He  then  went  again  into  the  pulpit, 
and  spent  the  rest  of  the  time  in  endeavoring  to  make  them 
ashamed  of  what  they  had  done.  His  behavior  and  discourse 
affected  them  so  much  that,  at  his  farther  entreaty,  they 
promised  to  forbear  all  acts  of  hostility  while  he  continued 
in  the  country.  And  so  much  respected  was  he  among 
them,  that  whoever  was  in  fear  of  his  enemy  used  to  resort 
where  Mr.  Gilpin  was,  esteeming  his  presence  the  best  pro- 
tection. 

"One  Sunday  morning,  coming  to  a  church  in  those  parts, 
before  the  people  were  assembled,  he  observed  a  glove  hang- 
ing up,  and  was  informed  by  the  sexton  that  it  was  meant  as 
a  challenge  to  any  one  who  should  take  it  down.  Mr.  Gilpin 
ordered  the  sexton  to  reach  it  to  him ;  but  upon  his  utterly 
refusing  to  touch  it,  he  took  it  down  himself,  and  put  it  into 
his  breast.  When  the  people  were  assembled,  he  went  into 
the  pulpit,  and  before  he  concluded  his  sermon  took  occasion 
to  rebuke  them  severely  for  these  inhuman  challenges.  'I 
hear,'  saith  he,  '  that  one  among  you  hath  hanged  up  a  glove, 
even  in  this  sacred  place,  threatening  to  fight  any  one  who 
taketh  it  down :  see,  I  have  taken  it  down  ;'  and,  pulling  out 
the  glove,  he  held  it  up  to  the  congregation,  and  then  showed 
them  how  unsuitable  such  savage  practices  were  to  the  pro- 
fession of  Christianity,  using  such  persuasives  to  mutual  love 
as  he  thought  would  most  affect  them." — Life  of  Barnard 
Gilpin.    Lond.  1753,  8vo,  p.  177. 


Note  3  K. 

A  tiwseman  arm'd,  at  headlong  speed. — P.  345. 

This,  and  what  follows,  is  taken  from  a  real  achievement 
of  Major  Robert  Philipson,  called,  from  his  desperate  and 
adventurous  courage,  Robin  the  Devil ;  which,  as  being  very 
inaccurately  noticed  iu  this  note  upon  the  first  edition,  shall 


be  now  given  in  a  more  authentic  form.  The  chief  place  of 
his  retreat  was  not  Lord's  Island,  in  Derwentwater,  but  Cur- 
wen's  Island,  in  the  Lake  of  Windermere  : — 

"  This  island  formerly  belonged  to  the  Philipsons,  a  family 
of  note  in  Westmoreland.  During  the  Civil  Wars,  two  of 
them,  an  elder  and  a  younger  brother,  served  the  king.  The 
former,  who  was  the  proprietor  of  it,  commanded  a  regiment ; 
the  latter  was  a  major. 

"The  major,  whose  name  was  Robert,  was  a  man  of  great 
spirit  and  enterprise;  and  for  his  many  feats  of  personal 
bravery  bad  obtained,  among  the  Oliverians  of  those  parts, 
the  appellation  of  Robin  the  Devil. 

"After  the  war  had  subsided,  and  the  direful  effects  of  pub- 
lic opposition  bad  ceased,  revenge  and  malice  long  kept  alive 
the  animosity  of  individuals.  Colonel  Briggs,  a  steady  friend 
to  usurpation,  resided  at  this  time  at  Kendal,  and,  under  the 
double  character  of  a  leading  magistrate  (for  he  was  a  justice 
of  peace)  and  an  active  commander,  held  the  country  in  awe. 
This  person  having  heard  that  Major  Philipson  was  at  his 
brother's  house  on  the  island  in  Windermere,  resolved,  if 
possible,  to  seize  and  punish  a  man  who  had  made  himself 
so  particularly  obnoxious.  How  it  was  conducted,  my  au- 
thority1 does  not  inform  us — whether  he  got  together  the 
navigation  of  the  lake,  and  blockaded  the  place  by  sea,  or 
whether  he  landed  and  carried  on  his  approaches  in  form. 
Neither  do  we  learn  the  strength  of  the  garrison  within,  nor 
of  the  works  without.  All  we  learn  is  that  Major  Philipson 
endured  a  siege  of  eight  months  with  great  gallantry,  till  his 
brother,  the  colonel,  raised  a  party  and  relieved  him. 

"  It  was  now  the  major's  turn  to  make  reprisals.  He  put 
himself,  therefore,  at  the  head  of  a  little  troop  of  horse,  and 
rode  to  Kendal.  Here,  being  informed  that  Colonel  Briggs 
was  at  prayers  (for  it  was  on  a  Sunday  morning),  he  sta- 
tioned his  men  properly  in  the  avenues,  and  himself,  armed, 
rode  directly  into  the  church.  It  probably  was  not  a  regular 
church,  but  some  large  place  of  meeting.  It  is  said  he  in- 
tended to  seize  the  colonel  and  carry  him  off;  but  as  this 
seems  to  have  been  totally  impracticable,  it  is  rather  prob- 
able that  his  intention  was  to  kill  him  on  the  spot,  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  confusion  to  escape.  Whatever  his  inten- 
tion was,  it  was  frustrated,  for  Briggs  happened  to  be  else- 
where. 

"The  congregation,  as  might  be  expected,  was  thrown  into 
great  confusion  on  seeing  an  armed  man  on  horseback  make 
his  appearance  among  them ;  and  the  major,  taking  advan- 
tage of  their  astonishment,  turned  his  horse  round,  and  rode 
quietly  out.  But  having  given  an  alarm,  he  was  presently 
assaulted  as  he  left  the  assembly,  and  being  seized,  his  girths 
were  cut,  and  he  was  unhorsed. 

"  At  this  instant  his  party  made  a  furious  attack  on  the  as- 
sailants, and  the  major  killed  with  his  own  hand  the  man 
who  had  seized  him,  clapped  the  saddle,  ungirthed  as  it  was, 
upon  his  horse,  and,  vaulting  into  it,  rode  full  speed  through 
the  streets  of  Kendal,  calling  his  men  to  follow  him ;  and, 
with  his  whole  party,  made  a  safe  retreat  to  his  asylum  in 
the  lake.  The  action  mafked  the  man.  Many  knew  him; 
and  they  who  did  not,  knew  as  well  from  the  exploit  that  it 
could  be  nobody  but  Robin  the  Devil." 


i  Dr.  Burn's  History  of  Westmoreland. 


Ei)t  Brtlral  of  Evitxmain: 


OB, 


&f)e  Valt  of  g>t  Joijn. 


A   LOVER'S   TALE. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION.1 

In  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  the  year 
1809,  three  "  Fragments "  were  inserted,  written  in 
imitation  of  living  poets.  It  must  have  been  appar- 
ent that  by  these  prolusions  nothing  burlesque  or 
disrespectful  to  the  authors  was  intended,  but  that 
they  were  offered  to  the  public  as  serious,  though 
certainly  very  imperfect,  imitations  of  that  style  of 
composition  by  which  each  of  the  writers  is  supposed 
to  be  distinguished.  As  these  exercises  attracted 
a  greater  degree  of  attention  than  the  author  antici- 
pated, he  has  been  induced  to  complete  one  of  them, 
and  present  it  as  a  separate  publication.2 

It  is  not  in  this  place  that  an  examination  of  the 
works  of  the  master  whom  he  has  here  adopted  as 
his  model  can,  with  propriety,  be  introduced;  since 
his  general  acquiescence  in  the  favorable  suffrage  of 
the  public  must  necessarily  be  inferred  from  the 
attempt  he  has  now  made.  He  is  induced,  by  the 
nature  of  his  subject,  to  offer  a  few  remarks  on 
what  has  been  called  Romantic  Poetry  ;  the  popu- 
larity of  which  has  been  revived  in  the  present  day, 
under  the  auspices,  and  by  the  unparalleled  success, 
of  one  individual. 

The  original  purpose  of  poetry  is  either  religious 
or  historical,  or,  as  must  frequently  happen,  a  mix- 
ture of  both.  To  modern  readers,  the  poems  of  Homer 
have  many  of  the  features  of  pure  romance;  but 
in  the  estimation  of  his  contemporaries,  they  prob- 


1  Published  in  March,  1813,  by  John  Ballantyne  &  Co. 
12mo. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  his  Introduction  to  the  "Lord  of  the 
Isles,"  says : — "  Being  much  urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now 
unhappily  no  more — William  Erskine — I  agreed  to  write  the 
little  romantic  tale  called  the  'Bridal  of  Triermain ;'  but  it 
was  on  the  condition  that  he  should  make  no  serious  effort  to 
disown  the  composition  if  report  should  lay  it  at  his  door. 


ably  derived  their  chief  value  from  their  supposed 
historical  authenticity.  The  same  may  be  generally 
said  of  the  poetry  of  all  early  ages.  The  marvels 
and  miracles  which  the  poet  blends  with  his  song 
do  not  exceed  in  number  or  extravagance  the  fig- 
ments of  the  historians  of  the  same  period  of  society; 
and,  indeed,  the  difference  betwixt  poetry  and  prose, 
as  the  vehicles  of  historical  truth,  is  always  of  late 
introduction.  Poets,  under  various  denominations 
of  Bards,  Scalds,  Chroniclers,  and  so  forth,  are 
the  first  historians  of  all  nations.  Their  intention 
is  to  relate  the  events  they  have  witnessed,  or 
the  traditions  that  have  reached  them ;  and  they 
clothe  the  relation  in  rhyme,  merely  as  the  means  of 
rendering  it  more  solemn  in  the  narrative  or  more 
easily  committed  to  memory.  But  as  the  poetical  his- 
torian improves  in  the  art  of  conveying  information, 
the  authenticity  of  his  narrative  unavoidably  de- 
clines. He  is  tempted  to  dilate  and  dwell  upon  the 
events  that  are  interesting  to  his  imagination,  and, 
conscious  how  indifferent  his  audience  is  to  the  naked 
truth  of  his  poem,  his  history  gradually  becomes  a 
romance. 

It  is  in  this  situation  that  those  epics  are  found 
which  have  been  generally  regarded  the  standards 
of  poetry ;  and  it  has  happened,  somewhat  strangely, 
that  the  moderns  have  pointed  out  as  the  character- 
istics and  peculiar  excellencies  of  narrative  poetry 
the  very  circumstances  which  the  authors  themselves! 
adopted  only  because  their  art  involved  the  duties 


As  he  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry,  and  as  I 
took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something  which  might 
resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feeling  and 
manner,  the  train  easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were 
sold.  A  third  being  called  for,  Lord  Kinnedder  became  un- 
willing to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going  further 
than  he  expected  or  desired,  and  the  real  author's  name  was 
given." 

(373) 


:J74 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


of  the  historian  as  well  as  the  poet.  It  cannot  be 
believed,  for  example,  that  Homer  selected  the  siege 
of  Troy  as  the  most  appropriate  subject  for  poetry; 
his  purpose  was  to  write  the  early  history  of  his 
country;  the  event  he  has  chosen,  though  not  very 
fruitful  in  varied  incident,  nor  perfectly  well  adapted 
for  poetry,  was  nevertheless  combined  with  tradition- 
ary and  genealogical  anecdotes  extremely  interest- 
ing to  those  who  were  to  listen  to  him;  and  this 
he  has  adorned  by  the  exertions  of  a  genius  which, 
if  it  has  been  equalled,  has  certainly  been  never 
surpassed.  It  was  not  till  comparatively  a  late 
period  that  the  general  accuracy  of  his  narrative, 
or  his  purpose  in  composing  it,  was  brought  into 

question.  Aoxti  irpuiTO?  [6  Ai-af a-yopas]  (/cafld  </>»]o-i  "J>a/3opii'o; 
fv     jravrooairfj     'IaTopia)    tijv     'Ofiijpou     jrotijcnv     a.-no<l>T)va.(j9ai. 

tlvai  n-epi  dpeTTjf  ko'i  Sikcuoo-vcjjs.1  But  whatever  theories 
might  be  framed  by  speculative  men,  his  work  was  of 
an  historical,  not  of  an  allegorical,  nature.    Emui-iAAe™ 

p.erd     toO     McVrfu     icai    ottov     exdcrTOTe    acpi'icoiro,    ndvra    rd 

1  Diogenes  Laertius,  lib.  ii.  Anaxag.  Segm.  11. 
*  Homeri  Vita,  in  Herod.  Henr.  Steph.  1570,  p.  356. 

8  A  RECEIPT  TO  MAKE  AN  EPIC  POEM. 

FOR  THE   FABLE. 

"Take  out  of  any  old  poem,  history  book,  romance,  or 
legend  (for  instance,  Geoffry  of  Monmouth  or  Don  Belianis  of 
Greece),  those  parts  of  the  story  which  afford  most  scope  for 
long  descriptions.  Put  these  pieces  together,  and  throw  all 
the  adventures  you  fancy  into  one  tale.  Then  take  a  hero 
whom  you  may  choose  for  the  sound  of  his  name,  and  put 
him  into  the  midst  of  these  adventures.  There  let  him  work 
for  twelve  books ;  at  the  end  of  which  you  may  take  him  out 
ready  prepared  to  conquer  or  marry,  it  being  necessary  that 
the  conclusion  of  an  epic  poem  be  fortunate." 

To  make  an  Episode. — "Take  any  remaining  adventure  of 
your  former  collection,  in  which  you  could  no  way  involve 
your  hero,  or  any  unfortunate  accident  that  was  too  good  to 
be  thrown  away,  and  it  will  he  of  use  applied  to  any  other 
person,  who  may  be  lost  and  evaporate  in  the  course  of  the 
work,  without  the  least  damage  to  the  composition." 

For  the  Moral  and  Allegory. — "  These  you  may  extract  out 
of  the  fable  afterwards  at  your  leisure.  Be  sure  you  strain 
them  sufficiently." 

FOR  THE  MANNERS. 

"For  those  of  the  hero,  take  all  the  best  qualities  you  can 
find  in  all  the  celebrated  heroes  of  antiquity;  if  they  will  not 
be  reduced  to  a  consistency,  lay  them  all  on  a  heap  upon  him. 
Be  sure  they  are  qualities  which  your  patron  would  be  thought 
to  have;  and,  to  prevent  any  mistake  which  the  world  may 
be  subject  to,  select  from  the  alphabet  those  capital  letters 
that  compose  his  name,  and  set  them  at  the  head  of  a  dedica- 
tion before  your  poem.  However,  do  not  absolutely  observe 
the  exact  quantity  of  these  virtues,  it  not  being  determined 
whether  or  not  it  be  necessary  for  the  hero  of  a  poem  to  be  an 
honest  man.  For  the  under  characters,  gather  them  from 
Homer  and  Virgil,  and  change  the  names  as  occasion  serves." 

FOR  THE  MACHINES. 

"Take  of  deities,  male  and  female,  as  many  as  you  can  use. 
Separate  them  into  equal  parts,  and  keep  Jupiter  in  the 
middle.  Let  Juno  put  him  in  a  ferment,  and  Venus  mollify 
him.  Remember  on  all  occasions  to  make  use  of  volatile 
Mercury.  If  you  have  need  of  devils,  draw  them  out  of  Mil- 
ton's  Paradise,  and  extract  your  spirits  from  Tasso.  The  use 
of  these  machines  is  evident,  for,  since  no  epic  poem  can 


ort^iipia    Siepu>TaTO,     icai    ioropeW     envvBaiero'     ei/ebs     fie    fiiv 

fiv  icai  nvvfj.o<rvva  fra^Taiy  ypd^taSai  *  Instead  of  rec- 
ommending the  choice  of  a  subject  similar  to  that 
of  Homer,  it  was  to  be  expected  that  critics  should 
have  exhorted  the  poets  of  these  latter  days  to 
atlopt  or  invent  a  narrative  in  itself  more  suscep- 
tible of  poetical  ornament,  and  to  avail  themselves 
of  that  advantage  in  order  to  compensate,  in  some 
degree,  the  inferiority  of  genius.  The  contrary  course 
has  been  inculcated  by  almost  all  the  writers  upon 
the  Epopceia ;  with  what  success,  the  fate  of  Homer's 
numerous  imitators  may  best  show.  The  •ultimum 
supplicium  of  criticism  was  inflicted  on  the  author 
if  he  did  ^aot  choose  a  subject  which  at  once  de- 
prived him  of  all  claim  to  originality,  and  placed 
him,  if  not  in  actual  contest,  at  least  in  fatal  com- 
parison, with  those  giants  in  the  land  whom  it  was 
most  his  interest  to  avoid.  The  celebrated  receipt 
for  writing  an  epic  poem,  which  appeared  in  the 
Guardian,3   was   the   first   instance   in    which   com- 

possibly  subsist  without  them,  the  wisest  way  is  to  reserve 
them  for  your  greatest  necessities.  When  you  cannot  extri- 
cate your  hero  by  any  human  means,  or  yourself  by  your 
own  wits,  seek  relief  from  Heaven,  and  the  gods  will  do  your 
business  very  readily.  This  is  according  to  the  direct  pre- 
scription of  Horace  in  his  Art  of  Poetry: 

'Nee  Deus  intersit,  nisi  dignus  vindice  nodus 
Incident.' — Verse  191. 

'  Never  presume  to  make  a  god  appear 

But  for  a  business  worthy  of  a  god.' — Roscommon. 

That  is  to  say,  a  poet  should  never  call  upon  the  gods  for 
their  assistance  but  when  he  is  in  great  perplexity." 

for  the  descriptions. 

Fbr  a  Tempest. — "Take  Euros,  Zephyr,  Auster,  and  Boreas, 
and  cast  them  together  into  one  verse.  Add  to  these  of  rain, 
lightning,  and  of  thunder  (the  loudest  you  can),  quantum  suf- 
ficit.  Mix  your  clouds  and  billows  well  together  until  they 
foam,  and  thicken  your  description  here  and  there  with  a 
quicksand.  Brew  your  tempest  well  in  your  head  before  you 
set  it  a-blowing." 

Fbr  a  Battle. — "  Pick  a  large  quantity  of  images  and  de- 
scriptions from  Homer's  Iliad,  with  a  spice  or  two  of  Virgil ; 
and  if  there  remain  any  overplus,  you  may  lay  them  by  for  a 
skirmish.  Season  it  well  with  similes,  and  it  will  make  an 
excellent  battle." 

Fbr  a  Burning  Toirn. — "If  such  a  description  be  necessary, 
because  it  is  certain  there  is  one  in  Virgil,  Old  Troy  is  ready 
burnt  to  your  hands.  But  if  you  fear  that  would  be  thought 
borrowed,  a  chapter  or  two  of  the  Theory  of  Omflngrafiun* 
well  circumstanced,  and  done  into  verse,  will  be  good  suc- 
cedaneum." 

As  for  similes  and  metaphors,  "they  may  be  found  all  over 
the  creation.  The  most  ignorant  may  gather  them,  but  the 
danger  is  in  applying  them.  For  this,  advise  with  your 
bookseller." 

FOR  THE  LANOUAGE. 

(I  mean  the  diction.)  "  Here  it  will  do  well  to  be  an  imi- 
tator of  Milton  ;  for  you  will  find  it  easier  to  imitate  him  in 

»  From  lib.  iii.  De  Conjiagratione  Mundi.  or  TellurU  Thenria  Sacra, 
published  in  4to,  1689.  By  Dr.  Thomas  Burnet,  master  of  the  Charte* 
House. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


375 


mon  sense  was  applied  to  this  department  of  poetry ; 
and,  indeed,  if  the  question  be  considered  on  its 
own  merits,  we  must  be  satisfied  that  narrative 
poetry,  if  strictly  confined  to  the  great  occurrences 
of  history,  would  be  deprived  of  the  individual 
interest  which  it  is  so  well  calculated  to  excite. 

Modern  poets  may  therefore  be  pardoned  in  seeking 
simpler  subjects  of  verse,  more  interesting  in  propor- 
tion to  their  simplicity.  Two  or  three  figures,  well 
grouped,  suit  the  artist  better  than  a  crowd,  for  what- 
ever purpose  assembled.  For  the  same  reason,  a 
scene  immediately  presented  to  the  imagination,  and 
directly  brought  home  to  the  feelings,  though  involv- 
ing the  fate  of  but  one  or  two  persons,  is  more  favor- 
able for  poetry  than  the  political  struggles  and  con- 
vulsions which  influence  the  fate  of  kingdoms.  The 
former  are  within  the  reach  and  comprehension  of 
all,  and,  if  depicted  with  vigor,  seldom  fail  to  fix 
attention;  the  other,  if  more  sublime,  are  more 
vague  and  distant,  less  capable  of  being  distinctly 
understood,  and  infinitely  less  capable  of  exciting 
those  sentiments  which  it  is  the  very  purpose  of 
poetry  to  inspire.  To  generalize  is  always  to  destroy 
effect.  We  would,  for  example,  be  more  interested 
in  the  fate  of  an  individual  soldier  in  combat  than 
in  the  grand  event  of  a  general  action ;  with  the 
happiness  of  two  lovers  raised  from  misery  and 
anxiety  to  peace  and  union  than  with  the  successful 
exertions  of  a  whole  nation.  From  what  causes  this 
may  originate  is  a  separate  and  obviously  an  im- 
material consideration.  Before  ascribing  this  pecu- 
liarity to  causes  decidedly  and  odiously  selfish,  it  is 
proper  to  recollect  that  while  men  see  only  a  limited 
space,  and  while  their  affections  and  conduct  are  reg- 
ulated, not  by  aspiring  to  an  universal  good,  but  by 
exerting  their  power  of  making  themselves  and  others 
happy  within  the  limited  scale  allotted  to  each   in- 


this  than  any  thing  else.  Hebraisms  and  Grecisms  are  to  be 
found  in  him  without  the  trouble  of  learning  the  languages. 
I  knew  a  painter,  who  (like  our  poet)  had  no  genius,  make 
his  daubings  to  be  thought  originals,  by  setting  them  in  the 
smoke.  You  may,  in  the  same  manner,  give  the  venerable 
air  of  antiquity  to  your  piece,  by  darkening  up  and  down  like 
Old  English.  With  this  you  may  be  easily  furnished  upon 
any  occasion,  by  the  Dictionary  commonly  printed  at  the 
end  of  Chaucer." 

"  I  must  not  conclude  without  cautioning  all  writers  with- 
out genius  in  one  material  point,  which  is,  never  to  be  afraid 
of  having  too  much  fire  in  their  works.  I  should  advise 
rather  to  take  their  warmest  thoughts,  and  spread  them 
abroad  upon  paper ;  for  they  are  observed  to  cool  before  they 
are  read."— Pope.    The  Guardian,  No.  78. 

1  "  In  all  this  we  cheerfully  acquiesce,  without  abating  any 
thing  of  our  former  hostility  to  the  modern  Romaunt  style, 
which  is  founded  on  very  different  principles.  Nothing  is, 
in  our  opinion,  so  dangerous  to  the  very  existence  of  poetry 
as  the  extreme  laxity  of  rule,  and  consequent  facility  of  com- 
position, which  are  its  principal  characteristics.  Our  very 
admission  in  favor  of  that  license  of  plot  and  conduct  which 
is  claimed  by  the  Romance  writers  ought  to  render  us  so 
much  the  more  guarded  in  extending  the  privilege  to  the 
minor  poets  of  composition  and  versification.  The  removal 
of  all  technical  bars  and  impediments  sets  wide  open  the  gates 


dividual,  so  long  will  individual  history  and  indi- 
vidual virtue  be  the  readier  and  more  accessible  road 
to  general  interest  and  attention ;  and  perhaps  we 
may  add  that  it  is  the  more  useful,  as  well  as  the 
more  accessible,  inasmuch  as  it  affords  an  example 
capable  of  being  easily  imitated. 

According  to  the  author's  idea  of  Romantic  Poetry, 
as  distinguished  from  Epic,  the  former  comprehends 
a  fictitious  narrative,  framed  and  combined  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  writer ;  beginning  and  ending  as  he 
may  judge  best:  which  neither  exacts  nor  refuses 
the  use  of  supernatural  machinery ;  which  is  free 
from  the  technical  rules  of  the  Epee,  and  is  subject 
only  to  those  which  good  sense,  good  taste,  and  good 
morals,  apply  to  every  species  of  poetry  without  ex- 
ception. The  date  may  be  in  a  remote  age,  or  in  the 
present;  the  story  may  detail  the  adventures  of  a 
prince  or  of  a  peasant.  /  In  a  word,  the  author  is 
absolute  master  of  his  country  and  its  inhabitants, 
and  every  thing  is  permitted  to  him,  excepting  to  be 
heavy  or  prosaic,  for  which,  free  and  unembarrassed 
as  he  is,  he  has  no  manner  of  apology.  These,  it 
is  probable,  will  be  found  the  peculiarities  of  this 
species  of  composition ;  and  before  joining  the  outcry 
against  the  vitiated  taste  that  fosters  and  encourages 
it,  the  justice  and  grounds  of  it  ought  to  be  made 
perfectly  apparent.  If  the  want  of  sieges,  and  bat- 
tles, and  great  military  evolutions,  in  our  poetry, 
is  complained  of,  let  us  reflect  that  the  campaigns 
and  heroes  of  our  days  are  perjjetuated  in  a  record 
that  neither  requires  nor  admits  of  the  aid  of  fiction ; 
and  if  the  complaint  refers  to  the  inferiority  of  our 
bards,  let  us  pay  a  just  tribute  to  their  modesty,  lim- 
iting them,  as  it  does,  to  subjects  which,  however  in- 
differently treated,  have  still  the  interest  and  charm 
of  novelty,  and  which  thus  prevents  them  from  adding 
insipidity  to  their  other  more  insuperable  defects.1 


of  Parnassus ;  and  so  much  the  better.  We  dislike  mystery 
quite  as  much  in  matters  of  taste  as  of  politics  and  religion  ; 
but  let  us  not,  in  opening  the  door,  pull  down  the  wall,  and 
level  the  very  foundation  of  the  edifice." — Critical  Review, 
1813. 

"  In  the  same  letter  in  which  William  Erskine  acknowledges 
the  receipt  of  the  first  four  pages  of  Rokeby,'  he  adverts  also 
to  the  '  Bridal  of  Triermain'  as  being  already  in  rapid  pro- 
gress. The  fragments  of  this  second  poem,  inserted  in  the 
Register  of  the  preceding  year,  had  attracted  considerable 
notice ;  the  secret  of  their  authorship  had  been  well  kept ;  and 
by  some  means,  even  in  the  shrewdest  circles  of  Edinburgh, 
the  belief  had  become  prevalent  that  they  proceeded  not  from 
Scott  but  from  Erskine.  Scott  had  no  sooner  completed  his 
bargain* as  to  the  copyright  of  the  unwritten  '  Rokeby,'  than 
he  resolved  to  pause  from  time  to  time  in  its  composition,  and 
weave  those  fragments  into  a  shorter  and  lighter  romance, 
executed  in  a  different  metre,  and  to  be  published  anony- 
mously in  a  small  pocket  volume,  as  nearly  as  possible  on  the 
same  day  with  the  avowed  quarto.  He  expected  great  amuse- 
ment from  the  comparisons  which  the  critics  would  no  doubt 
indulge  themselves  in  drawing  between  himself  and  this 
humble  candidate ;  and  Erskine  good-humoredly  entered  into 
the  scheme,  undertaking  to  do  nothing  which  should  effect- 
ually suppress  the  notion  of  his  having  set  himself  up  as  a 
modest  rival  to  his  friend."— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv,  p.  12. 


Cijc  Brtfcal  of  (Ericttnatn. 


INTRODUCTION. 


I. 


COME,  Lucy!  while  'tis  morning  hour, 

The  woodland  brook  we  needs  must  pass  ; 
So,  ere  the  sun  assume  his  power, 
"We  shelter  in  our  poplar  bower, 
Where  dew  lies  long  upon  the  flower, 

Though  vanish'd  from  the  velvet  grass. 
Curbing  the  stream,  this  stony  ridge 
May  serve  us  for  a  sylvan  bridge ; 

For  here  compell'd  to  disunite, 

Round  petty  isles  the  runnels  glide, 
And,  chafing  off  their  puny  spite, 
The  shallow  murmurers  waste  their  might, 

Yielding  to  footstep  free  and  light 
A  dry-shod  pass  from  side  to  side. 

II. 

Nay,  why  this  hesitating  pause  ? 
And,  Lucy,  as  thy  step  withdraws, 
Why  sidelong  eye  the  streamlet's  brim  ? 

Titania's  foot  without  a  slip, 
Like  thine,  though  timid,  light,  and  slim, 

From  stone  to  stone  might  safely  trip, 

Nor  ri>k  the  glow-worm  clasp  to  dip 
That  binds  her  slipper's  silken  rim. 
Or  trust  thy  lover's  strength  :  nor  fear 

That  this  same  stalwart  arm  of  mine, 
Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk 

uprear, 
Shall  shrink  beneath  the  burden  dear 

Of  form  so  slender,  light,  and  fine- 
So,— now,  the  danger  dared  at  last, 
Look  back,  and  smile  at  perils  past ! 

III. 

And  now  we  reaeh  the  favorite  glade, 
Paled  in  by  copsewood,  cliff,  and  stone, 

Where  never  harsher  sounds  invade, 
To  break  affection's  whispering  tone, 

Than  the  deep  breeze  that  waves  the  shade, 
Than  the  small  brooklet's  feeble  moan. 


1  MS. 


"  haughty  eye.' 


Come !  rest  thee  on  thy  wonted  seat; 

Moss'd  is  the  stone,  the  turf  is  green, 
A  place  where  lovers  best  may  meet, 

Who  would  not  that  their  love  be  seen. 
The  boughs,  that  dim  the  summer  sky, 
Shall  hide  us  from  each  lurking  spy, 

That  fain  would  spread  the  invidious  tale, 
How  Lucy  of  the  lofty  eye,1 
Noble  in  birth,  in  fortunes  high, 
She  for  whom  lords  and  barons  sigh, 

Meets  her  poor  Arthur  in  the  dale. 

IV. 
How  deep  that  blush ! — how  deep  that  sigh ! 
And  why  does  Lucy  shun  mine  eye  ? 
Is  it  because  that  crimson  draws 
Its  color  from  some  secret  cause, 
Some  hidden  movement  of  the  breast, 
She  would  not  that  her  Arthur  guess'd  ? 
Oh !  quicker  far  is  lovers'  ken 
Than  the  dull  glance  of  common  men,2 
And,  by  strange  sympathy,  can  spell 
The  thoughts  the  loved  one  will  not  tell ! 
And  mine,  in  Lucy's  blush,  saw  met 
The  hues  of  pleasure  and  regret ; 
Pride  mingled  in  the  sigh  her  voice, 

And  shared  with  Love  the  crimson  glow ; 
Well  pleased  that  thou  art  Arthur's  choice, 

Yet  shamed  thine  own  is  placed  so  low : 
Thou  turn'st  thy  self-confessing  cheek, 

As  if  to  meet  the  breeze's  cooling ; 
Then,  Lucy,  hear  thy  tutor  speak, 
For  Love,  too,  has  his  hours  of  schooling. 


Too  oft  my  anxious  eye  has  spied 
That  secret  grief  thou  fain  wouldst  hide, 
Tbe  passing  pang  of  humbled  pride; 
Too  oft,  when  through  the  splendid  hall, 

The  load-star  of  each  heart  and  eye, 
My  fair  one  leads  the  glittering  ball, 
Will  her  stol'n  glance  on  Arthur  fall, 
With  such  a  blush  and  such  a  sigh ! 

'  with  wings  as  swift 


As  meditation,  or  the  thoughts  of  love."— Hamlet. 


(376) 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


377 


Thou  wouldst  not  yield,  for  wealth  or  rank, 
The  heart  thy  worth  and  beauty  won, 

Nor  leave  me  on  this  mossy  bank, 
To  meet  a  rival  on  a  throne : 

Why,  then,  should  vain  repinings  rise, 

That  to  thy  lover  fate  denies 

A  nobler  name,  a  wide  domain, 

A  baron's  birth,  a  menial  train, 

Since  Heaven  assign'd  him,  for  his  part, 

A  lyre,  a  falchion,  and  a  heart  ? 

VI. 
My  sword — its  master  must  be  dumb ; 

But,  when  a  soldier  names  my  name, 
Approach,  my  Lucy  !  fearless  come, 

Nor  dread  to  hear  of  Arthur's  shame. 
My  heart — 'mid  all  yon  courtly  crew, 

Of  lordly  rank  and  lofty  line, 
Is  there  to  love  and  honor  true, 
That  boasts  a  pulse  so  warm  as  mine  21 
They  praised  thy  diamonds'  lustre  rare — 

Match'd  with  thine  eyes,  I  thought  it  faded ; 
They  praised  the  pearls  that  bound  thy  hair — 

I  only  saw  the  locks  they  braided ; 
They  talk'd  of  wealthy  dower  and  land, 

And  titles  of  high  birth  the  token — 
I  thought  of  Lucy's  heart  and  hand, 

Nor  knew  the  sense  of  what  was  spoken. 
And  yet,  if  rank'd  in  Fortune's  roll, 

I  might  have  learn'd  their  choice  unwise, 
Who  rate  the  dower  above  the  soul, 
And  Lucy's  diamonds  o'er  her  eyes.2 

VII. 

My  lyre — it  is  an  idle  toy, 

That  borrows  accents  not  its  own, 
Like  warbler  of  Colombian  sky, 

That  sings  but  in  a  mimic  tone.3 
Ne'er  did  it  sound  o'er  sainted  well, 
Nor  boasts  it  aught  of  Border  spell ; 

1  MS. :  "  That  boasts  so  warm  a  heart  as  mine?" 

2  MS. :  "  And  Lucy's  gems  before  her  eyes." 

3  The  mocking-bird. 

*  MS. :  "  Perchance,  because  it  sung  their  praise." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

6  "The  introduction,  though  by  no  means  destitute  of 
beauties,  is  decidedly  inferior  to  the  poem :  its  plan  or  con- 
ception is  neither  very  ingenious  nor  very  striking.  The  best 
passages  are  those  in  which  the  author  adheres  most  strictly 
to  his  original :  in  those  which  are  composed  without  having 
his  eyes  fixed  on  his  model,  there  is  a  sort  of  affectation  and 
straining  at  humor  that  will  probably  excite  some  feeling 
of  disappointment,  either  because  the  effort  is  not  altogether 
successful,  or  because  it  does  not  perfectly  harmonize  with 
the  tone  and  coloring  of  the  whole  piece. 

"  The  '  Bridal '  itself  is  purely  a  tale  of  chivalry ;  a  tale  of 
'Britain's  isle,  and  Arthur's  days,  when  midnight  fairies 
daunced  the  maze.'  The  author  never  gives  us  a  glance  of 
ordinary  life,  or  of  ordinary  personages.  From  the  splendid 
court  of  Arthur  we  are  conveyed  to  the  halls  of  enchants 
ment,  and,  of  course,  are  introduced  to  a  system  of  manners, 
perfectly  decided  and  appropriate,  but  altogether  remote 


Its  strings  no  feudal  slogan  pour, 
Its  heroes  draw  no  broad  claymore ; 
No  shouting  clans  applauses  raise, 
Because  it  sung  their  fathers'  praise  ;4 
On  Scottish  moor,  or  English  down, 
It  ne'er  was  graced  with  fair  renown ; 
Nor  won, — best  meed  to  minstrel  true, — 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch  ! 
By  one  poor  streamlet  sounds  its  tone, 
And  heard  by  one  dear  maid  alone. 

VIII. 

But,  if  thou  bidst,  these  tones  shall  tell 

Of  errant  knight,  and  damosel ; 

Of  the  dread  knot  a  Wizard  tied, 

In  punishment  of  maiden's  pride, 

In  notes  of  marvel  and  of  fear, 

That  best  may  charm  romantic  ear. 
For  Lucy  loves, — like  Collins,  ill-starred  name  !5 
Whose  lay's  requital  was  that  tardy  Fame, 
Who  bound  no  laurel  round  his  living  head, 
Should  hang  it  o'er  his  monument  when  dead, — 
For  Lucy  loves  to  tread  enchanted  strand, 
And  thread,  like  him,  the  maze  of  Fairy-land; 
Of  golden  battlements  to  view  the  gleam, 
And  slumber  soft  by  some  Elysian  stream  ; 
Such  lays  she  loves, — and,  such  my  Lucy's  choice, 
What  other  song  can  claim  her  Poet's  voice  ?6 


C^e  ^u'oal  of  Crimnain. 


CANTO    FIRST. 


Where  is  the  Maiden  of  mortal  strain 

That  may  match  with  the  Baron  of  Triermain  ?T 

from  those  of  this  vulgar  world." — Quarterly  Review,  July, 
1813. 

"  The  poem  now  before  us  consists  properly  of  two  distinct 
subjects,  interwoven  together  something  in  the  manner  of  the 
Last  Minstrel  and  his  Lay,  in  the  first  and  most  enchanting 
of  Walter  Scott's  romances.  The  first  is  the  history  (real  or 
imaginary,  we  presume  not  to  guess  which)  of  the  author's 
passion,  courtship,  and  marriage,  with  a  young  lady,  his 
superior  in  rank  and  circumstances,  to  whom  he  relates  at 
intervals  the  story  which  may  be  considered  as  the  principal 
design  of  the  work,  to  which  it  gives  its  title.  This  is  a  mode 
of  introducing  romantic  and  fabulous  narratives  which  we 
very  much  approve,  though  there  may  be  reason  to  fear  that 
too  frequent  repetition  may  wear  out  its  effect.  It  attaches  a 
degree  of  dramatic  interest  to  the  work,  and  at  the  same  time 
softens  the  absurdity  of  a  Gothic  legend,  by  throwing  it  to  a 
greater  distance  from  the  relation  and  auditor,  by  representing 
it,  not  as  a  train  of  facts  which  actually  took  place,  but  as  a 
mere  fable,  either  adopted  by  the  credulity  of  former  times, 
or  invented  for  the  purposes  of  amusement  and  the  exercise 
of  the  imagination." — Critical  Review,  1813. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


378 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


She  must  be  lovely,  and  constant,  and  kind, 

Holy  and  pure,  and  humble  of  mind, 

Blithe  of  cheer,  and  gentle  of  mood, 

Courteous,  and  generous,  and  noble  of  blood — 

Lovely  as  the  sun's  first  ray, 

When  it  breaks  the  clouds  of  an  April  day ; 

Constant  and  true  as  the  widow'd  dove, 

Kind  as  a  minstrel  that  sings  of  love; 

Pure  as  the  fountain  in  rocky  cave, 

Where  never  sunbeam  kiss'd  the  wave ; 

Humble  as  maideii  that  loves  in  vain, 

Holy  as  hermit's  vesper  strain ; 

Gentle  as  breeze  that  but  whispers  and  dies, 

Yet  blithe  as  the  light  leaves  that  dance  in  its 

sighs ; 
Courteous  as  monarch  the  morn  he  is  crown'd, 
Generous  as  spring-dews  that  bless  the  glad 

ground ; 
Noble  her  blood  as  the  currents  that  met 
In  the  veins  of  the  noblest  Plantagenet — 
Such  must  her  form  be,  her  mood,  and  her 

strain, 
That  shall  match  with  Sir  Roland  of  Triermain. 

II. 

Sir  Roland  de  Vaux  he  hath  laid  him  to  sleep, 
His  blood  it  was  fever'd,  his  breathing  was 

deep. 
He  had  been  pricking  against  the  Scot, 
The  foray  was  long,  and  the  skirmish  hot; 
His  dinted  helm  and  his  buckler's  plight 
Bore  token  of  a  stubborn  fight. 

All  in  the  castle  must  hold  them  still, 
Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Till  sleep  sink  down  upon  his  breast, 

Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill. 

III. 
It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day  ; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That  like  a  silvery  crape  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head, 
And  faintly  gleam'd  each  painted  pane 
Of  the  lordly  halls  of  Triermain, 

When  that  Baron  bold  awoke. 
Starting  he  woke,  and  loudly  did  call, 
Rousing  his  menials  in  bower  and  hall, 

While  hastily  he  spoke. 

IV. 
"Hearken,  my  minstrels  !  Which  of  ye  all 
Touch '(1  his  harp  with  that  dying  fall, 

So  sweet,  so  soft,  so  faint, 
It  seem'd  an  angel's  whisper'd  call 

To  an  expiring  saint? 


1  Dunmailraise  is  one  of  the  Rrand  passes  from  Cumberland 
into  Westmoreland.    It  takes  its  name  from  a  eairn,  or  pile 


And  hearken,  my  merry  men !    What  time  or 
where 
Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly 
brow, 
With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair, 
That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now  ?" 


Answer'd  him  Richard  de  Bretville ;  he 
Was  chief  of  the  Baron's  minstrelsy, — 
"  Silent,  noble  chieftain,  we 

Have  sat  since  midnight  close, 
When  such  lulling  sounds  as  the  brooklet 

sings 
Murmur'd  from  our  melting  strings, 

And  hush'd  you  to  repose. 
Had  a  harp-note  sounded  here, 
It  had  caught  my  watchful  ear, 
Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 

When  she  thinks  her  lover  near." 
Answer'd  Philip  of  Fasthwaite  tall, 
He  kept  guard  in  the  outer  hall, — 
"  Since  at  eve  our  watch  took  post, 
Not  a  foot  has  thy  portal  cross'd ; 

Else  had  I  heard  the  steps,  though  low 
And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves, 

That  drop  when  no  winds  blow." — 

VI. 

"  Then  come  thou  hither,  Henry,  my  page, 
Whom  I  saved  from  the  sack  of  Hermitage, 
When  that  dark  castle,  tower,  and  spire, 
Rose  to  the  skies  a  pile  of  fire, 

And  redden'd  all  the  Nine-stane  Hill, 
And  the  shrieks  of  death,  that  wildly  broke 
Through  devouring  flame  and  smothering  smoke, 

Made  the  warrior's  heart-blood  chill. 
The  trustiest  thou  of  all  my  train, 
My  fleetest  courser  thou  must  rein, 

And  ride  to  Lyulph's  tower, 
And  from  the  Baron  of  Triermain 

Greet  well  that  sage  of  power. 
He  is  sprung  from  Druid  sires, 
And  British  bards  that  tuned  their  lyres 
To  Arthur's  and  Pcndragon's  praise, 
And  his  who  sleeps  at  Dunmailraise.1 
Gifted  like  his  gifted  race, 
He  the  characters  can  trace, 
Graven  deep  in  elder  time 
Upon  Hellvellyn's  cliffs  sublime ; 
Sign  and  sigil  well  doth  he  know, 
And  can  bode  of  weal  and  woe, 


of  stones,  erected,  it  is  said,  to  the  memory  of  Dunmail,  the 
last  King  of  Cumberland. 


THE   BEIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


379 


Of  kingdoms'  fall,  and  fate  of  wars, 

From  mystic  dreams  and  course  of  stars. 

He  shall  tell  if  middle  earth 

To  that  enchanting  shape  gave  birth, 

Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing, 

Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 

Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes, 

Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies.1 

For  by  the  blessed  Rood  I  swear, 

If  that  fair  form  breathe  vital  air, 

No  other  maiden  by  my  side 

Shall  ever  rest  De  Vaux's  bride  !"2 

VII. 

The  faithful  Page  he  mounts  his  steed, 

And  soon  he  cross'd  green  Irthing's  mead, 

Dash'd  o'er  Kirkoswald's  verdant  plain, 

And  Eden  barr'd  his  course  in  vain. 

He  pass'd  red  Penrith's  Table  Round,3 

For  feats  of  chivalry  renown'd, 

Left  Mayburgh's  mound4  and  stones  of  power, 

By  Druids  raised  in  magic  hour, 

And  traced  the  Eamont's  winding  way, 

Till  Ulfo's  lake5  beneath  him  lay. 

VIII. 

Onward  he  rode,  the  pathway  still 
Winding  betwixt  the  lake  and  hill  ; 
Till,  on  the  fragment  of  a  rock, 
Struck  from  its  base  by  lightning  shock, 

He  saw  the  hoary  Sage : 
The  silver  moss  and  lichen  twined, 
Witn  fern  and  deer-hair  check'd  and  lined, 

A  cushion  fit  for  age  ; 
And  o'er  him  shook  the  aspen-tree, 
A  restless  rustling  canopy. 
Then  sprung  young  Henry  from  his  selle, 

And  greeted  Lyulph  grave, 
And  then  his  master's  tale  did  tell, 

And  then  for  counsel  crave. 
The  Man  of  Years  mused  long  and  deep, 
Of  time's  lost  treasures  taking  keep, 
And  then,  as  rousing  from  a  sleep, 

His  solemn  answer  gave. 

IX. 

"  That  maid  is  born  of  middle  earth, 

And  may  of  man  be  won,     ' 
Though  there  have  glided  since  her  birth  ■ 

Five  hundred  years  and  one. 
But  where's  the  Knight  in  all  the  north 
That  dare  the  adventure  follow  forth, 


1  "  Just  like  Aurora,  when  she  ties 

A  rainlrow  round  the  morning  skies." — Moore. 

2  "This  powerful  baron  required  in  the  fair  one  whom  he 
should  honor  with  his  hand  an  assemblage  of  qualities  that 
appears  to  us  rather  unreasonable  even  in  those  high  days, 
profuse  as  they  are  known  to  have  been  of  perfections  now 
unattainable.  His  resolution,  however,  was  not  more  inflexi- 
ble than  that  of  any  mere  modern  youth  ;  for  he  decrees  that 


So  perilous  to  knightly  worth, 
In  the  valley  of  St.  John  ? 
Listen,  youth,  to  what  I  tell, 
And  bind  it  on  thy  memory  well ; 
Nor  muse  that  I  commence  the  rhyme 
Far  distant  'mid  the  wrecks  of  time. 
The  mystic  tale,  by  bard  and  sage, 
Is  hauded  down  from  Merlin's  age. 

X. 

l2ulpl)'JS  ®ale. 
"  KING  ARTHUR  has  ridden  from  merry  Carlisle, 

When  Pentecost  was  o'er : 
He  journey'd  like  errant-knight  the  while, 
And  sweetly  the  summer  sun  did  smile 

On  mountain,  moss,  and  moor. 
Above  his  solitary  track 
Rose  Glaramara's  ridgy  back, 
Amid  whose  yawning  gulfs  the  sun 
Cast  umber'd  radiance  red  and  dun, 
Though  never  sunbeam  could  discern 
The  surface  of  that  sable  tarn,6 
In  whose  black  mirror  you  may  spy 
The  stars,  while  noontide  lights  the  sky. 
The  gallant  King  he  skirted  still 
The  margin  of  that  mighty  hill ; 
Rock  upon  rocks  incumbent  hung, 
And  torrents,  down  the  gullies  flung, 
Join'd  the  rude  river  that  brawl'd  on, 
Recoiling  now  from  crag  and  stone, 
Now  diving  deep  from  human  ken, 
And  raving  down  its  darksome  glen. 
The  Monarch  judged  this  desert  wild, 
With  such  romantic  ruin  piled, 
Was  theatre  by  Nature's  hand 
For  feat  of  high  achievement  plann'd. 

XL 

"  Oh  rather  he  chose,  that  Monarch  bold, 

On  vent'rous  quest  to  ride, 
In  plate  and  mail,  by  wood  and  wold, 
Than,  with  ermine  trapp'd  and  cloth  of  gold, 

In  princely  bower  to  bide ; 
The  bursting  crash  of  a  foeman's  spear, 

As  it  shiver'd  against  his  mail, 
Was  merrier  music  to  his  ear 

Than  courtier's  whisper'd  tale ; 
And  the  clash  of  Caliburn  more  dear, 

When  on  the  hostile  casque  it  rung, 
Than  all  the  lays 
To  their  Monarch's  praise 

That  the  harpers  of  Reged  sung. 

his  nightly  visitant,  of  whom  at  this  time  he  could  know 
nothing  but  that  she  looked  and  sung  like  an  angel,  if  of 
mortal  mould,  shall  be  his  bride." — Quarterly  Review. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  C.  4  Ibid.  Note  D. 

5  Ulswater. 

6  The  small  lake  called  Scales-tarn  lies  so  deeply  embosomed 
in  the  recesses  of  the  huge  mountain  called  Saddleback,  more 
poetically  Glaramara,  is  of  such  great  depth,  and  so  com.* 


380 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


He  loved  better  to  rest  by  wood  or  river 

Than  in  bower  of  his  bride,  Dame  Guenever, 

For  he  left  that  lady,  so  lovely  of  cheer, 

To  follow  adventures  of  danger  and  fear ; 

And  the   frank-hearted  Monarch  full   little  did 

wot 
That  she  smiled,  in  his  absence,  on  brave 

Lancelot. 

XII. 

"  He  rode,  till  over  down  and  dell 

The  shade  more  broad  and  deeper  fell ; 

And  though  around  the  mountain's  head 

Flow'd  streams  of  purple,  and  gold,  and  red, 

Dark  at  the  base,  unblest  by  beam, 

Frown'd  the  black  rocks,  and  roar'd  the  stream. 

With  toil  the  King  his  way  pursued 

By  lonely  Threlkeld's  waste  and  wood, 

Till  on  his  course  obliquely  shone 

The  narrow  valley  of  Saint  John, 

Down  sloping  to  the  western  sky, 

"Wlu-re  lingering  sunbeams  love  to  lie. 

Right  glad  to  feel  those  beams  again, 

The  King  drew  up  his  charger's  rein ; 

"With  gauntlet  raised  he  screen 'd  his  sight, 

As  dazzled  with  the  level  light, 

And,  from  beneath  his  glove  of  mail, 

Scann'd  at  his  ease  the  lovely  vale, 

"While  'gainst  the  sun  his  armor  bright 

Gleam'd  ruddy  like  the  beacon's  light. 

XIII. 
"  Paled  in  by  many  a  lofty  hill, 
The  narrow  dale  lay  smooth  and  still, 
And,  down  its  verdant  bosom  led, 
A  winding  brooklet  found  its  bed. 
But,  midmost  of  the  vale,  a  mound 
Arose  with  airy  turrets  crown'd, 
Buttress,  and  rampire's  circling  bound, 

And  mighty  keep  and  tower; 
Seem'd  some  primeval  giant's  hand 
The  castle's  massive  walls  had  plann'd, 
A  ponderous  bulwark  to  withstand 

Ambitions  Nimrod'a  power. 
Above  the  moated  entrance  slung, 
The  balanced  drawbridge  trembling  hung, 

As  jealous  of  a  foe ; 
Wicket  of  oak,  as  iron  hard, 
With  iron  studded,  clench'd,  and  barr'd, 
And  prong'd  portcullis,  join'd  to  guard 

The  gloomy  pass  below. 
But  the  gray  walls  no  banners  crown'd, 
Upon  the  watch-tower's  airy  round 
No  warder  stood  his  horn  to  sound, 
No  guard  beside  the  bridge  was  found, 
And,  where  the  Gothic  gateway  frown'd, 

Glanced  neither  bill  nor  bow. 

pletely  hidden  from  the  sun,  that  it  is  said  its  beams  never 
reach  it,  and  that  the  reflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen  at 
inid-day. 


XIV. 
"  Beneath  the  castle's  gloomy  pride 
In  ample  round  did  Arthur  ride 
Three  times ;  nor  living  thing  he  spied, 

Nor  heard  a  living  sound, 
Save  that,  awakening  from  her  dream, 
The  owlet  now  began  to  scream, 
In  concert  with  the  rushing  stream, 

That  wash'd  the  battled  mound. 
He  lighted  from  his  goodly  steed, 
And  he  left  him  to  graze  on  bank  and  mead; 
And  slowly  he  climb'd  the  narrow  way 
That  reach'd  the  entrance  grim  and  gray, 
And  he  stood  the  outward  arch  below, 
And  his  bugle-horn  prepared  to  blow, 

In  summons  blithe  and  bold, 
Deeming  to  rouse  from  iron  sleep 
The  guardian  of  this  dismal  Keep, 

Which  well  he  guess'd  the  hold 
Of  wizard  stern,  or  goblin  grim, 
Or  pagan  of  gigantic  limb, 

The  tyrant  of  the  wold. 

XV. 

"  The  ivory  bugle's  golden  tip 

Twice  touch'd  the  Monarch's  manly  lip, 

And  twice  his  hand  withdrew. 
— Think  not  but  Arthur's  heart  was  good! 
His  shield  was  cross'd  by  the  blessed  Rood ; 
Had  a  pagan  host  before  him  stood, 

He  had  charged  them  through  and  through ; 
Yet  the  silence  of  that  ancient  place 
Sunk  on  his  heart,  and  he  paused  a  space 

Ere  yet  his  horn  he  blew. 
But,  instant  as  its  larum  rung, 
The  castle  gate  was  open  flung, 
Portcullis  rose  with  crashing  groan 
Full  harshly  up  its  groove  of  stone ; 
The  balance-beams  obey'd  the  blast, 
And  down  the  trembling  drawbridge  cast; 
The  vaulted  arch  before  him  lav, 
With  nought  to  bar  the  gloomy  way, 
And  onward  Arthur  paced,  with  hand 
On  Caliburn's1  resistless  brand. 

XVI. 

"  A  hundred  torches,  flashing  bright, 
Dispell'd  at  once  the  gloomy  night 

That  lower'd  along  the  walls, 
And  show'd  the  King's  astonish'd  sight 

The  inmates  of  the  halls. 
Nor  wizard  stern,  nor  goblin  grim, 
Nor  giant  huge  of  form  and  limb, 

Nor  heathen  knight  was  there; 
But  the  cressets,  which  odors  flung  aloft, 
Show'd  by  their  yellow  light  and  soft         , 

A  band  of  damsels  fair. 

1  This  was  the  name  of  King  Arthur's  well-known  sword 
sometimes  also  tailed  lixcalibar. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


381 


Onward  they  came,  like  summer  wave 

That  dances  to  the  shore ; 
An  hundred  voices  welcome  gave, 

And  welcome  o'er  and  o'er ! 
An  hundred  lovely  hands  assail 
The  bucklers  of  the  Monarch's  mail, 
And  busy  labor'd  to  unhasp 
Rivet  of  steel  and  iron  clasp. 
One  wrapp'd  him  in  a  mantle  fair, 
And  one  flung  odors  on  his  hair ; 
His  short  curl'd  ringlets  one  smoothed  down, 
One  wreathed  them  with  a  myrtle  crown. 
A  bride  upon  her  wedding-day 
Was  tended  ne'er  by  troop  so  gay. 

XVII. 

"  Loud  laugh'd  they  all, — the  King,  in  vain, 
With  questions  task'd  the  giddy  train ; 
Let  him  entreat,  or  crave,  or  call, 
'Twas  one  reply, — loud  laugh'd  they  all. 
Then  o'er  him  mimic  chains  they  fling, 
Framed  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  spring. 
While  some  their  gentle  force  unite 
Onward  to  drag  the  wondering  knight, 
Some,  bolder,  urge  his  pace  with  blows, 
Dealt  with  the  lily  or  the  rose. 
Behind  him  were  in  triumjdi  borne 
The  warlike  arms  he  late  had  worn. 
Four  of  the  train  combined  to  rear 
The  terrors  of  Tintadgel's  spear  j1 
Two,  laughing  at  their  lack  of  strength, 
Dragg'd  Caliburn  in  cumbrous  length ; 
One,  while  she  aped  a  martial  stride, 
Placed  on  her  brows  the  helmet's  pride ; 
Then  scream'd,  'twixt  laughter  and  surprise, 
To  feel  its  depth  o'erwhelm  her  eyes. 
With  revel-shout,  and  triumph-song, 
Thus  gayly  march'd  the  giddy  throng. 

XVIII. 

"  Through  many  a  gallery  and  hall 
They  led,  I  ween,  their  royal  thrall; 
At  length,  beneath  a  fair  arcade 
Their  march  and  song  at  once  they  staid. 
The  eldest  maiden  of  the  band 

(The  lovely  maid  was  scarce  eighteen) 
Raised,  with  imposing  air,  her  hand, 
And  reverent  silence  did  command, 

On  entrance  of  their  Queen, 
And  they  were  mute. — But  as  a  glance 
They  steal  on  Arthur's  countenance 


1  Tintadgel  Castle,  in  Cornwall,  is  reported  to  have  been 
the  birthplace  of  King  Arthur. 

2  "In  the  description  of  the  queen's  entrance,  as  well  as  in 
the  contrasted  enumeration  of  the  levities  of  her  attendants, 
the  author,  we  think,  has  had  in  his  recollection  Gray's  cele- 
brated description  of  the  power  of  harmony  to  produce  all 
the  graces  of  motion  in  the  body." — Quarterly  Review. 


Bewilder'd  with  surprise, 
Their  smother'd  mirth  again  'gan  speak, 
In  archly  dimpled  chin  and  cheek, 

And  laughter-lighted  eyes. 

XIX. 

"  The  attributes  of  those  high  days 
Now  only  live  in  minstrel-lays ; 
For  Nature,  now  exhausted,  still 
Was  then  profuse  of  good  and  ill. 
Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream. 
Yet  e'en  in  that  romantic  age, 

Ne'er  were  such  charms  by  mortal  seen 
As  Arthur's  dazzled  eyes  engage, 
When  forth  on  that  enchanted  stage, 
With  glittering  train  of  maid  and  page, 

Advanced  the  castle's  Queen ! 
While  up  the  hall  she  slowly  pass'd, 
Her  dark  eye  on  the  King  she  cast, 

That  flash'd  expression  strong  ;2 
The  longer  dwelt  that  lingering  look, 
Her  cheek  the  livelier  color  took, 
And  scarce  the  shamefaced  King  could  brook 

The  gaze  that  lasted  long. 
A  sage  who  had  that  look  espied, 
Where  kindling  passion  strove  with  pride, 
Had  whisper'd,  '  Prince,  beware ! 
From  the  chafed  tiger  rend  the  prey, 
Rush  on  the  lion  when  at  bay, 
Bar  the  fell  dragon's  blighted  way, 

But  shun  that  lovely  snare !' — 3 

XX. 

"  At  once  that  inward  strife  suppress'd, 
The  dame  approach'd  her  warlike  guest, 
With  greeting  in  that  fair  degree, 
Where  female  pride  and  courtesy 
Are  blended  with  such  passing  art 
As  awes  at  once  and  charms  the  heart.* 
A  courtly  welcome  first  she  gave, 
Then  of  his  goodness  'gan  to  crave 

Construction  fair  and  true 
Of  her  light  maidens'  idle  mirth, 
Who  drew  from  lonely  glens  their  birth, 
Nor  knew  to  pay  to  stranger  worth 

And  dignity  their  due  ; 
And  then  she  pray'd  that  he  would  rest 
That  night  her  castle's  honor'd  guest. 


3  "  Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts, 
Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey; 
Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 

Of  wild  Fanaticism." 

Waverley  Novels,  "  Ivanhoe." 
*  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 
That  dazzles,  leads,  yet  chills  the  vulgar  heart." 

Byron's  Corsair,  1814. 


382 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  Monarch  meetly  thanks  express'd ; 
The  banquet  rose  at  her  behest, 
With  lay  and  tale,  and  laugh  and  jest, 
Apace  the  evening  flew.1 

XXI. 

"  The  Lady  sat  the  Monarch  by, 
Now  in  her  turn  abash'd  and  shy, 
And  with  indifference  seem'd  to  hear 
The  toys  he  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 
Her  bearing  modest  was  and  fair, 
Yet  shadows  of  constraint  were  there, 
That  show'd  an  over-cautious  care 

Some  inward  thought  to  hide ; 
Oft  did  she  pause  in  full  reply, 
And  oft  cast  down  her  large  dark  eye, 
Oft  check'd  the  soft  voluptuous  sigh 

That  heaved  hef  bosom's  pride. 
Slight  symptoms  these,  but  shepherds  know 
How  hot  the  mid-day  sun  shall  glow, 

From  the  mist  of  morning  sky ; 
And  so  the  wily  Monarch  guess'd 
That  this  assumed  restraint  express'd 
More  ardent  passions  in  the  breast 

Than  ventured  to  the  eye. 
Closer  he  press'd,  while  beakers  rang, 
While  maidens  laugh'd  and  minstrels  sang, 

Still  closer  to  her  ear — 
But  why  pursue  the  common  tale  ? 
Or  wherefore  show  how  knights  prevail 

When  ladies  dare  to  hear? 
Or  wherefore  trace,  from  what  slight  cause 
Its  source  one  tyrant  passion  draws, 

Till,  mastering  all  within,2 
Where  lives  the  man  that  has  not  tried 
How  mirth  can  into  folly  glide, 

And  folly  into  sin !" 


Cije  35rft>al  of  Cricrmam. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


&2ulpt)'5  QTalt,  rontinur&. 
"  Another  day,  another  day, 
And  yet  another,  glides  away  1 


1  "  On  the  opinion  that  may  be  formed  even  of  these  two 
stanzas  (xix.  to  xx.)  we  are  willing  to  hazard  the  justness  of 
the  eulogium  we  have  bestowed  on  the  general  poetical  merit 
of  this  little  work."— Quarterly  Review. 

2  "One  Master  Passion  in  the  breast, 

Like  Aaron's  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest." — Pope. 


The  Saxon  stern,  the  pagan  Dane, 
Maraud  on  Britain's  shores  again. 
Arthur,  of  Christendom  the  flower, 
Lies  loitering  in  a  lady's  bower ; 
The  horn,  that  foemen  wont  to  fear, 
Sounds  but  to  wake  the  Cumbrian  deer, 
And  Caliburn,  the  British  pride, 
Hangs  useless  by  a  lover's  side. 

II. 

"  Another  day,  another  day, 

And  yet  another,  glides  away ! 

Heroic  plans  in  pleasure  drown'd, 

He  thinks  not  of  the  Table  Round ; 

In  lawless  love  dissolved  his  life, 

He  thinks  not  of  his  beauteous3  wife : 

Better  he  loves  to  snatch  a  flower 

From  bosom  of  his  paramour, 

Than  from  a  Saxon  knight4  to  wrest 

The  honors  of  his  heathen  crest ! 

Better  to  wreathe,  'mid  tresses  brown, 

The  heron's  plume  her  hawk  struck  down, 

Than  o'er  the  altar  give  to  flow 

The  banners  of  a  Paynim  foe.5 

Thus,  week  by  week,  and  day  by  day, 

His  life  inglorious  glides  away : 

But  she,  that  soothes  his  dream,  with  fear 

Beholds  his  hour  of  waking  near  !6 

III. 

"  Much  force  have  mortal  charms  to  stay 
Our  peace  in  Virtue's  toilsome  way  ; 
But  Guendolen's  might  far  outshine 
Each  maid  of  merely  mortal  line. 
Her  mother  was  of  human  birth, 
Her  sire  a  Genie  of  the  earth, 
In  days  of  old  deem'd  to  preside 
O'er  lovers'  wiles  and  beauty's  pride, 
By  youths  and  virgins  worshipp'd  long, 
With  festive  dance  and  choral  song, 
Till,  when  the  cross  to  Britain  came, 
On  heathen  altars  died  the  flame. 
Now,  deep  in  Wastdale  solitude, 
The  downfall  of  his  rights  he  rued, 
And,  born  of  his  resentment  heir, 
He  train'd  to  guile  that  lady  fair, 
To  sink  in  slothful  sin  and  shame 
The  champions  of  the  Christian  name. 
Well  skill'd  to  keep  vain  thoughts  alive, 
And  all  to  promise,  nought  to  give, — 
The  timid  youth  had  hope  in  store, 
The  bold  and  pressing  gain'd  no  more. 


3  MS.: 
«  MS.: 
6  MS.: 


"lovely." 

—  "  Paynim  knight." 

—  "  vanquish'd  foe." 


«  The  MS.  has  this  and  the  sixth  couplet  of  stanza  iii.  inter- 
polated. 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN. 


383 


As  wilder'd  children  leave  their  home, 
After  the  rainbow's  arch  to  roam, 
Her  lovers  barter'd  fair  esteem, 
Faith,  fame,  and  honor,  for  a  dream.1 

IV. 

"  Her  sire's  soft  arts  the  soul  to  tame2 

She  practiced  thus — till  Arthur  came ; 

Then  frail  humanity  had  part, 

And  all  the  mother  claim'd  her  heart. 

Forgot  each  rule  her  father  gave, 

Sunk  from  a  princess  to  a  slave, 

Too  late  must  Guendolen  deplore, 

He  that  has  all3  can  hope  no  more ! 

Now  must  she  see*  her  lover  strain, 

At  every  turn,  her  feeble  chain  ;5 

Watch  to  new-bind  each  knot,  and  shrink 

To  view  each  fast-decaying  link. 

Art  she  invokes  to  Nature's  aid, 

Her  vest  to  zone,  her  locks  to  braid ; 

Each  varied  pleasure  heard  her  call, 

The  feast,  the  tourney,  and  the  ball : 

Her  storied  lore  she  next  applies, 

Taxing  her  mind  to  aid  her  eyes ; 

Now  more  than  mortal  wise,  and  then 

In  female  softness  sunk  again ; 

Now,  raptured,  with  each  wish  complying, 

With  feign'd  reluctance  now  denying ; 

Each  charm  she  varied,  to  retain 

A  varying  heart6 — and  all  in  vain ! 


"  Thus  in  the  garden's  narrow  bound, 
Flank'd  by  some  castle's  Gothic  round, 
Fain  would  the  artist's  skill  provide 
The  limits  of  his  realms  to  hide. 
The  walks  in  labyrinths  he  twines, 
Shade  after  shade  with  skill  combines, 
With  many  a  varied  flowery  knot, 
And  copse,  and  arbor,  decks  the  spot, 
Tempting  the  hasty  foot  to  stay, 
And  linger  on  the  lovely  way. — 
Vain  art !  vain  hope !  'tis  fruitless  all ! 
At  length  we  reach  the  bounding  wall, 
And,  sick  of  flower  and  trim-dress'd  tree, 
Long  for  rough  glades  and  forest  free. 


1  MS. :  "  So  the  poor  dupes  exchanged  esteem, 
Fame,  faith,  and  honor,  for  a  dream." 

*  MS. 
3  MS. 

*  MS. 
6  MS. 


"  Such  arts  as  best  her  sire  became." 
"  That  who  gives  all,"  &e. 
"  Now  must  she  watch,"  &c. 
"  her  wasting  chain." 


*  "  As  some  fair  female,  unadorn'd  and  plain, 
Secure  to  please  while  youth  confirms  her  reign, 
Slights  every  borrow'd  charm  that  dress  supplies, 
Nor  shares  with  art  the  triumph  of  her  eyes ; 
But  when  those  charms  are  past,  for  charms  are  frail, 
When  time  advances,  and  when  lovers  fail, 


VI. 

"  Three  summer  months  had  scantly  flown, 
When  Arthur,  in  embarrass'd  tone, 
Spoke  of  his  liegemen  and  his  throne ; 
Said,  all  too  long  had  been  his  stay, 
And  duties,  which  a  Monarch  sway, 
Duties  unknown  to  humbler  men, 
Must  tear  her  knight  from  Guendolen. — 
She  listen'd  silently  the  while, 
Her  mood  express'd  in  bitter  smile  ;7 
Beneath  her  eye  must  Arthur  quail, 
And  oft  resume  the  unfinish'd  tale,8 
Confessing,  by  his  downcast  eye, 
The  wrong  he  sought  to  justify. 
He  ceased.    A  moment  mute  she  gazed, 
And  then  her  looks  to  heaven  she  raised ; 
One  palm  her  temples  veil'd,  to  hide9 
The  tear  that  sprung  in  spite  of  pride ! 
The  other  for  an  instant  press'd 
The  foldings  of  her  silken  vest ! 

VII. 
"  At  her  reproachful  sign  and  look, 
The  hint  the  Monarch's  conscience  took.10 
Eager  he  spoke — '  No,  lady,  no ! 
Deem  not  of  British  Arthur  so, 
Nor  think  he  can  deserter  prove 
To  the  dear  pledge  of  mutual  love. 
I  swear  by  sceptre  and  by  sword, 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 
That  if  a  boy  shall  claim  my  care, 
That  boy  is  born  a  kingdom's  heir ; 
But,  if  a  maiden  Fate  allows, 
To  choose  that  maid  a  fitting  spouse, 
A  summer-day  in  lists  shall  strive 
My  knights, — the  bravest  knights  alive, — 
And  he,  the  best  and  bravest  tried, 
Shall  Arthur's  daughter  claim  for  bride.' 
He  spoke  with  voice  resolved  and  high — 
The  lady  deign'd  him  not  reply. 

VIII. 
"  At  dawn  of  morn,  ere  on  the  brake 
His  matins  did  a  warbler  make,11 
Or  stirr'd  his  wing  to  brush  away 
A  single  dewdrop  from  the  spray, 

She  then  shines  forth,  solicitous  to  bless, 
In  all  the  glaring  impotence  of  dress." 

Goldsmith. 

I  MS. :  "  Wreathed  were  her  lips  in  bitter  smile." 

8  MS. :  "  his  broken  tale, 

With  downcast  eye  and  flushing  cheeks, 
As  one  who  'gainst  his  conscience  speaks." 

9  MS. :  "  One  hand  her  temples  press'd,  to  hide." 

10  "The  scene  in  which  Arthur,  sated  with  his  lawless  love, 
and  awake  at  last  to  a  sense  of  his  duties,  announces  his  im- 
mediate departure,  is  managed,  we  think,  with  uncommon 
skill  and  delicacy." — Quarterly  Review. 

II  MS. :  "  A  single  warbler  was  awake." 


384 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Ere  yet  a  sunbeam,  through  the  mist, 
Tin-  castle-battlements  had  kiss'd, 
The  gates  revolve,  the  drawbridge  falls, 
And  Arthur  sallies  from  the  walls. 
Doff'd  his  soft  garb  of  Persia's  loom, 
And  steel  from  spur  to  helmet-plume, 
His  Lybian  steed  full  proudly  trode, 
And  joyful  neigh'd  beneath  his  load. 
The  Monarch  gave  a  passing  sigh 
To  penitence1  and  pleasures  by, 
When,  lo !  to  his  astonish'd  ken 
Appear'd  the  form  of  Guendolen. 

IX. 

"  Beyond  the  outmost  wall  she  stood, 

Attired  like  huntress  of  the  wood: 

Sandall'd  her  feet,  her  ankles  bare,2 

And  eagle-plumage  deck'd  her  hair; 

Firm  was  her  look,  her  bearing  bold, 

And  in  her  hand  a  cup  of  gold. 

'Thou  goest!'  she  said,  '  and  ne'er  again 

Must  we  two  meet,  in  joy  or  pain. 

Full  fain  would  I  this  hour  delay, 

Though  weak  the  wish — yet,  wilt  thou  stay  ? — 

No !  thou  look'st  forward.    Still  attend, — 

Part  we  like  lover  and  like  friend.' 

She  raised  the  cup — '  Not  this  the  juice 

The  sluggish  vines  of  earth  produce; 

Pledge  we,  at  parting,  in  the  draught 

Which  Genii  love!' — she  said,  and  quaff'd; 

And  strange  unwonted  lustres  fly 

From  her  flush'd  cheek  and  sparkling  eye. 

X. 

"  The  courteous  Monarch  bent  him  low, 
And,  stooping  down  from  saddlebow, 
Lifted  the  cup,  in  act  to  drink. 
A  drop  escaped  the  goblet's  brink — 
Intense  as  liquid  fire  from  hell, 
Upon  the  charger's  neck  it  fell. 
Screaming  with  agony  and  fright, 
He  bolted  twenty  feet  upright — 
— The  peasant  still  can  show  the  dint 
Where  his  hoofs  lighted  on  the  flint. — 
From  Arthur's  hand  the  goblet  flew, 
ScatjK>ring  a  shower  of  fiery  dew,3 
That  burn'd  and  blighted  where  it  fell!* 
The  frantic  steed  rush'd  up  the  dell,5 

1  MS. :  "  To  deep  remorse." 

-  MS. :  '•  Her  arms  and  buskin'd  feet  were  bare." 

8  MS.:  "of  {burnin«  jdew" 

l  blazing  > 

4  The  author  has  an  indistinct  recollection  of  an  adventure, 
Bomewhal  similar  to  that  which  is  here  ascribed  to  King 
Arthur,  having  befallen  one  of  the  ancient  kings  of  Den- 
mark. The  horn  in  which  the  burning  liquor  was  presented 
to  that  monarch  is  said  still  to  be  preserved  in  the  Royal 
Museum  at  Copenhagen. 

*  MS.:  "Curb,  bit,  and  bridle  he  disdain'd, 
Until  a  mountain  crest  he  gain'd, 


As  whistles  from  the  bow  the  reed; 
Nor  bit  nor  rein  could  check  his  speed, 

Until  he  gain'd  the  hill ; 
Then  breath  and  sinew  fail'd  apace, 
And,  reeling  from  the  desperate  race, 

He  stood,  exhausted,  still. 
The  Monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky  ;6 
But,  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd, 
The  lonely  streamlet  brawl'd  around 
A  tufted  knoll,  where  dimly  shone 
Fragments  of  rock  and  rifted  stone.7 
Musing  on  this  strange  hap  the  while, 
The  King  wends  back  to  fair  Carlisle; 
And  cares,  that  cumber  royal  sway, 
Wore  memory  of  the  past  away. 

XL 
"  Full  fifteen  years  and  more  were  sped, 
Each  brought  new  wreaths  to  Arthur's  head. 
Twelve  bloody  fields,  with  glory  fought, 
The  Saxons  to  subjection  brought  :8 
Rython,  the  mighty  giant,  slain 
By  his  good  brand,  relieved  Bretagne ; 
The  Pictish  Gillamore  in  fight, 
And  Roman  Lucius,  own'd  his  might ; 
And  wide  were  through  the  world  renown'd' 
The  glories  of  his  Table  Round. 
Each  knight  who  sought  adventurous  fame 
To  the  bold  court  of  Britain  came, 
And  all  who  suffer'd  causeless  wrong, 
From  tyrant  proud,  or  faitour  strong, 
Sought  Arthur's  presence  to  complain, 
Nor  there  for  aid  implored  in  vain.10 

XII. 

"  For  this  the  King,  with  pomp  and  pride, 
Held  solemn  court  at  Whitsuntide, 

And  summon'd  Prince  and  Peer, 
All  who  owed  homage  for  their  land, 
Or  who  craved  knighthood  from  his  hand, 
Or  who  had  succor  to  demand, 

To  come  from  far  and  near. 
At  such  high  tide  were  glee  and  game 
Miugled  with  feats  of  martial  fame, 
For  many  a  stranger  champion  came, 

Then  stopp'd  exhausted  ;— all  amazed, 
The  rider  down  the  valley  gazed, 
But  tower  nor  donjon,"  &c. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

7  MS. :  "  But  on  the  spot  where  once  they  frown'd, 

The  stream  begirt  a  sylvan  mound, 

With  rocks  in  shattered  fragments  crown'd." 

8  Arthur  is  said  to  have  defeated  the  Saxons  in  twelve 
pitched  battles,  and  to  have  achieved  the  other  feats  alluded 
to  in  the  text. 

9  MS.:  "And  wide  was  blazed  the  world  around." 
10  MS.:  "Sought  before  Arthur  to  complain, 

Nor  there  for  succor  sued  in  vain." 


THE  BEIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


385 


In  lists  to  break  a  spear  ; 
And  not  a  knight  of  Arthur's  host, 
Save  that  he  trod  some  foreign  coast, 
But  at  this  feast  of  Pentecost 

Before  him  must  appear. 
Ah,  Minstrels !  when  the  Table  Round 
Arose,  with  all  its  warriors  crown'd, 
There  was  a  theme  for  bards  to  sound 

In  triumph  to  their  string ! 
Five  hundred  years  are  past  and  gone, 
But  Time  shall  draw  his  dying  groan, 
Ere  he  behold  the  British  throne 

Begirt  with  such  a  ring ! 

XIII. 
"  The  heralds  named  the  appointed  spot, 
As  Caerleon  or  Camelot, 

Or  Carlisle  fair  and  free. 
At  Penrith,  now,  the  feast  was  set, 
And  in  fair  Eamont's  vale  were  met 

The  flower  of  chivalry.1 
There  Galaad  sat  with  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face ; 
There  Morolt  of  the  iron  mace,2 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there : 
And  Dinadam  with  lively  glance, 
And  Lanval  with  the  fairy  lance, 
And  Mordred  with  his  look  askance, 

Brunor  and  Bevidere. 
Why  should  I  tell  of  numbers  more? 
Sir  Cay,  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

Sir  Carodac  the  keen, 
The  gentle  Gawain's  courteous  lore, 
Hector  de  Mares  and  Pellinore, 
And  Lancelot,3  that  ever  more 

Look'd  stol'n-wise  on  the  Queen.* 

XIV. 
"  When  wine  and  mirth  did  most  abound, 
And  harpers  play'd  their  blithest  round, 
A  shrilly  trumpet  shook  the  ground, 

And  marshals  clear' d  the  ring ; 
A  maiden,  on  a  palfrey  white, 
Heading  a  band  of  damsels  bright, 
Paced  through  the  circle,  to  alight 

And  kneel  before  the  King. 

i  "  The  whole  description  of  Arthur's  Court  is  picturesque 
and  appropriate." — Quarterly  Review. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 

3  MS. :  "  And  Lancelot,  for  evermore 

That  scowl'd  upon  the  scene." 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

6  MS. :  "  The  King  with  strong  emotion  saw 

Her  i  ^^  and  minSled  \  awe. 

( strange  attire,  her  reverend ) 

Attired     )  Hke  huntress  of  the  wold 
i) 


Her  dress  J 

Her  silken  buskins  braced  with  gold, 


Arthur,  with  strong  emotion,  saw 
Her  graceful  boldness  check'd  by  awe, 
Her  dress,  like  huntress  of  the  wold, 
Her  bow  and  baldric  trapp'd  with  gold, 
Her  sandall'd  feet,  her  ankles  bare,5 
And  the  eagle  plume  that  deck'd  her  hair. 
Graceful  her  veil  she  backward  flung — 
The  King,  as  from  his  seat  he  sprung, 

Almost  cried,  '  Guendolen  !' 
But  'twas  a  face  more  frank  and  wild, 
Betwixt  the  woman  and  the  child, 
Where  less  of  magic  beauty  smiled 

Than  of  the  race  of  men  ; 
And  in  the  forehead's  haughty  grace, 
The  lines  of  Britain's  royal  race,6 

Pendragon's,  you  might  ken. 

XV. 

"  Faltering,  yet  gracefully,  she  said — 
'  Great  Prince !  behold  an  orphan  maid, 
In  her  departed  mother's  name, 
A  father's  vow'd  protection  claim ! 
The  vow  was  sworn  in  desert  lone, 
In  the  deep  valley  of  St.  John.' 
At  once  the  King  the  suppliant  raised, 
And  kiss'd  her  brow,  her  beauty  praised ; 
His  vow,  he  said,  should  well  be  kept, 
Ere  in  the  sea  the  sun  was  dipp'd, — 7 
Then,  conscious,  glanced  upon  his  Queen  ; 
But  she,  unruffled  at  the  scene 
Of  human  frailty,  construed  mild, 
Look'd  upon  Lancelot  and  smiled. 

XVI. 

"  '  Up !  up  !  each  knight  of  gallant  crest 

Take  buckler,  spear,  and  brand  ! 
He  that  to-day  shall  bear  him  best 

Shall  win  my  Gyneth's  hand. 
And  Arthur's  daughter,  when  a  bride, 

Shall  bring  a  noble  dower ; 
Both  fair  Strath-Clyde  and  Iteged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  town  and  tower.' 
Then  might  you  hear  each  valiant  knight, 

To  page  and  squire  that  cried, 
'  Bring  my  armor  bright,  and  my  courser  wight ! 
'Tis  not  each  day  that  a  warrior's  might 

Her  f  sandall'd  feet,  her  )  ankleg  bare> 

t  arms  and  buskin'd  > 
And  eagle  plumes,"  Ac. 

6  MS. :  "  The  lineaments  of  royal  race." 

7  Mr.  Adolphus,  in  commenting  on  the  similarity  of  man- 
ners in  the  ladies  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  poetry  and  those  of 
his  then  anonymous  Novels,  says,  "In  'Rokeby'  the  filial 
attachment  and  duteous  anxieties  of  Matilda  form  the  leading 
feature  of  her  character,  and  the  chief  source  of  her  distresses. 
The  intercourse  between  King  Arthur  and  his  daughter  Gyn- 
eth,  in  the '  Bridal  of  Triermain,'  is  neither  long  nor  altogether 
amicable ;  but  the  monarch's  feelings  on  first  beholding  that 
beautiful '  slip  of  wilderness,'  and  his  manner  of  receiving  her 
before  the  queen  and  court,  are  too  forcibly  and  naturally 
described  to  be  omitted  in  this  enumeration."— Letters  on  the 
Author  of  Waverley,  1822,  p.  212. 


25 


386 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


May  win  a  royal  bride.' 
Then  cloaks  and  caps  of  maintenance 

In  haste  aside  they  fling ; 
The  helmets  glance,  and  gleams  the  lance, 

And  the  steel-weaved  hauberks  ring. 
Small  care  had  they  of  their  peaceful  array, 

They  might  gather  it  that  wolde  ; 
For  brake  and  bramble  glitter'd  gay 

With  pearls  and  cloth  of  gold. 

XVII. 
"  Within  trumpet  sound  of  the  Table  Round 

Were  fifty  champions  free, 
And  they  all  arise  to  fight  that  prize, — 

They  all  arise  but  three. 
Nor  love's  fond  troth,  nor  wedlock's  oath, 

One  gallant  could  withhold, 
For  priests  will  allow  of  a  broken  vow, 

For  penance  or  for  gold. 
But  sigh  and  glance  from  ladies  bright 

Among  the  troop  were  thrown, 
To  plead  their  right,  and  true-love  plight, 

And  'plain  of  honor  flown. 
The  knights  they  busied  them  so  fast, 

With  buckling  spur  and  belt, 
That  sigh  and  look,  by  ladies  cast, 

Were  neither  seen  nor  felt. 
From  pleading  or  upbraiding  glance 

Each  gallant  turns  aside, 
And  only  thought,  '  If  speeds  my  lance, 

A  queen  becomes  my  bride ! 
She  has  fair  Strath-Clyde,  and  Reged  wide, 

And  Carlisle  tower  and  town ; 
She  is  the  loveliest  maid,  beside, 

That  ever  heir'd  a  crown.' 
So  in  haste  their  coursers  they  bestride, 

And  strike  their  visors  down. 

XVIII. 

"  The  champions,  arm'd  in  martial  sort, 

Have  throng'd  into  the  list, 
And  but  three  knights  of  Arthur's  court 

Are  from  the  tourney  miss'd. 
And  still  these  lovers'  fame  survives 

For  faith  so  constant  shown, — 
There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbor's  wives, 

And  one  who  loved  his  own.1 
The  first  was  Lancelot  de  Lac, 

The  second  Tristrem  bold, 
The  third  was  valiant  Carodac, 

Who  won  the  cup  of  gold,2 
What  time,  of  all  King  Arthur's  crew 

(Thereof  came  jeer  and  laugh), 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 

2  See  the  comic  tale  of  the  "Boy  and  the  Mantle,"  in  the 
third  volume  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  from  the 
Breton  or  Norman  original  of  which  Ariosto  is  supposed  to 
have  taken  his  "Tale  of  the  Enchanted  Cop." 

*  "  The  preparations  for  the  combat,  and  the  descriptions  of 


He,  as  the  mate  of  lady  true, 

Alone  the  cup  could  quaff. 
Though  envy's  tongue  would  fain  sur- 
mise 

That  but  for  very  shame, 
Sir  Carodac,  to  fight  that  prize, 

Had  given  both  cup  and  dame ; 
Yet,  since  but  one  of  that  fair  court 

Was  true  to  wedlock's  shrine, 
Brand  him  who  will  with  base  report, — 

He  shall  be  free  from  mine. 

XIX. 

"  Now  caracoled  the  steeds  in  air, 
Now  plumes  and  pennons  wanton'd  fair, 
As  all  around  the  lists  so  wide 
In  panoply  the  champions  ride. 
King  Arthur  saw  with  startled  eye 
The  flower  of  chivalry  march  by, 
The  bulwark  of  the  Christian  creed, 
The  kingdom's  shield  in  hour  of  need. 
Too  late  he  thought  him  of  the  woe 
Might  from  their  civil  conflict  flow  :3 
For  well  he  knew  they  would  not  part 
Till  cold  was  many  a  gallant  heart. 
His  hasty  vow  he  'gan  to  rue, 
And  Gyneth  then  apart  he  drew ; 
To  her  his  leading-staif  resign'd, 
But  added  caution  grave  and  kind. 

XX. 

"  '  Thou  seest,  my  child,  as  promise-bound, 

I  bid  the  trump  for  tourney  sound. 

Take  thou  my  warder,  as  the  queen 

And  umpire  of  the  martial  scene ; 

But  mark  thou  this : — as  Beauty  bright 

Is  polar  star  to  valiant  knight, 

As  at  her  word  his  sword  he  draws, 

His  fairest  guerdon  her  applause, 

So  gentle  maid  should  never  ask 

Of  knighthood  vain  and  dangerous  task ; 

And  Beauty's  eyes  should  ever  be 

Like  the  twin  stars  that  soothe  the  sea, 

And  Beauty's  breath  shall  whisper  peace, 

And  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 

I  tell  thee  this,  lest  all  too  far 

These  knights  urge  tourney  into  war. 

Blithe  at  the  trumpet  let  them  go, 

And  fairly  counter  blow  for  blow ; — 

No  striplings  these,  who  succor  need 

For  a  razed  helm  or  falling  steed. 

But,  Gyneth,  when  the  strife  grows  warm, 

And  threatens  death  or  deadly  harm, 


its  pomp  and  circumstance,  are  conceived  in  the  best  manner 
of  the  author's  original,  seizing  the  prominent  parts  of  the 
picture,  and  detailing  them  with  the  united  beauty  of  Mr. 
Scott's  vigor  of  language  and  the  march  and  richness  of  the 
late  Thomas  Warton's  versification."—  Quarterly  Review, 
1813. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


387 


Thy  sire  entreats,  thy  King  commands, 
Thou  drop  the  warder  from  thy  hands. 
Trust  thou  thy  father  with  thy  fate, 
Doubt  not  he  choose  thee  fitting  mate ; 
Nor  be  it  said,  through  Gyneth's  pride 
A  rose  of  Arthur's  chaplet  died.' 

XXI. 

"  A  proud  and  discontented  glow 
O'ershadow'd  Gyneth's  brow  of  snow ; 

She  put  the  warder  by  : — 
'  Reserve  thy  boon,  my  liege,'  she  said, 
'  Thus  chaffer'd  down  and  limited, 
Debased  and  narrow'd,  for  a  maid 

Of  less  degree  than  I. 
No  petty  chief  but  holds  his  heir 
At  a  more  honor'd  price  and  rare 

Than  Britain's  King  holds  me, 
Although  the  sunburn'd  maid,  for  dower, 
Has  but  her  father's  rugged  tower, 

His  barren  hill  and  lee. 
King  Arthur  swore,  "  By  crown  and  sword, 
As  belted  knight  and  Britain's  lord, 
That  a  whole  summer's  day  should  strive 
His  knights,  the  bravest  knights  alive !" 
Recall  thine  oath  !  and  to  her  glen 
Poor  Gyneth  can  return  agen ; 
Not  on  thy  daughter  will  the  stain 
That  soils  thy  sword  and  crown  remain 
But  think  not  she  will  e'er  be  bride 
Save  to  the  bravest,  proved  and  tried ; 
Pendragon's  daughter  will  not  fear 
For  clashing  sword  or  splinter'd  spear, 

Nor  shrink  though  blood  should  flow ; 
And  all  too  well  sad  Guendolen 
Hath  taught  the  faithlessness  of  men, 
That  child  of  hers  should  pity  when 

Their  meed  they  undergo.' — 

XXII. 

"  He  frown'd  and  sigh'd,  the  Monarch  bold : 
'  I  give — what  I  may  not  withhold  ; 
For  not  for  danger,  dread,  or  death, 
Must  British  Arthur  break  his  faith. 
Too  late  I  mark,  thy  mother's  art 
Hath  taught  thee  this  relentless  part. 
I  blame  her  not,  for  she  had  wrong, 
But  not  to  these  my  faults  belong. 
Use,  then,  the  warder  as  thou  wilt ; 
But  trust  me  that,  if  life  be  spilt,1 
In  Arthur's  love,  in  Arthur's  grace, 
Gyneth  shall  lose  a  daughter's  place.' 
With  that  he  turn'd  his  head  aside, 
Nor  brook'd  to  gaze  upon  her  pride, 
As,  with  the  truncheon  raised,- she  sate 
The  arbitress  of  mortal  fate ; 


i  MS.: 

2  MS. : 


■  "  if  blood  be  spilt." 
• "  dying  knell." 


8  "  The  difficult  subject  of  a  tournament,  in  which  several 


Nor  brook'd  to  mark,  in  ranks  disposed, 
How  the  bold  champions  stood  opposed, 
For  shrill  the  trumpet-flourish  fell 
Upon  his  ear  like  passing  bell  !2 
Then  first  from  sight  of  martial  fray 
Did  Britain's  hero  turn  away. 

XXIII. 
"  But  Gyneth  heard  the  clangor  high, 
As  hears  the  hawk  the  partridge  cry. 
Oh,  blame  her  not !  the  blood  was  hers 
That  at  the  trumpet's  summons  stirs  ! — 
And  e'en  the  gentlest  female  eye 
Might  the  brave  strife  of  chivalry 

A  while  untroubled  view ; 
So  well  accomplish'd  was  each  knight 
To  strike  and  to  defend  in  fight, 
Their  meeting  was  a  goodly  sight, 

While  plate  and  mail  held  true. 
The  lists  with  painted  plumes  were  strown, 
Upon  the  wind  at  random  thrown, 
But  helm  and  breastplate  bloodless  shone; 
It  seem'd  their  feather'd  crests  alone 

Should  this  encounter  rue. 
And  ever,  as  the  combat  grows, 
The  trumpet's  cheery  voice  arose, 
Like  lark's  shrill  song  the  flourish  flows, 
Heard  while  the  gale  of  April  blows 

The  merry  greenwood  through. 

XXIV. 

"  But  soon  to  earnest  grew  their  game, 

The  spears  drew  blood,  the  swords  struck  flame, 

And,  horse  and  man,  to  ground  there  came 

Knights  who  shall  rise  no  more ! 
Gone  was  the  pride  the  war  that  graced ; 
Gay  shields  were  cleft,  and  crests  defaced, 
And  steel  coats  riven,  and  helms  unbraced, 

And  pennons  stream'd  with  gore. 
Gone,  too,  were  fence  and  fair  array, 
And  desperate  strength  made  deadly  way 
At  random  through  the  bloody  fray, 
And  blows  were  dealt  with  headlong  sway, 

Unheeding  where  they  fell ; 
And  now  the  trumpet's  clamors  seem 
Like  the  shrill  sea-bird's  wailing  scream, 
Heard  o'er  the  whirlpool's  gulfing  stream, 

The  sinking  seaman's  knell ! 

XXV. 

"  Seem'd  in  this  dismal  hour  that  Fate 
Would  Camlan's  ruin  antedate, 

And  spare  dark  Mordred's  crime ; 
Already  gasping  on  the  ground 
Lie  twenty  of  the  Table  Round, 

Of  chivalry  the  prime.3 

knights  engage  at  once,  is  admirably  treated  by  the  novelist  in 
'Ivanhoe,'  and  by  his  rival  in  the  'Bridal  of  Triermain,'  and 
the  leading  thought  in  both  descriptions  is  the  sudden  and 


388 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL   WORKS. 


Arthur,  in  anguish,  tore  away 

From  head  and  beard  his  tresses  gray, 

And  she,  proud  Gyneth,  felt  dismay, 

And  quaked  with  ruth  and  fear ; 
But  still  she  deem'd  her  mother's  shade 
Hung  o'er  the  tumult,  and  forbade 
The  sign  that  had  the  slaughter  staid, 

And  chid  the  rising  tear. 
Then  Brunor,  Taulas,  Mador,  fell, 
Helias  the  White,  and  Lionel, 

And  many  a  champion  more; 
Rochemont  and  Dinadam  are  down, 
And  Ferrand  of  the  Forest  Brown 

Lies  gasping  in  his  gore. 
Vanoc,  by  mighty  Morolt  press'd 
Even  to  the  confines  of  the  list, 
Young  Vanoc  of  the  beardless  face 
(Fame  spoke  the  youth  of  Merlin's  race), 
O'erpower'd  at  Gyneth's  footstool  bled, 
His  heart's-blood  dyed  her  sandals  red. 
But  then  the  sky  was  overcast, 
Then  howl'd  at  once  a  whirlwind's  blast, 

And,  rent  by  sudden  throes, 
Yawn'd  in  mid  lists  the  quaking  earth, 
And  from  the  gulf, — tremendous  birth ! — 

The  form  of  Merlin  rose. 

XXVI. 

"  Sternly  the  Wizard  Prophet  eyed 

The  dreary  lists  with  slaughter  dyed, 
And  sternly  raised  his  hand : — 

1  Madmen,'  he  said,  '  your  strife  forbear; 

And  thou,  fair  cause  of  mischief,  hear 
The  doom  thy  fates  demand ! 
Long  shall  close  in  stony  sleep 
Eyes  for  ruth  that  would  not  weep ; 
Iron  lethargy  shall  seal 
Heart  that  pity  scorn'd  to  feel. 
Yet,  because  thy  mother's  art 
Warp'd  thine  unsuspicious  heart, 
And  for  love  of  Arthur's  race, 
Punishment  is  blent  with  grace, 
Thou  shalt  bear  thy  penance  lone 
In  the  valley  of  Saint  John, 
And  this  weird1  shall  overtake  thee : 
Sleep,  until  a  knight  shall  wake  thee, 
For  feats  of  arms  as  far  renown'd 
As  warrior  of  the  Table  Round. 
Long  endurance  of  thy  slumber 
Well  may  teach  the  world  to  number 
All  their  woes  from  Gyneth's  pride, 
When  the  Red  Cross  champions  died.' 


tragic  change  from  ascene  of  pomp,  gayety,  and  youthful  pride, 
to  one  of  misery,  confusion,  and  death." — Adolphus,  p.  245. 

"The  tide  of  hattle  seemed  to  flow  now  toward  the  south- 
ern, now  toward  the  northern  extremity  of  the  lists,  as  the 
one  or  the  other  party  prevailed.  Meantime,  the  clang  of  the 
blows,  and  the  shouts  of  the  combatants,  mixed  fearfully  with 
the  sound  of  the  trumpets,  and  drowned  the  groans  of  those 
who  fell,  and  lay  rolling  defenceless  beneath  the  feet  of  the 


XXVII. 

"As  Merlin  speaks,  on  Gyneth's  eye 
Slumber's  load  begins  to  lie  ; 
Fear  and  anger  vainly  strive 
Still  to  keep  its  light  alive. 
Twice,  with  effort  and  with  pause, 
O'er  her  brow  her  hand  she  draws ; 
Twice  her  strength  in  vain  she  tries, 
From  the  fatal  chair  to  rise : 
Merlin's  magic  doom  is  spoken, 
Vanoc's  death  must  now  be  wroken. 
Slow  the  dark-fringed  eyelids  fall, 
Curtaining  each  azure  ball, 
Slowly  as  on  summer  eves 
Violets  fold  their  dusky  leaves. 
The  weighty  baton  of  command 
Now  bears  down  her  sinking  hand, 
On  her  shoulder  droops  her  head ; 
Net  of  pearl  and  golden  thread, 
Bursting,  gave  her  locks  to  flow 
O'er  her  arm  and  breast  of  snow. 
And  so  lovely  seem'd  she  there, 
Spell-bound  in  her  ivory  chair, 
That  her  angry  sire,  repenting, 
Craved  stern  Merlin  for  relenting, 
And  the  champions,  for  her  sake, 
Would  again  the  contest  wake  ; 
Till,  in  necromantic  night, 
Gyneth  vanish'd  from  their  sight. 

XXVIII. 

"  Still  she  bears  her  weird  alone, 
In  the  valley  of  Saint  John  ; 
And  her  semblance  oft  will  seem, 
Mingling  in  a  champion's  dream, 
Of  her  weary  lot  to  'plain, 
And  crave  his  aid  to  burst  her  chain. 
While  her  wondrous  tale  was  new, 
Warriors  to  her  rescue  drew, 
East  and  west,  and  south  and  north, 
From  the  Liny,  Thames,  and  Forth. 
Most  have  sought  in  vain  the  glen, 
Tower  nor  castle  could  they  ken ; 
Not  at  every  time  or  tide, 
Nor  by  every  eye,  descried. 
Fast  and  vigil  must  be  borne, 
Many  a  night  in  watching  worn, 
Ere  an  eye  of  mortal  powers 
Can  discern  those  magic  towers. 
Of  the  persevering  few, 
Some  from  hopeless  task  withdrew, 


horses.  The  splendid  armor  of  the  combatants  was  now  de- 
faced with  dust  and  blood,  and  gave  way  at  every  stroke  of 
the  sword  and  battle-axe.  The  gay  plumage,  shorn  from  the 
crests,  drifted  upon  the  breeze  like  snow-flakes.  All  that  was 
beautiful  and  graceful  in  the  martial  array  had  disappeared, 
and  what  was  now  visible  was  only  calculated  to  awake  terror 
or  compassion." — Ivanhoe —  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xvi.  p.  187. 
l  Doom. 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


389 


When  they  read  the  dismal  threat 
Graved  upon  the  gloomy  gate. 
Few  have  braved  the  yawning  door, 
And  those  few  return'd  no  more. 
In  the  lapse  of  time  forgot, 
Wellnigh  lost  is  Gyneth's  lot ; 
Sound  her  sleep  as  in  the  tomb, 
Till  waken'd  by  the  trump  of  doom." 

END  OF  LYULPH'S  TALE. 


Here  pause  my  tale ;  for  all  too  soon, 

My  Lucy,  comes  the  hour  of  noon. 

Already  from  thy  lofty  dome 

Ite  courtly  inmates  'gin  to  roam, 

And  each,  to  kill  the  goodly  day 

That  God  has  granted  them,  his  way 
Of  lazy  sauntering  has  sought ; 

Lordlings  and  witlings  not  a  few, 
Incapable  of  doing  aught, 
'  Yet  ill  at  ease  with  nought  to  do. 

Here  is  no  longer  place  for  me ; 

For,  Lucy,  thou  wouldst  blush  to  see 
Some  phantom,  fashionably  thin, 
With  limb  of  lath  and  kerchief 'd  chin, 
And  lounging  gape,  or  sneering  grin, 

Steal  sudden  on  our  privacy. 

And  how  should  I,  so  humbly  born, 

Endure  the  graceful  spectre's  scorn  ? 

Faith !  ill,  I  fear,  while  conjuring  wand 

Of  English  oak  is  hard  at  hand. 

II. 

Or  grant  the  hour  be  all  too  soon 
For  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon, 
And  grant  the  lounger  seldom  strays 
Beyond  the  smooth  and  gravell'd  maze, 
Laud  we  the  gods,  that  Fashion's  train 
Holds  hearts  of  more  adventurous  strain. 
Artists  are  hers,  who  scorn  to  trace 
Their  rules  from  Nature's  boundless  grace, 
But  their  right  paramount  assert 
To  limit  her  by  pedant  art, 
Damning  whate'er  of  vast  and  fair 
Exceeds  a  canvas  three  feet  square. 
This  thicket,  for  their  gtcmption  fit, 
May  furnish  such  a  happy  bit. 
Bards,  too,  are  hers,  wont  to  recite 
Their  own  sweet  lays  by  waxen  light, 
Half  in  the  salver's  tingle  drown'd, 
While  the  chasse-cafe  glides  around ; 
And  such  may  hither  secret  stray, 
To  labor  an  extempore  : 

1  "The  trammels  of  the  palfraye  pleased  his  sight, 
And  the  horse-millanere  his  head  with  roses  dight." 

Rowley's  Ballads  0/  Charitie. 


Or  sportsman,  with  his  boisterous  hollo, 
May  here  his  wiser  spaniel  follow, 
Or  stage-struck  Juliet  may  presume 
To  choose  this  bower  for  tiring-room ; 
And  we  alike  must  shun  regard 
From  painter,  player,  sportsman,  bard. 
Insects  that  skim  in  Fashion's  sky, 
Wasp,  blue-bottle,  or  butterfly, 
Lucy,  have  all  alarms  for  us, 
For  all  can  hum  and  all  can  buzz. 

III. 

But  oh,  my  Lucy,  say  how  long 
We  still  must  dread  this  trifling  throng, 
And  stoop  to  hide,  with  coward  art, 
The  genuine  feelings  of  the  heart ! 
No  parents  thine  whose  just  command 
Should  rule  their  child's  obedient  hand ; 
Thy  guardians,  with  contending  voice, 
Press  each  his  individual  choice. 
And  which  is  Lucy's  ? — Can  it  be 
That  puny  fop,  trimm'd  cap-a-pee, 
Who  loves  in  the  saloon  to  show 
The  arms  that  never  knew  a  foe ; 
Whose  sabre  trails  along  the  ground, 
Whose  legs  in  shapeless  boots  are  drown'd ; 
A  new  Achilles,  sure, — the  steel 
Fled  from  his  breast  to  fence  his  heel ; 
One,  for  the  simple  manly  grace 
That  wont  to  deck  our  martial  race, 

Who  comes  in  foreign  trashery 
Of  tinkling  chain  and  spur, 

A  walking  haberdashery 
Of  feathers,  lace,  and  fur : 
In  Rowley's  antiquated  phrase, 
Horse-milliner1  of  modern  days? 

IV. 

Or  is  it  he,  the  wordy  youth, 

So  early  train'd  for  statesman's  part, 

Who  talks  of  honor,  faith,  and  truth, 
As  themes  that  he  has  got  by  heart ; 
Whose  ethics  Chesterfield  can  teach, 
Whose  logic  is  from  Single-speech  ;2 
Who  scorns  the  meanest  thought  to  vent, 
Save  in  the  phrase  of  Parliament ; 
Who,  in  a  tale  of  cat  and  mouse, 
Calls  "  order,"  and  "  divides  the  house," 
Who  "craves  permission  to  reply," 
Whose  "  noble  friend  is  in  his  eye ;" 
Whose  loving  tender  some  have  reckon'd 
A  motion  you  should  gladly  second? 

V. 

What,  neither  ?    Can  there  be  a  third, 
To  such  resistless  swains  preferr'd  ? — 


2  See  "  Parliamentary  Logic,  &c,  by  the  Right  Honorable 
William  Gerard  Hamilton"  (1808),  commonly  called  "Single- 
speech  Hamilton." 


390 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Oh  why,  my  Lucy,  turn  aside, 
With  that  quick  glance  of  injured  pride? 
Forgive  me,  love,  I  cannot  bear 
That  alter'd  and  resentful  air. 
Were  all  the  wealth  of  Russel  mine, 
And  all  the  rank  of  Howard's  line, 
All  would  I  give  for  leave  to  dry 
That  dewdrop  trembling  in  thine  eye. 
Think  not  I  fear  such  fops  can  wile 
From  Lucy  more  than  careless  smile ; 
But  yet  if  wealth  and  high  degree 
Give  gilded  counters  currency, 
Must  I  not  fear,  when  rank  and  birth 
Stamp  the  pure  ore  of  genuine  worth  ? 
Nobles  there  are,  whose  martial  fires 
Rival  the  fame  that  raised  their  sires, 
And  patriots,  skill'd  through  storms  of  fate 
To  guide  and  guard  the  reeling  state. 
Such,  such  there  are — If  such  should  come, 
Arthur  must  tremble  and  be  dumb, 
Self-exiled  seek  some  distant  shore, 
And  mourn  till  life  and  grief  are  o'er. 

VI. 

What  sight,  what  signal  of  alarm, 
That  Lucy  clings  to  Arthur's  arm  ? 
Or  is  it  that  the  rugged  way 
Makes  Beauty  lean  on  lover's  stay  ? 
Oh,  no !  for  on  the  vale  and  brake, 
Nor  sight  nor  sounds  of  danger  wake, 
And  this  trim  sward  of  velvet  green 
Were  carpet  for  the  Fairy  Queen. 
That  pressure  slight  was  but  to  tell 
That  Lucy  loves  her  Arthur  well, 
And  fain  would  banish  from  his  mind 
Suspicious  fear  and  doubt  unkind. 

VII. 

But  wouldst  thou  bid  the  demons  fly 

Like  mist  before  the  dawning  sky, 

There  is  but  one  resistless  spell — 

Say,  wilt  thou  guess,  or  must  I  tell? 

'Twere  hard  to  name,  in  minstrel  phrase, 

A  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays, 

But  bards  agree  this  wizard  band 

Can  but  be  bound  in  Northern  land. 

'Tis  there — nay,  draw  not  back  thy  hand ! — 

'Tis  there  this  slender  finger  round 

Must  golden  amulet  be  bound, 

Which,  bless'd  with  many  a  holy  prayer, 

Can  change  to  rapture  lover's  care, 

And  doubt  and  jealousy  shall  die, 

And  fears  give  place  to  ecstasy. 

VIII. 

Now,  trust  me,  Lucy,  all  too  long 
Has  been  thy  lover's  tale  and  song. 
Oh  why  so  silent,  love,  I  pray  ? 
Have  I  not  spoke  the  livelong  day? 
And  will  not  Lucy  deign  to  say 


One  word  her  friend  to  bless  ? 
I  ask  but  one — a  simple  sound, 
Within  three  little  letters  bound: 

Oh,  let  the  word  be  YES ! 


Efyt  ISuiial  of  Ctimnatn. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Long  loved,  long  woo'd,  and  lately  won, 

My  life's  best  hope,  and  now  mine  own  I 

Doth  not  this  rude  and  Alpine  glen 

Recall  our  favorite  haunts  agen  ? 

A  wild  resemblance  we  can  trace, 

Though  reft  of  every  softer  grace, 

As  the  rough  warrior's  brow  may  bear 

A  likeness  to  a  sister  fair. 

Full  well  advised  our  Highland  host 

That  this  wild  pass  on  foot  be  cross'd, 

While  round  Ben-Cruach's  mighty  base 

Wheel  the  slow  steeds  and  lingering  chaise. 

The  keen  old  carle,  with  Scottish  pride, 

He  praised  his  glen  and  mountains  wide ; 

An  eye  he  bears  for  nature's  face, 

Ay,  and  for  woman's  lovely  grace. 

Even  in  such  mean  degree  we  find 

The  subtle  Scot's  observing  mind ; 

For,  nor  the  chariot  nor  the  train 

Could  gape  of  vulgar  wonder  gain, 

But  when  old  Allan  would  expound 

Of  Beal-na-paish1  the  Celtic  sound, 

His  bonnet  dofiPd,  and  bow,  applied 

His  legend  to  my  bonny  bride ; 

While.  Lucy  blush'd  beneath  his  eye, 

Courteous  and  cautious,  shrewd  and  sly. 

II. 

Enough  of  him. — Now,  ere  we  lose, 
Plunged  in  the  vale,  the  distant  views, 
Turn  thee,  my  love !  look  back  once  more 
To  the  blue  lake's  retiring  shore. 
On  its  smooth  breast  the  shadows  seem 
Like  objects  in  a  morning  dream, 
What  time  the  slumberer  is  aware 
He  sleeps,  and  all  the  vision's  air ; 
Even  so,  on  yonder  liquid  lawn, 
In  hues  of  bright  reflection  drawn, 
Distinct  the  shaggy  mountains  lie, 
Distinct  the  rocks,  distinct  the  sky; 

1  Beal-na-paish,  the  Vale  of  the  Bridal. 


THE    BRIDAL   OF    TRIERMAIN. 


391 


The  summer  clouds  so  plain  we  note 
That  we  might  count  each  dappled  spot  : 
We  gaze  and  we  admire,  yet  know 
The  scene  is  all  delusive  show. 
Such  dreams  of  bliss1  would  Arthur  draw, 
When  first  his  Lucy's  form  he  saw ; 
Yet  sigh'd  and  sicken'd  as  he  drew, 
Despairing  they  could  e'er  prove  true  ! 

III. 
But,  Lucy,  turn  thee  now,  to  view 

Up  the  fair  glen  our  destined  way  : 
The  fairy  path  that  we  pursue, 
Distinguish'd  but  by  greener  hue, 

Winds  round  the  purple  brae, 
While  Alpine  flowers  of  varied  dye 
For  carpet  serve,  or  tapestry. 
See  how  the  little  runnels  leap, 
In  threads  of  silver,  down  the  steep, 

To  swell  the  brooklet's  moan ! 
Seems  that  the  Highland  Naiad  grieves, 
Fantastic  while  her  crown  she  weaves, 
Of  rowan,  birch,  and  alder  leaves, 

So  lovely,  and  so  lone. 
There's  no  illusion  there ;  these  flowers, 
That  wailing  brook,  these  lovely  bowers, 

Are,  Lucy,  all  our  own ; 
And,  since  thine  Arthur  call'd  thee  wife, 
Such  seems  the  prospect  of  his  life, 
A  lovely  path,  on-winding  still, 
By  gurgling  brook  and  sloping  hill. 
'Tis  true  that  mortals  cannot  tell 
What  waits  them  in  the  distant  dell ; 
But  be  it  hap,  or  be  it  harm, 
We  tread  the  pathway  arm  in  arm. 

IV. 

And  now,  my  Lucy,  wotst  thou  why 
I  could  thy  bidding  twice  deny, 
When  twice  you  pray'd  I  would  again 
Resume  the  legendary  strain 
Of  the  bold  Knight  of  Triermain  ? 
At  length  yon  peevish  vow  you  swore, 
That  you  would  sue  to  me  no  more,2 
Until  the  minstrel  fit  drew  near, 
And  made  me  prize  a  listening  ear. 
But,  loveliest,  when  thou  first  didst  pray 
Continuance  of  the  knightly  lay, 
Was  it  not  on  the  happy  day 

That  made  thy  hand  mine  own  ? 
When,  dizzied  with  mine  ecstasy, 
Nought  past,  or  present,  or  to  be, 
Could  I  or  think  on,  hear,  or  see, 

Save,  Lucy,  thee  alone ! 
A  giddy  draught  my  rapture  was, 
As  ever  chemist's  magic  gas. 


i  MS.: 


'  scenes  of  bliss." 


8  MS. :  "  Until  yon  peevish  oath  you  swore, 
That  you  would  sue  for  it  no  more." 


V. 

Again  the  summons  I  denied 
In  yon  fair  capital  of  Clyde : 
My  Harp — or  let  me  rather  choose 
The  good  old  classic  form — my  Muse 
(For  Harp's  an  over-scutched  phrase, 
Worn  out  by  bards  of  modern  days) — 
My  Muse,  then — seldom  will  she  wake, 
Save  by  dim  wood  and  silent  lake ; 
She  is  the  wild  and  rustic  Maid 
Whose  foot  unsandall'd  loves  to  tread 
Where  the  soft  greensward  is  inlaid 

With  varied  moss  and  thyme ; 
And,  lest  the  simple  lily-braid 
That  coronets  her  temples  fade, 
She  hides  her  still  in  greenwood  shade, 

To  meditate  her  rhyme. 

VI. 

And  now  she  comes !.    The  murmur  dear 
Of  the  wild  brook  hath  caught  her  ear, 

The  glade  hath  won  her  eye ; 
She  longs  to  join  with  each  blithe  rill 
That  dances  down  the  Highland  hill 

Her  blither  melody.3 
And  now,  my  Lucy's  way  to  cheer, 
She  bids  Ben-Cruach's  echoes  hear 
How  closed  the  tale,  my  love  whilere 

Loved  for  its  chivalry. 
List  how  she  tells,  in  notes  of  flame, 
"  Child  Roland  to  the  dark  tower  came  !"4 


2H)e  Actual  of  Crimnam. 


CANTO  THIKD. 


Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  Hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall, 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall ; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Taras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland. 
Of  wasted  fields  and  plunder'd  flocks 

The  Borderers  bootless  may  complain ; 
They  lack  the  sword  of  brave  De  Vaux, 

There  comes  no  aid  from  Triermain. 
That  lord,  on  high  adventure  bound, 

Hath  wander'd  forth  alone, 
And  day  and  night  keeps  watchful  round 

In  the  valley  of  Saint  John. 

*  MS. :  "  Her  wildwood  melody." 

*  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 


392 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


II. 
When  first  began  his  vigil  bold, 
The  moon  twelve  summer  nights  was  old, 

And  shone  both  fair  and  full ; 
High  in  the  vault  of  cloudless  blue, 
O'er  streamlet,  dale,  and  rock,  she  threw 

Her  light  composed  and  cool. 
Stretch'd  on  the  brown  hill's  heathy  breast, 

Sir  Roland  eyed  the  vale ; 
Chief  where,  distinguish'd  from  the  rest, 
Those  clustering  rocks  uprear'd  their  crest, 
The  dwelling  of  the  fair  distress'd, 

As  told  gray  Lyulph's  tale. 
Thus  as  he  lay,  the  lamp  of  night 
Was  quivering  on  his  armor  bright, 

In  beams  that  rose  and  fell, 
And  danced  upon  his  buckler's  boss, 
That  lay  beside  him  on  the  moss, 

As  on  a  crystal  well. 

III. 
Ever  he  watch'd,  and  oft  he  deem'd, 
While  on  the  mound  the  inooalight  stream'd, 

It  alter'd  to  his  eyes ; 
Fain  would  he  hope  the  rocks  'gan  change 
To  buttress'd  walls  their  shapeless  range, 
Fain  think,  by  transmutation  strange, 

He  saw  gray  turrets  rise. 
But  scarce  his  heart  with  hope  throbb'd  high, 
Before  the  wild  illusions  fly, 

Which  fancy  had  conceived, 
Abetted  by  an  anxious  eye 

That  long'd  to  be  deceived. 
It  was  a  fond  deception  all, 
Such  as,  in  solitary  hall, 

Beguiles  the  musing  eye, 
When,  gazing  on  the  sinking  fire, 
Bulwark,  and  battlement,  and  spire, 

In  the  red  gulf  we  spy. 
For,  seen  by  moon  of  middle  night, 
Or  by  the  blaze  of  noontide  bright, 
Or  by  the  dawn  of  morning  light, 

Or  evening's  western  flame, 
In  every  tide,  at  every  hour, 
In  mist,  in  sunshine,  and  in  shower, 

The  rocks  remain'd  the  same. 

IV. 

Oft  has  he  traced  the  charmed  mound, 
Oft  climb'd  its  crest,  or  paced  it  round, 

Yet  nothing  might  explore, 
Save  that  the  crags  so  rudely  piled, 
At  distance  seen,  resemblance  wild 

To  a  rough  fortress  bore. 
Yet  still  his  watch  the  Warrior  keeps, 
Feeds  hard  and  spare,  and  seldom  sleeps, 


1  MS. :  "  His  faculties  of  soul." 


And  drinks  but  of  the  well ; 
Ever  by  day  he  walks  the  hill, 
Ami  when  the  evening  gale  is  chill, 

He  seeks  a  rocky  cell, 
Like  hermit  poor  to  bid  his  bead, 
And  tell  his  Ave  and  his  Creed, 
Invoking  every  saint  at  need 

For  aid  to  burst  his  spell. 

V. 

And  now  the  moon  her  orb  has  hid, 
And  dwindled  to  a  silver  thread, 

Dim  seen  in  middle  heaven, 
While  o'er  its  curve  careering  fast, 
Before  the  fury  of  the  blast 

The  midnight  clouds  are  driven. 
The  brooklet  raved,  for  on  the  hills 
The  upland  showers  had  swoln  the  rills, 

And  down  the  torrents  came ; 
Mutter'd  the  distant  thunder  dread, 
And  frequent  o'er  the  vale  was  spread 

A  sheet  of  lightning  flame. 
De  Vaux,  within  his  mountain  cave 
(No  human  step  the  storm  durst  brave), 
To  moody  meditation  gave 

Each  faculty  of  soul,1 
Till,  lull'd  by  distant  torrent  sound, 
And  the  sad  winds  that  whistled  round, 
Upon  his  thoughts,  in  musing  drown'd, 

A  broken  slumber  stole. 

VI. 
'Twas  then  was  heard  a  heavy  sound 

(Sound  strange  and  fearful  there  to  hear, 
'Mongst  desert  hills,  where,  leagues  around, 

Dwelt  but  the  gorcock  and  the  deer), 
As,  starting  from  his  couch  of  fern,2 
Again  he  heard  in  clangor  stern 

That  deep  and  solemn  swell, — 
Twelve  times,  in  measured  tone,  it  spoke, 
Like  some  proud  minster's  pealing  clock, 

Or  city's  larum-bell. 
What  thought  was  Roland's  first  when  fell, 
In  that  deep  wilderness,  the  knell 

Upon  his  startled  ear  ? 
To  slander  warrior  were  I  loth, 
Yet  must  I  hold  my  minstrel  troth, — 

It  was  a  thought  of  fear. 

VII. 

But  lively  was  the  mingled  thrill 
That  chased  that  momentary  chill, 

For  Love's  keen  wish  was  there, 
And  eager  Hope,  and  Valor  high, 
And  the  proud  glow  of  Chivalry, 

That  burn'd  to  do  and  dare. 


2  MS. 


"  his  couch  of  rock, 


Again  upon  his  ear  it  broke." 


THE   BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


393 


Forth  from  the  cave  the  Warrior  rush'd, 
Long  ere  the  mountain  voice1  was  hush'd 

That  answer'd  to  the  knell ; 
For  long  and  far  the  unwonted  sound, 
Eddying  in  echoes  round  and  round, 

Was  toss'd  from  fell  to  fell ; 
And  Glaramara  answer  flung, 
And  Grisdale-pike  responsive  rung, 
And  Legbert  heights  their  echoes  swung, 

As  far  as  Derwent's  dell.2 

VIII. 
Forth  upon  trackless  darkness  gazed 
The  Knight,  bedeafen'd  and  amazed, 

Till  all  was  hush'd  and  still, 
Save  the  swoln  torrent's  sullen  roar, 
And  the  night-blast  that  wildly  bore 

Its  course  along  the  hill. 
Then  on  the  northern  sky  there  came 
A  light,  as  of  reflected  flame, 

And  over  Legbert-head, 
As  if  by  magic  art  controll'd, 
A  mighty  meteor  slowly  roll'd 

Its  orb  of  fiery  red ; 
Thou  wouldst  have  thought  some  demon  dire 
Came  mounted  on  that  car  of  fire, 

To  do  his  errand  dread. 
Far  on  the  sloping  valley's  course, 
On  thicket,  rock,  and  torrent  hoarse, 
Shingle  and  scrae,3  and  fell  and  force,4 

A  dusky  light  arose  ; 
Display'd,  yet  alter'd,  was  the  scene : 
Dark  rock,  and  brook  of  silver  sheen, 
Even  the  gay  thicket's  summer  green, 

In  bloody  tincture  glows. 

IX. 

De  Vaux  had  mark'd  the  sunbeams  set, 
At  eve,  upon  the  coronet 

Of  that  enchanted  mound, 
And  seen  but  crags  at  random  flung, 
That,  o'er  the  brawling  torrent  hung,5 

In  desolation  frown'd. 
What  sees  he  by  that  meteor's  lower? — 
A  banner'd  Castle,  keep,  and  tower, 

Return  the  lurid  gleam, 


1  MS.: 


•  "  mingled  sounds  were  hush'd." 


*  "  The  rock,  like  something  starting  from  a  sleep, 
Took  up  the  lady's  voice,  and  laugh'd  again ; 
That  ancient  Woman  seated  on  Helm-Crag 
Was  ready  with  her  cavern ;  Hammar-Scar, 
And  the  tall  steep  of  Silver-How,  sent  forth 
A  noise  of  laughter ;  southern  Loughrigg  heard, 
And  Fairfield  answer'd  with  a  mountain  tone ; 
Hellvellyn  far  into  the  clear  blue  sky 
Carried  the  lady's  voice, — old  Skiddaw  blew 
His  speaking-trumpet ; — back  out  of  the  clouds 
Of  Glaramara  southward  came  the  voice ; 
And  Kirkstone  toss'd  it  from  his  misty  head." 

Wordsworth. 


With  battled  walls  and  buttress  fast, 
And  barbican6  and  ballium7  vast, 
And  airy  flanking  towers  that  cast 

Their  shadows  on  the  stream. 
'Tis  no  deceit ! — distinctly  clear 
Crenel!8  and  parapet  appew, 
While  o'er  the  pile  that  meteor  drear 

Makes  momentary  pause ; 
Then  forth  its  solemn  path  it  drew, 
And  fainter  yet  and  fainter  grew 
Those  gloomy  towers  upon  the  view, 

As  its  wild  light  withdraws. 

X. 

Forth  from  the  cave  did  Eoland  rush, 

O'er  crag  and  stream,  through  brier  and  bush ; 

Yet  far  he  had  not  sped,9 
Ere  sunk  was  that  portentous  light 
Behind  the  hills,  and  utter  night 

Was  on  the  valley  spread.10 
He  paused  perforce,  and  blew  his  horn, 
And,  on  the  mountain  echoes  borne,11 

Was  heard  an  answering  sound, 
A  wild  and  lonely  trumpet-note, — 
In  middle  air  it  seem'd  to  float 

High  o'er  the  battled  mound ; 
And  sounds  were  heard,  as  when  a  guard 
Of  some  proud  castle,  holding  ward, 

Pace  forth  their  nightly  round. 
The  valiant  Knight  of  Triermain 
Rung  forth  his  challenge-blast  again, 

But  answer  came  there  none ; 
And  'mid  the  mingled  wind  and  rain, 
Darkling  he  sought  the  vale  in  vain,12 

Until  the  dawning  shone ; 
And  when  it  dawn'd,  that  wondrous  sight, 
Distinctly  seen  by  meteor  light, 

It  all  had  pass'd  away ! 
And  that  enchanted  mount  once  more 
A  pile  of  granite  fragments  bore, 

As  at  the  close  of  day. 

XI. 

Steel'd  for  the  deed,  De  Vaux's  heart 
Scorn'd  from  his  vent'rous  quest  to  part, 
He  walks  the  vale  once  more  ; 

3  Bank  of  loose  stones. 

4  Waterfall. 


6  MS. 


'  rocks  at  random  piled, 


That  on  the  torrent  brawling  wild." 
«  The  outer  defence  of  the  castle  gate. 
^  Fortified  court. 

8  Apertures  for  shooting  arrows. 

9  MS. : "  had  not  gone." 

10  MS. : "  the  valley  lone." 

11  MS. :  "  And  far  upon  the  echoes  borne." 

it  MS. :  "  he  sought  the  towers  in  vain." 


394 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  only  sees,  by  night  or  day, 
That  shatter'd  pile  of  rocks  so  gray, 

Hears  but  the  torrent's  roar. 
Till  when,  through  hills  of  azure  borne,1 
The  moon  renew'd  her  silver  horn, 
Just  at  the  time  her  waning  ray 
Had  faded  in  the  dawning  day, 

A  summer  mist  arose  ; 
Adown  the  vale  the  vapors  float, 
And  cloudy  undulations  moat2 
That  tufted  mound  of  mystic  note, 

As  round  its  base  they  close. 
And  higher  now  the  fleecy  tide 
Ascends  its  stern  and  shaggy  side, 
Until  the  airy  billows  hide3 

The  rock's  majestic  isle ; 
It  seem'd  a  veil  of  filmy  lawn, 
By  some  fantastic  fairy  drawn* 

Around  enchanted  pile. 

XII. 
The  breeze  came  softly  down  the  brook,5 

And,  sighing  as  it  blew, 
The  veil  of  silver  mist  it  shook, 
And  to  De  Vaux's  eager  look 

Renew'd  that  wondrous  view. 
For,  though  the  loitering  vapor  braved 
The  gentle  breeze,  yet  oft  it  waved 

Its  mantle's  dewy  fold ; 
And  still,  when  shook  that  filmy  screen, 
Were  towers  and  bastions  dimly  seen, 
And  Gothic  battlements  between 

Their  gloomy  length  unroll'd.6 
Speed,  speed,  De  Vaux,  ere  on  thine  eye 
Once  more  the  fleeting  vision  die ! 

— The  gallant  knight  'gan  speed 
As  prompt  and  light  as,  when  the  hound 
Is  opening,  and  the  horn  is  wound, 

Careers  the  hunter's  steed. 
Down  the  steep  dell  his  course  amain 

Hath  rivall'd  archer's  shaft ; 

1  MS. :  "  But  when,  through  fields  of  azure  borne." 

2  MS. :  "  And  with  their  eddying  billows  moat." 

3  MS.:  "Until  the  mist's  gray  bosom  hide." 


*  MS.: 


"a  veil  of  airy  lawn." 


5  "  A  sharp  frost  wind,  which  made  itself  heard  and  felt 
from  time  to  time,  removed  the  clouds  of  mist  which  might 
otherwise  have  slumbered  till  morning  on  the  valley,  and, 
though  it  could  not  totally  disperse  the  clouds  of  vapor,  yet 
threw  them  in  confused  and  changeful  masses,  now  hovering 
round  the  heads  of  the  mountains,  now  filling,  as  with  adense 
and  voluminous  stream  of  smoke,  the  various  deep  gullies 
where  masses  of  the  composite  rock,  or  brescia,  tumbling 
in  fragments  from  the  cliffs,  have  rushed  to  the  valley, 
leaving  each  behind  its  course  a  rent  and  torn  ravine,  resem- 
bling a  deserted  water-course.  The  moon,  which  was  now 
high,  and  twinkled  with  all  the  vivacity  of  a  frosty  atmo- 
sphere, silvered  the  windings  of  the  river,  and  the  peaks  and 
precipices  which  the  mist  left  visible, -while  her  beams  seemed, 


But  ere  the  mound  he  could  attain, 
The  rocks  their  shapeless  form  regain, 
And,  mocking  loud  his  labor  vain, 
The  mountain  spirits  laugh'd. 
Far  up  the  echoing  dell  was  borne 
Their  wild  unearthly  shout  of  scorn. 

XIII. 
Wroth  wax'd  the  Warrior. — "  Am  I  then 
Fool'd  by  the  enemies  of  men, 
Like  a  poor  hind  whose  homeward  way 
Is  haunted7  by  malicious  fay  ? 
Is  Triermain  become  your  taunt, 
De  Vaux  your  scorn  ?    False  fiends,  avaunt !" 
A  weighty  curtal-axe  he  bare ; 
The  baleful  blade  so  bright  and  square, 
And  the  tough  shaft  of  heben  wood, 
Were  oft  in  Scottish  gore  imbrued. 
Backward  his  stately  form  he  drew, 
And  at  the  rocks  the  weapon  threw, 
Just  where  one  crag's  projected  crest 
Hung  proudly  balanced  o'er  the  rest. 
Hurl'd  with  main  force,  the  weapon's 

shock 
Rent  a  huge  fragment  of  the  rock. 
If  by  mere  strength,  'twere  hard  to  tell, 
Or  if  the  blow  dissolved  some  spell, 
But  down  the  headlong  ruin  came, 
With  cloud  of  dust  and  flash  of  flame. 
Down  bank,  o'er  bush,  its  course  was  borne, 
Crush'd  lay  the  copse,  the  earth  was  torn, 
Till  staid  at  length,  the  ruin  dread 
Cumber'd  the  torrent's  rocky  bed, 
And  bade  the  waters'  high-swoln  tide 
Seek  other  passage  for  its  pride.8 

XIV. 

When  ceased  that  thunder,  Triermain 
Survey'd  the  mound's  rude  front  again  ; 
And,  lo!  the  ruin  had  laid  bare, 
Hewn  in  the  stone,  a  winding  stair, 


as  it  were,  absorbed  by  the  fleecy  whiteness  of  the  mist,  where 
it  lay  thick  and  condensed,  and  gave  to  the  more  light  and 
vapory  specks,  which  were  elsewhere  visible,  a  sort  of  filmy 
transparency  resembling  the  lightest  veil  of  silver  gauze." — 
Waverley  Novels — "  Rob  Roy  " — vol.  viii.  p.  267. 

"The  praise  of  truth,  precision,  and  distinctness,  is  not 
very  frequently  combined  with  that  of  extensive  magnificence 
and  splendid  complication  of  imagery ;  yet  how  masterly, 
and  often  sublime,  is  the  panoramic  display,  in  all  these  works, 
of  vast  and  diversified  scenery,  and  of  crowded  and  tumultu- 
ous action,"  &c.— Adolphus,  p.  163. 

8  "The  scenery  of  the  valley,  seen  by  the  light  of  the  sum- 
mer and  autumnal  moon,  is  described  with  an  aerial  touch  to 
which  we  cannot  do  justice."— Quarterly  Review. 

*  MS.:  "Is  wilder'd." 

8  MS. :  "  And  bade  its  waters,  in  their  pride, 
Seek  other  current  for  their  tide." 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


395 


Whose  nioss'd  and  fractured  steps  might  lend 
The  means  the  summit  to  ascend ; 
And  by  whose  aid  the  brave  De  Vaux 
Began  to  scale  these  magic  rocks, 

And  soon  a  platform  won, 
Where,  the  wild  witchery  to  close, 
Within  three  lances'  length  arose 

The  Castle  of  Saint  John ! 
No  misty  phantom  of  the  air, 
No  meteor-blazon'd  show  was  there ; 
In  morning  splendor,  full  and  fair, 

The  massive  fortress  shone. 

XV. 

Embattled  high  and  proudly  tower'd, 
Shaded  by  pond'rous  flankers,  lower'd 

The  portal's  gloomy  way. 
Though  for  six  hundred  years  and  more 
Its  strength  had  brook'd  the  tempest's  roar, 
The  scutcheon'd  emblems  which  it  bore 

Had  suffer'd  no  decay  : 
But  from  the  eastern  battlement 
A  turret  had  made  sheer  descent, 
And,  down  in  recent  ruin  rent, 

In  the  mid  torrent  lay. 
Else,  o'er  the  Castle's  brow  sublime, 
Insults  of  violence  or  of  time 

Unfelt  had  pass'd  away. 
In  shapeless  characters  of  yore, 
The  gate  this  stern  inscription  bore : — 

XVI. 

Inampitort. 

"  Patience  waits  the  destined  day, 
Strength  can  clear  the  cumber'd  way. 
Warrior,  who  hast  waited  long, 
Firm  of  soul,  of  sinew  strong, 
It  is  given  thee  to  gaze 
On  the  pile  of  ancient  days. 
Never  mortal  builder's  hand 
This  enduring  fabric  plann'd ; 
Sign  and  sigil,  word  of  power, 
From  the  earth  raised  keep  and  tower. 
View  it  o'er,  and  pace  it  round, 
Rampart,  turret,  battled  mound. 
Dare  no  more !     To  cross  the  gate 
Were  to  tamper  with  thy  fate ; 
Strength  and  fortitude  were  vain : 
View  it  o'er — and  turn  again." — 

XVII. 
"  That  would  I,"  said  the  Warrior  bold, 
"  If  that  my  frame  were  bent  and  old, 
And  my  thin  blood  dropp'd  slow  and  cold 

As  icicle  in  thaw ; 
But  while  my  heart  can  feel  it  dance, 
Blithe  as  the  sparkling  wine  of  France, 
And  this  good  arm  wields  sword  or  lance, 

I  mock  these  words  of  awe !" 


He  said  ;  the  wicket  felt  the  sway 

Of  his  strong  hand,  and  straight  gave  way, 

And,  with  rude  crash  and  jarring  bray, 

The  rusty  bolts  withdraw  ; 
But  o'er  the  threshold  as  he  strode, 
And  forward  took  the  vaulted  road, 
An  unseen  arm,  with  force  amain, 
The  ponderous  gate  flung  close  again, 

And  rusted  bolt  and  bar 
Spontaneous  took  their  place  once  more, 
While  the  deep  arch  with  sullen  roar 

Return'd  their  surly  jar. 
"  Now  closed  is  the  gin  and  the  prey  within, 

By  the  Rood  of  Lanercost ! 
But  he  that  would  win  the  war-wolfs  skin 

May  rue  him  of  his  boast." 
Thus  muttering,  on  the  Warrior  went, 
By  dubious  light  down  steep  descent. 

XVIII. 

Unbarr'd,  unlock'd,  unwatch'd,  a  port 
Led  to  the  Castle's  outer  court : 
There  the  main  fortress,  broad  and  tall, 
Spread  its  long  range  of  bower  and  hall, 

And  towers  of  varied  size, 
Wrought  with  each  ornament  extreme 
That  Gothic  art,  in  wildest  dream 

Of  fancy,  could  devise ; 
But  full  between  the  Warrior's  way 
And  the  main  portal  arch,  there  lay 

An  inner  moat ; 

Nor  bridge  nor  boat 
Affords  De  Vaux  the  means  to  cross 
The  clear,  profound,  and  silent  fosse. 
His  arms  aside  in  haste  he  flings, 
Cuirass  of  steel  and  hauberk  rings, 
And  down  falls  helm,  and  down  the  shield, 
Rough  with  the  dints  of  many  a  field. 
Fair  was  his  manly  form,  and  fair 
His  keen  dark  eye,  and  close-curl'd  hair, 
When,  all  unarm'd,  save  that  the  brand 
Of  well-proved  metal  graced  his  hand, 
With  nought  to  fence  his  dauntless  breast 
But  the  close  gipon's1  under-vest, 
Whose  sullied  buff  the  sable  stains 
Of  hauberk  and  of  mail  retains, — 
Roland  de  Vaux  upon  the  brim 
Of  the  broad  moat  stood  prompt  to  swim. 

XIX. 

Accoutred  thus  he  dared  the  tide, 
And  soon  he  reach'd  the  farther  side, 

And  enter'd  soon  the  Hold, 
And  paced  a  hall,  whose  walls  so  wide 
Were  blazon'd  all  with  feats  of  pride, 

By  warriors  done  of  old. 
In  middle  lists  they  counter'd  here, 


1  A  sort  of  doublet,  worn  beneath  the  armor. 


396 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


While  trumpets  seem'd  to  blow ; 
And  there,  in  den  or  desert  drear, 

They  quell'd  gigantic  foe,1 
Braved  the  fierce  griffin  in  his  ire, 
Or  faced  the  dragon's  breath  of  fire. 
Strange  in  their  arms,  and  strange  in  face, 
Heroes  they  seem'd  of  ancient  race, 
Whose  deeds  of  arms,  and  race,  and  name, 
Forgotten  long  by  later  fame, 

Were  here  depicted  to  appall2 
Those  of  an  age  degenerate 
Whose  bold  intrusion  braved  their  fate 

In  this  enchanted  hall. 
For  some  short  space  the  venturous  knight 
With  these  high  marvels  fed  his  sight, 
Then  sought  the  chamber's  upper  end, 
Where  three  broad  easy  steps  ascend 

To  an  arch'd  portal  door, 
In  whose  broad  folding  leaves  of  state 
Was  framed  a  wicket  window-grate ; 

And,  ere  he  ventured  more, 
The  gallant  Knight  took  earnest  view 
The  grated  wicket-window  through. 

XX. 

Oh  for  his  arms !    Of  martial  weed 
Had  never  mortal  Knight  such  need ! — 
He  spied  a  stately  gallery ;  all 
Of  snow-white  marble  was  the  wall, 

The  vaulting,  and  the  floor ; 
And,  contrast  strange !  on  either  hand 
There  stood  array'd  in  sable  band 

Four  Maids  whom  Afric  bore  ;3 
And  each  a  Lybian  tiger  led, 
Held  by  as  bright  and  frail  a  thread 

As  Lucy's  golden  hair, — 
For  the  leash  that  bound  these  monsters  dread 

Was  but  of  gossamer. 
Each  Maiden's  short  barbaric  vest4 
Left  all  unclosed  the  knee  and  breast, 

And  limbs  of  shapely  jet ; 
White  was  their  vest  and  turban's  fold, 
On  arms  and  ankles  rings  of  gold 

In  savage  pomp  were  set; 
A  quiver  on  their  shoulders  lay, 
And  in  their  hand  an  assagay.5 
Such  and  so  silent  stood  they  there, 

That  Roland  wellnigh  hoped 
He  saw  a  band  of  statues  rare, 
Station'd  the  gazer's  soul  to  scare  ; 

But  when  the  wicket  oped, 
Each  grisly  beast  'gan  upward  draw, 
Roll'd  his  grim  eye,  and  spread  his  claw, 
Scented  the  air,  and  lick'd  his  jaw  ; 
While  these  weird  Maids,  in  Moorish  tongue, 
A  wild  and  dismal  warning  sung. 

1  MS. :  "  They  counter'd  giant  foe." 
a  MS. :  "  Portray'd  by  limner  to  appall." 
8  MS.:  "Four  Maidens  stood  in  sable  band, 
The  blackest  Afrique  bore." 


XXI. 

"  Rash  Adventurer,  bear  thee  back! 

Dread  the  spell  of  Dahomay  ! 
Fear  the  race  of  Zaharak,6 

Daughters  of  the  burning  day ! 

"  When  the  whirlwind's  gusts  are  wheeling, 

Ours  it  is  the  dance  to  braid ; 
Zarah's  sands,  in  pillars  reeling, 

Join  the  measure  that  we  tread, 
When  the  Moon  has  donn'd  her  cloak, 

And  the  stars  are  red  to  see, 
Shrill  when  pipes  the  sad  Siroc, 

Music  meet  for  such  as  we. 

"  Where  the  shatter'd  columns  lie, 

Showing  Carthage  once  had  been, 
If  the  wandering  San  ton's  eye      ; 

Our  mysterious  rites  hath  seen, — 
Oft  he  cons  the  prayer  of  death, 

To  the  nations  preaches  doom, 
'  Azrael's  brand  hath  left  the  sheath  ! 

Moslems,  think  upon  the  tomb !' 

"  Ours  the  scorpion,  ours  the  snake, 

Ours  the  hydra  of  the  fen, 
Ours  the  tiger  of  the  brake, 

All  that  plagues  the  sons  of  men. 
Ours  the  tempest's  midnight  wrack, 

Pestilence  that  wastes  by  day — 
Dread  the  race  of  Zaharak  ! 

Fear  the  spell  of  Dahomay  !" 

XXII. 
Uncouth  and  strange  the  accents  shrill 

Rung  those  vaulted  roofs  among ; 
Long  it  was  ere,  faint  and  still, 

Died  the  far-resounding  song. 
While  yet  the  distant  echoes  roll, 
The  Warrior  communed  with  his  soul. 
"  When  first  I  took  this  venturous  quest, 

I  swore  upon  the  Rood 
Neither  to  stop,  nor  turn,  nor  rest, 

For  evil  or  for  good. 
My  forward  path,  too  well  I  ween, 
Lies  yonder  fearful  ranks  between  ! 
For  man  unarm'd,  'tis  bootless  hope 
With  tigers  and  with  fiends  to  cope  ; — 
Yet,  if  I  turn,  what  waits  me  there, 
Save  famine  dire  and  fell  despair  ?— 
Other  conclusion  let  me  try, 
Since,  choose  howe'er  I  list,  I  die. 
Forward,  lies  faith  and  knightly  fame ; 
Behind,  are  perjury  and  shame. 
In  life  or  death  I  hold  my  word !" 
With  that  he  drew  his  trusty  sword, 

*  MS. :  "  Each  Maiden's  short  and  savage  vest." 

6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

6  Zaharak  or  Zaharah  is  the  Arab  name  of  the  Great  Desert. 


THE   BRIDAL  OF   TRIERMAIN. 


397 


Caught  down  a  banner  from  the  wall, 
And  enter'd  thus  the  fearful  hall. 

XXIII. 
On  high  each  wayward  Maiden  threw 
Her  swarthy  arm,  with  wild  halloo! 
On  either  side  a  tiger  sprung ; — 
Against  the  leftward  foe  he  flung 
The  ready  banner,  to  engage 
With  tangling  folds  the  brutal  rage ; 
The  right-hand  monster  in  mid  air 
He  struck  so  fiercely  and  so  fair, 
Through  gullet  and  through  spinal  bone 
The  trenchant  blade  hath  sheerly  gone. 
His  grisly  brethren  ramp'd  and  yell'd, 
But  the  slight  leash  their  rage  withheld, 
Whilst,  'twixt  their  ranks,  the  dangerous  road 
Firmly,  though  swift,  the  champion  strode. 
Safe  to  the  gallery's  bound  he  drew, 
Safe  pass'd  an  open  portal  through ; 
And  when  against  pursuit  he  flung 
The  gate,  judge  if  the  echoes  rung ! 
Onward  his  daring  course  he  bore, 
While,  mix'd  with  dying  growl  and  roar, 
Wild  jubilee  and  loud  hurra 
Pursued  him  on  his  venturous  way. 

XXIV. 

"  Hurra,  hurra !  Our  watch  is  done ! 
We  hail  once  more  the  tropic  sun. 
Pallid  beams  of  northern  day, 
Farewell,  farewell !  Hurra,  hurra ! 

"  Five  hundred  years  o'er  this  cold  glen 
Hath  the  pale  sun  come  round  agen ; 
Foot  of  man,  till  now,  hath  ne'er 
Dared  to  cross  the  Hall  of  Fear. 

"  Warrior !  thou  whose  dauntless  heart 
Gives  us  from  our  ward  to  part, 
Be  as  strong  in  future  trial, 
Where  resistance  is  denial. 

"  Now  for  Afric's  glowing  sky, 
Zwenga  wide  and  Atlas  high, 

Zaharak  and  Dahomay ! 

Mount  the  winds  !  Hurra,  hurra !" 

XXV. 

The  wizard  song  at  distance  died, 

As  if  in  ether  borne  astray, 
While  through  waste  halls  and  chambers  wide 

The  Knight  pursued  his  steady  way, 
Till  to  a  lofty  dome  he  came, 
That  flash'd  with  such  a  brilliant  flame,1 
As  if  the  wealth  of  all  the  world 
Were  there  in  rich  confusion  hurl'd. 


i  MS. 


■ "  golden  flame." 


For  here  the  gold,  in  sandy  heaps, 
With  duller  earth  incorporate,  sleeps ; 
Was  there  in  ingots  piled,  and  there 
Coin'd  badge  of  empery  it  bare ; 
Yonder,  huge  bars  of  silver  lay, 
Dimm'd  by  the  diamond's  neighboring 

ray, 
Like  the  pale  moon  in  morning  day ; 
And  in  the  midst  four  Maidens  stand, 
The  daughters  of  some  distant  land. 
Their  hue  was  of  the  dark-red  dye 
That  fringes  oft  a  thunder  sky ; 
Their  hands  palmetto  baskets  bare, 
And  cotton  fillets  bound  their  hair ; 
Slim  was  their  form,  their  mien  was  shy, 
To  earth  they  bent  the  humbled  eye, 
Folded  their  arms,  and  suppliant  kneel'd, 
And  thus  their  proffer'd  gifts  reveal'd.2 

XXVI. 

CHORUS. 
"See  the  treasures  Merlin  piled, 
Portion  meet  for  Arthur's  child. 
Bathe  in  Wealth's  unbounded  stream, 
Wealth  that  Avarice  ne'er  could  dream !" 

FIRST  MAIDEN. 
"  See  these  clots  of  virgin  gold ! 
Sever'd  from  the  sparry  mould, 
Nature's  mystic  alchemy 
In  the  mine  thus  bade  them  lie ; 
And  their  orient  smile  can  win 
Kings  to  stoop,  and  saints  to  sin." — 

SECOND  MAIDEN. 
" See  these  pearls,  that  long  have  slept; 
These  were  tears  by  Naiads  wept 
For  the  loss  of  Marinel. 
Tritons  in  the  silver  shell 
Treasured  them,  till  hard  and  white 
As  the  teeth  of  Amphitrite." — 

THIRD  MAIDEN. 

"  Does  a  livelier  hue  delight? 
Here  are  rubies  blazing  bright, 
Here  the  emerald's  fairy  green, 
And  the  topaz  glows  between ; 
Here  their  varied  hues  unite 
In  the  changeful  chrysolite." — 

FOURTH  MAIDEN. 

"  Leave  these  gems  of  poorer  shine, 
Leave  them  all,  and  look  on  mine ! 
While  their  glories  I  expand, 
Shade  thine  eyebrows  with  thy  hand. 
Mid-day  sun  and  diamond's  blaze 
Blind  the  rash  beholder's  gaze."— 

2  MS. :  "  And,  suppliant  as  on  earth  they  kneel'd, 
The  gifts  they  proffer'd  thus  reveal'd." 


298 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


cnoRrs. 
"Warrior,  seize  the  splendid  store; 
Would  'twere  all  our  mountains  bore ! 
We  should  ne'er  in  future  story 
Bead,  Peru,  thy  perish'd  glory !" 

XXVII. 
Calmly  and  unconcern'd,  the  Knight 
Waved  aside  the  treasures  bright : — 
"  Gentle  Maidens,  rise,  I  pray ! 
Bar  not  thus  my  destined  way. 
Let  these  boasted  brilliant  toys 
Braid  the  hair  of  girls  and  boys  I1 
Bid  your  streams  of  gold  expand 
O'er  proud  London's  thirsty  land. 
De  Vaux  of  wealth  saw  never  need, 
Save  to  purvey  him  arms  and  steed, 
And  all  the  ore  he  deign'd  to  hoard 
Inlays  his  helm,  and  hilts  his  sword." 
Thus  gently  parting  from  their  hold, 
He  left,  unmoved,  the  dome  of  gold. 

XXVIII. 

And  now  the  morning  sun  was  high, 
De  Vaux  was  weary,  faint,  and  dry ; 
When,  lo !  a  plashing  sound  he  hears, 
A  gladsome  signal  that  he  nears 

Some  frolic  water-run; 
And  soon  he  reach'd  a  court-yard  square, 
Where,  dancing  in  the  sultry  air, 
Toss'd  high  aloft,  a  fountain  fair 

Was  sparkling  in  the  sun. 
On  right  and  left,  a  fair  arcade 
In  long  perspective  view  display'd 
Alleys  and  bowers,  for  sun  or  shade : 

But,  full  in  front,  a  door, 
Low-brow'd  and  dark,  seem'd  as  it  led 
To  the  lone  dwelling  of  the  dead, 

Whose  memory  was  no  more. 

XXIX. 
Here  stopp'd  De  Vaux  an  instant's  space, 
To  bathe  his  parched  lips  and  face, 

And  mark'd  with  well-pleased  eye, 
Befracted  on  the  fountain  stream, 
In  rainbow  hues,  the  dazzling  beam 

Of  that  gay  summer  sky. 
His  senses  felt  a  mild  control, 
Like  that  which  lulls  the  weary  soul, 

From  contemplation  high 
Belaxing,  when  the  ear  receives 
The  music  that  the  greenwood  leaves 

Make  to  the  breezes'  sigh. 

XXX. 

And  oft  in  such  a  dreamy  mood, 
The  half-shut  eye  can  frame 

1  MS. :  "  Let  those  boasted  gems  and  pearls 
Braid  the  hair  of  toy-caught  girls." 


Fair  apparitions  in  the  wood, 

As  if  the  nymphs  of  field  aud  flood 

In  gay  procession  came. 
Are  these  of  such  fantastic  mould, 

Seen  distant  down  the  fair  arcade, 
These  Maids  enlink'd  in  sister-fold, 

Who,  late  at  bashful  distance  staid, 

Now  tripping  from  the  greenwood  shade, 
Nearer  the  musing  champion  draw, 
And,  in  a  pause  of  seeming  awe, 

Again  stand  doubtful  now  ? — 
Ah,  that  sly  pause  of  witching  powers ! 
That  seems  to  say,  "  To  please  be  ours, 

Be  yours  to  tell  us  how." 
Their  hue  was  of  the  golden  glow 
That  suns  of  Candahar  bestow, 
O'er  which  in  slight  suffusion  flows 
A  frequent  tinge  of  paly  rose ; 
Their  limbs  were  fashion'd  fair  and  free, 
In  nature's  justest  symmetry ; 
And,  wreathed  with  flowers,  with  odors 

graced, 
Their  raven  ringlets  reach'd  the  waist : 
In  eastern  pomp,  its  gilding  pale 
The  hennah  lent  each  shapely  nail, 
And  the  dark  sumah  gave  the  eye 
More  liquid  and  more  lustrous  dye. 
The  spotless  veil  of  misty  lawn, 
In  studied  disarrangement  drawn 

The  form  and  bosom  o'er, 
To  win  the  eye,  or  tempt  the  touch, 
For  modesty  show'd  all  too  much — 

Too  much — yet  promised  more. 

XXXI. 

"  Gentle  Knight,  a  while  delay," 
Thus  they  sung,  "  thy  toilsome  way, 
While  we  pay  the  duty  due 
To  our  Master  and  to  you. 
Over  Avarice,  over  Fear, 
Love  triumphant  led  thee  here ; 
Warrior,  list  to  us,  for  we 
Are  slaves  to  Love,  are  friends  to  thee. 
Though  no  treasured  gems  have  we, 
To  proffer  on  the  bended  knee, 
Though  we  boast  nor  arm  nor  heart 
For  the  assagay  or  dart, 
Swains  allow  each  simple  girl 
Buby  lip  and  teeth  of  pearl ; 
Or,  if  dangers  more  you  prize, 
Flatterers  find  them  in  our  eyes. 

i  "  Stay  then,  gentle  Warrior,  stay, 
Best  till  evening  steal  on  day ; 
Stay,  oh  stay ! — in  yonder  bowers 
We  will  braid  thy  locks  with  flowers, 
Spread  the  feast  and  fill  the  wine, 
Charm  thy  ear  with  sounds  divine, 
Weave  our  dances  till  delight 
Yield  to  languor,  day  to  night. 


THE  BKIDAL  OF  TEIERMAIN. 


399 


Then  shall  she  you  most  approve 
Sing  the  lays  that  best  you  love, 
Soft  thy  mossy  couch  shall  spread, 
Watch  thy  pillow,  prop  thy  head, 
Till  the  weary  night  be  o'er — 
Gentle  Warrior,  wouldst  thou  more  ? 
Wouldst  thou  more,  fair  Warrior  ? — she 
Is  slave  to  Love,  and  slave  to  thee." 

XXXII. 

Oh,  do  not  hold  it  for  a  crime 
In  the  bold  hero  of  my  rhyme, 

For  Stoic  look, 

And  meet  rebuke, 
He  lack'd  the  heart  or  time ; 
As  round  the  band  of  sirens  trip, 
He  kiss'd  one  damsel's  laughing  lip,1 
And  press'd  another's  proffer'd  hand, 
Spoke  to  them  all  in  accents  bland, 
But  broke  their  magic  circle  through ; 
"Kind  Maids,"  he  said,  "adieu,  adieu! 
My  fate,  my  fortune,  forward  lies." 
He  said,  and  vanish'd  from  their  eyes ; 
But,  as  he  dared  that  darksome  way, 
Still  heard  behind  their  lovely  lay : — 
"  Fair  Flower  of  Courtesy,  depart ! 
Go,  where  the  feelings  of  the  heart 
With  the  warm  pulse  in  concord  move ; 
Go,  where  Virtue  sanctions  Love !" 

XXXIII. 

Downward  De  Vaux  through  darksome 
ways 

And  ruin'd  vaults  has  gone, 
Till  issue  from  their  wilder'd  maze, 

Or  safe  retreat,  seem'd  none, — 
And  e'en  the  dismal  path  he  strays 

Grew  worse  as  he  went  on. 
For  cheerful  sun,  for  living  air, 
Foul  vapors  rise  and  mine-fires  glare, 
Whose  fearful  light  the  dangers  show'd 
That  dogg'd  him  on  that  dreadful  road. 
Deep  pits,  and  lakes  of  waters  dun, 
They  show'd,  but  show'd  not  how  to 

shun. 
These  scenes2  of  desolate  despair, 
These  smothering  clouds  of  poison'd  air, 
How  gladly  had  De  Vaux  exchanged, 
Though  'twere  to  face  yon  tigers  ranged ! 

Nay,  soothful  bards  have  said 
So  perilous  his  state  seem'd  now, 
He  wish'd  him  under  arbor  bough 

With  Asia's  willing  maid. 
When,  joyful  sound !  at  distance  near 
A  trumpet  flourish'd  loud  and  clear, 
And  as  it  ceased,  a  lofty  lay 
Seem'd  thus  to  chide  his  lagging  way. 

1  MS. :  "  As  round  the  band  of  sirens  press'd, 
One  damsel's  laughing  lip  he  kiss'd." 


XXXIV. 

"  Son  of  Honor,  theme  of  story, 
Think  on  the  reward  before  ye ! 
Danger,  darkness,  toil,  despise ; 
'Tis  Ambition  bids  thee  rise. 

"  He  that  would  her  heights  ascend 
Many  a  weary  step  must  wend ; 
Hand  and  foot  and  knee  he  tries ; 
Thus  Ambition's  minions  rise. 

"  Lag  not  now,  though  rough  the  way : 
Fortune's  mood  brooks  no  delay ; 
Grasp  the  boon  that's  spread  before  ye, 
Monarch's  power,  and  Conqueror's  glory !" 

It  ceased.    Advancing  on  the  sound, 
A  steep  ascent  the  Wanderer  found, 

And  then  a  turret  stair : 
Nor  climb'd  he  far  its  steepy  round 

Till  fresher  blew  the  air ; 
And  next  a  welcome  glimpse  was  given, 
That  cheer'd  him  with  the  light  of  heaven. 

At  length  his  toil  had  won 
A  lofty  hall  with  trophies  dress'd, 
Where,  as  to  greet  imperial  guest, 
Four  Maidens  stood,  whose  crimson  vest 

Was  bound  with  golden  zone. 

XXXV. 

Of  Europe  seem'd  the  damsels  all ; 
The  first  a  nymph  of  lively  Gaul, 
Whose  easy  step  and  laughing  eye 
Her  borrow'd  air  of  awe  belie ; 

The  next  a  maid  of  Spain, 
Dark-eyed,  dark-hair'd,  sedate,  yet  bold ; 
White  ivory  skin  and  tress  of  gold 
Her  shy  and  bashful  comrade  told 

For  daughter  of  Almaine.    — 
These  Maidens  bore  a  royal  robe, 
With  crown,  with  sceptre,  and  with  globe, 

Emblems  of  empery ; 
The  fourth  a  space  behind  them  stood, 
And  leant  upon  a  harp,  in  mood 

Of  minstrel  ecstasy. 
Of  merry  England  she,  in  dress 
Like  ancient  British  Druidess. 
Her  hair  an  azure  fillet  bound, 
Her  graceful  vesture  swept  the  ground, 

And,  in  her  hand  display'd, 
A  crown  did  that  fourth  Maiden  hold, 
But  unadorn'd  with  gems  and  gold, 

Of  glossy  laurel  made.3 

XXXVI. 

At  once  to  brave  De  Vaux  knelt  down 
These  foremost  Maidens  three, 

2  MS.:  "This  state,"  &c. 

3  MS. :  "  Of  laurel  leaves  was  made." 


400 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Aud  proffer'd  sceptre,  robe,  and  crown, 

Liegedom  and  seignorie, 
O'er  many  a  region  wide  and  fair, 
Destined,  they  said,  for  Arthur's  heir ; 

But  homage  would  he  none : — l 
"  Rather,"  he  said,  "  De  Vaux  would  ride, 
A  warden  of  the  Border-side, 
In  plate  and  mail,  than,  robed  in  pride, 

A  monarch's  empire  own  ; 
Rather,  far  rather,  would  he  be 
A  free-born  knight  of  England  free, 

Than  sit  on  despot's  throne." 
So  pass'd  he  on,  when  that  fourth  Maid, 

As  starting  from  a  trance, 
Upon  the  harp  her  finger  laid ; 
Her  magic  touch  the  chords  obey'd, 

Their  soul  awaked  at  once ! 

SONG  OF  THE  FOTJETH  MAIDEN. 
"  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 
Stately  Towers,  and  Banner'd  Keep ; 
Bid  your  vaulted  echoes  moan, 
As  the  dreaded  step  they  own. 

"  Fiends,  that  wait  on  Merlin's  spell, 
Hear  the  foot-fall !  mark  it  well ! 
Spread  your  dusky  wings  abroad,2 
Boune  ye  for  your  homeward  road ! 

"  It  is  His,  the  first  who  e'er 
Dared  the  dismal  Hall  of  Fear; 
His,  who  hath  the  snares  defied 
Spread  by  Pleasure,  Wealth,  and  Pride. 

"  Quake  to  your  foundations  deep, 
Bastion  huge,  and  Turret  steep  !3 
Tremble,  Keep!  and  totter,  Tower! 
This  is  Gyneth's  waking  hour." 

XXXVII. 

Thus  while  she  sung,  the  venturous  Knight 
Has  reach'd  a  bower,  where  milder  light4 

Through  crimson  curtains  fell ; 
Such  soften'd  shade  the  hill  receives 
Her  purple  veil  when  twilight  leaves 

Upon  its  western  swell. 
That  bower,  the  gazer  to  bewitch, 
Hath  wondrous  store  of  rare  and  rich 

As  e'er  was  seen  with  eye ; 
For  there  by  magic  skill,  I  wis, 
Form  of  each  thing  that  living  is 

Was  limn'd  in  proper  dye. 
All  seem'd  to  sleep — the  timid  hare 
On  form,  the  stag  upon  his  lair, 
The  eagle  in  her  eyrie  fair 

Between  the  earth  and  sky. 

1  MS. :  "  But  the  firm  knight  pass'd  on." 

2  MS. :  "  Spread  your  pennons  all  abroad." 
8  MS. : "  and  battled  keep." 


But  what  of  pictured  rich  and  rare5 
Could  win  De  Vaux's  eye-glance,  where, 
Deep  slumbering  in  the  fatal  chair, 

He  saw  King  Arthur's  child ! 
Doubt,  and  anger,  and  dismay, 
From  her  brow  had  pass'd  away, 
Forgot  was  that  fell  tourney-day, 

For,  as  she  slept,  she  smiled : 
It  seem'd  that  the  repentant  Seer 
Her  sleep  of  many  a  hundred  year 

With  gentle  dreams  beguiled. 

XXXVIII. 

That  form  of  maiden  loveliness, 

'Twixt  childhood  and  'twixt  youth, 
That  ivory  chair,  that  sylvan  dress, 
The  arras  and  ankles  bare,  express 

Of  Lyulph's  tale  the  truth. 
Still  upon  her  garment's  hem 
Vanoc's  blood  made  purple  gem, 
And  the  warder  of  command 
Cumber'd  still  her  sleeping  hand ; 
Still  her  dark  locks  dishevell'd  flow 
From  net  of  pearl  o'er  breast  of  snow ; 
And  so  fair  the  slumberer  seems, 
That  De  Vaux  impeach'd  his  dreams, 
Vapid  all  and  void  of  might, 
Hiding  half  her  charms  from  sight. 
Motionless  a  while  he  stands, 
Folds  his  arms  and  clasps  his  hands, 
Trembling  in  his  fitful  joy, 
Doubtful  how  he  should  destroy 

Long-enduring  spell ; 
Doubtful,  too,  when  slowly  rise 
Dark-fringed  lids  of  Gyneth's  eyes, 

What  these  eyes  shall  tell. — 
"  St.  George !  St.  Mary !  can  it  be 
That  they  will  kindly  look  on  me I" 

XXXIX. 

Gently,  lo!  the  Warrior  kneels, 
Soft  that  lovely  hand  he  steals, 
Soft  to  kiss,  and  soft  to  clasp — 
But  the  warder  leaves  her  grasp ; 

Lightning  flashes,  rolls  the  thunder! 
Gyneth  startles  from  her  sleep, 
Totters  Tower,  and  trembles  Keep, 

Burst  the  Castle  walls  asunder ! 
Fierce  and  frequent  were  the  shocks, — 

Melt  the  magic  halls  away ; 

But  beneath  their  mystic  rocks, 

In  the  arms  of  bold  De  Vaux, 

Safe  the  princess  lay ; 
Safe  and  free  from  magic  power, 
Blushing  like  the  rose's  flower 

Opening  to  the  day ; 


*  MS.: 


'soften'd  light." 


6  MS. :  "  But  what  of  rich  or  what  of  rare.' 


THE   BKIDAL   OF   TEIEKMAIN. 


401 


And  round  the  Champion's  brows  were  bound 
The  crown  that  Druidess  had  wound, 

Of  the  green  laurel-bay. 
And  this  was  what  remain'd  of  all 
The  wealth  of  each  enchanted  hall, 

The  Garland  and  the  Dame : 
But  where  should  Warrior  seek  the  meed 
Due  to  high  worth  for  daring  deed, 

Except  from  Love  and  Fame  ! 


CONCLUSION. 


I. 


My  Lucy,  when  the  Maid  is  won, 

The  Minstrel's  task,  thou  know'st,  is  done ; 

And  to  require  of  bard 
That  to  his  dregs  the  tale  should  run, 

Were  ordinance  too  hard. 
Our  lovers,  briefly  be  it  said, 
Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  wed,1 

When  tale  or  play  is  o'er ; 
Lived  long  and  blest,  loved  fond  and  true, 
And  saw  a  numerous  race  renew 

The  honors  that  they  bore. 
Know,  too,  that  when  a  pilgrim  strays, 
In  morning  mist  or  evening  maze, 

Along  the  mountain  lone, 
That  fairy  fortress  often  mocks 
His  gaze  upon  the  castled  rocks 

Of  the  valley  of  St.  John ; 
But  never  man  since  brave  De  Vaux 

The  charmed  portal  won. 


MS. 


2  MS. 


MS. 


"  Yet  know,  this  maid  and  warrior  too 

Wedded  as  lovers  wont  to  do." 

"That  melts  whene'er  the  breezes  blow, 
Or  beams  a  cloudless  sun." 

"  sylvan." 

*  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

6  "  The  '  Bridal  of  Triermain'  is  written  in  the  style  of  Mr. 
Walter  Scott;  and  if  in  magnis  voluisse  sal  est,  the  author, 
whatever  may  be  the  merits  of  his  work,  has  earned  the  meed 
at  which  he  aspires.  To  attempt  a  serious  imitation  of  the 
most  popular  living  poet — and  this  imitation  not  a  short  frag- 
ment, in  which  all  his  peculiarities  might,  with  comparatively 
little  difficulty,  be  concentrated,  but  a  long  and  complete 
work,  with  plot,  character,  and  machinery  entirely  new,  and 
with  no  manner  of  resemblance,  therefore,  to  a  parody  on  any 
production  of  the  original  author, — this  must  be  acknowledged 
an  attempt  of  no  timid  daring." — Edinburgh  Magazine,  1817. 


"  The  fate  of  this  work  must  depend  on  its  own  merits,  for 
it  is  not  borne  up  by  any  of  the  adventitious  circumstances 
that  frequently  contribute  to  literary  success.  It  is  ushered 
into  the  world  in  the  most  modest  guise ;  and  the  author,  we 
believe,  is  entirely  unknown.  Should  it  fail  altogether  of  a 
favorable  reception,  we  shall  be  disposed  to  abate  something 
of  the  indignation  which  we  have  occasionally  expressed 
26 


'Tis  now  a  vain  illusive  show, 
That  melts  whene'er  the  sunbeams  glow, 
Or  the  fresh  breeze  hath  blown.2 

H. 

But  see,  my  love,  where  far  below 
Our  lingering  wheels  are  moving  slow, 

The  whiles,  up-gazing  still, 
Our  menials  eye  our  steepy  way, 
Marvelling,  perchance,  what  whim  can  stay 
Our  steps,  when  eve  is  sinking  gray 

On  this  gigantic  hill. 
So  think  the  vulgar — Life  and  time 
Ring  all  their  joys  in  one  dull  chime 

Of  luxury  and  ease  ; 
And,  oh !  beside  these  simple  knaves, 
How  many  better  born  are  slaves 

To  such  coarse  joys  as  these, — 
Dead  to  the  nobler  sense  that  glows 
When  nature's  grander  scenes  unclose ! 
But,  Lucy,  we  will  love  them  yet, 
The  mountain's  misty3  coronet, 

The  greenwood,  and  the  wold; 
And  love  the  more,  that  of  their  maze 
Adventure  high  of  other  days 

By  ancient  bards  is  told, 
Bringing,  perchance,  like  my  poor  tale, 
Some  moral  truth  in  fiction's  veil  ;4 
Nor  love  them  less,  that  o'er  the  hill 
The  evening  breeze,  as  now,  comes  chill; — 

My  love  shall  wrap  her  warm, 
And,  fearless  of  the  slippery  way, 
While  safe  she  trips  the  heathy  brae, 

Shall  hang  on  Arthur's  arm. 

THE  END  OF  TRIERMAIN.5 


against  the  extravagant  gaudiness  of  modern  publications, 
and  imagine  that  there  are  readers  whose  suffrages  are  not 
to  be  obtained  by  a  work  without  a  name. 

"  The  merit  of  the  '  Bridal  of  Triermain,'  in  our  estimation, 
consists  in  its  perfect  simplicity,  and  in  interweaving  the 
refinement  of  modern  times  with  the  peculiarities  of  the 
ancient  metrical  romance,  which  are  in  no  respect  violated. 
In  point  of  interest,  the  first  and  second  cantos  are  superior 
to  the  third.  One  event  naturally  arises  out  of  that  which 
precedes  it,  and  the  eye  is  delighted  and  dazzled  with  a  series 
of  moving  pictures,  each  of  them  remarkable  for  its  individ- 
ual splendor,  and  all  contributing  more  or  less  directly  to 
produce  the  ultimate  result.  The  third  canto  is  less  profuse 
of  incident,  and  somewhat  more  monotonous  in  its  effect. 
This,  we  conceive,  will  be  the  impression  on  the  first  perusal 
of  the  poem.  When  we  have  leisure  to  mark  the  merits  of 
the  composition,  and  to  separate  them  from  the  progress  of 
the  events,  we  are  disposed  to  think  that  the  extraordinary 
beauty  of  the  description  will  nearly  compensate  for  the 
defect  we  have  already  noticed. 

"  But  it  is  not  from  the  fable  that  an  adequate  notion  of  the 
merits  of  this  singular  work  can  be  formed.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  it  as  an  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  style  of  composi- 
tion ;  and  if  we  are  compelled  to  make  the  general  approba- 
tion more  precise  and  specific,  we  should  say  that,  if  it  be 
inferior  in  vigor  to  some  of  his  productions,  it  equals  or  sur- 
passes them  in  elegance  and  beauty ;  that  it  is  more  uniformly 


402 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


tender,  and  far  less  infected  with  the  unnatural  prodigies 
and  coarsenesses  of  the  earlier  romancers.  In  estimating  its 
merits,  however,  we  should  forget  that  it  is  offered  as  an 
imitation.  The  diction  undoubtedly  reminds  us  of  a  rhythm 
and  cadence  we  have  heard  before;  but  the  sentiments,  de- 
BCiiptions,  and  characters,  have  qualities  that  are  native  and 
unborrowed. 

"  In  his  sentiments  the  author  has  avoided  the  slight  defi- 
ciency we  ventured  to  ascribe  to  bis  prototype.  The  pictures 
of  pure  description  are  perpetually  illuminated  with  reflec- 
tions that  bring  out  their  coloring  and  increase  their  moral 
effect:  these  reflections  are  suggested  by  the  scene,  produced 
without  effort,  and  expressed  witli  unaffected  simplicity.  The 
descriptions  are  spirited  and  striking,  possessing  an  airiness 
salted  to  the  mythology  and  manners  of  the  times,  though 
restrained  by  correct  taste.  Among  the  characters,  many  of 
which  are  such  as  we  expect  to  find  in  this  department  of 
poetry,  it  is  impossible  not  to  distinguish  that  of  Arthur,  in 
which,  identifying  himself  with  his  original,  the  author  has 
contrived  to  unite  the  valor  of  the  hero,  the  courtesy  and 
dignity  of  the  monarch,  and  the  amiable  weaknesses  of  any 
ordinary  mortal,  and  thus  to  present  to  us  the  express  line- 
aments of  the  flower  of  chivalry." — Quarterly  Review,  1813. 


"  With  regard  to  this  poem,  we  have  often  heard,  from  what 
may  be  deemed  good  authority,  a  very  curious  anecdote,  which 
we  shall  give  merely  as  such,  without  vouching  for  the  truth 
of  it.  When  the  article  entitled  'The  Inferno  of  Altisidora' 
appeared  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1809,  it  will 
be  remembered  that  the  last  fragment  contained  in  that  sin- 
gular production  is  the  beginning  of  the  romance  of  'Trier- 
main.'  Report  says  that  the  fragment  was  not  meant  to  be  an 
imitation  of  Scott,  but  of  Coleridge,  and  that  for  this  purpose 
the  author  borrowed  both  the  name  of  the  hero  and  the  scene 
from  the  then  unpublished  poem  of  '  Christabel ;'  and  fur- 
ther, that  so  few  had  ever  seen  the  manuscript  of  that  poem 
that  amongst  these  few  the  author  of  'Triermain'  could  not 
be  mistaken.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  well  known  that  on  the 
appearance  of  this  fragment  in  the  Annual  Register,  it  was 
universally  taken  for  an  imitation  of  Walter  Scott,  and  never 
once  of  Coleridge.  The  author  perceiving  this,  and  that  the 
poem  was  well  received,  instantly  set  about  drawing  it  out 
into  a  regular  and  finished  work  ;  for  shortly  after  it  was  an- 
nounced in  the  papers,  and  continued  to  be  so  for  three  long 
years;  the  author,  as  may  be  supposed,  having,  during  that 
period,  his  hands  occasionally  occupied  with  heavier  metal. 
In  1813  the  poem  was  at  last  produced,  avowedly  and  man- 
ifestly as  an  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott ;  and  it  may  easily  be 
observed  that,  from  the  27th  page  onward,  it  becomes  much 
more  decidedly  like  the  manner  of  that  poet  than  it  is  in  the 
preceding  part  which  was  published  in  the  Register,  and 
which  undoubtedly  does  bear  some  similarity  to  Coleridge 
in  the  poetry,  and  more  especially  in  the  rhythm,  as,  e.  g. — 

'Harpers  must  lull  him  to  his  rest 
With  the  slow  soft  tunes  he  loves  the  best, 
Till  r-lcep  sink  down  upon  bis  breast, 
Like  the  dew  on  a  summer  hill.' 

'  It  was  the  dawn  of  an  autumn  day ; 
The  sun  was  struggling  with  frost-fog  gray, 
That,  like  a  silvery  crape,  was  spread 
Round  Skiddaw's  dim  and  distant  head.' 

'  What  time  or  where 

Did  she  pass,  that  maid  with  her  heavenly  brow, 
With  her  look  so  sweet  and  her  eyes  so  fair, 
And  her  graceful  step  and  her  angel  air, 
And  the  eagle  plume  in  her  dark-brown  hair, 
That  pass'd  from  my  bower  e'en  now?' 


'Although  it  fell  as  faint  and  shy 
As  bashful  maiden's  half-form'd  sigh, 
When  she  thinks  her  lover  near.' 

'And  light  they  fell,  as  when  earth  receives, 
In  morn  of  frost,  the  wither'd  leaves, 
That  drop  when  no  winds  blow.' 

'  Or  if  'twas  but  an  airy  thing, 
Such  as  fantastic  slumbers  bring, 
Framed  from  the  rainbow's  varying  dyes, 
Or  fading  tints  of  western  skies.' 

"  These,  it  will  be  seen,  are  not  exactly  Coleridge,  but  they 
are  precisely  such  an  imitation  of  Coleridge  as,  we  conceive, 
another  poet  of  our  acquaintance  would  write:  on  that 
ground,  we  are  inclined  to  give  some  credit  to  the  anecdote 
here  related,  and  from  it  we  leave  our  readers  to  guess,  as  we 
have  done,  who  is  the  author  of  the  poem." — Blackwood's 
Magazine,  April,  1817. 


"  The  quarto  of '  Rokeby'  was  followed,  within  two  months, 
by  the  small  volume  which  had  been  designed  for  a  twin- 
birth  ; — the  MS.  had  been  transcribed  by  one  of  the  Ballan- 
tynes  themselves,  in  order  to  guard  against  any  indiscretion 
of  the  press-people;  and  the  mystification,  aided  and  abetted 
by  Erskine,  in  no  small  degree  heightened  the  interest  of  its 
reception. 

"Scott  says,  in  the  Introduction  to  the  'Lord  of  the  Isles,' 
'As  Mr.  Erskine  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste  for  poetry, 
and  as  I  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix  something  that 
might  resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my  power)  my  friend's  feel- 
ings and  manner,  the  train  easily  caught,  and  two  large 
editions  were  sold.'  Among  the  passages  to  which  he  here 
alludes  are  no  doubt  those  in  which  the  character  of  the 
minstrel  Arthur  is  shaded  with  the  colorings  of  an  almost 
effeminate  gentleness.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  them,  the  '  mighty 
minstrel '  himself,  from  time  to  time,  escapes ;  as,  for  instance, 
where  the  lover  bids  Lucy,  in  the  exquisite  picture  of  cross- 
ing a  mountain  stream,  trust  to  his  '  stalwart  arm,' 

'  Which  could  yon  oak's  prone  trunk  uprear.' 

Nor  can  I  pass  the  compliment  to  Scott's  own  fair  patroness, 
where  Lucy's  admirer  is  made  to  confess,  with  some  moment- 
ary lapse  of  gallantry,  that  he 

'  Ne'er  won, — best  meed  to  minstrel  true, — 
One  favoring  smile  from  fair  Buccleuch ;' 

nor  the  burst  of  genuine  Borderism, — 

'  Bewcastle  now  must  keep  the  hold, 

Speir-Adam's  steeds  must  bide  in  stall ; 
Of  Hartley-burn  the  bowmen  bold 

Must  only  shoot  from  battled  wall; 
And  Liddesdale  may  buckle  spur, 

And  Teviot  now  may  belt  the  brand, 
Taras  and  Ewes  keep  nightly  stir, 

And  Eskdale  foray  Cumberland.'— 

But,  above  all,  the  choice  of  the  scenery,  both  of  the  Intro- 
ductions and  of  the  story  itself,  reveals  the  early  and  treasured 
predilections  of  the  poet. 

"  As  a  whole,  the  '  Bridal  of  Triermain'  appears  to  me  as 
characteristic  of  Scott  as  any  of  his  larger  poems.  His  genius 
pervades  and  animates  it  beneath  a  thin  and  playful  veil, 
which  perhaps  adds  as  much  of  grace  as  it  takes  away  of 
splendor.  As  Wordsworth  says  of  the  eclipse  on  the  lake  of 
.Lugano— 

'  'Tis  sunlight  sheathed  and  gently  charm'd  .J 


THE   BRIDAL  OF  TRIERMAIN. 


403 


and  I  think  there  is  at  once  a  lightness  and  a  polish  of  versi- 
fication beyond  what  he  has  elsewhere  attained.  If  it  be  a 
miniature,  it  is  such  a  one  as  a  Cooper  might  have  hung  fear- 
lessly beside  the  masterpieces  of  Vandyke. 

"  The  Introductions  contain  some  of  the  most  exquisite  pas- 
sages he  ever  produced ;  but  their  general  effect  has  always 
struck  me  as  unfortunate.  No  art  can  reconcile  us  to  con- 
temptuous satire  of  the  merest  frivolities  of  modern  life — 
some  of  them  already,  in  twenty  years,  grown  obsolete — inter- 
laid between  such  bright  visions  of  the  old  world  of  romance, 
when 


'  Strength  was  gigantic,  valor  high, 
And  wisdom  soar'd  beyond  the  sky, 
And  beauty  had  such  matchless  beam 
As  lights  not  now  a  lover's  dream.' 

The  fall  is  grievous,  from  the  hoary  minstrel  of  Newark,  and 
his  feverish  tears  on  Killiecrankie,  to  a  pathetic  swain  who 
can  stoop  to  denounce  as  objects  of  his  jealousy 

'  The  landaulet  and  four  blood-bays— 
The  Hessian  boot  and  pantaloon.' " 

Lockhabt.    Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iv.  pp.  59-64. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Like  Collins,  thread  the  maze  of  Fairy-land. — P.  377. 

Collins,  according  to  Johnson,  "  by  indulging  some  pecu- 
liar habits  of  thought,  was  eminently  delighted  with  those 
flights  of  imagination  which  pass  the  bounds  of  nature,  and 
to  which  the  mind  is  reconciled  only  by  a  passive  acquies- 
cence in  popular  traditions.  He  loved  fairies,  genii,  giants, 
and  monsters;  he  delighted  to  rove  through  the  meanders  of 
enchantment,  to  gaze  on  the  magnificence  of  golden  palaces, 
to  repose  by  the  waterfalls  of  Elysian  gardens." 


Note  B. 


•  the  Baron  of  Triermain  f—  P.  377. 


Triermain  was  a  fief  of  the  barony  of  Gilsland,  in  Cumber- 
land ;  it  was  possessed  by  a  Saxon  family  at  the  time  of  the 
Conquest,  but  "  after  the  death  of  Gilmore,  Lord  of  Tryer- 
maine  and  Torcrossoek,  Hubert  Vaux  gave  Tryermaine  and 
Torcrossock  to  his  second  son,  Ranulph  Vaux;  which  Ra- 
nulph  afterwards  became  heir  to  his  elder  brother  Robert, 
the  founder  of  Lanercost,  who  died  without  issue.  Ranulph, 
being  Lord  of  all  Gilsland,  gave  Gilmore's  lands  to  his  younger 
son,  named  Roland,  and  let  the  barony  descend  to  his  eldest 
son  Robert,  son  of  Ranulph.  Roland  had  issue  Alexander, 
and  he  Ranulph,  after  whom  succeeded  Robert,  and  they 
were  named  Rolands  successively,  that  were  lords  thereof, 
until  the  reign  of  Edward  IV.  That  house  gave  for  arms, 
Vert,  a  bend  dexter,  chequey,  or  and  gules." — Burn's  Antiquv- 
ties  of  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  vol.  ii.  p.  482. 

This  branch  of  Vaux,  with  its  collateral  alliances,  is  now 
represented  by  the  family  of  Braddyl  of  Conishead  Priory,  in 
the  county  palatine  of  Lancaster ;  for  it  appears  that  about 
the  time  above  mentioned,  the  house  of  Triermain  was  united 
to  its  kindred  family  Vaux  of  Caterlen,  and,  by  marriage  with 
the  heiress  of  Delamore  and  Leybourne,  became  the  repre- 
sentative of  those  ancient  and  noble  families.  The  male  line 
failing  in  John  de  Vaux,  about  the  year  1665,  his  daughter 
and  heiress,  Mabel,  married  Christopher  Richmond,  Esq.,  of 
Highhead  Castle,  in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  descended 
from  an  ancient  family  of  that  name,  Lords  of  Corby  Castle, 
in  the  same  county,  soon  after  the  Conquest,  and  which  they 
alienated  about  the  15th  of  Edward  II.,  to  Andrea  de  Harcla, 
Earl  of  Carlisle.  Of  this  family  was  Sir  Thomas  de  Raigc- 
mont  (miles  auratus),  in  the  reign  of  King  Edward  I.,  who 
appears  to  have  greatly  distinguished  himself  at  the  siege  of 
Kacrlaveroc,  with  William,  Baron  of  Leybourne.  In  an  an- 
e icii  t  heraldic  poem,  now  extant,  and  preserved  in  the  British 

(404) 


Museum,  describing  that  siege,1  his  arms  are  stated  to  be,  Or, 
2  bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a  chief  or,  the  same  borne  by  his 
descendants  at  the  present  day.  The  Richmonds  removed  to 
their  castle  of  Highhead  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.,  when 
the  then  representative  of  the  family  married  Margaret, 
daughter  of  Sir  Hugh  Lowther,  by  the  Lady  Dorothy  de  Clif- 
ford, only  child  by  a  second  marriage  of  Henry,  Lord  Clifford, 
great  grandson  of  Lord  John  Clifford,  by  Elizabeth  Percy, 
daughter  of  Henry  (surnamed  Hotspur)  by  Elizabeth  Morti- 
mer, which  said  Elizabeth  was  daughter  of  Edward  Mortimer, 
third  Earl  of  Marche,  by  Philippa,  sole  daughter  and  heiress 
of  Lionel,  Duke  of  Clarence. 

The  third  in  descent  from  the  above-mentioned  John  Rich- 
mond became  the  representative  of  the  families  of  Vaux,  of 
Triermain,  Caterlen,  and  Torcrossock,  by  his  marriage  with 
Mabel  de  Vaux,  the  heiress  of  them.  His  grandson,  Henry 
Richmond,  died  without  issue,  leaving  five  sisters  co-heir- 
esses, four  of  whom  married ;  but  Margaret,  who  married 
William  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Whitehaven,  was  the  only  one  who  had 
male  issue  surviving.  She  had  a  son,  and  a  daughter  married 
to  Henry  Curwen  of  Workington,  Esq.,  who  represented  the 
county  of  Cumberland  for  many  years  in  Parliament,  and  by 
her  had  a  daughter,  married  to  John  Christian,  Esq.  (now 
Curwen).  John,  son  and  heir  of  William  Gale,  married  Sarah, 
daughter  and  heiress  of  Christopher  Wilson  of  Bardsea  Hall, 
in  the  county  of  Lancaster,  by  Margaret,  aunt  and  co-heiress 
of  Thomas  Braddyl,  Esq.,  of  Braddyl,  and  Conishead  Priory, 
in  the  same  county,  and  had  issue  four  sons  and  two  daugh- 
ters— 1st,  William  Wilson,  died  an  infant;  2d,  Wilson,  who 
upon  the  death  of  his  cousin,  Thomas  Braddyl,  without  issue, 
succeeded  to  his  estates,  and  took  the  name  of  Braddyl,  in 
pursuance  of  his  will,  by  the  king's  sign-manual ;  3d,  Wil- 
liam, died  young;  and,  4th,  Henry  Richmond,  a  lieutenant- 
general  of  the  army,  married  Sarah,  daughter  of  the  Rev.  R. 
Baldwin  ;  Margaret  married  Richard  Greaves  Townley,  Esq., 
of  Fulbourne,  in  the  county  of  Cambridge,  and  of  Belltield,  in 
the  county  of  Lancaster ;  Sarah  married  George  Bigland  of 
Bigland  Hall,  in  the  same  county.  Wilson  Braddyl,  eldest 
son  of  John  Gale,  and  grandson  of  Margaret  Richmond,  mar- 
ried Jane,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Matthias  Gale,  Esq.,  of  Cat- 
gill  Hall,  in  the  county  of  Cumberland,  by  Jane,  daughter  and 
heiress  of  the  Rev.  S.  Bennet,  D.D. ;  and,  as  the  eldest  sur- 
viving male  branch  of  the  families  above  mentioned,  he  quar- 
ters, in  addition  to  his  own,  their  paternal  coats  in  the  follow- 
ing order,  as  appears  by  the  records  in  the  College  of  Arms : — 
1st,  Argent,  a  fess  azure,  between  3  saltiers  of  the  same, 
charged  with  an  anchor  between  2  lions'  heads  erased,  or, — 
Gale.  2d,  Or,  1  bars  gemelles  gules,  and  a  chief  or,— Rich- 
mond. 3d,  Or,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and  gules  between  9  gerbes 
gules, — Vaux  of  Caterlen.  4th,  Gules,  a  fess  chequey,  or  and 
gules  between  6  gerbes  or, — Vaux  of  Torcrossock.    5th,  Ar- 


1  This  poem  has  been  recently  edited  by  Sir  Nicolas  Harris 
Nicholas,  1833. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE    BRIDAL   OF   TRIERMAIN. 


405 


gent  (not  vert,  as  stated  by  Burn"),  a  bend  ehequey,  or  and 
gules,  for  Vaux  of  Triermain.  6tb,  Gules,  a  cross  patonce,  or, 
— Delamore.  7th,  Gules,  6  lions  rampant  argent,  3,  2,  and  1, 
— Leybourne.  This  more  detailed  genealogy  of  the  family  of 
Triermain  was  obligingly  sent  to  the  author  by  Major  Braddyl 
of  Conishead  Priory. 


Note  C. 

He  pass'  d  red  Penrith's  Table  Round. — P.  379. 

A  circular  entrenchment,  about  half  a  mile  from  Penrith,  is 
thus  popularly  termed.  The  circle  within  the  ditch  is  about 
one  hundred  and  sixty  paces  in  circumference,  with  open- 
ings, or  approaches,  directly  opposite  to  each  other.  As  the 
ditch  is  on  the  inner  side,  it  could  not  be  intended  for  the 
purpose  of  defence,  and  it  has  reasonably  been  conjectured 
that  the  enclosure  was  designed  for  the  solemn  exercise  of 
feats  of  chivalry,  and  the  embankment  around  for  the  con- 
venience of  the  spectators. 


Note  D. 

Mayburgh's  mound. — P.  379. 

Higher  up  the  river  Eamont  than  Arthur's  Round  Table  is 
a  prodigious  enclosure  of  great  antiquity,  formed  by  a  collec- 
tion of  stones  upon  the  top  of  a  gently  sloping  hill,  called 
Mayburgh.  In  the  plain  which  it  encloses  there  stands  erect 
an  unhewn  stone  of  twelve  feet  in  height.  Two  similar 
masses  are  said  to  have  been  destroyed  during  the  memory 
of  man.  The  whole  appears  to  be  a  monument  of  Druidical 
times. 


Note  E. 


The  Monarch,  breathless  and  amazed, 

Back  on  the  fatal  castle  gazed 

Nor  tower  nor  donjon  could  he  spy, 
Darkening  against  the  morning  sky. — P.  384. 

"We  now  gained  a  view  of  the  Vale  of  St.  John's,  a 

very  narrow  dell,  hemmed  in  by  mountains,  through  which 
a  small  brook  makes  many  meanderings,  washing  little  en- 
closures of  grass-ground,  which  stretch  up  the  rising  of  the 
hills.  In  the  widest  part  of  the  dale  you  are  struck  with  the 
appearance  of  an  ancient  ruined  castle,  which  seems  to  stand 
upon  the  summit  of  a  little  mount,  the  mountains  around 
forming  an  amphitheatre.  This  massive  bulwark  shows  a 
front  of  various  towers,  and  makes  an  awful,  rude,  and  Gothic 
appearance,  with  its  lofty  turrets  and  ragged  battlements ;  we 
traced  the  galleries,  the  bending  arches,  the  buttresses.  The 
greatest  antiquity  stands  characterized  in  its  architecture; 
the  inhabitants  near  it  assert  it  is  an  antediluvian  structure. 

"The  traveller's  curiosity  is  roused,  and  he  prepares  to 
make  a  nearer  approach,  when  that  curiosity  is  put  upon  the 
rack  by  his  being  assured  that,  if  he  advances,  certain  genii 
who  govern  the  place,  by  virtue  of  their  supernatural  art  and 
necromancy,  will  strip  it  of  all  its  beauties,  and  by  enchant- 
ment transform  the  magic  walls.  The  vale  seems  adapted 
for  the  habitation  of  such  beings ;  its  gloomy  recesses  and  re- 


tirements look  like  haunts  of  evil  spirits.  There  was  no  de- 
lusion in  the  report ;  we  were  soon  convinced  of  its  truth ;  for 
this  piece  of  antiquity,  so  venerable  and  noble  in  its  aspect,  as 
we  drew  near,  changed  its  figure,  and  proved  no  other  than  a 
shaken  massive  pile  of  rocks,  which  stand  in  the  midst  of  this 
little  vale,  disunited  from  the  adjoining  mountains,  and  have 
so  much  the  real  form  and  resemblance  of  a  castle  that  they 
bear  the  name  of  the  Castle  Rocks  of  St.  John." — Hutchin- 
son's Excursion  to  the  Lakes,  p.  121. 


Note  F. 


The  flower  of  Chivalry. 
There  Galaad  sat  tcith  manly  grace, 
Yet  maiden  meekness  in  his  face; 
There  Moroll  of  the  iron  mace, 

And  love-lorn  Tristrem  there. — P.  385. 

The  characters  named  in  the  stanza  are  all  of  them  more  or 
less  distinguished  in  the  romances  which  treat  of  King  Arthur 
and  his  Round  Table,  and  their  names  are  strung  together 
according  to  the  established  custom  of  minstrels  upon  such 
occasions ;  for  example,  in  the  ballad  of  the  "  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawaine :" — 

"Sir  Lancelot,  Sir  Stephen  bolde, 
They  rode  with  them  that  daye, 

And,  foremost  of  the  companye, 
There  rode  the  stewarde  Kaye. 

"  Soe  did  Sir  Banier,  and  Sir  Bore, 

And  eke  Sir  Garratte  keen, 
Sir  Tristrem  too,  that  gentle  knight, 

To  the  forest  fresh  and  greene." 


Note  G. 

Lancelot,  that  ever  more 

Look'd  stol'iwvise  on  the  Queen. — P.  385. 

Upon  this  delicate  subject  hear  Richard  Robinson,  citizen 
of  London,  in  his  Assertion  of  King  Arthur: — "But  as  it  is  a 
thing  sufficiently  apparent  that  she  (Guenever,  wife  of  King 
Arthur)  was  beautiful,  so  it  is  a  thing  doubted  whether  she 
was  chaste,  yea  or  no.  Truly,  so  far  as  I  can  with  honestie,  I 
would  spare  the  impayred  honour  and  fame  of  noble  women. 
But  yet  the  truth  of  the  historie  pluckes  me  by  the  eare,  and 
willeth  not  onely,  but  commandeth  me  to  declare  what  the 
ancients  have  deemed  of  her.  To  wrestle  or  contend  with  so 
great  authoritie  were  indeede  unto  mei  a  controversie,  and 
that  greate." — Assertion  of  King  Arthure.  Imprinted  by  John 
Wolfe.    London,  1582. 


Note  H. 

There  were  two  who  loved  their  neighbor's  wives, 
And  one  who  loved  his  own. — P.  386. 

"  In  our  forefathers'  tynie,  when  Papistrie,  as  a  standyng 
poole,  covered  and  overflowed  all  England,  fewe  books  were 


406 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


read  in  our  tongue,  savying  certaine  bookes  of  chevalrie,  as 
they  said,  for  pastime  and  pleasure ;  which,  as  some  say,  were 
made  in  the  monasteries,  by  idle  monks  or  wanton  chanons. 
As  one,  for  example,  La  Morte  (TArthure  ;  the  whole  pleasure 
of  which  book  standeth  in  two  special]  poynts,  in  open  man- 
slaughter and  bold  bawdrye ;  in  which  booke  they  be  counted 
the  noblest  knightes  that  do  kill  most  men  without  any 
quarrell,  and  commit  fowlest  adoulteries  by  sutlest  shiftes; 


as  Sir  Launcelot,  with  the  wife  of  King  Arthur,  his  master ; 
Sir  Tristram,  with  the  wife  of  King  Marke,  his  uncle ;  Sir 
Lamerocke,  with  the  wife  of  King  Lote,  that  was  his  own 
aunt.  This  is  good  stuffe  for  wise  men  to  laugh  at ;  or  honest 
men  to  take  pleasure  at :  yet  I  know  when  God's  Bible  was 
banished  the  Court,  and  La  Morte  (TArthure  received  into  the 
Prince's  chamber."— Ascham's  Schoolmaster. 


E1)t  Hortr  of  tfjr  Eslcs: 


A    POEM,    IN    SIX    CANTOS. 


NOTICE  TO  EDITION  1833. 

The  composition  of  the  "  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  as  we 
now  have  it  in  the  author's  MS.,  seems  to  have  been 
begun  at  Abbotsford  in  the  autumn  of  1814,  and  it 
ended  at  Edinburgh  the  16th  of  December.  Some 
part  of  canto  i.  had  probably  been  committed  to 
writing  in  a  rougher  form  earlier  in  the  year.  The 
original  quarto  appeared  on  the  2d  of  January,  1815.1 

It  may  be  mentioned  that  those  parts  of  this  poem 
which  were  written  at  Abbotsford  were  composed 
almost  all  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
family,  and  many  in  that  of  casual  visitors  also — the 
original  cottage  which  he  then  occupied  not  affording 
him  any  means  of  retirement.  Neither  conversation 
nor  music  seemed  to  disturb  him. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  EDITION  1830. 

I  could  hardly  have  chosen  a  subject  more  popular 
in  Scotland  than  any  thing  connected  with  the  Bruce's 
history,  unless  I  had  attempted  that  of  Wallace.  But 
I  am  decidedly  of  opinion  that  a  popular,  or  what  is 
called  a  taking,  title,  though  well  qualified  to  ensure 
the  publishers  against  loss,  and  clear  their  shelves  of 
the  original  impression,  is  rather  apt  to  be  hazardous 
than  otherwise  to  the  reputation  of  the  author.  He 
who  attempts  a  subject  of  distinguished  popularity 
has  not  the  privilege  of  awakening  the  enthusiasm  of 
his  audience ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  already  awakened, 
and  glows,  it  may  be,  more  ardently  than  that  of  the 
author  himself.  In  this  case,  the  warmth  of  the  au- 
thor is  inferior  to  that  of  the  party  whom  he  addresses, 
who  has,  therefore,  little  chance  of  being,  in  Bayes's 
phrase,  "elevated  and  surprised"  by  what  he  has 
thought  of  with  more  enthusiasm  than  the  writer. 

1  Published  by  Archibald  Constable  &  Co. 

2  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Journal  of  this  voyage,  some  fragments 
of  which  were  printed  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register 
for  1814,  is  now  given  entire  in  his  Life  by  Lockhart,  vol.  iv. 
chap.  28-32. 

3  Harriet,  Duchess  of  Buccleuch,  died  24th  August,  1814. 
Sir  Walter  Scott  received  the  mournful  intelligence  while 


The  sense  of  this  risk,  joined  to  the  consciousness  of 
striving  against  wind  and  tide,  made  the  task  of  com- 
posing the  proposed  poem  somewhat  heavy  and  hope- 
less; but,  like  the  prize-fighter  in  "As  You  Like  it," 
I  was  to  wrestle  for  my  reputation,  and  not  neglect 
any  advantage.  In  a  most  agreeable  pleasure-voyage, 
which  I  have  tried  to  commemorate  in  the  Introduc- 
tion to  the  new  edition  of  the  "  Pirate,"  I  visited,  in 
social  and  friendly  company,2  the  coasts  and  islands 
of  Scotland,  and  made  myself  acquainted  with  the  lo- 
calities of  which  I  meant  to  treat.  But  this  voyage, 
which  was  in  every  other  effect  so  delightful,  was  in  its 
conclusion  saddened  by  one  of  those  strokes  of  fate 
which  so  often  mingle  themselves  with  our  pleasures. 
The  accomplished  and  excellent  person  who  had  re- 
commended to  me  the  subject  for  the  "Lay  df  the 
Last  Minstrel,"  and  to  whom  I  proposed  to  inscribe 
what  I  already  suspected  might  be  the  close  of  my 
poetical  labors,  was  unexpectedly  removed  from  the 
world,  which  she  seemed  only  to  have  visited  for  pur- 
poses of  kindness  and  benevolence.  It  is  needless  to 
say  how  the  author's  feelings,  or  the  composition  of 
his  trifling  work,  were  affected  by  a  circumstance 
which  occasioned  so  many  tears  and  so  much  sorrow.3 
True  it  is  that  the  "Lord  of  the  Isles"  was  con- 
cluded, unwillingly  and  in  haste,  under  the  painful 
feeling  of  one  who  has  a  task  which  must  be  finished, 
rather  than  with  the  ardor  of  one  who  endeavors  to 
perform  that  task  well.  Although  the  poem  cannot 
be  said  to  have  made  a  favorable  impression  on  the 
public,  the  sale  of  fifteen  thousand  copies  enabled  the 
author  to  retreat  from  the  field  with  the  honors  of 
war.4 

In  the  meantime,  what  was  necessarily  to  be  consid- 
ered as  a  failure  was  much  reconciled  to  my  feelings 
by  the  success  attending  my  attempt  in  another  spe- 
cies of  composition.  "Waverley"  had,  under  strict 
incognito,  taken  its  flight  from  the  press  just  before 

visiting  the  Giant's  Causeway,  and  immediately  returned 
home. 

4  "As  Scott  passed  through  Edinburgh  on  his  return  from 
his  voyage,  the  negotiation  as  to  the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles,'  which 
had  been  protracted  through  several  months,  was  completed — 
Constable  agreeing  to  give  fifteen  hundred  guineas  for  one- 
half  of  the  copyright,  while  the  other  moiety  was  retained  by 
the  author."— Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  394. 

(407) 


408 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


I  set  out  upon  the  voyage  already  mentioned ;  it  had 
now  made  its  way  to  popularity,  and  the  success  of 
that  work  and  the  volumes  which  followed  was  suffi- 
cient to  have  satisfied  a  greater  appetite  for  applause 
than  I  have  at  any  time  possessed.1 

I  may  as  well  add  in  this  place  that,  being  much 
urged  by  my  intimate  friend,  now  unhappily  no  more, 
William  Erskine  (a  Scottish  judge,  by  the  title  of 
Lord  Kinnedder),  I  agreed  to  write  the  little  romantic 
tale  called  the  "  Bridal  of  Triermain ;"  but  it  was  on 
the  condition  that  he  should  make  no  serious  effort 
to  disown  the  composition  if  report  should  lay  it  at 
his  door.  As  he  was  more  than  suspected  of  a  taste 
for  poetry,  and  as  I  took  care,  in  several  places,  to  mix 
something  which  might  resemble  (as  far  as  was  in  my 
power)  my  friend's  feeling  and  manner,  the  train 
easily  caught,  and  two  large  editions  were  sold.  A 
third  being  called  for,  Lord  Kinnedder  became  unwill- 
ing to  aid  any  longer  a  deception  which  was  going 
further  than  he  expected  or  desired,  and  the  real  au- 
thor's name  was  given.  Upon  another  occasion,  I 
sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  which,  like  schoolboys' 
kites,  served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popular  taste 

1  The  first  edition  of  "Waverley"  appeared  in  July,  1814. 
8  "Harold  the  Dauntless"  was  first  published  in  a  small 
12mo  volume,  January,  1817. 


was  setting.  The  manner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of 
a  rude  minstrel  or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  the  "  Bridal 
of  Triermain,"  which  was  designed  to  belong  rather 
to  the  Italian  school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was 
called  "  Harold  the  Dauntless  ;"2  and  I  am  still  aston- 
ished at  my  having  committed  the  gross  error  df  se- 
lecting the  very  name  which  Lord  Byron  had  made 
so  famous.  It  encountered  rather  an  odd  fate.  My 
ingenious  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published, 
about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the  "  Poetic  Mir- 
ror," containing  imitations  of  the  principal  living 
poets.3  There  was  in  it  a  very  good  imitation  of  my 
own  style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  "  Harold 
the  Dauntless"  that  there  was  no  discovering  the  orig- 
inal from  the  imitation ;  and  I  believe  that  many  who 
took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject  were 
rather  of  opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was  the 
true  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon  Pure.  Since  this 
period,  which  was  in  the  year  1817,  the  author  has 
not  been  an  intruder  on  the  public  by  any  poetical 
work  of  importance. 

W.  S. 

ABBOTSFOED,  April,  1830. 


8  Mr.  Hogg's  "Poetic  Mirror"  appeared  in  October,  1816. 


\ 


©ije  ILottr  of  tfje  Isles. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

The  scene  of  this  Poem  lies,  at  first,  in  the  Castle  of  Artornish,  on  the  coast  of  Argyleshire;  and  afterwards 
in  the  Islands  of  Skye  and  Arran,  and  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire.  Finally,  it  is  laid  near  Stirling.  The  story 
opens  in  the  spring  of  the  year  1307,  when  Bruce,  who  had  been  driven  out  of  Scotland  by  the  English,  and  the 
Barons  who  adhered  to  that  foreign  interest,  returned  from  the  Island  of  Rachrin  mi  the  coast  of  Ireland,  again 
to  assert  his  claims  to  the  Scottish  crown.  Many  of  the  personages  and  incidents  introduced  are  of  historical 
celebrity.  The  authorities  used  are  chiefly  those  of  the  venerable  Lord  Hailes,  as  well  entitled  to  be  called  the 
restorer  of  Scottish  history,  as  Bruce  the  restorer  of  Scottish  monarchy;  and  of  Archdeacon  Barbour,  a  correct 
edition  of  whose  Metrical  History  of  Robert  Bruce1  will  soon,  I  trust,  appear,  under  the  care  of  my  learned 
friend,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Jamieson. 

Abbotsford,  lOlh  December,  1814.4 


i  The  work  alluded  to  appeared  in  1820,  under  the  title  of 
The  Bruce  and  Wallace.    2  vols.  4to. 

2  "  Here  is  another  genuine  lay  of  the  great  Minstrel,  with 
all  his  characteristic  faults,  beauties,  and  irregularities.  The 
same  glow  of  coloring,  the  same  energy  of  narration,  the  same 
amplitude  of  description,  are  conspicuous  here  which  distin- 
guish all  his  other  productions ;  with  the  same  still  more  char- 
acteristic disdain  of  puny  graces  and  small  originalities — the 
true  poetical  hardihood,  in  the  strength  of  which  he  urges  on 
his  Pegasus  fearlessly  through  dense  and  rare,  and,  aiming 
gallantly  at  the  great  ends  of  truth  and  effect,  stoops  but  rarely 
to  study  the  means  by  which  they  are  to  be  attained — avails 
himself,  without  scruple,  of  common  sentiments  and  common 
images  wherever  they  seem  fitted  for  his  purposes — and  is 
original  by  the  very  boldness  of  his  borrowing,  and  impress- 
ive by  his  disregard  of  epigram  and  emphasis. 

"Though  bearing  all  these  marks  of  the  master's  hand,  the 
work  before  us  does  not  come  up,  in  interest,  to  the  'Lady  of 
the  Lake,'  or  even  to  'Marmion.'  There  is  less  connected 
story,  and  what  there  is  is  less  skillfully  complicated  and  dis- 
entangled, and  less  diversified  with  change  of  scene  or  vari- 
ety of  character.  In  the  scantiness  of  the  narrative  and  the 
broken  and  discontinuous  order  of  the  events,  as  well  as  the 
inartificial  insertion  of  detached  descriptions  and  morsels  of 
ethical  reflection,  it  bears  more  resemblance  to  the  earliest  of 
the  author's  greater  productions,  and  suggests  a  comparison, 
perhaps  not  altogether  to  his  advantage,  with  the  structure 
and  execution  of  the  'Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel;'  for  though 
there  is  probably  more  force  and  substance  in  the  latter  parts 
of  the  present  work,  it  is  certainly  inferior  to  that  enchant- 
ing performance  in  delicacy  and  sweetness,  and  even — is  it  to 
be  wondered  at,  after  four  such  publications  ? —in  originality. 
The  title  of  '  The  Lord  of  the  Isles '  has  been  adopted,  we 


presume,  to  match  that  of  '  The  Lady  of  the  Lake ;'  but  there 
is  no  analogy  in  the  stories,  nor  does  the  title,  on  this  occa- 
sion, correspond  very  exactly  with  the  contents.  It  is  no 
unusual  misfortune,  indeed,  for  the  author  of  a  modern  epic 
to  have  his  hero  turn  out  but  a  secondary  personage,  in  the 
gradual  unfolding  of  the  story,  while  some  unruly  underling 
runs  off  with  the  whole  glory  and  interest  of  the  poem.  But 
here  the  author,  we  conceive,  must  have  been  aware  of  the 
misnomer  from  the  beginning— the  true  and  indeed  the  os- 
tensible hero  being,  from  the  very  first,  no  less  a  person  than 
King  Robert  Bruce." — Edinburgh  Review,  No.  xlviii.    1815. 

"  If  it  be  possible  for  a  poet  to  bestow  upon  his  writings  a 
superfluous  degree  of  care  and  correction,  it  may  also  be  pos- 
sible, we  should  suppose,  to  bestow  too  little.  Whether  this 
be  the  case  in  the  poem  before  us  is  a  point  upon  which  Mr. 
Scott  can  possibly  form  a  much  more  competent  judgment 
than  ourselves;  we  can  only  say  that,  without  possessing 
greater  beauties  than  its  predecessors,  it  has  certain  viola- 
tions of  propriety,  both  in  the  language  and  in  the  compo- 
sition of  the  story,  of  which  the  former  efforts  of  his  muse 
afforded  neither  so  many  nor  such  striking  examples. 

"  We  have  not  now  any  quarrel  with  Mr.  Scott  on  account 
of  the  measure  which  he  has  chosen ;  still  less  on  account  of 
his  subjects :  we  believe  that  they  are  both  of  them  not  only 
pleasing  in  themselves,  but  well  adapted  to  each  other,  and 
to  the  bent  of  his  peculiar  genius.  On  the  contrary,  it  is 
because  we  admire  his  genius,  and  are  partial  to  the  subjects 
which  he  delights  in,  that  we  so  much  regret  he  should  leave 
room  for  any  difference  of  opinion  respecting  them,  merely 
from  not  bestowing  upon  his  publications  that  common  degree 
of  labor  and  meditation  which  we  cannot  help  saying  it  is 
scarcely  decorous  to  withhold." — Quarterly  Review,  No.  xxvi. 
July  1815. 

(409) 


410 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Z\)t  ILort)  of  tljr  isles. 


CANTO    FIKST. 


Autumn  departs — but  still  his  mantle's  fold 
Rests  on  the  groves  of  noble  Somerville  j1 
Beneath  a  shroud  of  russet  dropp'd  with  gold 
Tweed  and  his  tributaries  mingle  still ; 
Hoarser  the  wind,  and  deeper  sounds  the  rill, 
Yet  lingering  notes  of  sylvan  music  swell, 
The  deep-toned  cushat,  and  the  redbreast  shrill  j 
And  yet  some  tints  of  summer  splendor  tell 
When  the  broad  sun  sinks  down  on  Ettrick's  western 
fell. 

Autumn  departs — from  Gala's2  fields  no  more 
Come  rural  sounds  our  kindred  banks  to  cheer; 
Blent  with  the  stream,  and  gale  that  wafts  it  o'er, 
No  more  the  distant  reaper's  mirth  we  hear. 
The  last  blithe  shout  hath  died  upon  our  ear, 
And  harvest-home  hath  hush'd  the  clanging  wain ; 
On  the  waste  hill  no  forms  of  life  appear, 
Save  where,  sad  laggard  of  the  autumnal  train, 
Some  age-struck  wanderer  gleans  few  ears  of  scatter'd 
grain. 

Deem'st  thou  these  sadden'd  scenes  have  pleasure 

still? 
Lovest  thou  through  autumn's  fading  realms  to 

stray, 
To  see  the  heath-flower  wither'd  on  the  hill, 
To  listen  to  the  wood's  expiring  lay, 
To  note  the  red  leaf  shivering  on  the  spray, 
To  mark  the  last  bright  tints  the  mountain  stain, 
On  the  waste  fields  to  trace  the  gleaner's  way, 
And  moralize  on  mortal  joy  and  pain  ? — 
Oh,  if  such  scenes  thou  lovest,  scorn  not  the  minstrel 

strain. 

No  !  do  not  scorn,  although  its  hoarser  note 
Scarce  with  the  cushat's  homely  song  can  vie, 
Though  faint  its  beauties  as  the  tints  remote 
That  gleam  through  mist  in  autumn's  evening  sky, 
And  few  as  leaves  that  tremble,  sear  and  dry, 
When  wild  November  hath  his  bugle  wound ; 
Nor  mock  my  toil — a  lonely  gleaner  I,3 
Through  fields  time-wasted,  on  sad  inquest  bound, 
Where  happier  bards  of  yore  have  richer  harvest 
found. 


1  John,  fifteenth  Lord  Somerville,  illustrious  for  his  patri- 
otic devotion  to  the  science  of  agriculture,  resided  frequently 
in  his  beautiful  villa  called  the  Pavilion,  situated  on  the 
Tweed  over  against  Melrose,  and  was  an  intimate  friend  and 
almost  daily  companion  of  the  poet,  from  whose  windows  at 
Abbotsford  his  lordship's  plantations  formed  a  prominent 
object.    Lord  S.  died  in  1819. 

*  The  river  Gala,  famous  in  song,  flows  into  the  Tweed  a 
few  hundred  yards  below  Abbotsford ;  but  probably  the  word 


So  shalt  thou  list,  and  haply  not  unmoved, 
To  a  wild  tale  of  Albin's  warrior  day ; 
In  distant  lands,  by  the  rough  West  reproved, 
Still  live  some  relics  of  the  ancient  lay. 
For  when  on  Coolin's  hills  the  lights  decay, 
With  such  the  Seer  of  Skye4  the  eve  beguiles; 
'Tis  known  amid  the  pathless  wastes  of  Reay, 
In  Harries  known,  and  in  Iona's  piles, 
Where  rest  from  mortal  coil  the  Mighty  of  the  Isles. 


I. 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !"  the  minstrels  sung; 

Thy  rugged  halls,  Artornish  !  rung,5 

And  the  dark  seas  thy  towers  that  lave 

Heaved  on  the  beach  a  softer  wave, 

As  'mid  the  tuneful  choir  to  keep 

The  diapason  of  the  Deep. 

Lull'd  were  the  winds  on  Inninmore, 

And  green  Loch-Alline's  woodland  shore, 

As  if  wild  woods  and  waves  had  pleasure 

In  listing  to  the  lovely  measure. 

And  ne'er  to  symphony  more  sweet 

Gave  mountain  echoes6  answer  meet, 

Since,  met  from  mainland  and  from  isle, 

Boss,  Arran,  Hay,  and  Argyle, 

Each  minstrel's  tributary  lay 

Paid  homage  to  the  festal  day. 

Dull  and  dishonor'd  were  the  bard, 

Worthless  of  guerdon  and  regard, 

Deaf  to  the  hope  of  minstrel  fame, 

Or  lady's  smiles,  his  noblest  aim, 

Who  on  that  morn's  resistless  call 

Were  silent  in  Artornish  Hall. 

II. 

"Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn  !" — 'twas  thus  they  sung, 

And  yet  more  proud  the  descant  rung : 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn  !  high  right  is  ours 

To  charm  dull  sleep7  from  Beauty's  bowers ; 

Earth,  Ocean,  Air,  have  nought  so  shy 

But  owns  the  power  of  minstrelsy. 

In  Lettermore  the  timid  deer 

Will  pause  the  harp's  wild  chime  to  hear; 

Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 

Will  long  pursue  the  minstrel's  bark  ;8 

To  list  his  notes,  the  eagle  proud 

Will  poise  him  on  Ben-Cailliach's  cloud ; 

Gal<i  here  stands  for  the  poet's  neighbor  and  kinsman,  and 
much  attached  friend,  John  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Gala. 

3  MS. :  "  an  humble  gleaner  I." 

4  MS. :  "  the  aged  of  Skye." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

6  MS.:  "Made  mountain  echoes,"  &c. 

7  MS. : "for  right  is  ours 

To  summon  sleep,"  <fec. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


THE   LOED   OF   THE   ISLES. 


411 


Then  let  not  Maiden's  ear  disdain 
The  summons  of  the  minstrel  train, 
But,  while  our  harps  wild  music  make, 
Edith  of  Lorn,  awake,  awake ! 

III. 
"  Oh  wake,  while  Dawn,  with  dewy  shine, 
Wakes  Nature's  charms  to  vie  with  thine ! 
She  bids  the  mottled  thrush  rejoice 
To  mate  thy  melody  of  voice ; 
The  dew  that  on  the  violet  lies 
Mocks  the  dark  lustre  of  thine  eyes ; 
But,  Edith,  wake,  and  all  we  see 
Of  sweet  and  fair  shall  yield  to  thee !" — 
"  She  comes  not  yet,"  gray  Ferrand  cried ; 
"  Brethren,  let  softer  spell  be  tried, — 
Those  notes  prolong'd,  that  soothing  theme, 
Which  best  may  mix  with  Beauty's  dream, 
And  whisper,  with  their  silvery  tone, 
The  hope  she  loves,  yet  fears  to  own." 
He  spoke,  and  on  the  harp-strings  died 
The  strains  of  flattery  and  of  pride ; 
More  soft,  more  low,  more  tender  fell 
The  lay  of  love  he  bade  them  tell. 

IV. 

"  Wake,  Maid  of  Lorn !  the  moments  fly 

Which  yet  that  maiden  name  allow ; 
Wake,  Maiden,  wake !  the  hour  is  nigh 

When  love  shall  claim  a  plighted  vow. 
By  Fear,  thy  bosom's  fluttering  guest, 

By  Hope,  that  soon  shall  fears  remove, 
We  bid  thee  break  the  bonds  of  rest, 

And  wake  thee  at  the  call  of  Love ! 

"  Wake,  Edith,  wake !  in  yonder  bay 

Lies  many  a  galley  gayly  mann'd  ; 
We  hear  the  merry  pibrochs  play, 

We  see  the  streamers'  silken  band. 
What  Chieftain's  praise  these  pibrochs  swell, 

What  crest  is  on  these  banners  wove, 
The  harp,  the  minstrel,  dare  not  tell — 

The  riddle  must  be  read  by  Love." 


Retired  her  maiden  train  among, 

Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  song,1 

But  tamed  the  minstrel's  pride  had  been 

That  had  her  cold  demeanor  seen ; 

For  not  upon  her  cheek  awoke 

The  glow  of  pride  when  Flattery  spoke, 

Nor  could  their  tenderest  numbers  bring 

One  sigh  responsive  to  the  string. 

As  vainly  had  her  maidens  vied 

In  skill  to  deck  the  princely  bride. 


1  MS. :  "  Retired  amid  her  menial  train, 

Edith  of  Lorn  received  the  strain." 


2  MS.:  "The  train  upon  the  pavement  1 
"  Then  to  the  floor  descending  J 


flow'd." 


Her  locks,  in  dark-brown  length  array'd, 
Cathleen  of  Ulne,  'twas  thine  to  braid ; 
Young  Eva  with  meet  reverence  drew 
On  the  light  foot  the  silken  shoe, 
While  on  the  ankle's  slender  round 
Those  strings  of  pearl  fair  Bertha  wound, 
That,  bleach'd  Lochryan's  depths  within, 
Seem'd  dusky  still  on  Edith's  skin. 
But  Einion,  of  experience  old, 
Had  weightiest  task — the  mantle's  fold 
In  many  an  artful  plait  she  tied, 
To  show  the  form  it  seem'd  to  hide, 
Till  on  the  floor  descending  roll'd2 
Its  waves  of  crimson  blent  with  gold. 

VI. 

Oh,  lives  there  now  so  cold  a  maid, 
Who  thus  in  beauty's  pomp  array'd, 
In  beauty's  proudest  pitch  of  power, 
And  conquest  won — the  bridal  hour — 
With  every  charm  that  wins  the  heart, 
By  Nature  given,  enhanced  by  Art, 
Could  yet  the  fair  reflection  view, 
In  the  bright  mirror  pictured  true, 
And  not  one  dimple  on  her  cheek 
A  tell-tale  consciousness  bespeak  ? — 
Lives  still  such  maid  ? — Fair  damsels,  say, 
For  further  vouches  not  my  lay, 
Save  that  such  lived  in  Britain's  isle, 
When  Lorn's  bright  Edith  scorn'd  to  smile. 

VII. 

But  Morag,  to  whose  fostering  care 

Proud  Lorn  had  given  his  daughter  fair — 

Morag,  who  saw  a  mother's  aid3 

By  all  a  daughter's  love  repaid 

(Strict  was  that  bond — most  kind  of  all — 

Inviolate  in  Highland  hall) — 

Gray  Morag  sat  a  space  apart, 

In  Edith's  eyes  to  read  her  heart. 

In  vain  the  attendants'  fond  appeal 

To  Morag's  skill,  to  Morag's  zeal ; 

She  mark'd  her  child  receive  their  care, 

Cold  as  the  image  sculptured  fair 

(Form  of  some  sainted  patroness) 

Which  cloister'd  maids  combine  to  dress ; 

She  mark'd — and  knew  her  nursling's 

heart 
In  the  vain  pomp  took  little  part. 
Wistful  a  while  she  gazed— then  press'd 
The  maiden  to  her  anxious  breast 
In  finish'd  loveliness — and  led 
To  where  a  turret's  airy  head, 
Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 
O'erlook'd,  dark  Mull !  thy  mighty  Sound,* 


3  MS.:  "But  Morag,  who  the  maid  had  press'd, 

An  infant,  to  her  fostering  breast, 
And  seen  a  mother's  early  aid,"  &c. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


412 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


Where  thwarting  tides,  with  mingled  roar, 
Part  thy  swarth  hills  from  Morven's  shore. 

VIII. 

"  Daughter,"  she  said,  "  these  seas  behold, 
Round  twice  a  hundred  islands  roll'd, 
From  Hirt,  that  hears  their  northern  roar, 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore  j1 
Or  mainland  turn,  where  many  a  tower 
Owns  thy  bold  brother's  feudal  power,* 
Each  on  its  own  dark  cape  reclined, 
And  listening  to  its  own  wild  wiud, 
From  where  Mingarry,  sternly  placed, 
O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste,* 
To  where  Dunstaffhage  hears  the  raging 
Of  Connal  with  his  rocks  engaging. 
Think'st  thou,  amid  this  ample  round, 
A  single  brow  but  thine  has  frowu'd, 
To  sadden  this  auspicious  morn, 
That  bids  the  daughter  of  high  Lorn 
Impledge  her  spousal  faith  to  wed 
The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled?4 
Ronald,  from  many  a  hero  sprung, 
The  fair,  the  valiant,  and  the  young, 
Lord  op  the  Isles,  whose  lofty  name5 
A  thousand  bards  have  given  to  fame, 
The  mate  of  monarchs,  and  allied 
On  equal  terms  with  England's  pride. — 
From  chieftain's  tower  to  bondsman's  cot, 
Who  hears  the  tale6  and  triumphs  not  ? 
The  damsel  dons  her  best  attire, 
The  shepherd  lights  his  beltane  fire ; 
Joy,  joy !  each  warder's  horn  hath  sung, 
Joy,  joy !  each  matin  bell  hath  rung; 
The  holy  priest  says  grateful  mass, 
Loud  shouts  each  hardy  galla-glass, 
No  mountain  den  holds  outcast  boor 
Of  heart  so  dull,  of  soul  so  poor, 
But  he  hath  flung  his  task  aside, 
And  claim'd  this  morn  for  holy-tide ; 
Yet,  empress  of  this  joyful  day, 
Edith  is  sad  while  all  are  gay." 

IX. 
Proud  Edith's  soul  came  to  her  eye, 
Resentment  check'd  the  struggling  sigh. 
Her  hurrying  hand  indignant  dried 
The  burning  tears  (if  injured  pride: — 
"  Morag,  forbear !  or  lend  thy  praise 
To  swell  yon  hireling  harpers'  lays  ; 
Make  to  yon  maids  thy  boast  of  power, 
That  they  may  waste  a  wondering  hour, 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

2  MS. :  "  father's  feudal  power." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

•  MS. :  "  the  news." 


Telling  of  banners  proudly  borne, 
Of  pealing  bell  and  bugle-horn, 
Or,  theme  more  dear,  of  robes  of  price, 
Crownlete  and  gauds  of  rare  device. 
But  thou,  experienced  as  thou  art, 
Think'st  thou  with  these  to  cheat  the  heart, 
That,  bound  in  strong  affection's  chain, 
Looks  for  return  and  looks  in  vain? 
'  No !  sum  thine  Edith's  wretched  lot 
In  these  brief  words — He  loves  her  not ! 


"  Debate  it  not; — too  long  I  strove 
To  call  his  cold  observance  love, 
All  blinded  by  the  league  that  styled 
Edith  of  Lorn, — while,  yet  a  child, 
She  tripp'd  the  heath  by  Morag's  side, — 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  destined  bride. 
Ere  yet  I  saw  him,  while  afar 
His  broadsword  blazed  in  Scotland's  war, 
Train'd  to  believe  our  fates  the  same, 
My  bosom  throbb'd  when  Ronald's  name 
Came  gracing  Fame's  heroic  tale, 
Like  perfume  on  the  summer  gale. 
What  pilgrim  sought  our  halls,  nor  told 
Of  Ronald's  deeds  in  battle  bold? 
Who  touch'd  the  harp  to  heroes'  praise, 
But  his  achievements  swell'd  the  lays? 
Even  Morag — not  a  tale  of  fame 
Was  hers  but  closed  with  Ronald's  name. 
He  came  !  and  all  that  had  been  told 
Of  his  high  worth  seem'd  poor  and  cold, 
Tame,  lifeless;  void  of  energy, 
Unjust  to  Ronald  and  to  me ! 

XI. 
"  Since  then,  what  thought  had  Edith's  heart 
And  gave  not  plighted  love  its  part ! — 
And  what  requital?7  cold  delay — 
Excuse  that  shunn'd  the  spousal  day. — 
It  dawns,  and  Ronald  is  not  here ! — 
Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  deer,8 
Or  loiters  he  in  secret  dell 
To  bid  some  lighter  love  farewell, 
And  swear  that  though  he  may  not  scorn 
A  daughter  of  the  House  of  Lorn,9 
Yet,  when  these  formal  rites  are  o'er, 
Again  they  meet,  to  part  no  more  ?" 

XII. 

— "  nush,  daughter,  hush !  thy  doubts  remove, 
More  nobly  think  of  Ronald's  love. 

'  MS.:  "When,  from  that  hour,  had  Edith's  heart 
A  thought,  and  Ronald  lack'd  his  part! 
And  what  her  guerdon  1" 

8  MS. :  "  And  on  its  dawn  the  bridegroom  lags  ;— 

Hunts  he  Bentalla's  nimble  stags?" 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  H. 


THE   LOED   OF   THE   ISLES. 


413 


Look,  where  beneath  the  Castle  gray 

His  fleet  unmoor  from  Aros  Bay ! 

Seest  not  each  galley's  topmast  bend, 

As  on  the  yards  the  sails  ascend  ? 

Hiding  the  dark-blue  land,  they  rise 

Like  the  white  clouds  on  April  skies ; 

The  shouting  vassals  man  the  oars, 

Behind  them  sink  Mull's  mountain  shores ; 

Onward  their  merry  course  they  keep, 

Through  whistling  breeze  and  foaming  deep. 

And  mark  the  headmost,  seaward  cast, 

Stoop  to  the  freshening  gale  her  mast, 

As  if  she  veil'd  its  banner'd  pride, 

To  greet  afar  her  prince's  bride ! 

Thy  Ronald  comes,  and  while  in  speed 

His  galley  mates  the  flying  steed, 

He  chides  her  sloth !" — Fair  Edith  sigh'd, 

Blush'd,  sadly  smiled,  and  thus  replied : — 

XIII. 

"  Sweet  thought,  but  vain ! — No,  Morag !  mark, 

Type  of  his  course,  yon  lonely  bark, 

That  oft  hath  shifted  helm  and  sail, 

To  win  its  way  against  the  gale. 

Since  peep  of  morn,  my  vacant  eyes 

Have  view'd  by  fits  the  course  she  tries  ;l 

Now,  though  the  darkening  scud  comes  on, 

And  dawn's  fair  promises  be  gone, 

And  though  the  weary  crew  may  see 

Our  sheltering  haven  on  their  lee, 

Still  closer  to  the  rising  wind 

They  strive  her  shivering  sail  to  bind, 

Still  nearer  to  the  shelves'  dread  verge2 

At  every  tack  her  course  they  urge, 

As  if  they  fear'd  Artornish  more 

Than  adverse  winds  and  breakers'  roar." 

XIV. 

Sooth  spoke  the  Maid. — Amid  the  tide 

The  skiff  she  mark'd  lay  tossing  sore, 
And  shifted  oft  her  stooping  side, 
In  weary  tack  from  shore  to  shore. 
Yet  on  her  destined  course  no  more 

She  gain'd,  of  forward  way, 
Than  what  a  minstrel  may  compare 
To  the  poor  meed  which  peasants  share, 

Who  toil  the  livelong  day ; 
And  such  the  risk  her  pilot  braves, 

That  oft,  before  she  wore, 
Her  boltsprit  kiss'd  the  broken  waves, 
Where  in  white  foam  the  ocean  raves 

Upon  the  shelving  shore. 
Yet,  to  their  destined  purpose  true, 


1  MS. :  "  Since  dawn  of  morn,  with  vacant  eyes 
Young  Eva  view'd  the  course  she  tries." 


2  MS.: 


•  "  the  breakers'  verge." 


3  MS. :  "  So  fumes,"  &c. 


Undaunted  toil'd  her  hardy  crew, 
Nor  look'd  where  shelter  lay, 

Nor  for  Artornish  Castle  drew, 
Nor  steer'd  for  Aros  Bay. 

XV. 

Thus  while  they  strove  with  wind  and  seas, 
Borne  onward  by  the  willing  breeze, 

Lord  Ronald's  fleet  swept  by, 
Streamer'd  with  silk,  and  trick'd  with  gold, 
Mann'd  with  the  noble  and  the  bold 

Of  island  chivalry. 
Around  their  prows  the  ocean  roars, 
And  chafes  beneath  their  thousand  oars, 

Yet  bears  them  on  their  way : 
So  chafes3  the  war-horse  in  his  might, 
That  fieldward  bears  some  valiant  knight,4 
Champs  till  both  bit  and  boss  are  white, 

But,  foaming,  must  obey. 
On  each  gay  deck  they  might  behold 
Lances  of  steel  and  crests  of  gold, 
And  hauberks  with  their  burni.sh'd  fold, 

That  shimmer'd  fair  and  free ; 
And  each  proud  galley,  as  she  pass'd, 
To  the  wild  cadence  of  the  blast 

Gave  wilder  minstrelsy. 
Full  many  a  shrill  triumphant  note 
Saline  and  Scallastle  bade  float 

Their  misty  shores  around ; 
And  Morven's  echoes  answer'd  well, 
And  Duart  heard  the  distant  swell 

Come  down  the  darksome  Sound. 

XVI. 

So  bore  they  on  with  mirth  and  pride, 
And  if  that  laboring  bark  they  spied, 

'Twas  with  such  idle  eye 
As  nobles  cast  on  lowly  boor, 
When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 

They  pass  him  careless  by.5 
Let  them  sweep  on  with  heedless  eyes! 
But,  had  they  known  what  mighty  prize 

In  that  frail  vessel  lay, 
The  famish'd  wolf,  that  prowls  the  wold, 
Had  scatheless  pass'd  the  unguarded  fold, 
Ere,  drifting  by  these  galleys  bold, 

Unchallenged  were  her  way  !6 
And  thou,  Lord  Ronald,  sweep  thou  on, 
With  mirth,  and  pride,  and  minstrel  tone ! 
But  hadst  thou  known  who  sail'd  so  nigh, 
Far  other  glance  were  in  thine  eye ! 
Far  other  flush  were  on  thy  brow, 
That,  shaded  by  the  bonnet,  now 


*  MS. :  "  That  bears  to  fight  some  valiant  knight." 

8  MS. :  "As  the  gay  nobles  give  the  boor, 
When,  toiling  in  his  task  obscure, 
Their  greatness  passes  by." 

6  MS.:  "She  held  unchallenged  way." 


414 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Assumes  but  ill  the  blithesome  cheer 
Of  bridegroom  wheu  the  bride  is  near ! 

XVII. 

Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — We  will  not  leave, 
For  them  that  triumph,  those  who  grieve. 

With  that  armada  gay 
Be  laughter  loud  and  jocund  shout, 
And  bards  to  cheer  the  wassail  rout 

With  tale,  romance,  and  lay  -,1 
And  of  wild  mirth  each  clamorous  art, 
Which,  if  it  cannot  cheer  the  heart, 
May  stupefy  and  stun  its  smart, 

For  one  loud  busy  day. 
Yes,  sweep  they  on ! — But  with  that  skiff 

Abides  the  minstrel  tale, 
Where  there  was  dread  of  surge  and 

cliff, 
Labor  that  strain'd  each  sinew  stiff, 

And  one  sad  Maiden's  wail. 

XVIII. 

All  day  with  fruitless  strife  they  toil'd ; 
With  eve  the  ebbing  currents  boil'd 

More  fierce  from  strait  and  lake ; 
And  midway  through  the  channel  met 
Conflicting  tides  that  foam  and  fret, 
And  high  their  mingled  billows  jet, 
As  spears  that,  in  the  battle  set, 

Spring  upward  as  they  break. 
Then,  too,  the  lights  of  eve  were  past,2 
And  louder  sung  the  western  blast 

On  rocks  of  Inninmore; 
Rent  was  the  sail,  and  strain'd  the  mast, 
And  many  a  leak  was  gaping  fast, 
And  the  pale  steersman  stood  aghast, 

And  gave  the  conflict  o'er. 

XIX. 

'Twas  then  that  One,  whose  lofty  look 
Nor  labor  dull'd  nor  terror  shook, 

Thus  to  the  Leader  spoke : — 
"  Brother,  how  hopest  thou  to  abide 
The  fury  of  this  wilder'd  tide, 
Or  how  avoid  the  rock's  rude  side, 

Until  the  day  has  broke  ? 
Didst  thou  not  mark  the  vessel  reel, 
With  quivering  planks  and  groaning  keel, 

At  the  last  billow's  shock  ? 
Yet  how  of  better  counsel  tell, 
Though  here  thou  seest  poor  Isabel 

Half  dead  with  want  and  fear ; 
For  look  on  sea,  or  look  on  land, 
Or  yon  dark  sky — on  every  hand 

Despair  and  death  are  near. 

1  MS. :  "  With  mirth,  song,  talo,  and  lay." 

*  MS. :  "  Then,  too,  the  clouds  were  sinking  fast." 

8  MS. : "  the  hostile  power." 


For  her  alone  I  grieve, — on  me 
Danger  sits  light,  by  land  and  sea; 

I  follow  where  thou  wilt : 
Either  to  bide  the  tempest's  lower, 
Or  wend  to  yon  unfriendly  tower, 
Or  rush  amid  their  naval  power,3 
With  war-cry  wake  their  wassail-hour, 

And  die  with  hand  on  hilt." 

XX. 

That  elder  Leader's  calm  reply 

In  steady  voice  was  given : 
"  In  man's  most  dark  extremity 

Oft  succor  dawns  from  Heaven. 
Edward,  trim  thou  the  shatter'd  sail, 
The  helm  be  mine,  and  down  the  gale 

Let  our  free  course  be  driven ; 
So  shall  we  'scape  the  western  bay, 
The  hostile  fleet,  the  unequal  fray, 
So  safely  hold  our  vessel's  way 

Beneath  the  Castle  wall ; 
For  if  a  hope  of  safety  rest, 
'Tis  on  the  sacred  name  of  guest, 
Who  seeks  for  shelter,  storm-distress'd, 

Within  a  chieftain's  hall. 
If  not — it  best  beseems  our  worth, 
Our  name,  our  right,  our  lofty  birth, 

By  noble  hands  to  fall." 

XXI. 

The  helm,  to  his  strong  arm  consign'd, 
Gave  the  reef 'd  sail  to  meet  the  wind, 

And  on  her  alter'd  way, 
Fierce  bounding,  forward  sprung  the  ship, 
Like  greyhound  starting  from  the  slip 

To  seize  his  flying  prey. 
Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow, 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave  ;* 
Wild  sparkles  crest  the  broken  tides, 
And,  flashing  round,  the  vessel's  sides 

With  elvish  lustre  lave,5 
While  far  behind  their  livid  light 
To  the  dark  billows  of  the  night 

A  gloomy  splendor  gave. 
It  seems  as  if  old  Ocean  shakes 
From  his  dark  brow  the  lucid6  flakes 

In  envious  pageantry, 
To  match  the  meteor-light  that  streaks 

Grim  Hecla's  midnight  sky. 

XXII. 

Nor  lack'd  they  steadier  light  to  keep 
Their  course  upon  the  darken'd  deep ; — 
Artornish,  on  her  frowning  steep 


*  See  Appendix,  Note  I. 

6  MS. :  "And,  bursting  round  the  vessel's  sides, 

A  livid  lustre  gave." 
6  MS.: "livid." 


THE  LORD  OF   THE   ISLES. 


415 


'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung, 
Glanced  with  a  thousand  lights  of  glee, 
And  landward  far,  and  far  to  sea, 

Her  festal  radiance  flung.1 
By  that  blithe  beacon-light  they  steer'd, 

Whose  lustre  mingled  well 
With  the  pale  beam  that  now  appear'd, 
As  the  cold  moon  her  head  uprear'd 

Above  the  eastern  fell. 

XXIII. 

Thus  guided,  on  their  course  they  bore, 
Until  they  near'd  the  mainland  shore, 
When  frequent  on  the  hollow  blast 
Wild  shouts  of  merriment  were  cast, 
And  wind  and  wave  and  sea-birds'  cry 
With  wassail  sounds  in  concert  vie,2 
Like  funeral  shrieks  with  revelry, 

Or  like  the  battle-shout 
By  peasants  heard  from  cliffs  on  high, 
When  Triumph,  Rage,  and  Agony, 

Madden  the  fight  and  rout. 
Now  nearer  yet,  through  mist  and  storm 
Dimly  arose  the  Castle's  form, 

And  deepen'd3  shadow  made, 
Far  lengthen'd  on  the  main  below, 
Where,  dancing  in  reflected  glow, 

A  hundred  torches  play'd, 
Spangling  the  wave  with  lights  as  vain 
As  pleasures  in  this  vale  of  pain, 

That  dazzle  as  they  fade.4 

XXIV. 

Beneath  the  Castle's  sheltering  lee 
They  staid  their  course  in  quiet  sea. 
Hewn  in  the  rock,  a  passage  there 
Sought  the  dark  fortress  by  a  stair, 

So  strait,  so  high,  so  steep, 
With  peasant's  staff  one  valiant  hand 
Might  well  the  dizzy  pass  have  mann'd 
'Gainst  hundreds  arm'd  with  spear  and  brand, 

And  plunged  them  in  the  deep.5 
His  bugle  then  the  helmsman  wound ; 
Loud  answer'd  every  echo  round, 

From  turret,  rock,  and  bay ; 
The  postern's  hinges  crash  and  groan, 
And  soon  the  warder's  cresset  shone 
On  those  rude  steps  of  slippery  stone, 


1  "The  description  of  the  vessel's  approach  to  the  castle 
through  the  tempestuous  and  sparkling  waters,  and  the  con- 
trast of  the  gloomy  aspect  of  the  billows  with  the  glittering 
splendor  of  Artornish; 

'  'Twixt  cloud  and  ocean  hung,' 

sending  her  radiance  abroad  through  the  terrors  of  the  night, 
and  mingling  at  intervals  the  shouts  of  her  revelry  with  the 
wilder  cadence  of  the  blast,  is  one  of  the  happiest  instances 
of  Mr.  Scott's  felicity  in  awful  and  magnificent  scenery." — 
Critical  Review. 


To  light  the  upward  way. 
"  Thrice  welcome,  holy  Sire !"  he  said ; 
"  Full  long  the  spousal  train  have  staid, 

And,  vex'd  at  thy  delay, 
Fear'd  lest,  amidst  these  wildering  seas, 
The  darksome  night  and  freshening  breeze 

Had  driven  thy  bark  astray." — 

XXV. 

"  Warder,"  the  younger  stranger6  said, 
"  Thine  erring  guess  some  mirth  had  made 
In  mirthful  hour ;  but  nights  like  these, 
When  the  rough  winds  wake  western  seas, 
Brook  not  of  glee.    We  crave  some  aid 
And  needful  shelter  for  this  maid 

Until  the  break  of  day ; 
For,  to  ourselves,  the  deck's  rude  plank 
Is  easy  as  the  mossy  bank 

That's  breath'd  upon  by  May. 
And  for  our  storm-toss'd  skill*  we  seek 
Short  shelter  in  this  leeward  creek, 
Prompt  when  the  dawn  the  east  shall  streak 

Again  to  bear  away." — 
Answer'd  the  warder,  "  In  what  name 
Assert  ye  hospitable  claim  ? 

Whence  come,  or  whither  bound? 
Hath  Erin  seen  your  parting  sails  ? 
Or  come  ye  on  Norweyan  gales  ? 
And  seek  ye  England's  fertile  vales, 

Or  Scotland's  mountain  ground?" — 

XXVI. 

"  Warriors — for  other  title  none 
For  some  brief  space  we  list  to  own, 
Bound  by  a  vow — warriors  are  we ; 
In  strife  by  land,  and  storm  by  sea, 

We  have  been  known  to  fame ; 
And  these  brief  words  have  import  dear, 
When  sounded  in  a  noble  ear, 
To  harbor  safe,  and  friendly  cheer, 

That  gives  us  rightful  claim. 
Grant  us  the  trivial  boon  we  seek, 
And  we  in  other  realms  will  speak 

Fair  of  your  courtesy ; 
Deny — and  be  your  niggard  Hold 
Scorn'd  by  the  noble  and  the  bold, 
Shunn'd  by  the  pilgrim  on  the  wold, 

And  wanderer  on  the  lea !" — 


2  MS. :  "  The  wind,  the  wave,  the  sea-hirds'  cry, 
In  melancholy  concert  vie." 

8  MS.:  "darksome." 

*  "  Mr.  Scott,  we  observed  in  the  newspapers,  was  engaged 
during  last  summer  in  a  maritime  expedition ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, the  most  striking  novelty  in  the  present  poem  is  the 
extent  and  variety  of  the  sea  pieces  with  which  it  abounds. 
One  of  the  first  we  meet  with  is  the  picture  of  the  distresses 
of  the  king's  little  bark,  and  her  darkling  run  to  the  shelter 
of  Artornish  Castle."— Edinburgh  Review,  1815. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  K. 

6  MS. : "  that  younger  leader." 


416 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXVII. 

"Bold  stranger,  no — 'gainst  claim  like  thine, 

No  bolt  revolves  by  hand  of  mine,1 

Though  urged  in  tone  that  more  express'd 

A  monarch  than  a  suppliant  guest. 

Be  what  ye  will,  Artornish  Hall 

On  this  glad  eve  is  free  to  all. 

Though  ye  had  drawn  a  hostile  sword 

'Gainst  our  ally,  great  England's  Lord, 

Or  mail  upon  your  shoulders  borne, 

To  battle  with  the  Lord  of  Lorn, 

Or,  outlaw'd,  dwelt  by  greenwood  tree 

With  the  fierce  Knight  of  Ellerslie,2 

Or  aided  even  the  murderous  strife, 

When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 

Of  that  fell  homicide  the  Bruce,3 

This  night  had  been  a  term  of  truce. — 

Ho,  vassals !  give  these  guests  your  care, 

And  show  the  narrow  postern  stair." 

XXVIII. 

To  land  these  two  bold  brethren  leapt 
(The  weary  crew  their  vessel  kept), 
And,  lighted  by  the  torches'  flare, 
That  seaward  flung  their  smoky  glare, 
The  younger  knight  that  maiden  bare 

Half  lifeless  up  the  rock ; 
On  his  strong  shoulder  lean'd  her  head, 
And  down  her  long  dark  tresses  shed, 
As  the  wild  vine  in  tendrils  spread 

Droops  from  the  mountain  oak. 
Him  follow'd  close  that  elder  Lord, 
And  in  his  hand  a  sheathed  sword, 

Such  as  few  arms  could  wield ; 
But  when  he  bouned  him  to  such  task, 
Well  could  it  cleave  the  strongest  casque, 

And  rend  the  surest  shield.4 

XXIX. 

The  raised  portcullis'  arch  they  pass, 
The  wicket  with  its  bars  of  brass, 

The  entrance  long  and  low,5 
Flank'd  at  each  turn  by  loopholes  strait, 
Where  bowmen  might  in  ambush  wait 
(If  force  or  fraud  should  burst  the  gate) 

To  gall  an  entering  foe. 


1  MS.: 


-"'gainst  claim  like  yours, 


No  bolt  e'er  closed  our  castle  doors." 

2  Sir  William  Wallace. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  S. 

4  MS. :  "  Well  could  it  cleave  the  gilded  casque, 

And  rend  the  trustiest  shield." 

6  MS. :  "  The  entrance  vaulted  low." 

•  MS. :  "  Or  warlike  men  of  moulding  stark." 

*  MS. :  "  Till  that  hot  Edward  fiercely  caught 

From  one,  the  boldest  there." 


But  every  jealous  post  of  ward 
Was  now  defenceless  and  unbarr'd, 

And  all  the  passage  free 
To  one  low-brow'd  and  vaulted  room, 
Where  squire  and  yeoman,  page  and 
groom, 

Plied  their  loud  revelry. 

XXX. 

And  "  Rest  ye  here,"  the  warder  bade, 
"  Till  to  our  Lord  your  suit  is  said. — 
And,  comrades,  gaze  not  on  the  maid, 
And  on  these  men  who  ask  our  aid, 

As  if  ye  ne'er  had  seen 
A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark,6 

And  bearing  martial  mien." 
But  not  for  Eachin's  reproof 
Would  page  or  vassal  stand  aloof, 

But  crowded  on  to  stare, 
As  men  of  courtesy  untaught, 
Till  fiery  Edward  roughly  caught 

From  one,  the  foremost  there,7 
His  chequer'd  plaid,  and  in  its  shroud, 
To  hide  her  from  the  vulgar  crowd, 

Involved  his  sister  fair. 
His  brother,  as  the  clansman  bent 
His  sullen  brow  in  discontent, 

Made  brief  and*  stern  excuse : — 
"  Vassal,  were  thine  the  cloak  of  pall 
That  decks  thy  Lord  in  bridal  hall, 

'Twere  honor'd  by  her  use." 

XXXI. 

Proud  was  his  tone,  but  calm :  his  eye 

Had  that  compelling  dignity, 

His  mien  that  bearing  haught  and  high, 

Which  common  spirits  fear;8 
Needed  nor  word  nor  signal  more, 
Nod,  wink,  and  laughter,  all  were  o'er; 
Upon  each  other  back  they  bore, 

And  gazed  like  startled  deer. 
But  now  appear'd  the  Seneschal, 
Commission'd  by  his  Lord  to  call 
The  strangers  to  the  Baron's  hall, 

Where  feasted  fair  and  free 


8  "  Still  sways  their  souls  with  that  commanding  art 
That  dazzles,  leads,  yet  chills  the  vulgar  heart. 
What  is  that  spell,  that  thus  his  lawless  train 
Confess  and  envy,  yet  oppose  in  vain? 
What  should  it  be,  that  thus  their  faith  can  bind? 
The  power  of  Thought — the  magic  of  the  Mind ! 
Link'd  with  success,  assumed  and  kept  with  skill, 
Thai  moulds  another's  weakness  to  its  will ; 
Wields  with  their  hands,  but,  still  to  these  unknown, 
Makes  even  their  mightiest  deeds  appear  his  own. 
Such  hath  it  been — shall  be — beneath  the  sun, 
The  many  still  must  labor  for  the  one ! 
'Tis  Nature's  doom." 

Byron's  Corsair. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


417 


That  Island  Prince  in  nuptial  tide, 
With  Edith  there  his  lovely  bride, 
And  her  bold  brother  by  her  side, 
And  many  a  chief,  the  flower  and  pride 
Of  Western  land  and  sea.1 

Here  pause  we,  gentles,  for  a  space ; 
And,  if  our  tale  hath  won  your  grace, 
Grant  us  brief  patience,  and  again 
We  will  renew  the  minstrel  strain.2 


€f)e  HortJ  of  tfje  Jsles. 


CANTO  SECOND. 


I. 

Fill  the  bright  goblet,  spread  the  festive  board! 
Summon  the  gay,  the  noble,  and  the  fair! 
Throush  the  loud  hall,  in  joyous  concert  pour'd, 
Let  mirth  and  music  sound  the  dirge  of  Care! 
But  ask  thou  not  if  Happiness  be  there, 
If  the  loud  laugh  disguise  convulsive  throe, 
Or  if  the  brow  the  heart's  true  livery  wear ; 
Lift  not  the  festal  mask  ! — enough  to  know, 
No  scene  of  mortal  life  but  teems  with  mortal  woe.3 

II. 
With  beakers'  clang,  with  harpers'  lay, 
With  all  that  olden  time  deem'd  gay, 
The  Island  Chieftain  feasted  high ; 
But  there  was  iu  his  troubled  eye 
A  gloomy  fire,  and  on  his  brow, 
Now  sudden  flush'd,  and  faded  now, 
Emotions  such  as  draw  their  birth 
From  deeper  source  than  festal  mirth. 
By  fits  he  paused,  and  harper's  strain 
And  jester's  tale  went  round  in  vain, 
Or  fell  but  on  his  idle  ear 
Like  distant  sounds  which  dreamers  hear. 
Then  would  he  rouse  him,  and  employ 
Each  art  to  aid  the  clamorous  joy,* 

And  call  for  pledge  and  lay, 
And,  for  brief  space,  of  all  the  crowd, 
As  he  was  loudest  of  the  loud, 

Seem  gayest  of  the  gay.5 

III. 

Yet  nought  amiss  the  bridal  throng 
Mark'd  in  brief  mirth,  or  musing  long  ; 

1  MS.:  " Of  mountain  chivalry." 

2  "  The  first  canto  is  full  of  business  and  description,  and 
the  scenes  are  such  as  Mr.  Scott's  muse  generally  excels  in. 
The  scene  between  Edith  and  her  nurse  is  spirited,  and  con- 
tains many  very  pleasing  lines.  The  description  of  Lord 
Ronald's  fleet,  and  of  the  bark  endeavoring  to  make  her  way 
against  the  wind,  more  particularly  of  the  last,  is  executed 
with  extraordinary  beauty  and  fidelity." — Quarterly  Review. 

3  "  Even  in  laughter  the  heart  is  sorrowful ;  and  the  end  of 
that  mirth  is  heaviness." — Proverbs  xiv.  13. 

27 


The  vacant  brow,  the  unlistening  ear, 
They  gave  to  thoughts  of  raptures  near, 
And  his  fierce  starts  of  sudden  glee 
Seem'd  bursts  of  bridegroom's  ecstasy. 
Nor  thus  alone  misjudged  the  crowd, 
Since  lofty  Lorn,  suspicious,  proud,6 
And  jealous  of  his  honor'd  line, 
And  that  keen  knight,  De  Argentine7 
(From  England  sent  on  errand  high, 
The  western  league  more  firm  to  tie), 
Both  deem'd  in  Ronald's  mood  to  find 
A  lover's  transport-troubled  mind. 
But  one  sad  heart,  one  tearful  eye, 
Pierced  deeper  through  the  mystery, 
And  watch'd,  with  agony  and  fear, 
Her  wayward  bridegroom's  varied  cheer. 

IV. 

She  watch'd — yet  fear'd  to  meet  his  glance, 
And  he  shunn'd  hers; — till  when  by  chance 
They  met,  the  point  of  foeman's  lance 

Had  given  a  milder  pang ! 
Beneath  the  intolerable  smart 
He  writhed — then  sternly  mann'd  his  heart 
To  play  his  hard  but  destined  part, 

And  from  the  table  sprang. 
"  Fill  me  the  mighty  cup,"  he  said, 
"  Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somerled  :8 
Fill  it,  till  on  the  studded  brim 
In  burning  gold  the  bubbles  swim, 
And  every  gem  of  varied  shine 
Glow  doubly  bright  in  rosy  wine ! 
To  you,  brave  Lord,  and  brother  mine, 

Of  Lorn,  this  pledge  I  drink — 
The  union  of  Our  House  with  thine, 

By  this  fair  bridal-link !" — 

V. 

"  Let  it  pass  round !"  quoth  He  of  Lorn, 
"  And  in  good  time — that  winded  horn 

Must  of  the  Abbot  tell ; 
The  laggard  monk  is  come  at  last." 
Lord  Ronald  heard  the  bugle-blast, 
And  on  the  floor  at  random  cast, 

The  untasted  goblet  fell. 
But  when  the  warder  in  his  ear 
Tells  other  news,  his  blither  cheer 

Returns  like  sun  of  May, 
When  through  a  thunder-cloud  it  beams ! — 
Lord  of  two  hundred  isles,  he  seems 

As  glad  of  brief  delay 


*  MS. : 


"  and  give  birth 


To  jest,  to  wassail,  and  to  mirth." 

6  MS. :  "  Would  seem  the  loudest  of  the  loud, 
And  gayest  of  the  gay." 

6  MS. :  "  Since  Lorn,  the  proudest  of  the  proud.' 

7  MS. :  "  And  since  the  keen  De  Argentine." 
See  Appendix.Note  L. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  M. 


418 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


As  some  poor  criminal  might  feel 
When  from  the  gibbet  or  the  wheel 
Respited  for  a  day. 

VI. 

"  Brother  of  Lorn,"  with  hurried  voice 
He  said,  "  and  you,  fair  lords,  rejoice ! 

Here,  to  augment  our  glee, 
Come  wandering  knights  from  travel  far, 
Well  proved,  they  say,  in  strife  of  war, 

And  tempest  on  the  sea. — 
Ho !  give  them  at  your  board  such  place 
As  best  their  presences  may  grace,1 

And  bid  them  welcome  free !" 
With  solemn  step,  and  silver  wand, 
The  Seneschal  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests  ;2  aud  well  he 

knew 
How  to  assign  their  rank  its  due  ;3 

For  though  the  costly  furs 
That  erst  had  deck'd  their  caps  were  torn, 
And  their  gay  robes  were  over-worn, 

And  soil'd  their  gilded  spurs, 
Yet  such  a  high  commanding  grace 
Was  in  their  mien  and  in  their  face, 
As  suited  best  the  princely  dais,* 

And  royal  canopy ; 
And  there  he  marshall'd  them  their  place, 

First  of  that  company. 

VII. 

Then  lords  and  ladies  spake  aside, 
And  angry  looks  the  error  chide,5 
That  gave  to  guests  unnamed,  unknown, 
A  place  so  near  their  prince's  throne ; 

But  Owen  Erraught  said, 
"  For  forty  years  a  seneschal, 
To  marshal  guests  in  bower  and  hall 

Has  been  my  honor'd  trade. 
Worship  and  birth  to  me  are  known 
By  look,  by  bearing,  and  by  tone, 
Not  by  furr'd  robe  or  broider'd  zone ; 

And  'gainst  an  oaken  bough 
I'll  gage  my  silver  wand  of  state, 
That  these  three  strangers  oft  have  sate 

In  higher  place  than  now." — 6 

VIII. 

"  I  too,"  the  aged  Ferrand  said, 
"  Am  qualified  by  minstrel  trade7 
Of  rank  and  place  to  tell ; — 

i  MS. :  "  As  may  their  presence  fittest  grace." 

2  MS.:  "With  solemn  pace,  and  silver  rod, 

The  Seneschal  the  entrance  show'd 
To  these  strange  guests." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  N. 

*  Dais,  the  great  hall-table,  elevated  a  step  or  two  above 
the  rest  of  the  room. 

6  MS. :  "  Aside  then  lords  and  ladies  spake, 
And  ushers  censured  the  mistake." 
8  "  The  first  entry  of  the  illustrious  strangers  into  the  cas- 


Mark'd  ye  the  younger  stranger's  eye, 

My  mates,  how  quick,  how  keen,  how  high, 

How  fierce  its  flashes  fell, 
Glancing  among  the  noble  rout8 
As  if  to  seek  the  noblest  out, 
Because  the  owner  might  not  brook 
On  any  save  his  peers  to  look  ? 

And  yet  it  moves  me  more, 
That  steady,  calm,  majestic  brow, 
With  which  the  elder  chief  even  now 

Scann'd  the  gay  presence  o'er, 
Like  being  of  superior  kind, 
In  whose  high-toned  impartial  mind 
Degrees  of  mortal  rank  and  state 
Seem  objects  of  indifferent  weight. 
The  lady  too — though  closely  tied 

The  mantle  veil  both  face  and  eye, 
Her  motions'  grace  it  could  not  hide, 

Nor  could9  her  form's  fair  svmmetry." 

IX. 

Suspicious  doubt  and  lordly  scorn 
Lower'd  on  the  haughty  front  of  Lorn. 
From  underneath  his  brows  of  pride, 
The  stranger  guests  he  sternly  eyed, 
And  whisper'd  closely  what  the  ear 
Of  Argentine  alone  might  hear; 

Then  question'd,  high  and  brief, 
If,  in  their  voyage,  aught  they  knew 
Of  the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 
Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew, 

With  Carrick's  outlaw'd  Chief;10 
And  if,  their  winter's  exile  o'er, 
They  harbor'd  still  by  Ulster's  shore, 
Or  launch'd  their  galleys  on  the  main, 
To  vex  their  native  land  again. 

X. 

That  younger  stranger,  fierce  and  high, 
At  once  confronts  the  Chieftain's  eye11 

With  look  of  equal  scorn : — 
"  Of  rebels  have  we  nought  to  show ; 
But  if  of  royal  Bruce  thou'dst  know, 

I  warn  thee  he  has  sworn,12 
Ere  thrice  three  days  shall  come  and  go, 
His  banner  Scottish  winds  shall  blow, 
Despite  each  mean  or  mighty  foe, 
From  England's  every  bill  and  bow, 

To  Allaster  of  Lorn." 
Kindled  the  mountain  Chieftain's  ire, 
But  Ronald  quench'd  the  rising  fire : — 

tie  of  the  Celtic  chief  is  in  the  accustomed  and  peculiar  style 
of  the.  poet  of  chivalry." — Jeffrey. 

'  MS. :  "  '  I  too,'  old  Ferrand  said,  and  laugh'd 
'Am  qualified  by  minstrel  craft.'  " 

8  MS. :  "  the  festal  rout." 

»  MS. :  "  Nor  hide,"  Ac. 
io  See  Appendix,  Note  O. 

n  MS.:  "That  younger  stranger,  nought  out-dared, 
Was  prompt  the  haughty  Chief  to  beard." 
MS. :  "  Men  say  that  he  has  sworn." 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES 


419 


"  Brother,  it  better  suits  the  time 
To  chase  the  night  with  Ferrand's  rhyme, 
Than  wake,  'midst  mirth  and  wine,  the  jars 
That  flow  from  these  unhappy  wars." — J 
"  Content,"  said  Lorn ;  and  spoke  apart 
With  Ferrand,  master  of  his  art, 

Then  whisper'd  Argentine, — 
"  The  lay  I  named  will  carry  smart 
To  these  bold  strangers'  haughty  heart, 

If  right  this  guess  of  mine." 
He  ceased,  and  it  was  silence  all, 
Until  the  minstrel  waked  the  hall.2 

XL 

9Tl)j  Broocf)  of  3Lom.s 

Whence  the  brooch  of  burning  gold, 
That  clasps  the  Chieftain's  mantle-fold, 
Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price,4 
On  the  varied  tartans  beaming, 
As,  through  night's  pale  rainbow  gleaming, 
Fainter  now,  now  seen  afar, 
Fitful  shines  the  northern  star? 

Gem !  ne'er  wrought  on  Highland  mountain, 
Did  the  fairy  of  the  fountain, 
Or  the  mermaid  of  the  wave, 
Frame  thee  in  some  coral  cave  ? 
Did,  in  Iceland's  darksome  mine, 
Dwarf's  swart  hands  thy  metal  twine  ? 
Or,  mortal-moulded,  comest  thou  here 
From  England's  love,  or  France's  fear  ? 

XII. 

Sons  tontimuo". 
No ! — thy  splendors  nothing  tell 
Foreign  art  or  faery  spell. 
Moulded  thou  for  monarch's  use, 
By  the  overweening  Bruce, 
When  the  royal  robe  he  tied 
O'er  a  heart  of  wrath  and  pride ; 
Thence  in  triumph  wert  thou  torn 
By  the  victor  hand  of  Lorn ! 

When  the  gem  was  won  and  lost, 
Widely  was  the  war-cry  toss'd ! 
Rung  aloud  Bendourish  fell, 
Answer'd  Douchart's  sounding  dell, 


i  "  The  description  of  the  bridal  feast,  in  the  second  canto, 
has  several  animated  lines;  but  the  real  power  and  poetry 
of  the  author  do  not  appear  to  us  to  be  called  out  until  the 
occasion  of  the  Highland  quarrel  which  follows  the  feast." — 
Quarterly  Review,  March,  1815. 

2  "  In  a  very  different  style  of  excellence  (from  that  of  the 
first  three  stanzas)  is  the  triumphant  and  insulting  song  of 
the  bard  of  Lorn,  commemorating  the  pretended  victory  of 
his  chief  over  Robert  Bruce,  in  one  of  their  rencontres. 
Bruce,  in  truth,  had  been  set  on  by  some  of  that  clan,  and 
had  extricated  himself  from  a  fearful  overmatch  by  stupen- 


Fled  the  deer  from  wild  Teyndrum, 
When  the  homicide,  o'ercome, 
Hardly  'scaped,  with  scathe  and  scorn, 
Left  the  pledge  with  conquering  Lorn ! 

XIII. 

Sons  conrlu&tb". 
Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand, 
Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand,5 
Vain  Kirkpatrick's  bloody  dirk, 
Making  sure  of  murder's  work  ;6 
Barendown  fled  fast  away, 
Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye,7 
When  this  brooch,  triumphant  borne, 
Beam'd  upon  the  breast  of  Lorn. 

Farthest  fled  its  former  Lord, 
Left  his  men  to  brand  and  cord,8 
Bloody  brand  of  Highland  steel, 
English  gibbet,  axe,  and  wheel. 
Let  him  fly  from  coast  to  coast, 
Dogg'd  by  Comyn's  vengeful  ghost, 
While  his  spoils,  in  triumph  worn, 
Long  shall  grace  victorious  Lorn ! 

XIV. 

As  glares  the  tiger  on  his  foes, 

Hemm'd  in  by  hunters,  spears,  and  bows, 

And,  ere  he  bounds  upon  the  ring, 

Selects  the  object  of  his  spring, — 

Now  on  the  bard,  now  on  his  Lord, 

So  Edward  glared  and  grasp'd  his  sword; 

But  stern  his  brother  spoke, — "  Be  still. 

What !  art  thou  yet  so  wild  of  will, 

After  high  deeds  and  sufferings  long, 

To  chafe  thee  for  a  menial's  song  ? — 

Well  hast  thou  framed,  Old  Man,  thy  strains, 

To  praise  the  hand  that  pays  thy  pains  !9 

Yet  something  might  thy  song  have  told 

Of  Lorn's  three  vassals,  true  and  bold, 

Who  rent  their  Lord  from  Bruce's  hold, 

As  underneath  his  knee  he  lay, 

And  died  to  save  him  in  the  fray. 

I've  heard  the  Bruce's  cloak  and  clasp 

Was  clench'd  within  their  dying  grasp, 

What  time  a  hundred  foemen  more 

Rush'd  in,  and  back  the  victor  bore,10 

Long  after  Lorn  had  left  the  strife,11 

Full  glad  to  'scape  with  limb  and  life. — 


dous  exertions.  In  the  struggle,  however,  the  brooch  which 
fastened  his  royal  mantle  had  been  torn  off  by  the  assailants; 
and  it  is  on  the  subject  of  this  trophy  that  the  Celtic  poet 
pours  forth  this  wild,  rapid,  and  spirited  strain." — Jeffrey. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  P.  *  Ibid.  Note  Q. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  R.  6  Ibid.  Note  S. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  T. 

8  MS. :  "  Left  his  followers  to  the  sword." 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  U. 

!0  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

11  MS. :  "  When  breathless  Lorn  had  left  the  strife." 


420 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Enough  of  this — Aud,  Minstrel,  hold, 
As  minstrel-hire,  this  chain  of  gold, 
For  future  lays  a  fair  excuse, 
To  speak  more  nobly  of  the  Bruce." — 

XV. 

"  Now,  by  Columba's  shrine,  I  swear, 
And  every  saint  that's  buried  there, 
Tis  he  himself!"  Lorn  sternly  cries, 
"  And  for  my  kinsman's  death  he  dies." 
As  loudly  Ronald  calls, — "  Forbear ! 
Not  in  my  sight  while  brand  I  wear, 
O'ermatch'd  by  odds,  shall  warrior  fall, 
Or  blood  of  stranger  stain  my  hall ! 
This  ancient  fortress  of  my  race 
Shall  be  misfortune's  resting-place, 
Shelter  and  shield  of  the  distress'd, 
No  slaughter-house  for  shipwreck'd  guest."- 
"  Talk  not  to  me,"  fierce  Lorn  replied, 
"  Of  odds  or  match ! — when  Comyn  died, 
Three  daggers  clash'd  within  his  side ! 
Talk  not  to  me  of  sheltering  hall, 
The  Church  of  God  saw  Comyn  fall ! 
On  God's  own  altar  stream'd  his  blood, 
While  o'er  my  prostrate  kinsman  stood 
The  ruthless  murderer — e'en  as  now — 
With  armed  hand  and  scornful  brow ! — 
Up,  all  who  love  me !  blow  on  blow ! 
And  lay  the  outlaw'd  felons  low !" 

XVI. 

Then  up  sprang  many  a  mainland  Lord 
Obedient  to  their  Chieftain's  word. 
Barcaldine's  arm  is  high  in  air, 
And  Kinloch-Alline's  blade  is  bare, 
Black  Murthok's  dirk  has  left  its  sheath, 
And  clench'd  is  Dermid's  hand  of  death. 
Their  mutter'd  threats  of  vengeance 

swell 
Into  a  wild  and  warlike  yell ; 
Onward  they  press  with  weapons  high, 
The  affrighted  females  shriek  and  fly, 
And,  Scotland,  then  thy  brightest  ray 
Had  darken'd  ere  its  noon  of  day, — 
But  every  chief  of  birth  and  fame, 
That  from  the  Isles  of  Ocean  came, 
At  Ronald's  side  that  hour  withstood 
Fierce  Lorn's  relentless  thirst  for  blood.1 

XVII. 
Brave  Torquil  from  Dunvegan  high, 
Lord  of  the  misty  hills  of  Skye, 
MacNiel,  wild  Bara's  ancient  thane, 
Duart,  of  bold  Clan-Gillian's  strain, 


1  For  these  four  lines  the  MS.  has : 

"But  stern  the  Island  Lord  withstood 
The  vengeful  Chieftain's  thirst  of  blood." 

s  MS. :  "  While  thus  for  blood  and  blows  prepared 
Raised  was  each  hand,"  &c. 


Fergus,  of  Canna's  castled  bay, 

MacDuffith,  Lord  of  Colonsay, 

Soon  as  they  saw  the  broadswords  glance, 

With  ready  weapons  rose  at  once, 

More  prompt,  that  many  an  ancient  feud, 

Full  oft  suppress'd,  full  oft  renew'd, 

Glow'd  'twixt  the  chieftains  of  Argyle 

And  many  a  lord  of  ocean's  isle. 

Wild  was  the  scene — each  sword  was  bare, 

Back  stream'd  each  chieftain's  shaggy  hair, 

In  gloomy  opposition  set, 

Eyes,  hands,  and  brandish'd  weapons  met ; 

Blue  gleaming  o'er  the  social  board, 

Flash'd  to  the  torches  many  a  sword ; 

And  soon  those  bridal  lights  may  shine 

On  purple  blood  for  rosy  wine. 

XVIII. 

While  thus  for  blows  and  death  prepared, 
Each  heart  was  up,2  each  weapon  bared, 
Each  foot  advanced, — a  surly  pause 
Still  reverenced  hospitable  laws. 
All  menaced  violence,  but  alike 
Reluctant  each  the  first  to  strike 
(For  aye  accursed  in  minstrel  line 
Is  he  who  brawls  'mid  song  and  wine), 
And,  match'd  in  numbers  and  in  might, 
Doubtful  and  desperate  seem'd  the  fight. 
Thus  threat  and  murmur  died  away, 
Till  on  the  crowded  hall  there  lay 
Such  silence  as  the  deadly  still, 
Ere  bursts  the  thunder  on  the  hill. 
With  blade  advanced,  each  chieftain  bold 
Show'd  like  the  Sworder's  form  of  old,3 
As  wanting  still  the  torch  of  life 
To  wake  the  marble  into  strife.* 

XIX. 

That  awful  pause  the  stranger  maid, 

And  Edith,  seized  to  pray  for  aid. 

As  to  De  Argentine  she  clung, 

Away  her  veil  the  stranger  flung, 

And,  lovely  'mid  her  wild  despair, 

Fast  stream'd  her  eyes,  wide  flow'd  her  hair. 

"  Oh  thou,  of  knighthood  once  the  flower, 

Sure  refuge  in  distressful  hour, 

Thou,  who  in  Judah  well  hast  fought 

For  our  dear  faith,  and  oft  hast  sought 

Renown  in  knightly  exercise, 

When  this  poor  hand  has  dealt  the  prize, 

Say,  can  thy  soul  of  honor  brook 

On  the  unequal  strife  to  look, 

When,  butcher'd  thus  in  peaceful  hall, 

Those  once  thy  friends,  my  brethren,  fall !" 


3  MS.: 


"  each  Chieftain  rude 


Like  that  famed  Swordsman's  statue  stood." 
4  MS.:  "To  waken  him  to  deadly  strife." 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


421 


To  Argentine  she  turn'd  her  word, 
But  her  eye  sought  the  Island  Lord.1 
A  flush  like  evening's  setting  flame 
Glow'd  on  his  cheek ;  his  hardy  frame, 
As  with  a  brief  convulsion,  shook : 
With  hurried  voice  and  eager  look, — 
"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  my  Isabel ! 
What  said  I— Edith !— all  is  well- 
Nay,  fear  not — I  will  well  provide 
The  safety  of  my  lovely  bride — 
My  bride  ?" — but  there  the  accents  clung 
In  tremor  to  his  faltering  tongue. 

XX. 

Now  rose  De  Argentine,  to  claim 

The  prisoners  in  his  sovereign's  name, 

To  England's  crown  who,  vassal|  sworn, 

'Gainst  their  liege  lord  had  weapon  borne — 

(Such  speech,  I  ween,  was  but  to  hide 

His  care  their  safety  to  provide ; 

For  knight  more  true  in  thought  and  deed 

Than  Argentine  ne'er  spurr'd  a  steed) — 

And  Ronald,  who  his  meaning  guess'd, 

Seem'd  half  to  sanction  the  request. 

This  purpose  fiery  Torquil  broke : — 

"  Somewhat  we've  heard  of  England's  yoke," 

He  said,  "  and,  in  our  islands,  Fame 

Hath  whisper'd  of  a  lawful  claim, 

That  calls  the  Bruce  fair  Scotland's  Lord, 

Though  dispossess'd  by  foreign  sword. 

This  craves  reflection — but  though  right 

And  just  the  charge  of  England's  Knight, 

Let  England's  crown  her  rebels  seize 

Where  she  has  power ; — in  towers  like  these, 

'Midst  Scottish  chieftains  summon'd  here 

To  bridal  mirth  and  bridal  cheer, 

Be  sure,  with  no  consent  of  mine, 

Shall  either  Lorn  or  Argentine 

With  chains  or  violence,  in  our  sight, 

Oppress  a  brave  and  banish'd  Knight." 

XXI. 

Then  waked  the  wild  debate  again, 
With  brawling  threat  and  clamor  vain. 
Vassals  and  menials,  thronging  in, 
Lent  their  brute  rage  to  swell  the  din ; 
When,  far  and  wide,  a  bugle-clang 
From  the  dark  ocean  upward  rang. 
"  The  Abbot  comes !"  they  cry  at  once, 
"  The  holy  man,  whose  favor'd  glance 

Hath  sainted  visions  known ; 
Angels  have  met  him  on  the  way, 
Beside  the  blessed  martyrs'  bay, 

i  The  MS.  adds : 

"With  such  a  frantic  fond  appeal 
As  only  lovers  make  and  feel." 

2  MS. :  "  What  time  at  every  cross  of  old." 

3  MS.:  "We  will  his  holy  rede  obey, 

The  Abbot's  voice  shall  end  the  fray." 
*  MS. :  "  Scarce  was  this  peaceful  paction  o'er." 


And  by  Columba's  stone. 
His  monks  have  heard  their  hymnings  high 
Sound  from  the  summit  of  Dun-Y, 

To  cheer  his  penance  lone, 
When  at  each  cross,  on  girth  and  wold2 
(Their  number  thrice  a  hundred-fold), 
His  prayer  he  made,  his  beads  he  told, 

With  Aves  many  a  one ; — 
He  comes  our  feuds  to  reconcile, 
A  sainted  man  from  sainted  isle ; 
We  will  his  holy  doom  abide, 
The  Abbot  shall  our  strife  decide."3 

XXII. 

Scarcely  this  fair  accord  was  o'er,4 
When  through  the  wide  revolving  door 

The  black-stoled  brethren  wind ; 
Twelve  sandall'd  monks,  who  relics  bore, 
With  many  a  torch-bearer  before, 

And  many  a  cross  behind.5 
Then  sunk  each  fierce  uplifted  hand, 
And  dagger  bright  and  flashing  brand 

Dropp'd  swiftly  at  the  sight ; 
They  vanish'd  from  the  Churchman's  eye, 
As  shooting  stars,  that  glance  and  die, 

Dart  from  the  vault  of  night. 

XXIII. 

The  Abbot  on  the  threshold  stood, 

And  in  his  hand  the  holy  rood ; 

Back  on  his  shoulders  flow'd  his  hood ; 

The  torch's  glaring  ray 
Show'd,  in  its  red  and  flashing  light, 
His  wither'd  cheek  and  amice  white, 
His  blue  eye  glistening  cold  and  bright, 

His  tresses  scant  and  gray. 
"  Fair  Lords,"  he  said,  "  Our  Lady's  love, 
And  peace  be  with  you  from  above, 

And  Benedicite ! — 
— But  what  means  this  ?  no  peace  is  here ! — 
Do  dirks  unsheathed  suit  bridal  cheer? 

Or  are  these  naked  brands 
A  seemly  show  for  Churchman's  sight, 
When  he  comes  summon'd  to  unite 

Betrothed  hearts  and  hands  ?" 

XXIV. 

Then,  cloaking  hate  with  fiery  zeal, 
Proud  Lorn  first  answer'd  the  appeal : — 

"  Thou  comest,  O  holy  Man, 
True  sons  of  blessed  Church  to  greet,6 
But  little  deeming  here  to  meet 

A  wretch,  beneath  the  ban 

6  MS. :  "  Did  slow  procession  wind ; 

Twelve  monks,  who  stole  and  mantle  wore, 
And  chalice,  pyx,  and  relics  bore, 
With  many,"  &c. 

6  The  MS.  here  adds  : 

"  Men  bound  in  her  communion  sweet, 
And  duteous  to  the  Papal  seat." 


422 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Of  Pope  and  Church,  for  murder  done 
Even  on  the  sacred  altar-stone ! — 1 
Well  inay'st  thou  wonder  we  should  know 
Such  miscreant  here,  nor  lay  him  low,2 
Or  dream  of  greeting,  peace,  or  truce, 
With  excommunicated  Bruce ! 
Yet  well  I  grant,  to  end  debate, 
Thy  sainted  voice  decide  his  fate."3 

XXV. 

Then  Ronald  plead  the  stranger's  cause, 
And  knighthood's  oath,  and  honor's  laws  ;* 
And  Isabel,  on  bended  knee, 
Brought  prayers  and  tears  to  back  the  plea  ; 
And  Edith  lent  her  generous  aid, 
And  wept,  and  Lorn  for  mercy  pray'd.5 
"  Hence,"  he  exclaim'd,  "  degenerate  maid ! 
Was't  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower 
I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour,6 
Or  bond-maid  at  her  master's  gate, 
His  careless  cold  approach  to  wait  ? — 
But  the  bold  Lord  of  Cumberland, 
The  gallant  Clifford,  seeks  thy  hand ; 
His  it  shall  be — Nay,  no  reply ! 
Hence !  till  those  rebel  eyes  be  dry." 
With  grief  the  Abbot  heard  and  saw, 
Yet  nought  relax'd  his  brow  of  awe.7 

XXVI. 

Then  Argentine,  in  England's  name, 
So  highly  urged  his  sovereign's  claim,8 
He  waked  a  spark  that,  long  suppress'd, 
Had  smoulder'd  in  Lord  Ronald's  breast ; 
And  now,  as  from  the  flint  the  fire, 
Flash'd  forth  at  once  his  generous  ire. 
"  Enough  of  noble  blood,"  he  said, 
"  By  English  Edward  had  been  shed, 


»  MS. 


•  "  the  blessed  altar-stone." 


2  In  place  of  the  couplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has: 

"  But  promptly  had  my  dagger's  edge 

Avenged  the  guilt  of  sacrilege, 

Save  for  my  new  and  kind  ally, 

And  Torquil,  chief  of  stormy  Skye 

(In  whose  wild  land  there  rests  the  seed, 

Men  say,  of  ancient  heathen  creed), 

Who  would  enforce  me  to  a  truce 

With  excommunicated  Bruce." 
»  The  MS.  adds : 

"  Secure  such  foul  offenders  find 

No  favor  in  a  holy  mind." 

*  The  MS.  has : 

"  Alleged  the  hest  of  honor's  laws, 

The  succor  •!   .  .    , . .     [  storm-staid  guest, 

The  refuge  due  to  the  distress'd, 

The  oath  which  binds  each  generous  knight 

Still  to  prevent  unequal  fight ; 

And  Isabel,"  Ac. 
5  MB. :  "And  wept  alike  and  knelt  and  pray'd."    The  nine 
lines  which  intervene  betwixt  this  and  the  concluding  couplet 
of  the  stanza  are  not  in  the  MS. 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  V. 


Since  matchless  Wallace  first  had  been 
In  mock'ry  crown'd  with  wreaths  of  green,* 
And  done  to  death  by  felon  hand, 
For  guarding  well  his  father's  land. 
Where's  Nigel  Bruce?  and  De  la  Haye, 
And  valiant  Seton — where  are  they? 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  free  ? 
And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ?10 
Have  they  not  been  on  gibbet  bound, 
Their  quarters  flung  to  hawk  and  hound, 
And  hold  we  here  a  cold  debate, 
To  yield  more  victims  to  their  fate? 
What !  can  the  English  Leopard's  mood 
Never  be  gorged  with  northern  blood  ? 
Was  not  the  life  of  Athole  shed 
To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sicken'd  bed  ?u 
And  must  his  word,  till  dying  day, 
Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay  ?12 — 
Thou  frown'st,  De  Argentine, — My  gage 
Is  prompt  to  prove  the  strife  I  wage." — 

XXVII. 

"  Nor  deem,"  said  stout  Dunvegan's 

Knight,13 
"  That  thou  shalt  brave  alone  the  fight ! 
By  saints  of  isle  and  mainland  both, 
By  Woden  wild  (my  grandsire's  oath),14 
Let  Rome  and  England  do  their  worst, 
Howe'er  attainted  or  accursed, 
If  Bruce  shall  e'er  find  friends  again, 
Once  more  to  brave  a  battle-plain, 
If  Douglas  couch  again  his  lance, 
Or  Randolph  dare  another  chance, 
Old  Torquil  will  not  be  to  lack 
With  twice  a  thousand  at  his  back. — 
Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  bearing  bold, 
Good  Abbot !  for  thou  know'st  of  old, 


i  The  MS.  adds : 

"  He  raised  the  suppliants  from  the  floor, 
And  bade  their  sorrowing  be  o'er,  •> 

And  bade  them  give  their  weeping  o'er,  J 
But  in  a  tone  that  well  explain'd 
How  little  grace  their  prayers  had  gain'd; 
For  though  he  purposed  true  and  well, 
Still  stubborn  and  inflexible, 
In  what  he  deem'd  his  duty  high, 
Was  Abbot  Ademar  of  Y." 
8  MS. :  "  For  Bruce's  custody  made  claim."    In  place  of  the 
two  couplets  which  follow,  the  MS.  has  : 

"And  Torquil,  stout  Dunvegan's  Knight, 
As  well  defended  Scotland's  right. 
Enough  of,"  &c. 
•  See  Appendix,  Note  W. 

i«  See  Appendix,  Note  X.  "  Ibid.  Note  Y. 

12  See  Appendix,  Note  Z. 

«  In  the  MS.  this  couplet  is  wanting,  and,  without  break- 
ing the  stanza,  Lord  Ronald  continues, 

"By  saints  of  isle,"  Ac. 
™  The  MacLeods  and  most  other  distinguished  Hebridean 
families  were  of  Scandinavian  extraction,  and  some  were  late 
or  imperfect  converts  to  Christianity.    The  family  names  of 
Torquil,  Thormod,  &c,  are  all  Norwegian. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


423 


Torquil's  rude  thought  and  stubborn  will 

Smack  of  the  wild  Norwegian  still ; 

Nor  will  I  barter  Freedom's  cause 

For  England's  wealth,  or  Rome's  applause." 

XXVIII. 

The  Abbot  seem'd  with  eye  severe 

The  hardy  Chieftain's  speech  to  hear; 

Then  on  King  Robert  turn'd  the  Monk,1 

But  twice  his  courage  came  and  sunk, 

Confronted  with  the  hero's  look  ; 

Twice  fell  his  eye,  his  accents  shook  ; 

At  length,  resolved  in  tone  and  broW, 

Sternly  he  question'd  him — "  And  thou, 

Unhappy !  what  hast  thou  to  plead, 

Why  I  denounce  not  on  thy  deed 

That  awful  doom  which  canons  tell 

Shuts  paradise,  and  opens  hell ; 

Anathema  of  power  so  dread, 

It  blends  the  living  with  the  dead, 

Bids  each  good  angel  soar  away, 

And  every  ill  one  claim  his  prey ; 

Expels  thee  from  the  Church's  care, 

And  deafens  Heaven  against  thy  prayer; 

Arms  every  hand  against  thy  life, 

Bans  all  who  aid  thee  in  the  strife, 

Nay,  each  whose  succor,  cold  and  scant,2 

With  meanest  alms  relieves  thy  want ; 

Haunts  thee  while  living, — and,  when  dead, 

Dwells  on  thy  yet  devoted  head, 

Rends  Honor's  scutcheon  from  thy  hearse, 

Stills  o'er  thy  bier  the  holy  verse, 

And  spurns  thy  corpse  from  hallow'd  ground, 

Flung  like  vile  carrion  to  the  hound? 

Such  is  the  dire  and  desperate  doom 

For  sacrilege  decreed  by  Rome ; 

And  such  the  well-deserved  meed 

Of  thine  unhallow'd,  ruthless  deed." — 

XXIX. 

"  Abbot !"  the  Bruce  replied,  "  thy  charge 

It  boots  not  to  dispute  at  large. 

This  much,  howe'er,  I  bid  thee  know, 

No  selfish  vengeance  dealt  the  blow, 

For  Comyn  died  his  country's  foe. 

Nor  blame  I  friends  whose  ill-timed  speed 

Fulfill'd  my  soon-repented  deed, 

Nor  censure  those  from  whose  stern  tongue 

The  dire  anathema  has  rung. 

I  only  blame  mine  own  wild  ire, 

By  Scotland's  wrongs  incensed  to  fire. 


i  MS. :  "  Then  turn'd  him  on  the  Bruce  the  Monk." 

1  MS. :  "  Nay,  curses  each  whose  succor  scant." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  A. 

*  The  MS.  adds  : 

"  For  this  ill-timed  and  luckless  blow." 


«  MS.: 


"  bold  and  high." 


Heaven  knows  my  purpose  to  atone, 

Far  as  I  may,  the  evil  done, 

And  hears  a  penitent's  appeal 

From  papal  curse  and  prelate's  zeal. 

My  first  and  dearest  task  achieved, 

Fair  Scotland  from  her  thrall  relieved, 

Shall  many  a  priest  in  cope  and  stole 

Say  requiem  for  Red  Comyn's  soul, 

While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 

And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance 

In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance.* 

But,  while  content  the  Church  should  know 

My  conscience  owns  the  debt  I  owe,* 

Unto  De  Argentine  and  Lorn 

The  name  of  traitor  I  return, 

Bid  them  defiance  stern  and  high,5 

And  give  them  in  their  throats  the  lie ! 

These  brief  words  spoke,  I  speak  no  more. 

Do  what  thou  wilt ;  my  shrift  is  o'er." 

XXX. 

Like  man  by  prodigy  amazed, 
Upon  the  King  the  Abbot  gazed ; 
Then  o'er  his  pallid  features  glance 
Convulsions  of  ecstatic  trance. 
His  breathing  came  more  thick  and  fast, 
And  from  his  pale  blue  eyes  were  cast 
Strange  rays  of  wild  and  wandering  light ; 
Uprise  his  locks  of  silver  white, 
Flush'd  is  his  brow,  through  every  vein 
In  azure  tide  the  currents  strain, 
And  undistinguish'd  accents  broke 
The  awful  silence  ere  he  spoke.6 

XXXI. 

"  De  Bruce !  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head,7 

And  give  thee  as  an  outcast  o'er 

To  him  who  burns  to  shed  thy  gore ; — 

But,  like  the  Midianite  of  old, 

Who  stood  on  Zophim,  Heaven-controll'd,8 

I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  be  repress'd.9 

It  prompts  my  voice,  it  swells  my  veins, 

It  burns,  it  maddens,  it  constrains ! — 

De  Bruce,  thy  sacrilegious  blow 

Hath  at  God's  altar  slain  thy  foe : 

O'ermaster'd  yet  by  high  behest, 

I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd !" 

He  spoke,  and  o'er  the  astonish'd  throng 

Was  silence,  awful,  deep,  and  long. 


6  MS.:  "Swell  on  his  wither'd  brow  the  veins, 

Each  in  its  azure  current  strains, 
And  interrupted  tears  express'd 
The  tumult  of  his  laboring  breast." 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  2  B. 

8  See  the  Book  of  Numbers,  chaps,  xxiii.  and  xxiy. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  2  C. 


424 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


XXXII. 
Again  that  light  has  fired  his  eye, 
Again  his  form  swells  bold  and  high ; 
The  broken  voice  of  age  is  gone, 
'Tis  vigorous  manhood's  lofty  tone : — 
"  Thrice  vanquished  on  the  battle-plain, 
Thy  followers  slaughtered,  tied,  or  ta'en, 
A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 
On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,1 
Disown'd,  deserted,  and  distress'd,2 
I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd ! 
Bless'd  in  the  hall  and  in  the  field, 
Under  the  mantle  as  the  shield. 
Avenger  of  thy  country's  shame, 
Restorer  of  her  injured  fame, 
Bless'd  in  thy  sceptre  and  thy  sword, 
De  Bruce,  fair  Scotland's  rightful  Lord, 
Bless'd  in  thy  deeds  and  in  thy  fame, 
What  lengthen'd  honors  wait  thy  name ! 
In  distant  ages,  sire  to  son 
Shall  tell  thy  tale  of  freedom  won, 
And  teach  his  infants,  in  the  use 
Of  earliest  speech,  to  falter  Bruce. 
Go,  then,  triumphant !  sweep  along 
Thy  course,  the  theme  of  many  a  song ! 
The  Power  whose  dictates  swell  my  breast 
Hath  bless'd  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd ! — 
Enough — my  short-lived  strength  decays, 
And  sinks  the  momentary  blaze. — 
Heaven  hath  our  destined  purpose  broke, 
Not  here  must  nuptial  vow  be  spoke  ;3 
Brethren,  our  errand  here  is  o'er, 
Our  task  discharged. — Unmoor,  unmoor!" — 
His  priests  received  the  exhausted  Monk, 
As  breathless  in  their  arms  he  sunk. 
Punctual  his  orders  to  obey, 
The  train  refused  all  longer  stay, 
Embark'd,  raised  sail,  and  bore  away.4 

i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  D. 

*  "On  this  transcendent  passage  we  shall  only  remark  that 
of  the  gloomy  part  of  the  prophecy  we  hear  nothing  more 
through  the  whole  of  the  poem  ;  and  though  the  abbot  informs 
the  king  that  he  shall  be  'On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled,' 
the  poet  never  speaks  of  him  but  as  resident  in  Scotland  up 
to  the  period  of  the  battle  of  Bannoekburn." — Critical  Review. 

3  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

4  "  The  conception  and  execution  of  these  stanzas  consti- 
tute excellence  which  it  would  be  difficult  to  match  from  any 
other  part  of  the  poem.  The  surprise  is  grand  and  perfect. 
The  monk,  struck  with  the  heroism  of  Robert,  forgoes  the 
intended  anathema,  and  breaks  out  into  a  prophetic  annun- 
ciation of  his  final  triumph  over  all  his  enemies,  and  the  ven- 
eration in  which  his  name  will  be  held  by  posterity.  These 
stanzas,  which  conclude  the  second  canto,  derive  their  chief 
title  to  encomium  from  the  emphatic  felicity  of  their  burden, 

'I  bless  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  bless'd  ;' 

in  which  few  and  simple  words,  following,  as  they  do,  a  series 
of  predicated  ills,  there  is  an  energy  that  instantaneously  ap- 
peals to  the  heart,  and  surpasses,  all  to  nothing,  the  results  of 
passages  less  happy  in  their  application,  though  more  labored 
and  tortuous  in  their  construction." — Critical  Review. 
"  The  story  of  the  second  canto  exhibits  fewer  of  Mr.  Scott's 


%i)t  HortJ  of  ti)e  IsUs. 


CANTO   THIRD. 


Hast  thou  not  mark'd,  when  o'er  thy  startled  head 
Sudden  and  deep  the  thunder-peal  has  roll'd, 
How,  when  its  echoes  fell,  a  silence  dead 
Sunk  on  the  wood,  the  meadow,  and  the  wold  ? 
The  rye-grass"  shakes  not  on  the  sod-built  fold, 
The  rustling  aspen's  leaves  are  mute  and  still,5 
The  wall-flower  waves  not  on  the  ruin'd  hold, 
Till,  murmuring  distant  first,  then  near  and  shrill, 
The  savage  whirlwind  wakes,  and  sweeps  the  groaning 
hill. 

II. 

Artornish !  such  a  silence  sunk 
Upon  thy  halls,  when  that  gray  Monk 

His  prophet-speech  had  spoke ; 
And  his  obedient  brethren's  sail 
Was  stretch'd  to  meet  the  southern  gale 

Before  a  whisper  woke. 
Then  murmuring  sounds  of  doubt  and  fear, 
Close  pour'd  in  many  an  anxious  ear, 

The  solemn  stillness  broke  ; 
And  still  they  gazed  with  eager  guess, 
Where,  in  an  oriel's  deep  recess, 
The  Island  Prince  seem'd  bent  to  press 
What  Lorn,  by  his  impatient  cheer, 
And  gesture  fierce,  scarce  deign'd  to  hear. 

III. 

Starting  at  length,  with  frowning  look, 
His  hand  he  clench'd,  his  head  he  shook, 

characteristical  beauties  than  of  his  characteristical  faults. 
The  scene  itself  is  not  of  a  very  edifying  description  ;  nor  is 
the  want  of  agreeableness  in  the  subject  compensated  by  any 
detached  merit  in  the  details.  Of  the  language  and  versifi- 
cation in  many  parts  it  is  hardly  possible  to  speak  favorably. 
The  same  must  be  said  of  the  speeches  which  the  different 
characters  address  to  each  other.  The  rude  vehemence  which 
they  display  seems  to  consist  much  more  in  the  loudness  and 
gesticulation  with  which  the  speakers  express  themselves 
than  in  the  force  and  energy  of  their  sentiments,  which,  for 
the  most  part,  are  such  as  the  barbarous  chiefs  to  whom  they 
are  attributed  might  without  any  great  premeditation,  either 
as  to  the  thought  or  language,  have  actually  uttered.  To 
find  language  and  sentiments  proportioned  to  characters  of 
such  extraordinary  dimensions  as  the  agents  in  the  poems 
of  Homer  and  Milton  is  indeed  an  admirable  efl'ort  of  genius; 
but  to  make  such  as  we  meet  with  in  the  epic  poetry  of  the 
present  day — persons  often  below  the  middle  size,  and  never 
very  much  above  it — merely  speak  in  character,  is  not  likely 
to  occasion  either  much  difficulty  to  the  poet  or  much  pleas- 
ure to  the  reader.  As  an  example,  we  might  adduce  the 
speech  of  stout  Dunvegan's  knight,  stanza  xxvii.,  which  is 
not  the  less  wanting  in  taste  because  it  is  natural  and  char- 
acteristic."— Quarterly  Review. 
6  MS. :  "  The  rustling  aspen  bids  his  leaf  be  still." 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


425 


And  sternly  flung  apart ; — 
"  And  deem'st  thou  me  so  mean  of  mood 
As  to  forget  the  mortal  feud, 
And  clasp  the  hand  with  blood  imbrued1 

From  my  dear  kinsman's  heart? 
Is  this  thy  rede  ? — a  due  return 
For  ancient  league  and  friendship  sworn ! 
But  well  our  mountain  proverb  shows 
The  faith  of  Islesmen  ebbs  and  flows. 
Be  it  even  so— believe,  ere  long, 
He  that  now  bears  shall  wreak  the  wrong. — 
Call  Edith — call  the  Maid  of  Lorn ! 
My  sister,  slaves ! — for  further  scorn, 
Be  sure  nor  she  nor  I  will  stay. — 
Away,  De  Argentine,  away ! — 
We  nor  ally  nor  brother  know2 
In  Bruce's  friend,  or  England's  foe." 

IV. 

But  who  the  Chieftain's  rage  can  tell, 
When,  sought  from  lowest  dungeon  cell 
To  highest  tower  the  Castle  round, 
No  Lady  Edith  was  there  found ! 
He  shouted,  "  Falsehood ! — treachery ! — 
Revenge  and  blood ! — a  lordly  meed 
To  him  that  will  avenge  the  deed ! 
A  baron's  lands!" — His  frantic  mood 
Was  scarcely  by  the  news  withstood, 
That  Morag  shared  his  sister's  flight, 
And  that,  in  hurry  of  the  night, 
'Scaped  noteless,  and  without  remark, 
Two  strangers  sought  the  Abbot's  bark. — 
"  Man  every  galley ! — fly — pursue  ! 
The  priest  his  treachery  shall  rue ! 
Ayr  and  the  time  shall  quickly  come 
When  we  shall  hear  the  thanks  that  Rome 
Will  pay  his  feigned  prophecy !" 
Such  was  fierce  Loru's  indignant  cry;3 
And  Cormac  Doil  in  haste  obey'd, 
Hoisted  his  sail,  his  anchor  weigh'd 
(For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 
A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil).4 
But  others,  lingering,  spoke  apart, — 
"  The  Maid  has  given  her  maiden  heart 

To  Ronald  of  the  Isles, 
And,  fearful  lest  her  brother's  word 
Bestow  her  on  that  English  Lord, 

She  seeks  Iona's  piles, 
And  wisely  deems  it  best  to  dwell 
A  votaress  in  the  holy  cell, 
Until  these  feuds  so  fierce  and  fell 

The  Abbot  reconciles."5 

V. 

As,  impotent  of  ire,  the  hall 
Echo'd  to  Lorn's  impatient  call — 

1  MS.:  "And  clasp  the  bloody  hand  imbrued." 
i  MS. :  "  Nor  brother  we,  nor  ally  know." 
3  The  MS.  has,  "  Such  was  fierce  Lorn's  cry." 
See  a  note  on  a  line  in  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  ante,  p.  12. 


"  My  horse,  my  mantle,  and  my  train ! 
Let  none  who  honors  Lorn  remain !" — 
Courteous,  but  stern,  a  bold  request 
To  Bruce  De  Argentine  express'd. 
"  Lord  Earl,"  he  said, — "  I  cannot  choose 
But  yield  such  title  to  the  Bruce, 
Though  name  and  earldom  both  are  gone, 
Since  he  braced  rebel's  armor  on, — 
But,  Earl  or  Serf,  rude  phrase  was  thine 
Of  late,  and  launch'd  at  Argentine ; 
Such  as  compels  me  to  demand 
Redress  of  honor  at  thy  hand. 
We  need  not  to  each  other  tell 
That  both  can  wield  their  weapons  well ; 
Then  do  me  but  the  soldier  grace 
This  glove  upon  thy  helm  to  place 
Where  we  may  meet  in  fight ; 
And  I  will  say,  as  still  I've  said, 
Though  by  ambition  far  misled, 
Thou  art  a  noble  knight." — 

VI. 

"  And  I,"  the  princely  Bruce  replied, 
"  Might  term  it  stain  on  knighthood's  pride, 
That  the  bright  sword  of  Argentine 
Should  in  a  tyrant's  quarrel  shine ; 

But,  for  your  brave  request, 
Be  sure  the  honor'd  pledge  you  gave 
In  every  battle-field  shall  wave 

Upon  my  helmet-crest ; 
Believe  that  if  my  hasty  tongue 
Hath  done  thine  honor  causeless  wrong, 

It  shall  be  well  redress'd. 
Not  dearer  to  my  soul  was  glove, 
Bestow'd  in  youth  by  lady's  love, 

Thau  this  which  thou  hast  given ! 
Thus,  then,  my  noble  foe  I  greet : 
Health  and  high  fortune  till  we  meet, 

And  then — what  pleases  Heaven." 

VII. 

Thus  parted  they — for  now,  with  sound 
Like  waves  roll'd  back  from  rocky  ground, 

The  friends  of  Lorn  retire ; 
Each  mainland  chieftain,  with  his  train, 
Draws  to  his  mountain  towers  again, 
Pondering  how  mortal  schemes  prove  vain, 

And  mortal  hopes  expire. 
But  through  the  Castle  double  guard, 
By  Ronald's  charge,  kept  wakeful  ward, 
Wicket  and  gate  were  trebly  barr'd, 

By  beam  and  bolt  and  chain; 
Then  of  the  guests,  in  courteous  sort, 
He  pray'd  excuse  for  mirth  broke  short, 
And  bade  them  in  Artornish  fort 

In  confidence  remain. 

4  See  Appendix,  Note  2  E. 

6  MS. :  "  While  friends  shall  labor  fair  and  well 
These  feuds  to  reconcile." 


426 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Now  torch  and  menial  tendance  led 
Chieftain  and  knight  to  bower  and  bed, 
And  beads  were  told,  and  Aves  said, 

And  soon  they  sunk  away 
Into  such  sleep  as  wont  to  shed 
Oblivion  on  the  weary  head, 

After  a  toilsome  day. 

VIII. 

But  soon  uproused,  the  Monarch  cried 
To  Edward  slumbering  by  his  side, 

"  Awake,  or  sleep  for  aye ! 
Even  now  there  jarr'd  a  secret  door — 
A  taper-light  gleams  on  the  floor — 

Up,  Edward !  up,  I  say ! 
Some  one  glides  in  like  midnight  ghost — 
Nay,  strike  not !  'tis  our  noble  Host." 
Advancing  then  his  taper's  flame, 
Ronald  stept  forth,  and  with  him  came 
Dunvegan's  Chief— each  bent  the  knee 
To  Bruce  in  sign  of  fealty, 

And  proffer'd  him  his  sword, 
And  hail'd  him,  in  a  monarch's  style, 
As  king  of  mainland  and  of  isle, 
And  Scotland's  rightful  lord. 
"  And  oh,"  said  Ronald,  "  Own'd  of  Heaven! 
Say,  is  my  erring  youth  forgiven, 
By  falsehood's  arts  from  duty  driven, 

Who  rebel  falchion  drew, 
Yet  ever  to  thy  deeds  of  fame, 
Even  while  I  strove  against  thy  claim, 

Paid  homage  just  and  true  ?" — 
"  Alas !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time," 
Auswer'd  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 
Even  I" — he  paused;  for  Falkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose.1 
The  Chieftain  to  his  breast  he  press'd, 
And  in  a  sigh  conceal'd  the  rest. 

IX. 

They  proffer'd  aid,  by  arms  and  might, 
To  repossess  him  in  his  right ; 
But  well  their  counsels  must  be  weigh'd, 
Ere  banners  raised  and  musters  made, 
For  English  hire  and  Lorn's  intrigues 
Bound  many  chiefs  in  southern  leagues. 
In  answer,  Bruce  his  purpose  bold 
To  his  new  vassals2  frankly  told : — 
"The  winter  worn  in  exile  o'er, 
I  long'd  for  Carrick's  kindred  shore. 
I  thought  upon  my  native  Ayr, 
And  long'd  to  see  the  burly  fare 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  F. 

2  MS. : "  allies." 

3  MS. :  "  '  Myself  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide.' — 

'Not  so,  kind  Torquil,'  Ronald  cried; 
'  Tis  I  will  on  my  Sovereign  wait.' " 

4  The  MS.  has : 


That  Clifford  makes,  whose  lordly  call 
Now  echoes  through  my  father's  hall. 
But  first  my  course  to  Arran  led, 
Where  valiant  Lennox  gathers  head, 
And  on  the  sea,  by  tempest  toss'd, 
Our  barks  dispersed,  our  purpose  cross'd, 
Mine  own,  a  hostile  sail  to  shun, 
Far  from  her  destined  course  had  run, 
When  that  wise  will,  which  masters  ours, 
Compell'd  us  to  your  friendly  towers." 

X. 

Then  Torquil  spoke: — "The  time  craves 

speed ! 
We  must  not  linger  in  our  deed, 
But  instant  pray  our  Sovereign  Liege 
To  shun  the  perils  of  a  siege. 
The  vengeful  Lorn,  with  all  his  powers, 
Lies  but  too  near  Artornish  towers, 
And  England's  light-arm'd  vessels  ride, 
Not  distant  far,  the  waves  of  Clyde, 
Prompt  at  these  tidings  to  unmoor, 
And  sweep  each  strait,  and  guard  each  shore. 
Then,  till  this  fresh  alarm  pass  by, 
Secret  and  safe  my  Liege  must  lie 
In  the  far  bounds  of  friendly  Skye, 
Torquil  thy  pilot  and  thy  guide. "— 
"  Not  so,  brave  Chieftain,"  Ronald  cried ; 
"  Myself  will  on  my  Sovereign  wait,3 
And  raise  in  arms  the  men  of  Sleate, 
AVhilst  thou,  renown'd  where  chiefs  debate, 
Shalt  sway  their  souls  by  counsel  sage, 
And  awe  them  by  thy  locks  of  age." — 
— "  And  if  my  words  in  weight  shall  fail,4 
This  ponderous  sword  shall  turn  the  scale." — 

XI. 

"  The  scheme,"  said  Bruce,  "  contents  me 

well ; 
Meantime,  'twere  best  that  Isabel, 
For  safety,  with  my  bark  and  crew, 
Again  to  friendly  Erin  drew. 
There  Edward,  too,  shall  with  her  wend, 
In  need  to  cheer  her  and  defend, 
And  muster  up  each  scatter'd  friend." — 
Here  seem'd  it  as  Lord  Ronald's  ear 
Would  other  counsel  gladlier  hear; 
But,  all  achieved  as  soon  as  plann'd, 
Both  barks,  in  secret  arm'd  and  mann'd, 

From  out  the  haven  bore ; 
On  different  voyage  forth  they  ply, 
This  for  the  coast  of  winged  Skye, 

And  that  for  Erin's  shore. 

"  'Aye,'  said  the  Chief,  'or  if  they  fail, 
This  broadsword's  weight  shall  turn  the  scale.' " 
In   altering  this  passage,  the  poet  appears  to  have  lost 
link— Ed. 

6  The  MS.  adds : 

"Our  bark's  departure,  too,  will  blind 
To  our  intent  the  foeman's  mind." 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


427 


XII. 
With  Bruce  and  Ronald  bides  the  tale. — 
To  favoring  winds  they  gave  the  sail, 
Till  Mull's  dark  headlands  scarce  they  knew, 
And  Ardnamurchan's  hills  were  blue.1 
But  then  the  squalls  blew  close  and  hard, 
And,  fain  to  strike  the  galley's  yard, 

And  take  them  to  the  oar, 
With  these  rude  seas,  in  weary  plight, 
They  strove  the  livelong  day  and  night, 
Nor  till  the  dawning  had  a  sight 

Of  Skye's  romantic  shore. 
Where  Coolin  stoops  him  to  the  west, 
They  saw  upon  his  shiver'd  crest 

The  sun's  arising  gleam ; 
But  such  the  labor  and  delay, 
Ere  they  were  moor'd  in  Scavigh  Bay 
(For  calmer  heaven  compell'd  to  stay),* 

He  shot  a  western  beam. 
Then  Ronald  said,  "  If  true  mine  eye, 
These  are  the  savage  wilds  that  lie 
North  of  Strathnardill  and  Dunskye  ;3 

No  human  foot  comes  here, 
And,  since  these  adverse  breezes  blow, 
If  my  good  Liege  love  hunter's  bow, 
What  hinders  that  on  land  we  go, 

And  strike  a  mountain  deer? 
Allan,  my  page,  shall  with  us  wend ; 
A  bow  full  deftly  can  he  bend, 
And,  if  we  meet  a  herd,  may  send 

A  shaft  shall  mend  our  cheer." 
Then  each  took  bow  and  bolts  in  hand, 
Their  row-boat  launch'd,  and  leapt  to  land, 

And  left  their  skiff  and  train 
Where  a  wild  stream,  with  headlong  shock, 
Came  brawling  down  its  bed  of  rock, 

To  mingle  with  the  main. 

XIII. 
A  while  their  route  they  silent  made, 

As  men  who  stalk  for  mountain  deer, 
Till  the  good  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 

"  St.  Mary  !  what  a  scene  is  here ! 
I've  traversed  many  a  mountain  strand, 
Abroad  and  in  my  native  land, 
And  it  has  been  my  lot  to  tread 
Where  safety  more  than  pleasure  led ; 
Thus  many  a  waste  I've  wander'd  o'er, 
Clombe  many  a  crag,  cross'd  many  a  moor, 

1  MS. :  "Till  Mull's  dark  isle  no  more  they  knew, 
Nor  Ardnamurchan's  mountains  blue." 

*  MS. :  "  For  favoring  gales  compell'd  to  stay." 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  2  G. 

*  MS. :  "  dark  banks." 

b  lira     ««    j  (deers  have  buds)  .     ,        „,  „ 

6  MS. :  "  And  ■< ,       ,      ...        >  in  deep  Glencoe." 


«  MS. 


f  wildest )  , 
I  barest  ) 


T  The  Quarterly  Reviewer  says,  "The  picture  of  barren 
desolation  is  admirably  touched ;"  and  if  the  opinion  of  Mr. 


But  by  my  halidome, 
A  scene  so  rude,  so  wild  as  this, 
Yet  so  sublime  in  barrenness, 
Ne'er  did  my  wandering  footsteps 

Where'er  I  happ'd  to  roam." 


XIV. 

No  marvel  thus  the  Monarch  spake ; 

For  rarely  human  eye  has  known 
A  scene  so  stern  as  that  dread  lake, 

With  its  dark  ledge4  of  barren  stone. 
Seems  that  primeval  earthquake's  sway 
Hath  rent  a  strange  and  shatter'd  way 

Through  the  rude  bosom  of  the  hill, 
And  that  each  naked  precipice, 
Sable  ravine,  and  dark  abyss, 

Tells  of  the  outrage  still. 
The  wildest  glen,  but  this,  can  show 
Some  touch  of  Nature's  genial  glow ; 
On  high  Benmore  green  mosses  grow, 
And  heath-bells  bud  in  deep  Glencroe,5 

And  copse  on  Cruchan-Ben ; 
But  here, — above,  around,  below, 

On  mountain  or  in  glen, 
Nor  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  plant,  nor  flower, 
Nor  aught  of  vegetative  power, 

The  weary  eye  may  ken. 
For  all  is  rocks  at  random  thrown, 
Black  waves,  bare  crags,  and  banks  of  stone, 

As  if  were  here  denied 
The  summer  sun,  the  spring's  sweet  dew, 
That  clothe  with  many  a  varied  hue 

The  bleakest6  mountain  side.7 

XV. 

And  wilder,  forward  as  they  wound, 
Were  the  proud  cliffs  and  lake  profound. 
Huge  terraces  of  granite  black8 
Afforded  rude  and  cumber'd  track ; 

For  from  the  mountain  hoar,9 
Hurl'd  headlong  in  some  night  of  fear, 
When  yell'd  the  wolf  and  fled  the  deer, 

Loose  crags  had  toppled  o'er  ;10 
And  some,  chance-poised  and  balanced,  lay, 
So  that  a  stripling  arm  might  sway 

A  mass  no  host  could  raise, 
In  Nature's  rage  at  random  thrown, 
Yet  trembling  like  the  Druid's  stone 

On  its  precarious  base. 

Turner  be  worth  any  thing,  "No  words  could  have  given  a 
truer  picture  of  this,  one  of  the  wildest  of  Nature's  land- 
scapes." Mr.  Turner  adds,  however,  that  he  dissents  in  one 
particular:  but  for  one  or  two  tufts  of  grass  he  must  have 
broken  his  neck,  having  slipped  when  trying  to  attain  the 
best  position  for  taking  the  view  which  embellishes  volume 
tenth,  edition  1833. 

8  MS. :  "  And  wilder,  at  each  step  they  take, 

Turn  the  proud  cliffs  and  yawning  lake; 
Huge  naked  sheets  of  granite  black,"  &c. 

9  MS. :  "  For  from  the  mountain's  crown." 
10  MS. :  "  Huge  crags  had  toppled  down." 


428 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  evening  mists,  with  ceaseless  change, 
Now  clothed  the  mountains'  lofty  range, 

Now  left  their  foreheads  bare, 
And  round  the  skirts  their  mantle  furl'd, 
Or  on  the  sable  waters  curl'd, 
Or  on  the  eddying  breezes  whirl'd, 

Dispersed  in  middle  air. 
And  oft,  condensed,  at  once  they  lower,1 
When,  brief  and  fierce,  the  mountain  shower 

Pours  like  a  torrent  down,2 
And  when  return  the  sun's  glad  beams, 
Whiten'd  with  foam  a  thousand  streams 

Leap  from  the  mountain's  crown.3 

XVI. 
"  This  lake,"  said  Bruce,  "  whose  barriers  drear 
Are  precipices  sharp  and  sheer, 
Yielding  no  track  for  goat  or  deer, 

Save  the  black  shelves  we  tread, 
How  term  you  its  dark  waves  ?  and  how 
Yon  northern  mountain's  pathless  brow, 

And  yonder  peak  of  dread, 
That  to  the  evening  sun  uplifts 
The  griesly  gulfs  and  slaty  rifts 

Which  seam  its  shiver'd  head  ?" — 
"  Coriskin  call  the  dark  lake's  name, 
Coolin  the  ridge,  as  bards  proclaim, 
From  old  Cuchullin,  chief  of  fame. 
But  bards,  familiar  in  our  isles 
Rather  with  Nature's  frowns  than  smiles, 
Full  oft  their  careless  humors  please 
By  sportive  names  from  scenes  like  these. 
I  would  old  Torquil  were  to  show 
His  Maidens  with  their  breasts  of  snow, 
Or  that  my  noble  Liege  were  nigh 
To  hear  his  Nurse  sing  lullaby ! 
(The  Maids — tall  cliffs  with  breakers  white, 
The  Nurse — a  torrent's  roaring  might.) 
Or  that  your  eye  could  see  the  mood 
Of  Corryvrekin's  whirlpool  rude, 
When  dons  the  Hag  her  whiten'd  hood — 
'Tis  thus  our  islesmen's  fancy  frames, 
For  scenes  so  stern,  fantastic  names." 

XVII. 

Answer'd  the  Bruce,  "  And  musing  mind 

Might  here  a  graver  moral  find. 

These  mighty  cliffs,  that  heave  on  high 

Their  naked  brows  to  middle  sky, 

Indifferent  to  the  sun  or  snow, 

Where  nought  can  fade,  and  nought  can  blow, 


1  MS. :  "  Oft  closing,  too,  at  once  they  lower." 
8  MS. :  "  Pour'd  like  a  torrent  dread." 
3  MS. :  "  Leap  from  the  mountain's  head." 
*  "  He  who  ascends  to  mountain  tops  shall  find 
The  loftiest  peaks  most  wrapt  in  clouds  and  snow ; 
He  who  surpasses  or  subdues  mankind 
Must  look  down  on  the  hate  of  those  below. 


May  they  not  mark  a  Monarch's  fate, — 
Raised  high  'mid  storms  of  strife  and  state, 
Beyond  life's  lowlier  pleasures  placed, 
His  soul  a  rock,  his  heart  a  waste  ?* 
O'er  hope  and  love  and  fear  aloft 
High  rears  his  crowned  head — But  soft! 
Look,  underneath  yon  jutting  crag 
Are  hunters  and  a  slaughtered  stag. 
Who  may  they  be  ?     But  late  you  said 
No  steps  these  desert  regions  tread!" — 

XVIII. 
"  So  said  I — and  believed  in  sooth," 
Ronald  replied,  "  I  spoke  the  truth. 
Yet  now  I  spy,  by  yonder  stone, 
Five  men — they  mark  us,  and  come  on ; 
And  by  their  badge  on  bonnet  borne, 
I  guess  them  of  the  land  of  Lorn, 
Foes  to  my  Liege." — "  So  let  it  be ; 
I've  faced  worse  odds  than  five  to  three — 
— But  the  poor  page  can  little  aid ; 
Then  be  our  battle  thus  array'd, 
If  our  free  passage  they  contest : 
Cope  thou  with  two,  I'll  match  the  rest." — 
"  Not  so,  my  Liege — for,  by  my  life, 
This  sword  shall  meet  the  treble  strife ; 
My  strength,  my  skill  in  arms,  more  small, 
And  less  the  loss  should  Ronald  fall. 
But  islesmen  soon  to  soldiers  grow : 
Allan  has  sword  as  well  as  bow, 
And  were  my  Monarch^  order  given, 
Two  shafts  should  make  our  number 

even." — 
"  No !  not  to  save  my  life !"  he  said ; 
"  Enough  of  blood  rests  on  my  head, 
Too  rashly  spill'd— we  soon  shall  know 
Whether  they  come  as  friend  or  foe." 

XIX. 

Nigh  came  the  strangers,  and  more  nigh ; — 
Still  less  they  pleased  the  Monarch's  eye. 
Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Down-look'd,  unwilling  to  be  seen;5 
They  moved  with  half-resolved  pace, 
And  bent  on  earth  each  gloomy  face. 
The  foremost  two  were  fair  array'd, 
With  brogue  and  bonnet,  trews  and  plaid, 
And  bore  the  arms  of  mountaineers, 
Daggers  and  broadswords,  bows  and  spears. 
The  three,  that  lagg'd  small  space  behind, 
Seem'd  serfs  of  more  degraded  kind ; 


Though  high  above  the  sun  of  glory  glow, 
And  far  beneath  the  earth  and  ocean  spread 
Round  him  are  icy  rocks,  and  loudly  blow 
Contending  tempests  on  his  naked  head, 
And  thus  reward  the  toils  which  to  those  summits  led." 
Childe  Harold,  canto  iii. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  H. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


429 


Goat-skins  or  deer-hides  o'er  them  cast 
Made  a  rude  fence  against  the  blast ; 
Their  arms  and  feet  and  heads  were  bare, 
Matted  their  beards,  unshorn  their  hair ; 
For  arms,  the  caitiffs  bore  in  hand 
A  club,  an  axe,  a  rusty  brand. 

XX. 

Onward,  still  mute,  they  kept  the  track ; — 

"  Tell  who  ye  be,  or  else  stand  back," 

Said  Bruce ;  "  In  deserts  when  they  meet, 

Men  pass  not  as  in  peaceful  street." 

Still,  at  his  stern  command,  they  stood, 

And  proffer'd  greeting  brief  and  rude, 

But  acted  courtesy  so  ill, 

As  seem'd  of  fear,  and  not  of  will. 

"  Wanderers  we  are,  as  you  may  be  ; 

Men  hither  driven  by  wind  and  sea, 

Who,  if  you  list  to  taste  our  cheer, 

Wrill  share  with  you  this  fallow  deer." — 

"  If  from  the  sea,  where  lies  your  bark  ?" — 

"  Ten  fathom  deep  in  ocean  dark  ! 

Wreck'd  yesternight :  but  we  are  men 

Who  little  sense  of  peril  ken. 

The  shades  come  down — the  day  is  shut — 

Will  you  go  with  us  to  our  hut  ?" — 

"  Our  vessel  waits  us  in  the  bay;1 

Thanks  for  your  proffer — have  good-day." — 

"  Was  that  your  galley,  then,  which  rode 

Not  far  from  shore  when  evening  glow'd  ?" — '' 

"  It  was." — "  Then  sj>are  your  needless  pain, 

There  will  she  now  be  sought  in  vain. 

We  saw  her  from  the  mountain  head, 

When,  with  St.  George's  blazon  red, 

A  southern  vessel  bore  in  sight, 

And  yours  raised  sail,  and  took  to  flight." — 

XXI. 

"  Now,  by  the  rood,  unwelcome  news !" 
Thus  with  Lord  Ronald  communed  Bruce ; 
"  Nor  rests  there  light  enough  to  show 
If  this  their  tale  be  true  or  no. 
The  men  seem  bred  of  churlish  kind, 
Yet  mellow  nuts  have  hardest  rind ; 
We  will  go  with  them — food  and  fire3 
And  sheltering  roof  our  wants  require. 
Sure  guard  'gainst  treachery  will  we  keep, 
And  watch  by  turns  our  comrades'  sleep. — 
Good  fellows,  thanks ;  your  guests  we'll  be, 
And  well  will  pay  the  courtesy. 
Come,  lead  us  where  your  lodging  lies, — 
— Nay,  soft !  we  mix  not  companies. — 
Show  us  the  path  o'er  crag  and  stone,4 
And  we  will  follow  you ; — lead  on." 

1  MS. :  "  Our  boat  and  vessel  cannot  stay." 

2  MS. :  "  Deep  in  the  bay  when  evening  glow'd." 

3  MS. :  "  Yet  rugged  brows  have  bosoms  kind ; 

Wend  we  with  them — for  food  and  fire." 
*  MS. :  "  Wend  you  the  first  o'er  stock  and  stone." 
5  MS. : "  entrance." 


XXII. 
They  reach'd  the  dreary  cabin,  made 
Of  sails  against  a  rock  display'd, 

And  there,  on  entering,5  found 
A  slender  boy,  whose  form  and  mien 
111  suited  with  such  savage  scene, 
In  cap  and  cloak  of  velvet  green, 

Low  seated  on  the  ground. 
His  garb  was  such  as  minstrels  wear, 
Dark  was  his  hue,  and  dark  his  hair, 
His  youthful  cheek  was  marr'd  by  care, 

His  eyes  in  sorrow  drown'd. 
"  Whence  this  poor  boy  ?" — As  Ronald 

spoke, 
The  voice  his  trance  of  anguish  broke  ; 
As  if  awaked  from  ghastly  dream, 
He  raised  his  head  with  start  and  scream, 

And  wildly  gazed  around  ; 
Then  to  the  wall  his  face  he  turn'd, 
And  his  dark  neck  with  blushes  burn'd. 

XXIII. 

"  Whose  is  the  boy  ?"  again  he  said. 
"  By  chance  of  war  our  captive  made  ; 
He  may  be  yours,  if  you  should  hold 
That  music  has  more  charms  than  gold ; 
For,  though  from  earliest  childhood  mute, 
The  lad  can  deftly  touch  the  lute, 
And  on  the  rote  and  viol  play, 
And  well  can  drive  the  time  away 

For  those  who  love  such  glee ; 
For  me,  the  favoring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  upon  the  galley's  shroud, 

Makes  blither  melody." — 6 
"  Hath  he,  then,  sense  of  spoken  sound  ?"- 

"  Aye ;  so  his  mother  bade  us  know, 
A  crone  in  our  late  shipwreck  drown'd, 
And  hence  the  silly  stripling's  woe. 
More  of  the  youth  I  cannot  say, 
Our  captive  but  since  yesterday ; 
When  wind  and  weather  wax'd  so  grim, 
We  little  listed  think  of  him. — 
But  why  waste  time  in  idle  words  ? 
Sit  to  your  cheer — unbelt  your  swords." 
Sudden  the  captive  turn'd  his  head, 
And  one  quick  glance  to  Ronald  sped. 
It  was  a  keen  and  warning  look, 
And  well  the  Chief  the  signal  took. 

XXIV. 

"  Kind  host,"  he  said,  "  our  needs  require 
A  separate  board  and  separate  fire ; 
For  know  that  on  a  pilgrimage 
Wend  I,  my  comrade,  and  this  page. 

•  MS. :  "  But  on  the  clairshoch  he  can  play, 
And  help  a  weary  night  away, 

With  those  who  love  such  glee. 
To  me,  the  favoring  breeze,  when  loud 
It  pipes  through  on  my  galley's  shroud, 
Makes  better  melody." 


430 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And,  sworn  to  vigil  and  to  fast, 
Long  as  this  hallow'd  task  shall  last, 
We  never  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 
Or  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board ;' 
And  never  share  one  common  sleep, 
But  one  must  still  his  vigil  keep. 
Thus,  for  our  separate  use,  good  friend, 
We'll  hold  this  hut's  remoter  end." — 
"  A  churlish  vow,"  the  eldest  said, 
"  And  hard,  methinks,  to  be  obey'd. 
How  say  you,  if,  to  wreak  the  scorn 
That  pays  our  kindness  harsh  return, 
We  should  refuse  to  share  our  meal?" — 
"  Then  say  we,  that  our  swords  are  steel ! 
And  our  vow  binds  us  not  to  fast, 
Where  gold  or  force  may  buy  repast." — 
Their  host's  dark  brow  grew  keen  and  fell, 
His  teeth  are  clench'd,  his  features  swell ; 
Yet  sunk  the  felon's  moody  ire 
Before  Lord  Ronald's  glance  of  fire, 
Nor  could  his  craven  courage  brook 
The  Monarch's  calm  and  dauntless  look. 
With  laugh  constrain'd, — "  Let  every  man 
Follow  the  fashion  of  his  clan ! 
Each  to  his  separate  quarters  keep, 
And  feed  or  fast,  or  wake  or  sleep." 

XXV. 

Their  fire  at  separate  distance  burns, 
By  turns  they  eat,  keep  guard  by  turns ; 
For  evil  seem'd  that  old  man's  eye, 
Dark  and  designing,  fierce  yet  shy. 
Still  he  avoided  forward  look, 
But  slow  and  circumspectly  took 
A  circling,  never-ceasing  glance, 
By  doubt  and  cunning  mark'd  at  once, 
Which  shot  a  mischief-boding  ray2 
From  under  eyebrows  shagg'd  and  gray. 
The  younger,  too,  who  seem'd  his  son, 
Had  that  dark  look  the  timid  shun  ; 
The  half-clad  serfs  behind  them  sate, 
And  scowl'd  a  glare  'twixt  fear  and  hate- 
Till  all,  as  darkness  onward  crept, 
Couch'd  down,  and  seem'd  to  sleep,  or  slept. 
Nor  he,  that  boy,  whose  powerless  tongue 
Must  trust  his  eyes  to  wail  his  wrong, 
A  longer  watch  of  sorrow  made, 
But  stretch'd  his  limbs  to  slumber  laid.3 

XXVI. 

Not  in  his  dangerous  host  confides 
The  King,  but  wary  watch  provides. 
Ronald  keeps  ward  till  midnight  ]>:ist, 
Then  wakes  the  King,  young  Allan  last; 


i  MS. :  "  And  we  have  sworn  to  \  *a,nted  }  powers, 
( holy       > 

While  lasts  this  hallow'd  task  of  ours, 

Never  to  doff  the  plaid  or  sword, 

Nor  feast  us  at  a  stranger's  board." 


Thus  rank'd,  to  give  the  youthful  page 

The  rest  required  by  tender  age. 

What  is  Lord  Ronald's  wakeful  thought, 

To  chase  the  languor  toil  had  brought? — 

(For  deem  not  that  he  deign'd  to  throw 

Much  care  upon  such  coward  foe). 

He  thinks  of  lovely  Isabel, 

When  at  her  foeman's  feet  she  fell, 

Nor  less  when,  placed  in  princely  selle, 

She  glanced  on  him  with  favoring  eyes, 

At  Woodstock  when  he  won  the  prize. 

Nor,  fair  in  joy,  in  sorrow  fair, 

In  pride  of  place  as  'mid  despair, 

Must  she  alone  engross  his  care. 

His  thoughts  to  his  betrothed  bride,* 

To  Edith,  turn — oh  how  decide, 

When  here  his  love  and  heart  are  given, 

And  there  his  faith  stands  plight  to  Heaven ! 

No  drowsy  ward  'tis  his  to  keep, 

For  seldom  lovers  long  for  sleep. 

Till  sung  his  midnight  hymn  the  owl, 

Answer'd  the  dog-fox  with  his  howl, 

Then  waked  the  King — at  his  request, 

Lord  Ronald  stretch'd  himself  to  rest. 

XXVII. 

What  spell  was  good  King  Robert's,  say, 

To  drive  the  weary  night  away  ? 

His  was  the  patriot's  burning  thought, 

Of  Freedom's  battle  bravely  fought, 

Of  castles  storm'd,  of  cities  freed, 

Of  deep  design  and  daring  deed, 

Of  England's  roses  reft  and  torn, 

And  Scotland's  cross  in  triumph  worn, 

Of  rout  and  rally,  war  and  truce, — 

As  heroes  think,  so  thought  the  Bruce. 

No  marvel,  'mid  such  musings  high, 

Sleep  shunn'd  the  Monarch's  thoughtful  eye. 

Now  over  Coolin's  eastern  head 

The  grayish  light5  begins  to  spread, 

The  otter  to  his  cavern  drew, 

And  clamor'd  shrill  the  wakening  mew ; 

Then  watch'd  the  page— to  needful  rest 

The  King  resign'd  his  anxious  breast. 

XXVIII. 

To  Allan's  eyes  was  harder  task, 
The  weary  watch  their  safeties  ask. 
He  trimm'd  the  fire,  and  gave  to  shine 
With  bickering  light  the  splinter'd  pine ; 
Then  gazed  a  while,  where  silent  laid 
Their  hosts  were  shrouded  by  the  plaid. 
But  little  fear  waked  in  his  mind, 
For  he  was  bred  of  martial  kind, 


"  an  ill-foreboding  ray." 


2  MS. :  

3  MS. :  "  But  seems  in  senseless  slumber  laid.' 
*  MS. :  "  Must  she  alone  his  musings  share. 

They  turn  to  his  betrothed  bride." 
&  MS. :  "  The  cold  blue  light." 


THE  LORD  OF   THE   ISLES. 


431 


And,  if  to  manhood  he  arrive, 

May  match  the  boldest  knight  alive. 

Then  thought  he  of  his  mother's  tower, 

His  little  sisters'  greenwood  bower, 

How  there  the  Easter  gambols  pass, 

And  of  Dan  Joseph's  lengthen'd  mass. 

But  still  before  his  weary  eye 

In  rays  prolong'd  the  blazes  die ; — 

Again  he  roused  him — on  the  lake 

Look'd  forth,  where  now  the  twilight  flake 

Of  pale  cold  dawn  began  to  wake. 

On  Coolin's  cliifs  the  mist  lay  furl'd, 

The  morning  breeze  the  lake  had  curl'd, 

The  short  dark  waves,  heaved  to  the  land, 

With  ceaseless  plash  kiss'd  cliff  or  sand ; — 

It  was  a  slumbrous  sound — he  turn'd 

To  tales  at  which  his  youth  had  burn'd, 

Of  pilgrim's  path  by  demon  cross'd, 

Of  sprightly  elf  or  yelling  ghost, 

Of  the  wild  witch's  baneful  cot, 

And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 

Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 

Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell.1 

Thither  in  fancy  rapt  he  flies, 

And  on  his  sight  the  vaults  arise ; 

That  hut's  dark  walls  he  sees  no  more, 

His  foot  is  on  the  marble  floor, 

And  o'er  his  head  the  dazzling  spars 

Gleam  like  a  firmament  of  stars ! 

— Hark  !  hears  he  not  the  sea-nymph  speak 

Her  anger  in  that  thrilling  shriek ! — 

No !  all  too  late,  with  Allan's  dream 

Mingled  the  captive's  warning  scream.1 

As  from  the  ground  he  strives  to  start, 

A  ruffian's  dagger  finds  his  heart ! 

Upward  he  casts  his  dizzy  eyes,  .  .  . 

Murmurs  his  master's  name,  .  .  .  and  dies  !3 

XXIX. 

Not  so  awoke  the  King !  his  hand 
Snatch'd  from  the  flame  a  knotted  brand, 
The  nearest  weapon  of  his  wrath ; 
With  this  he  cross'd  the  murderer's  path, 

And  venged  young  Allan  well ! 
The  spatter'd  brain  and  bubbling  blood 
Hiss'd  on  the  half-extinguish'd  wood, 

The  miscreant  gasp'd  and  fell  !4 
Nor  rose  in  peace  the  Island  Lord ; 
One  caitiff  died  upon  his  sword, 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  2  I. 


2  MS. 


"  with  empty  dream, 


Mingled  the  captive's  real  scream." 
'  "  Young  Allan's  turn  (to  watch)  comes  last,  which  gives 
the  poet  the  opportunity  of  marking,  in  the  most  natural  and 
happy  manner,  that  insensible  transition  from  the  reality  of 
waking  thoughts  to  the  fanciful  visions  of  slumber,  and  that 
delusive  power  of  the  imagination  which  so  blends  the  con- 
fines of  these  separate  states  as  to  deceive  and  sport  with  the 
efforts  even  of  determined  vigilance." — British  Critic,  Feb- 
ruary, 1815. 


And  one  beneath  his  grasp  lies  prone, 
In  mortal  grapple  overthrown. 
But  while  Lord  Ronald's  dagger  drank 
The  life-blood  from  his  panting  flank, 
The  Father-ruffian  of  the  band 
Behind  him  rears  a  coward  hand ! 

— Oh  for  a  moment's  aid, 
Till  Bruce,  who  deals  no  double  blow,5 
Dash  to  the  earth  another  foe, 

Above  his  comrade  laid ! — 
And  it  is  gain'd — the  captive  sprung 
On  the  raised  arm,  and  closely  clung, 

And,  ere  he  shook  him  loose, 
The  master'd  felon  press'd  the  ground, 
And  gasp'd  beneath  a  mortal  wound, 

While  o'er  him  stands  the  Bruce. 

XXX. 

"  Miscreant !  while  lasts  thy  flitting  spark, 

Give  me  to  know  the  purpose  dark 

That  arm'd  thy  hand  with  murderous  knife 

Against  offenceless  stranger's  life  ?" — 

"  No  stranger  thou !"  with  accent  fell 

Murmur'd  the  wretch ;  "  I  know  thee  well ; 

And  know  thee  for  the  foeman  sworn 

Of  my  high  chief,  the  mighty  Lorn." — 

"  Speak  yet  again,  and  speak  the  truth 

For  thy  soul's  sake ! — from  whence  this  youth  ? 

His  country,  birth,  and  name  declare, 

And  thus  one  evil  deed  repair." — 

— "  Vex  me  no  more !  .  .  .  my  blood  runs  cold  .  .  . 

No  more  I  know  than  I  have  told. 

We  found  him  in  a  bark  we  sought 

With  different  purpose  .  .  .  and  I  thought"  . . . 

Fate  cut  him  short ;  in  blood  and  broil, 

As  he  had  lived,  died  C'ormac  Doil. 

XXXI. 

Then  resting  on  his  bloody  blade, 
The  valiant  Bruce  to  Ronald  said, 
"  Now  shame  upon  us  both ! — that  boy 

Lifts  his  mute  face  to  heaven,6 
And  clasps  his  hands,  to  testify 
His  gratitude  to  God  on  high, 

For  strange  deliverance  given. 
His  speechless  gesture  thanks  hath  paid, 
Which  our  free  tongues  have  left  unsaid !" 
He  raised  the  youth  with  kindly  word, 
But  mark'd  him  shudder  at  the  sword  : 

*  MS. :  "  What  time  the  miscreant  fell." 

6  "  On  witnessing  the  disinterment  of  Bruce's  remains  at 
Dunfermline,  in  1822,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "many  people  shed 
tears;  for  there  was  the  wasted  skull,  which  once  was  the 
head  that  thought  so  wisely  and  boldly  for  his  country's  de- 
liverance; and  there  was  the  dry  bone,  which  had  once  been 
the  sturdy  arm  that  killed  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  between  the 
two  armies,  at  a  single  blow,  on  the  evening  before  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn."— Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 

•  MS. :  "  Holds  up  his  speechless  face  to  heaven." 


432 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


He  cleansed  it  from  its  hue  of  death, 
And  plunged  the  weapon  in  its  sheath. 
"Alas,  poor  child!  unfitting  part 
Fate  doom'd,  when  with  so  soft  a  heart, 

And  form  so  slight  as  thine, 
She  made  thee  first  a  pirate's  slave, 
Then,  in  his  stead,  a  patron  gave 

Of  wayward  lot  like  mine ; 
A  landless  prince,  whose  wandering  life 
Is  but  one  scene  of  blood  and  strife ; — 
Yet  scant  of  friends  the  Bruce  shall  be, 
But  he'll  find  resting-place  for  thee. — 
Come,  noble  Ronald !  o'er  the  dead 
Enough  thy  generous  grief  is  paid, 
And  well  has  Allan's  fate  been  wroke  ; 
Come,  wend  we  hence — the  day  has  broke. 
Seek  we  our  bark — I  trust  the  tale 
Was  false,  that  she  had  hoisted  sail." 

XXXII. 

Yet,  ere  they  left  that  charnel-cell, 
The  Island  Lord  bade  sad  farewell 
To  Allan :— "  Who  shall  tell  this  tale," 
He  said,  "  in  halls  of  Donagaile ! 
Oh,  who  his  widow'd  mother  tell 
That,  ere  his  bloom,  her  fairest  fell ! — 
Rest  thee,  poor  youth  !  and  trust  my  care 
For  mass  and  knell  and  funeral  prayer ; 
While  o'er  those  caitiffs,  where  they  lie, 
The  wolf  shall  snarl,  the  raven  cry !" — 
And  now  the  eastern  mountain's  head 
On  the  dark  lake  threw  lustre  red  ; 
Bright  gleams  of  gold  and  purple  streak 
Ravine  and  precipice  and  peak — 
(So  earthly  power  at  distance  shows ; 
Reveals  his  splendor,  hides  his  woes.) 
O'er  sheets  of  granite,  dark  and  broad,1 
Rent  and  unequal,  lay  the  road. 
In  sad  discourse  the  warriors  wind, 
And  the  mute  captive  moves  behind.3 


i  MS. :  "  Along  the  lake's  rude  margin  slow, 

O'er  terraces  of  granite  black  they  go." 

2  MS.:  "And  the  mute  page  moves  slow  behind." 

"This  canto  is  full  of  beauties;  the  first  part  of  it,  contain- 
ing the  conference  of  the  chiefs  in  Bruce's  chamber,  might 
perhaps  have  been  abridged,  because  the  discussion  of  a  mere 
matter  of  business  is  unsuited  for  poetry ;  but  the  remainder 
of  the  canto  is  unobjectionable;  the  scenery  in  which  it  is 
laid  excites  the  imagination  ;  and  the  cave  scene  affords  many 
opportunities  for  the  poet,  of  which  Mr.  Scott  has  very  suc- 
cessfully availed  himself.  The  description  of  Allan's  watch 
is  particularly  pleasing;  indeed,  the  manner  in  which  he  is 
made  to  fall  asleep,  mingling  the  scenes  of  which  he  was 
thinking  with  the  scene  around  him,  and  then  mingling  with 
his  dreams  the  captive's  sudden  scream,  is,  we  think,  among 
the  most  happy  passages  of  the  whole  poem." — Quarterly 
Review. 

"We  scarcely  know  whether  we  could  have  selected  a  pas- 
sage from  the  poem  that  will  more  fairly  illustrate  its  general 
merits  and  pervading  blemishes  than  the  one  which  we  have 


Cfje  Hot*  of  tfje  Itslcs. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


Stranger  !  if  e'er  thine  ardent  step  hath  traced 
The  northern  realms  of  ancient  Caledon, 
Where  the  proud  Queen  of  Wilderness  hath  placed, 
By  lake  and  cataract,  her  lonely  throne, 
Sublime  but  sad  delight  thy  soul  hath  known, 
Gazing  on  pathless  glen  and  mountain  high, 
Listing  where  from  the  cliffs  the  torrents  thrown 
Mingle  their  echoes  with  the  eagle's  cry, 
And  with  the  sounding  lake,  and  with  the  moaning  sky. 

Yes !  'twas  sublime,  but  sad. — The  loneliness 
Loaded  thy  heart,  the  desert  tired  thine  eye ; 
And  strange  and  awful  fears  began  to  press 
Thy  bosom  with  a  stern  solemnity. 
Then  hast  thou  wish'd  some  woodman's  cottage  nigh, 
Something  that  show'd  of  life,  though  low  and  mean ; 
Glad  sight,  its  curling  wreath  of  smoke  to  spy, 
Glad  sound,  its  cock's  blithe  carol  would  have  been, 
Or  children  whooping  wild  beneath  the  willows  green. 

Such  are  the  scenes  where  savage  grandeur  wakes 
An  awful  thrill  that  softens  into  sighs  ; 
Such  feelings  rouse  them  by  dim  Rannoch's  lakes, 
In  dark  Glencoe  such  gloomy  raptures  rise : 
Or  farther,  where,  beneath  the  northern  skies, 
Chides  wild  Loch-Eribol  his  caverns  hoar ; — 
But,  be  the  minstrel  judge,  they  yield  the  prize 
Of  desert  dignity  to  that  dread  shore 
That  sees  grim  Coolin  rise,  and  hears  Coriskin  roar.5 

II. 

Through  such  wild  scenes  the  champion  pass'd, 
When  bold  halloo  and  bugle-blast 
Upon  the  breeze  came  loud  and  fast. 


just  quoted  (stanzas  xxxi.  and  xxxii.).  The  same  happy 
mixture  of  moral  remark  and  vivid  painting  of  dramatic 
situations  frequently  occurs,  and  is  as  frequently  debased  by 
prosaic  expressions  and  couplets,  and  by  every  variety  of 
ungrammatical  license,  or  even  barbarism.  Our  readers,  in 
short,  will  immediately  here  discover  the  powerful  hand  that 
has  so  often  presented  them  with  descriptions  calculated  at 
once  to  exalt  and  animate  their  thoughts,  and  to  lower  and 
deaden  the  language  which  is  their  vehicle ;  but,  as  we  have 
before  observed  again  and  again,  we  believe,  Mr.  Scott  is  in- 
accessible even  to  the  mildest  and  the  most  just  reproof  on 
this  subject.  We  really  believe  that  he  cannot  write  correct 
English ;  and  we  therefore  dismiss  him  as  an  incurable,  with 
unfeigned  compassion  for  this  one  fault,  and  with  the  highest 
admiration  of  his  many  redeeming  virtues."— Monthly  Review. 

3  "That  Mr.  Scott  can  occasionally  clothe  the  grandeur  of 
his  thought  in  the  majesty  of  expression,  unobscured  with 
the  jargon  of  antiquated  ballads,  and  unencumbered  by  the 
awkwardness  of  rugged  expression  or  harsh  involution,  we 
can  with  pleasure  acknowledge;  a  finer  specimen  cannot 
perhaps  be  exhibited  than  in  this  passage."— British  Critic. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


433 


"  There,"  said  the  Bruce,  "  rung  Edward's  horn ! 
What  can  have  caused  such  brief  return  ? 
And  see,  brave  Ronald, — see  him  dart 
O'er  stock  and  stone  like  hunted  hart, 
Precipitate,  as  is  the  use, 
In  war  or  sport,  of  Edward  Bruce. 
— He  marks  us,  and  his  eager  cry- 
Will  tell  his  news  ere  he  be  nigh." 

III. 

Loud  Edward  shouts,  "  What  make  ye  here, 
Warring  upon  the  mountain  deer, 

When  Scotland  wants  her  King  ? 
A  bark  from  Lennox  cross'd  our  track, 
With  her  in  speed  I  hurried  back, 

These  joyful  news  to  bring — 
The  Stuart  stirs  in  Teviotdale, 
And  Douglas  wakes  his  native  vale ; 
Thy  storm-toss'd  fleet  hath  won  its  way 
With  little  loss  to  Brodick  Bay, 
And  Lennox,  with  a  gallant  band, 
Waits  but  thy  coming  and  command 
To  waft  them  o'er  to  Carrick  strand. 
There  are  blithe  news ! — but  mark  the  close ! 
Edward,  the  deadliest  of  our  foes, 
As  with  his  host  he  northward  pass'd, 
Hath  on  the  borders  breathed  his  last." 

IV. 

Still  stood  the  Bruce — his  steady  cheek 
Was  little  wont  his  joy  to  speak, 

But  then  his  color  rose : — 
"  Now,  Scotland !  shortly  shalt  thou  see, 
With  God's  high  will,  thy  children  free, 

And  vengeance  on  thy  foes ! 
Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 

My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier;1 
I  took  my  knighthood  at  his  hand, 
And  lordship  held  of  him,  and  land, 

And  well  may  vouch  it  here, 
That,  blot  the  stoiy  from  his  page 
Of  Scotland  ruin'd  in  his  rage, 
You  read  a  monarch  brave  and  sage, 

And  to  his  people  dear." — 
"  Let  London's  burghers  mourn  her  Lord, 
And  Croydon  monks  his  praise  record," 

The  eager  Edward  said ; 
"  Eternal  as  his  own,  my  hate 
Surmounts  the  bounds  of  mortal  fate, 

And  dies  not  with  the  dead ! 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  K. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  L. 

3  "  The  Bruce  was,  unquestionably,  of  a  temper  never  sur- 
passed for  its  humanity,  munificence,  and  nobleness ;  yet,  to 
represent  him  sorrowing  over  the  death  of  the  first  Plantage- 
net,  after  the  repeated  and  tremendous  ills  inflicted  by  that 
man  on  Scotland— the  patriot  Wallace  murdered  by  his  order, 
as  well  as  the  royal  race  of  AVales,  and  the  very  brothers  of 
the  Bruce,  slaughtered  by  his  command — to  represent  the 
just  and  generous  Robert,  we  repeat,  feeling  an  instant's  com- 

28 


Such  hate  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 
When  vengeance  clench'd  his  palsied  hand, 
That  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land,2 

As  his  last  accents  pray'd 
Disgrace  and  curse  upon  his  heir 
If  he  one  Scottish  head  should  spare, 
Till  stretch'd  upon  the  bloody  lair 

Each  rebel  corpse  was  laid ! 
Such  hate  was  his,  when  his  last  breath 
Renounced  the  peaceful  house  of  death, 
And  bade  his  bones  to  Scotland's  coast 
Be  borne  by  his  remorseless  host, 
As  if  his  dead  and  stony  eye 
Could  still  enjoy  her  misery ! 
Such  hate  was  his — dark,  deadly,  long; 
Mine, — as  enduring,  deep,  and  strong !" — 


"  Let  women,  Edward,  war  with  words, 

With  curses  monks,  but  men  with  swords : 

Nor  doubt  of  living  foes,  to  sate 

Deepest  revenge  and  deadliest  hate.3 

Now,  to  the  sea !  behold  the  beach, 

And  see  the  galleys'  pendents  stretch 

Their  fluttering  length  down  favoring  gale ! 

Aboard,  aboard !  and  hoist  the  sail. 

Hold  we  our  way  for  Arran  first, 

Where  meet  in  arms  our  friends  dispersed ; 

Lennox  the  loyal,  De  la  Haye, 

And  Boyd  the  bold  in  battle  fray. 

I  long  the  hardy  band  to  head, 

And  see  once  more  my  standard  spread. — 

Does  noble  Ronald  share  our  course, 

Or  stay  to  raise  his  island  force?" — 

"  Come  weal,  come  woe,  by  Bruce's  side," 

Replied  the  Chief,  "will  Ronald  bide; 

Aud  since  two  galleys  yonder  ride, 

Be  mine,  so  please  my  Liege,  dismiss'd 

To  wake  to  arms  the  clans  of  Uist, 

And  all  who  hear  the  Minche's  roar 

On  the  Long  Island's  lonely  shore. 

The  nearer  Isles,  with  slight  delay, 

Ourselves  may  summon  in  our  way ; 

And  soon  on  Arran's  shore  shall  meet, 

With  Torquil's  aid,  a  gallant  fleet, 

If  aught  avails  their  Chieftain's  hest 

Among  the  islesmen  of  the  west." 

VI. 

Thus  was  their  venturous  counsel  said ; 
But,  ere  their  sails  the  galleys  spread, 

passion  for  the  sudden  fate  of  a  miscreant  like  this,,  is,  we  are 
compelled  to  say  it,  so  monstrous,  and,  in  a  Scottish  poet,  so 
unnatural  a  violation  of  truth  and  decency,  not  to  say  patri- 
otism, that  we  are  really  astonished  that  the  author  could 
have  conceived  the  idea,  much  more  that  he  could  suffer  his 
pen  to  record  it.  This  wretched  abasement  on  the  part  o€ 
the  Bruce  is  further  heightened  by  the  king's  half-reprehen- 
sion of  Prince  Edward's  noble  and  stern  expression  of  undying 
hatred  against  his  country's  spoiler  and  his  family's  assassin." 
— Critical  Review. 


434 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Coriskin  dark  and  Coolin  high 
Echo'd  the  dirge's  doleful  cry. 
Along  that  sable  lake  pass'd  slow, — 
Fit  scene  for  such  a  sight  of  woe, — 
The  sorrowing  islesmen,  as  they  bore 
The  murder'd  Allan  to  the  shore. 
At  every  pause,  with  dismal  shout 
Their  coronach  of  grief  rung  out, 
And  ever,  when  they  moved  again, 
The  pipes  resumed  their  clamorous  strain, 
And,  with  the  pibroch's  shrilling  wail, 
Mourn'd  the  young  heir  of  Donagaile. 
Round  and  around,  from  clift'  and  cave, 
His  answer  stern  old  Coolin  gave, 
Till  high  upon  his  misty  side 
Languish'd  the  mournful  notes,  and  died. 
For  never  sounds,  by  mortal  made, 
Attain'd  his  high  and  haggard  head, 
That  echoes  but  the  tempest's  moan, 
Or  the  deep  thunder's  rending  groan. 

VII. 
Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark, 

She  bounds  before  the  gale, 
The  mountain  breeze  from  Ben-na-darch 

Is  joyous  in  her  sail ! 
With  fluttering  sound  like  laughter  hoarse, 

The  cords  and  canvas  strain, 
The  waves,  divided  by  her  force, 
In  rippling  eddies  chased  her  course, 

As  if  they  laugh'd  again. 
Not  down  the  breeze  more  blithely  flew, 
Skimming  the  wave,  the  light  sea-mew, 

Than  the  gay  galley  bore 
Her  course  upon  that  favoring  wind, 
And  Coolin's  crest  has  sunk  behind, 

And  Slapin's  cavern'd  shore.1 
1Twas  then  that  warlike  signals  wake 
Dunscaith's  dark  towers  and  Eisord's  lake, 
And  soon,  from  Cavilgarrigh's  head, 
Thick  wreaths  of  eddying  smoke  were  spread ; 
A  summons  these  of  war  and  wrath 
To  the  brave  clans  of  Sleate  and  Strath, 

And,  ready  at  the  sight, 
Each  warrior  to  his  weapons  sprung, 
And  targe  upon  his  shoulder  flung, 

Impatient  for  the  fight. 
MacKinnon's  chief,  in  warfare  gray, 
Had  charge  to  muster  their  array, 
And  guide  their  barks  to  Brodick  Bay. 

VIII. 

Signal  of  Ronald's  high  command, 
A  beacon  gleam'd  o'er  sea  and  land, 


1  MS. :  "  mountain  shore." 

a  See  Appendix,  Note  2  M. 

3  MS. :  "  To  Canna's  turret  gray." 

4  "  The  stanzas  which  follow  are,  we  think,  touchingly 
beautiful,  and  breathe  a  sweet  and  melancholy  tenderness, 


From  Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 
Like  falcon  nest  o'erhangs  the  bay.2 
Seek  not  the  giddy  crag  to  climb, 
To  view  the  turret  scathed  by  time ; 
It  is  a  task  of  doubt  and  fear 
To  aught  but  goat  or  mountain  deer. 
But  rest  thee  on  the  silver  beach, 
And  let  the  aged  herdsman  teach 

His  tale  of  former  day ; 
His  cur's  wild  clamor  he  shall  chide, 
And  for  thy  seat  by  ocean's  side 

His  varied  plaid  display ; 
Then  tell  how  with  their  Chieftain  came, 
In  ancient  times,  a  foreign  dame 

To  yonder3  turret  gray.4 
Stern  was  her  Lord's  suspicious  mind, 
Who  in  so  rude  a  jail  confined 

So  soft  and  fair  a  thrall ! 
And  oft,  when  moon  on  ocean  slept, 
That  lovely  lady  sat  and  wept 

Upon  the  castle  wall, 
And  turn'd  her  eye  to  southern  climes, 
And  thought  perchance  of  happier  times, 
And  touch'd  her  lute  by  fits,  and  sung 
Wild  ditties  in  her  native  tongue. 
And  still,  when  on  the  cliff  and  bay 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeams  play, 

And  every  breeze  is  mute, 
Upon  the  lone  Hebridean's  ear 
Steals  a  strange  pleasure  mix'd  with  fear, 
While  from  that  cliff  he  seems  to  hear 

The  murmur  of  a  lute, 
And  sounds,  as  of  a  captive  lone, 
That  mourns  her  woes  in  tongue  unknown.- 
Strange  is  the  tale — but  all  too  long 
Already  hath  it  staid  the  song ; 

Yet  who  may  pass  them  by, 
That  crag  and  tower  in  ruins  gray,* 
Nor  to  their  hapless  tenant  pay 

The  tribute  of  a  sigh ! 

IX. 

Merrily,  merrily  bounds  the  bark 

O'er  the  broad  ocean  driven, 
Her  path  by  Ronin's  mountains  dark 

The  steersman's  hand  hath  given. 
And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 

Their  hunters  to  the  shore,6 
And  each  his  ashen  bow  unbent, 

And  gave  his  pastime  o'er, 
And,  at  the  Island  Lord's  command, 
For  hunting  spear  took  warrior's  brand. 
On  Scooreigg  next  a  warning  light 
Summon'd  her  warriors  to  the  fight ; 


perfectly  suitable  to  the  sad  tale  which  they  record."—  QritteaX 
Review. 


5  MS.:  "That  crag  with  crest  of  ruins  gray." 
«  See  Appendix,  Note  2  N. 


THE   LOKD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


435 


A  numerous  race  ere  stern  MacLeod 

O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode,1 

When  all  in  vain  the  ocean  cave 

Its  refuge  to  his  victims  gave. 

The  Chief,  relentless  in  his  wrath, 

With  blazing  heath  blockades  the  path ; 

In  dense  and  stifling  volumes  roll'd, 

The  vapor  fill'd  the  cavern'd  hold ! 

The  warrior  threat,  the  infant's  plain, 

The  mother's  screams,  were  heard  in  vain ; 

The  vengeful  Chief  maintains  his  fires, 

Till  in  the  vault2  a  tribe  expires ! 

The  bones  which  strew  that  cavern's  gloom 

Too  well  attest  their  dismal  doom. 

X. 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark3 

On  a  breeze  from  the  northward  free  ; 
So  shoots  through  the  morning  sky  the  lark, 

Or  the  swan  through  the  summer  sea. 
The  shores  of  Mull  on  the  eastward  lay, 
And  Ulva  dark,  and  Colonsay, 
And  all  the  group  of  islets  gay 

That  guard  famed  Staffa  round.4 
Then  all  unknown  its  columns  rose, 
Where  dark  and  undisturb'd  repose5 

The  cormorant  had  found, 
And  the  shy  seal  had  quiet  home, 
And  welter'd  in  that  wondrous  dome, 
Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 
Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise!6 
Not  for  a  meaner  use  ascend 
Her  columns,  or  her  arches  bend; 
Nor  of  a  theme  less  solemn  tells 
That  mighty  surge  that  ebbs  and  swells, 
And  still,  between  each  awful  pause, 
From  the  high  vault  an  answer  draws, 


1  See  Appendix,  Nate  2  O. 

2  MS. :  "  Till  in  their  smoke,"  &c. 

3  "  And  so  also  '  merrily,  merrily,  goes  the  bard,'  in  a  suc- 
cession of  merriment,  which,  like  Dogberry's  tediousness,  he 
finds  it  in  his  heart  to  bestow  wholly  and  entirely  on  us, 
through  page  after  page,  or  wave  after  wave  of  his  voyage. 
We  could  almost  be  tempted  to  believe  that  he  was  on  his  re- 
turn from  Skye  when  he  wrote  this  portion  of  his  poem — from 
Skye,  the  depository  of  the  'mighty  cup  of  royal  Somerled,' 
as  well  as  of  '  Rorie  More's'  comparatively  modern  '  horn ' — 
and  that,  as  he  says  himself  of  a  minstrel  who  celebrated  the 
hospitalities  of  Dunvegan  Castle  in  that  island,  'it  is  pretty 
plain  that  when  this  tribute  of  poetical  praise  was  bestowed, 
the  horn  of  Rorie  More  had  not  been  inactive.'" — Monthly 
Review.    See  Appendix,  Note  M. 

*  "  Of  the  prominent  beauties  which  abound  in  the  poem, 
the  most  magnificent  we  consider  to  be  the  description  of  the 
celebrated  Cave  of  Fingal,  which  is  conceived  in  a  mighty 
mind,  and  is  expressed  in  a  strain  of  poetry  clear,  simple,  and 
sublime."— British  Critic. 

6  MS. :  "  Where  niched,  his  undisturb'd  repose." 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  2  P. 


In  varied  tone  prolong'd  and  high, 

That  mocks  the  organ's  melody. 

Nor  doth  its  entrance  front  in  vain 

To  old  Iona's  holy  fane, 

That  Nature's  voice  might  seem  to  say, 

"  Well  hast  thou  done,  frail  Child  of  clay  I 

Thy  humble  powers  that  stately  shrine 

Task'd  high  and  hard — but  witness  mine  !"7 

XL 

Merrily,  merrily  goes  the  bark — 

Before  the  gale  she  bounds ; 
So  darts  the  dolphin  from  the  shark, 

Or  the  deer  before  the  hounds. 
They  left  Loch  Tua  on  their  lee, 
And  they  waken'd  the  men  of  the  wild 

Tiree, 
And  the  Chief  of  the  sandy  Coll ; 
They  paused  not  at  Columba's  isle, 
Though  peal'd  the  bells  from  the  holy  pile 

With  long  and  measured  toll  ;8 
No  time  for  matin  or  for  mass, 
And  the  sounds  of  the  holy  summons  pass 

Away  in  the  billows'  roll. 
Lochbuie's  fierce  and  warlike  Lord 
Their  signal  saw,  and  grasp'd  his  sword, 
And  verdant  Hay  call'd  her  host, 
And  the  clans  of  Jura's  rugged  coast 

Lord  Ronald's  call  obey, 
And  Scarba's  isle,  whose  tortured  shore 
Still  rings  to  Corryvreken's  roar, 

And  lonely  Colonsay ; 
— Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more  !• 
His  bright  and  brief10  career  is  o'er, 

And  mute  his  tuneful  strains; 
Quench'd  is  his  lamp  of  varied  lore, 
That  loved  the  light  of  song  to  pour ; 
A  distant  and  a  deadly  shore 

Has  Leyden's  cold  remains! 


i  The  MS.  adds: 

"Which,  when  the  ruins  of  thy  pile 

Cumber  the  desolated  isle, 

Firm  and  immutable  shall  stand, 

'Gainst  winds,  and  waves,  and  spoiler's  hand." 

8  "  We  were  now  treading  that  illustrious  island  which  was 
once  the  luminary  of  the  Caledonian  regions,  whence  savage 
clans  and  roving  barbarians  derived  the  benefits  of  knowledge 
and  the  blessings  of  religion.  To  abstract  the  mind  from  all 
local  emotion  would  be  impossible  if  it  were  endeavored,  and 
would  be  foolish  if  it  were  possible.  Whatever  withdraws  us 
from  the  power  of  our  senses,  whatever  makes  the  past,  the 
distant,  or  the  future  predominate  over  the  present,  advances 
us  in  the  dignity  of  thinking  beings.  Far  from  me  and  from 
my  friends  be  such  frigid  philosophy  as  may  conduct  us  in- 
different and  unmoved  over  any  ground  which  has  been  dig- 
nified by  wisdom,  bravery,  or  virtue.  That  man  is  little  to  be 
envied  whose  patriotism  would  not  gain  force  upon  the  plain 
of  Marathon,  or  whose  piety  would  not  grow  warmer  among 
the  ruins  of  Ion  a." — Johnson. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  2  Q. 

10  MS. :  "  His  short  but  bright,"  Ac. 


436 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XII. 

Ever  the  breeze  blows  merrily, 
But  the  galley  ploughs  no  more  the  sea. 
Lest,  rounding  wild  Cantire,  they  meet 
The  southern  foeman's  watchful  fleet, 

They  held  unwonted  way ; — 
Up  Tarbat's  western  lake  they  bore, 
Then  dragg'd  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er,1 
As  far  as  Kilmaconuel's  shore, 

Upon  the  eastern  bay. 
It  was  a  wondrous  sight  to  see 
Topmast  and  pennon  glitter  free, 
High  raised  above  the  greenwood  tree, 
As  on  dry  land  the  galley  moves, 
By  cliff  and  copse  and  alder  groves. 
Deep  import  from  that  selcouth  sign 
Did  many  a  mountain  seer  divine, 
For  ancient  legends  told  the  Gael 
That  when  a  royal  bark  should  sail 

O'er  Kilmaconnel  moss, 
Old  Albin  should  in  fight  prevail, 
And  every  foe  should  faint  and  quail 

Before  her  silver  Cross. 

XIII. 

Now,  launch'd  once  more,  the  inland  sea 
They  furrow  with  fair  augury, 

And  steer  for  Arran's  isle ; 
The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-Ghoil,  "the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 

And  bade  Loch  Banza  smile.2 
Thither  their  destined  course  they  drew; 
It  seem'd  the  isle  her  monarch  knew, 
So  brilliant  was  the  landward  view, 

The  ocean  so  serene ; 
Each  puny  wave  in  diamonds  roll'd 
O'er  the  calm  deep,  where  hues  of  gold 

With  azure  strove  and  green. 
The  hill,  the  vale,  the  tree,  the  tower, 
Glow'd  with  the  tints  of  evening's  hour, 

The  beach  was  silver  sheen, 
The  wind  breathed  soft  as  lover's  sigh, 
And,  oft  renew'd,  seem'd  oft  to  die, 

With  breathless  pause  between. 
Oh  who,  with  speech  of  war  and  woes, 
Would  wish  to  break  the  soft  repose 

Of  such  enchanting  scene ! 

XIV. 

Is  it  of  war  Lord  Bonald  speaks? 
The  blush  that  dyes  his  manly  cheeks, 
The  timid  look  and  downcast  eye, 
And  faltering  voice,  the  theme  deny. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  R. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  S. 

8  MS. :  "  no  tongue  is  mine 

To  blame  her,"  &c. 


And  good  King  Robert's  brow  express'd, 
He  ponder'd  o'er  some  high  request, 

As  doubtful  to  approve ; 
Yet  in  his  eye  and  lip  the  while 
Dwelt  the  half-pitying  glance  and  smile 
Which  manhood's  graver  mood  beguile, 
When  lovers  talk  of  love. 
Anxious  his  suit  Lord  Ronald  plead ; 
— "  And  for  my  bride  betrothed,"  he  said, 
"  My  Liege  has  heard  the  rumor  spread 
Of  Edith  from  Artornish  fled. 
Too  hard  her  fate — I  claim  no  right3 
To  blame  her  for  her  hasty  flight ; 
Be  joy  and  happiness  her  lot ! — 
But  she  hath  fled  the  bridal-knot, 
And  Lorn  recall'd  his  promised  plight, 
In  the  assembled  chieftains'  sight. — 
When,  to  fulfill  our  fathers'  band, 
I  profier'd  all  I  could — my  hand — 

I  was  repulsed  with  scorn ; 
Mine  honor  I  should  ill  assert, 
And  worse  the  feelings  of  my  heart, 
If  I  should  play  a  suitor's  part 
Again,  to  pleasure  Lorn." — 

XV. 

"  Young  Lord,"  the  royal  Bruce*  replied, 
"  That  question  must  the  Church  decide  ; 
Yet  seems  it  hard,  since  rumors  state 
Edith  takes  Clifford  for  her  mate, 
The  very  tie  which  she  hath  broke 
To  thee  should  still  be  binding  yoke. 
But,  for  my  sister  Isabel — 
The  mood  of  woman  who  can  tell  ? 
I  guess  the  Champion  of  the  Rock, 
Victorious  in  the  tourney  shock, 
That  knight  unknown,  to  whom  the  prize 
She  dealt,  had  favor  in  her  eyes ; 
But  since  our  brother  Nigel's  fate, 
Our  ruin'd  house  and  hapless  state, 
From  worldly  joy  and  hope  estranged, 
Much  is  the  hapless  mourner  changed. 
Perchance,"  here  smiled  the  noble  King, 
"  This  tale  may  other  musings  bring. 
Soon  shall  we  know — yon  mountains  hide 
The  little  convent  of  Saint  Bride ; 
There,  sent  by  Edward,  she  must  stay 
Till  fate  shall  give  more  prosperous  day;5 
And  thither  will  I  bear  thy  suit, 
Nor  will  thine  advocate  be  mute." 

XVI. 

As  thus  they  talk'd  in  earnest  mood, 
That  speechless  boy  beside  them  stood. 


«  MS.: 


"  the  princely  Bruce." 


6  MS. :  "  Thither,  by  Edward  sent,  she  stays 

Till  fate  shall  lend  more  prosperous  days." 


THE   LOKD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


437 


He  stoop'd  his  head  against  the  mast, 

And  bitter  sobs  came  thick  and  fast, — 

A  grief  that  would  not  be  repress'd, 

But  seem'd  to  burst  his  youthful  breast. 

His  hands,  against  his  forehead  held, 

As  if  by  force  his  tears  repell'd, 

But  through  his  fingers,  long  and  slight, 

Fast  trill'd  the  drops  of  crystal  bright. 

Edward,  who  walk'd  the  deck  apart, 

First  spied  this  conflict  of  the  heart. 

Thoughtless  as  brave,  with  bluntness  kind 

He  sought  to  cheer  the  sorrower's  mind  ; 

By  force  the  slender  hand  he  drew 

From  those  poor  eyes  that  stream'd  with  dew. 

As  in  his  hold  the  stripling  strove 

('Twas  a  rough  grasp,  though  meant  in  love), 

Away  his  tears  the  warrior  swept, 

And  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept.1 

"  I  would  to  Heaven  thy  helpless  tongue 

Could  tell  me  who  hath  wrought  thee  wrong ! 

For,  were  he  of  our  crew  the  best, 

The  insult  went  not  unredress'd. 

Come,  cheer  thee ;  thou  art  now  of  age 

To  be  a  warrior's  gallant  page ; 

Thou  shalt  be  mine ! — a  palfrey  fair 

O'er  hill  and  holt  my  boy  shall  bear, 

To  hold  my  bow  in  hunting  grove, 

Or  speed  on  errand  to  my  love ; 

For  well  I  wot  thou  wilt  not  tell 

The  temple  where  my  wishes  dwell." 

XVII. 

Bruce  interposed, — "  Gay  Edward,  no, 

This  is  no  youth  to  hold  thy  bow, 

To  fill  thy  goblet,  or  to  bear 

Thy  message  light  to  lighter  fair. 

Thou  art  a  patron  all  too  wild 

And  thoughtless  for  this  orphan  child. 

Seest  thou  not  how  apart  he  steals, 

Keeps  lonely  couch,  and  lonely  meals? 

Fitter  by  far  in  yon  calm  cell 

To  tend  our  sister  Isabel, 

With  Father  Augustine  to  share 

The  peaceful  change  of  convent  prayer, 

Than  wander  wild  adventures  through 

With  such  a  reckless  guide  as  you." — 

"  Thanks,  brother !"  Edward  answer'd  gay, 

"  For  the  high  laud  thy  words  convey ! 

But  we  may  learn  some  future  day 

If  thou  or  I  can  this  poor  boy 

Protect  the  best,  or  best  employ. 

Meanwhile,  our  vessel  nears  the  strand ; 

Launch  we  the  boat,  and  seek  the  land." 

XVIII. 
To  land  King  Robert  lightly  sprung, 
And  thrice  aloud  his  bugle  rung 

1  MS. :  "  And  as  away  the  tears  he  swept, 

He  bade  shame  on  him  that  he  wept." 


With  note  prolong'd  and  varied  strain, 

Till  bold  Ben-Ghoil  replied  again. 

Good  Douglas  then,  and  De  la  Haye, 

Had  in  a  glen  a  hart  at  bay, 

And  Lennox  cheer'd  the  laggard  hounds, 

When  waked  that  horn  the  greenwood  bounds. 

"  It  is  the  foe !"  cried  Boyd,  who  came 

In  breathless  haste  with  eye  of  flame, — 

"  It  is  the  foe ! — Each  valiant  lord 

Fling  by  his  bow,  and  grasp  his  sword !" — 

"  Not  so,"  replied  the  good  Lord  James, 

"  That  blast  no  English  bugle  claims. 

Oft  have  I  heard  it  fire  the  fight, 

Cheer  the  pursuit,  or  stop  the  flight. 

Dead  were  my  heart,  and  deaf  mine  ear, 

If  Bruce  should  call,  nor  Douglas  hear ! 

Each  to  Loch  Ranza's  margin  spring; 

That  blast  was  winded  by  the  King  !"2 

XIX. 

Fast  to  their  mates  the  tidings  spread, 
And  fast  to  shore  the  warriors  sped. 
Bursting  from  glen  and  greenwood  tree, 
High  waked  their  loyal  jubilee ! 
Around  the  royal  Bruce  they  crowd, 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  and  wept  aloud. 
Veterans  of  early  fields  were  there, 
Whose  helmets  press'd  their  hoary  hair, 
Whose  swords  and  axes  bore  a  stain 
From  life-blood  of  the  red-hair'd  Dane  ;3 
And  boys,  whose  hands  scarce  brook'd  to  wield 
The  heavy  sword  or  bossy  shield. 
Men  too  were  there  that  bore  the  scars 
Impress'd  in  Albin's  woeful  wars, 
At  Falkirk's  fierce  and  fatal  fight, 
Teyndrum's  dread  rout,  and  Methven's  flight ; 
The  might  of  Douglas  there  was  seen, 
There  Lennox  with  his  graceful  mien ; 
Kirkpatrick,  Closeburn's  dreaded  Knight; 
The  Lindsay,  fiery,  fierce,  and  light; 
The  Heir  of  murder'd  De  la  Haye, 
And  Boyd  the  grave,  and  Seton  gay. 
Around  their  King  regain'd  they  press'd, 
Wept,  shouted,  clasp'd  him  to  their  breast, 
And  young  and  old,  and  serf  and  lord, 
And  he  who  ne'er  unsheathed  a  sword, 
And  he  in  many  a  peril  tried, 
Alike  resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 
And  live  or  die  by  Bruce's  side ! 

XX. 

O  War !  thou  hast  thy  fierce  delight, 
Thy  gleams  of  joy  intensely  bright ! 
Such  gleams  as  from  thy  polish'd  shield 
Fly  dazzling  o'er  the  battle-field ! 
Such  transports  wake,  severe  and  high, 
Amid  the  pealing  conquest-cry ; 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  2  T. 

3  MS. :  "  Impress'd  by  life-blood  of  the  Dane." 


438 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Scarce  less  when,  after  battle  lost, 
Muster  the  remnants  of  a  host, 
And  as  each  comrade's  name  they  tell, 
Who  in  the  well-fought  conflict  fell, 
Knitting  stern  brow  o'er  flashing  eye, 
Vow  to  avenge  them  or  to  die ! — 
Warriors ! — and  where  are  warriors  found, 
If  not  on  martial  Britain's  ground  71 
And  who,  when  waked  with  note  of  fire, 
Love  more  than  they  the  British  lyre  ? — 
Know  ye  not,  hearts  to  honor  dear! 
That  joy,  deep-thrilling,  stern,  severe, 
At  which  the  heartstrings  vibrate  high, 
And  wake  the  fountains  of  the  eye?* 
And  blame  ye,  then,  the  Bruce,  if  trace 
Of  tear  is  on  his  manly  face, 
When,  scanty  relics  of  the  train 
That  hail'd  at  Scone  his  early  reign, 
This  patriot  band  around  him  hung, 
And  to  his  knees  and  bosom  clung? — 
Blame  ye  the  Bruce  ? — his  brother  blamed, 
But  shared  the  weakness,  while  ashamed, 
With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  turn'd, 
And  dash'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn'd.3 

XXI. 

'Tie  morning,  and  the  Convent  beU 
Long  time  had  ceased  its  matin  knell 

Within  thy  walls,  Saint  Bride ! 
An  aged  Sister  sought  the  cell 
Assign'd  to  Lady  Isabel, 

And  hurriedly  she  cried, 
"  Haste,  gentle  Lady,  haste ! — there  waits 
A  noble  stranger  at  the  gates ; 
Saint  Bride's  poor  vot'ress  ne'er  has  seen 
A  Knight  of  such  a  princely  mien ; 
His  errand,  as  he  bade  me  tell, 
Is  with  the  Lady  Isabel." 
The  Princess  rose, — for  on  her  knee 
Low  bent  she  told  her  rosary, — * 
"  Let  him  by  thee  his  purpose  teach  : 
I  may  not  give  a  stranger  speech." — 
"  Saint  Bride  forefend,  thou  royal  Maid !" 
The  portress  cross'd  herself  and  said, — 
"  Not  to  be  prioress  might  I 
Debate  his  will,  his  suit  deny." — 
"  Has  earthly  show  then,  simple  fool, 
Power  o'er  a  sister  of  thy  rule, 
And  art  thou,  like  the  worldly  train, 
Subdued  by  splendors  light  and  vain  ?" — 

1  MS.:  "If  not  on  Britain's  warlike  ground?" 
s  "Ours  are  the  tears,  though  few,  sincerely  shed, 
When  Ocean  shrouds  and  sepulchres  our  dead. 
For  us,  even  banquets  fond  regret  supply 
In  the  red  cup  that  crowns  our  memory ; 
And  the  brief  epitaph  in  danger's  day, 
When  those  who  win  at  length  divide  the  prey, 
And  cry,  Remembrance  saddening  o'er  each  brow, 
How  had  the  brave  who  fell  exulted  now!" 

Bybon's  Corsair. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  2  U. 


XXII. 

"  No,  Lady !  in  old  eyes  like  mine, 

Gauds  have  no  glitter,  gems  no  shine ; 

Nor  grace  his  rank  attendants  vain, 

One  youthful  page  is  all  his  train. 

It  is  the  form,  the  eye,  the  word, 

The  bearing  of  that  stranger  Lord ; 

His  stature,  manly,  bold,  and  tall, 

Built  like  a  castle's  battled  wall, 

Yet  moulded  in  such  just  degrees, 

His  giant  strength  seems  lightsome  ease. 

Close  as  the  tendrils  of  the  vine 

His  locks  upon  his  forehead  twine, 

Jet-black,  save  where  some  touch  of  gray 

Has  ta'en  the  youthful  hue  away. 

Weather  and  war  their  rougher  trace 

Have  left  on  that  majestic  face ; — 

But  'tis  his  dignity  of  eye ! 

There,  if  a  suppliant,  would  I  fly, 

Secure,  'mid  danger,  wrongs,  and  grief, 

Of  sympathy,  redress,  relief — 

That  glance,  if  guilty,  would  I  dread 

More  than  the  doom  that  spoke  me  dead !" — 

"Enough,  enough,"  the  Princess  cried, 

"  'Tis  Scotland's  hope,  her  joy,  her  pride ! 

To  meaner  front  was  ne'er  assign'd 

Such  mastery  o'er  the  common  mind — 

Bestow'd  thy  high  designs  to  aid, 

How  long,  O  Heaven !  how  long  delay'd ! — 

Haste,  Mona,  haste  to  introduce 

My  darling  brother,  royal  Bruce !" 

XXIII. 
They  met  like  friends  who  part  in  pain, 
And  meet  in  doubtful  hope  again. 
But  when  subdued5  that  fitful  swell, 
The  Bruce  survey'd  the  humble  cell; — 
"  And  this  is  thine,  poor  Isabel ! 
That  pallet-couch,  and  naked  wall, 
For  room  of  state,  and  bed  of  pall ; 
For  costly  robes  and  jewels  rare, 
A  string  of  beads  and  zone  of  hair; 
And  for  the  trumpet's  sprightly  call 
To  sport  or  banquet,  grove  or  hall, 
The  bell's  grim  voice  divides  thy  care 
'Twixt  hours  of  penitence  and  prayer! — 
Oh  ill  for  thee,  my  royal  claim 
From  the  First  David's  sainted  name ! 
Oh  woe  for  thee,  that  while  he  sought 
His  right,  thy  brother  feebly  fought!" — 

4  "  Mr.  Scott,  we  have  said,  contradicts  himself.  How  will 
he  explain  the  following  facts  to  his  reader's  satisfaction? 
The  third  canto  informs  us  that  Isabel  accompanies  Edward 
to  Ireland,  there  to  remain  till  the  termination  of  the  war ; 
and  in  the  fourth  canto,  the  second  day  after  her  departure, 
we  discover  the  princess  counting  her  beads  and  reading 
homilies  in  the  cloister  of  St.  Bride,  in  the  Island  of  Arran  ! 
We  humbly  beseech  the  'Mighty  Minstrel'  to  clear  up  this 
matter."—  Critical  Review. 


6  MS. :  "  But  when  subsides,"  &c. 


THE   LORD   OF   THE  ISLES. 


439 


XXIV. 

"  Now  lay  these  vain  regrets  aside, 
And  be  the  unshaken  Bruce !"  she  cried ; 
"  For  more  I  glory  to  have  shared 
The  woes  thy  venturous  spirit  dared, 
When  raising  first  thy  valiant  band 
In  rescue  of  thy  native  land, 
Than  had  fair  Fortune  set  me  down 
The  partner  of  an  empire's  crown. 
And  grieve  not  that  on  Pleasure's  stream 
No  more  I  drive  in  giddy  dream, 
For  Heaven  the  erring  pilot  knew, 
And  from  the  gulf  the  vessel  drew, 
Tried  me  with  judgments  stern  and  great, 
My  house's  ruin,  thy  defeat, 
Poor  Nigel's  death,  till,  tamed,  I  own, 
My  hopes  are  fix'd  on  heaven  alone  ; 
Nor  e'er  shall  earthly  prospects  win 
My  heart  to  this  vain  world  of  sin." — 

XXV. 

"  Nay,  Isabel,  for  such  stern  choice, 

First  wilt  thou  wait  thy  brother's  voice ; 

Then  ponder  if  in  convent  scene 

No  softer  thoughts  might  intervene — 

Say  they  were  of  that  unknown  Knight, 

Victor  in  Woodstock's  tourney-fight — 

Nay,  if  his  name  such  blush  you  owe, 

Victorious  o'er  a  fairer  foe  !" 

Truly  his  penetrating  eye 

Hath  caught  that  blush's  passing  dye, — 

Like  the  last  beam  of  evening  thrown 

On  a  white  cloud, — just  seen  and  gone.1 

Soon,  with  calm  cheek  and  steady  eye, 

The  Princess  made  composed  reply : — 

"  I  guess  my  brother's  meaning  well ; 

For  not  so  silent  is  the  cell, 

But  we  have  heard  the  islesmen  all 

Arm  in  thy  cause  at  Ronald's  call, 

And  mine  eye  proves  that  Knight  unknown2 

And  the  brave  Island  Lord  are  one. — 

Had  then  his  suit  been  earlier  made, 

In  his  own  name,  with  thee  to  aid 

(But  that  his  plighted  faith  forbade),8 

I  know  not  ....  But  thy  page  so  near? — 

This  is  no  tale  for  menial's  ear." 


l  "We  would  bow  with  veneration  to  the  powerful  and 
rugged  genius  of  Scott.  We  would  style  him  above  all  others, 
Homer  and  Shakspeare  excepted,  the  Poet  of  Nature — of 
Nature  in  all  her  varied  beauties,  in  all  her  wildest  haunts. 
No  appearance,  however  minute,  in  the  scenes  around  him, 
escapes  his  penetrating  eye ;  they  are  all  marked  with  the 
nicest  discrimination,  are  introduced  with  the  happiest  effect. 
Hence,  in  his  similes,  both  the  genius  and  the  judgment  of 
the  poet  are  peculiarly  conspicuous ;  his  accurate  observation 
of  the  appearances  of  nature,  which  others  have  neglected, 
imparts  an  originality  to  those  allusions,  of  which  the  reader 
immediately  recognizes  the  aptness  and  propriety  ;  and  only 
wonders  that  what  must  have  been  so  often  witnessed  should 
have  been  so  uniformly  passed  unregarded  by.  Such  is  the 
simile  applied  to  the  transient  blush  observed  by  Bruce  on 


XXVI. 

Still  stood  that  page,  as  far  apart 

As  the  small  cell  would  space  afford  ; 

With  dizzy  eye  and  bursting  heart, 
lie  leant  his  weight  on  Bruce's  sword; 

The  Monarch's  mantle  too  he  bore,4 

And  drew  the  fold  his  visage  o'er. 

"  Fear  not  for  him — in  murderous  strife," 

Said  Bruce,  "  his  warning  saved  my  life  ;5 

Full  seldom  parts  he  from  my  side, 

And  in  his  silence  I  confide, 

Since  he  can  tell  no  tale  again. 

He  is  a  boy  of  gentle  strain, 

And  I  have  purposed  he  shall  dwell 

In  Augustine  the  chaplain's  cell, 

And  wait  on  thee,  my  Isabel. — 

Mind  not  his  tears;   I've  seen  them 
flow, 

As  in  the  thaw  dissolves  the  snow. 

'Tis  a  kind  youth,  but  fanciful, 

Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull, 

And  those  that  with  the  Bruce  would  sail 

Must  learn  to  strive  with  stream  and  gale. — 

But  forward,  gentle  Isabel — 

My  answer  for  Lord  Ronald  tell." — 

XXVII. 

"This  answer  be  to  Ronald  given — 
The  heart  he  asks  is  fix'd  on  heaven.6 
My  love  was  like  a  summer  flower, 
That  wither'd  in  the  wintry  hour, 
Born  but  of  vanity  and  pride, 
And  with  these  sunny  visions  died. 
If  further  press  his  suit — then  say, 
He  should  his  plighted  troth  obey, 
Troth  plighted  both  with  ring  and 

word, 
And  sworn  on  crucifix  and  sword. — 
Oh,  shame  thee,  Robert !  I  have  seen 
Thou  hast  a  woman's  guardian  been  1 
Even  in  extremity's  dread  hour, 
When  press'd  on  thee  the  Southern  power, 
And  safety,  to  all  human  sight, 
Was  only  found  in  rapid  flight, 
Thou  heardst  a  wretched  female  plain 
In  agony  of  travail-pain, 

the  countenance  of  Isabel  upon  his  mention  of  Ronald." — 
British  Critic. 

2  MS.:  "And  well  I  judge  that  Knight  unknown." 

3  MS.:  "But  that  his  I  earher  I  plight  forbade." 

(.former  J 

*  MS. :  "  The  Monarch's  brand  and  cloak  he  bore." 

5  MS. :  "  Answer'd  the  Bruce,  '  he  saved  my  life.' " 

«  The  MS.  has : 

"  Isabel's  thoughts  are  fix'd  on  heaven ;" 
and  the  two  couplets  which  follow  are  interpolated  on  the 
blank  page. 


440 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 
Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 
And  dare  the  worst  the  toe  might  do, 
Rather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue, 
Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 
A  woman  in  her  last  distress.1 
And  wilt  thou  now  deny  thine  aid 
To  an  oppress'd  and  injured  maid, 
Even  plead  for  Ronald's  perfidy, 
And  press  his  fickle  faith  on  me  ? — 
So  witness  Heaven,  as  true  I  vow, 
Had  I  those  earthly  feelings  now, 
Which  could  my  former  bosom  move 
Ere  taught  to  set  its  hopes  above, 
I'd  spurn  each  proffer  he  could  bring, 
Till  at  my  feet  he  laid  the  ring, 
The  ring  and  spousal  contract  both, 
And  fair  acquittal  of  his  oath, 
By  her  who  brooks  his  perjured  scorn, 
The  ill-requited  Maid  of  Lorn !" 

XXVIII. 
With  sudden  impulse  forward  sprung 
The  page,  and  on  her  neck  he  hung; 
Then,  recollected  instantly, 
His  head  he  stoop'd,  and  bent  his  knee, 
Kiss'd  twice  the  hand  of  Isabel, 
Arose,  and  sudden  left  the  cell. — 
The  Princess,  loosen'd  from  his  hold, 
Blush'd  angry  at  his  bearing  bold ; 

But  good  King  Robert  cried, 
"  Chafe  not — by  signs  he  speaks  his  mind ; 
He  heard  the  plan  my  care  design'd, 

Nor  could  his  transports  hide. — 
But,  sister,  now  bethink  thee  well : 
No  easy  choice  the  convent  cell ; 
Trust,  I  shall  play  no  tyrant  part, 
Either  to  force  thy  hand  or  heart, 
Or  suffer  that  Lord  Ronald  scorn, 
Or  wrong  for  thee,  the  Maid  of  Lorn. 
But,  think — not  long  the  time  has 

been 
That  thou  wert  wont  to  sigh  unseen, 
And  wouldst  the  ditties  best  approve 
That  told  some  lay  of  hapless  love. 
Now  are  thy  wishes  in  thy  power, 
And  thou  art  bent  on  cloister  bower ! 
Oh,  if  our  Edward  knew  the  change, 
How  would  his  busy  satire  range, 
With  many  a  sarcasm  varied  still 
On  woman's  wish  and  woman's  will !" — 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  2  V. 
s  The  MS.  here  adds: 

"She  yields  one  shade  of  empty  hope; 

But  well  I  guess  her  wily  seope 

Is  to  elude  Lord  Ronald's  plea, 

And  still  my  importunity." 
3  This  and  the  twelve  succeeding  lines  are  interpolated  on 
the  blank  page  of  the  MS. 


XXIX. 

"  Brother,  I  well  believe,"  she  said, 

"  Even  so  would  Edward's  part  be  play'd, 

Kindly  in  heart,  in  word  severe, 

A  foe  to  thought,  and  grief,  and  fear, 

He  holds  his  humor  uncontroll'd; 

But  thou  art  of  another  mould. 

Say  then  to  Ronald  as  I  say, 

Unless  before  my  feet  he  lay 

The  ring  which  bound  the  faith  he  swore, 

By  Edith  freely  yielded  o'er, 

He  moves  his  suit  to  me  no  more. 

Nor  do  I  promise,  even  if  now 

He  stood  absolved  of  spousal  vow, 

That  I  would  change  my  purpose  made, 

To  shelter  me  in  holy  shade. — 

Brother,  for  little  space,  farewell ! 

To  other  duties  warns  the  bell." — 

XXX. 

"  Lost  to  the  world,"  King  Robert  said, 

When  he  had  left  the  royal  maid, 

"  Lost  to  the  world  by  lot  severe, 

Oh  what  a  gem  lies  buried  here, 

Nipp'd  by  misfortune's  cruel  frost, 

The  buds  of  fair  affection  lost ! — 2 

But  what  have  I  with  love  to  do  ? 

Far  sterner  cares  my  lot  pursue. 

— Pent  in  this  isle  we  may  not  lie,3 

Nor  would  it  long  our  wants  supply. 

Right  opposite,  the  mainland  towers 

Of  my  own  Turnberry  court  our  powers — 

— Might  not  my  father's  beadsman  hoar, 

Cuthbert,  who  dwells  upon  the  shore, 

Kindle  a  signal-flame,  to  show 

The  time  propitious  for  the  blow? 

It  shall  be  so — some  friend  shall  bear 

Our  mandate  with  despatch  and  care; 

— Edward  shall  find  the  messenger. 

That  fortress  ours,  the  island  fleet 

May  on  the  coast  of  Carrick  meet. — 

O  Scotland !  shall  it  e'er  be  mine 

To  wreak  thy  wrongs  in  battle-line, 

To  raise  my  victor-head,  and  see 

Thy  hills,  thy  dales,  thy  people  free, — 

That  glance  of  bliss  is  all  I  crave 

Betwixt  my  labors  and  my  grave !" 

Then  down  the  hill  he  slowly  went, 

Oft  pausing  on  the  steep  descent, 

And  reach'd  the  spot  where  his  bold  train 

Held  rustic  camp  upon  the  plain.* 


*  "The  fourth  canto  cannot  be  very  greatly  praised.  It 
contains,  indeed,  many  pleasing  passages ;  but  the  merit  which 
they  possess  is  too  much  detached  from  the  general  interest 
of  the  poem.  The  only  business  is  Bruce's  arrival  at  the  isle 
of  Arran.  The  voyage  is  certainly  deseribed  with  spirit ;  but 
the  remainder  of  the  canto  is  rather  tedious,  and  might,  with- 
out any  considerable  ineonvenieiiee,  have  l»'cn  left  a  good 
deal  to  the  reader's  imagination.    Mr.  Scott  ought  to  reserve, 


THE   LOKD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


441 


Cf)c  ftortj  of  tf)e  Isles. 


CANTO    FIFTH. 


I. 

On  fair  Loch-Ranza  stream'd  the  early  day, 
Thin  wreaths  of  cottage-smoke  are  upward  curl'd 
From  the  lone  hamlet,  which  her  inland  bay 
And  circling  mountains  sever  from  the  world. 
And  there  the  fisherman  his  sail  unfurl'd, 
The  goat-herd  drove  his  kids  to  steep  Ben-Ghoil, 
Before  the  hut  the  dame  her  spindle  twirPd, 
Courting  the  sunbeam  as  she  plied  her  toil, — 
For,  wake  where'er  he  may,  Man  wakes  to  care  and 
coil. 

But  other  duties  call'd  each  convent  maid, 
Roused  by  the  summons  of  the  moss-grown  bell ; 
Sung  were  the  matins,  and  the  mass  was  said, 
And  every  sister  sought  her  separate  cell — 
Such  was  the  rule — her  rosary  to  tell. 
And  Isabel  has  knelt  in  lonely  prayer ; 
The  sunbeam,  through  the  narrow  lattice,  fell 
Upon  the  snowy  neck  and  long  dark  hair, 
As  stoop'd  her  gentle  head  in  meek  devotion  there. 

II. 

She  raised  her  eyes,  that  duty  done, 
When  glanced  upon  the  pavement-stone, 
Gemm'd  and  enchased,  a  golden  ring, 
Bound  to  a  scroll  with  silken  string,1 
With  few  brief  words  inscribed  to  tell, 
"  This  for  the  Lady  Isabel." 
Within,  the  writing  further  bore, 
"  'Twas  with  this  ring  his  plight  he  swore, 
With  this  his  promise  I  restore ; 
To  her  who  can  the  heart  command, 
Well  may  I  yield  the  plighted  hand. 
And  oh !  for  better  fortune  born, 
Grudge  not  a  passing  sigh  to  mourn 
Her  who  was  Edith  once  of  Lorn !" 
One  single  flash  of  glad  surprise 
Just  glanced  from  Isabel's  dark  eyes, 
But  vanish'd  in  the  blush  of  shame, 
That,  as  its  penance,  instant  came. 
"  Oh  thought  unworthy  of  my  race ! 
Selfish,  ungenerous,  mean,  and  base, 
A  moment's  throb  of  joy  to  own,2 
That  rose  upon  her  hopes  o'erthrown ! — 


as  much  as  possible,  the  interlocutory  part  of  his  narrative, 
for  occasions  which  admit  of  high  and  animated  sentiment, 
or  the  display  of  powerful  emotions,  because  this  is  almost 
the  only  poetical  beauty  of  which  speeches  are  susceptible. 
But  to  fill  up  three-fourths  of  a  canto  with  a  lover's  asking 
a  brother  in  a  quiet  and  friendly  manner  for  permission  to 
address  his  sister  in  marriage,  and  a  brother's  asking  his 
sister  whether  she  has  any  objections,  is,  we  think,  somewhat 
injudicious." — Quarterly  Review. 


Thou  pledge  of  vows  too  well  believed, 
Of  man  ingrate  and  maid  deceived, 
Think  not  thy  lustre  here  shall  gain 
Another  heart  to  hope  in  vain ! 
For  thou  shalt  rest,  thou  tempting  gaud, 
Where  worldly  thoughts  are  overawed, 
And  worldly  splendors  sink  debased." 
Then  by  the  cross  the  ring  she  placed. 

III. 
Next  rose  the  thought, — its  owner  far, 
How  came  it  here  through  bolt  and  bar? — 
But  the  dim  lattice  is  ajar. — 
She  looks  abroad :  the  morning  dew 
A  light  short  step  had  brush'd  anew, 

And  there  were  footprints  seen 
On  the  carved  buttress  rising  still, 
Till  on  the  mossy  window-sill 

Their  track  effaced  the  green. 
The  ivy  twigs  were  torn  and  fray'd, 
As  if  some  climber's  steps  to  aid. — 
But  who  the  hardy  messenger, 
Whose  venturous  path  these  signs  infer  ? — 
"  Strange  doubts  are  mine ! — Mona,  draw  nigh ; 
— Nought  'scapes  old  Mona's  curious  eye — 
What  strangers,  gentle  mother,  say, 
Have  sought  these  holy  walls  to-day?" — 
"  None,  Lady,  none  of  note  or  name ; 
Only  your  brother's  foot-page  came, 
At  peep  of  dawn — I  pray'd  him  pass 
To  chapel  where  they  said  the  mass; 
But  like  an  arrow  he  shot  by, 
And  tears  seem'd  bursting  from  his  eye." 

IV. 

The  truth  at  once  on  Isabel, 

As  darted  by  a  sunbeam,  fell : 

"  'Tis  Edith's  self!3 — her  speechless  woe, 

Her  form,  her  looks,  the  secret  show  ! 

— Instant,  good  Mona,  to  the  bay, 

And  to  my  royal  brother  say, 

I  do  conjure  him  seek  my  cell, 

With  that  mute  page  he  loves  so  well." — 

"  What!  know'st  thou  not  his  warlike  host 

At  break  of  day  has  left  our  coast  ?4 

My  old  eyes  saw  them  from  the  tower. 

At  eve  they  couch'd  in  greenwood  bower, 

At  dawn  a  bugle  signal,  made 

By  their  bold  Lord,  their  ranks  array'd ; 

Up  sprung  the  spears  through  bush  and  tree, 

No  time  for  benedicite ! 


i  MS.: 


'  a  ring  of  gold, 


A  scroll  around  the  jewel  roll'd, 
Had  few  brief  words,"  &c. 

2  MS. :  "  A  single  throb  of  joy  to  own." 

8  MS. :  *' '  'Tis  she  herself!'  " 

*  MS. :  "  '  What !  know'st  thou  not  in  sudden  haste 
The  warriors  from  our  woods  have  pass'd  ?' " 


442 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Like  deer  that,  rousing  from  their  lair, 

Just  shake  the  dewdrops  from  their  hair, 

And  toss  their  armed  crests  aloft, 

Such  matins  theirs!" — "  Good  mother,  soft — 

Where  does  my  brother  bend  his  way?" — 1 

"  As  I  have  heard,  for  Brodick  Bay, 

Across  the  isle — of  barks  a  score 

lie  there,  'tis  said,  to  waft  them  o'er, 

On  sudden  news,  to  Carrick  shore." — 

"  If  such  their  purpose,  deep  the  need," 

Said  anxious  Isabel,  "  of  speed ! 

Call  Father  Augustine,  good  dame." — 

The  nun  obey'd,  the  Father  came. 


"  Kind  Father,  hie  without  delay 

Across  the  hills  to  Brodick  Bay; 

This  message  to  the  Bruce  be  given : 

I  pray  him,  by  his  hopes  of  heaven, 

That,  till  he  speak  with  me,  he  stay ! 

Or,  if  his  haste  brook  no  delay, 

That  he  deliver,  on  my  suit, 

Into  thy  charge  that  stripling  mute. 

Thus  prays  his  sister  Isabel, 

For  causes  more  than  she  may  tell ; — 

Away,  good  Father!  and  take  heed, 

That  life  and  death  are  on  thy  speed." 

His  cowl  the  good  old  Priest  did  on, 

Took  his  piked  staff  and  sandall'd  shoon, 

And,  like  a  palmer  bent  by  eld, 

O'er  moss  and  moor  his  journey  held.2 

VI. 

Heavy  and  dull  the  foot  of  age, 
And  rugged  was  the  pilgrimage ; 
But  none  was  there  beside  whose  care 
Might  such  important  message  bear. 
Through  birchen  copse  he  wander'd  slow, 
Stunted  and  sapless,  thin  and  low  ; 
By  many  a  mountain  stream  he  pass'd, 
From  the  tall  cliffs  in  tumult  cast, 
Dashing  to  foam  their  waters  dun, 
And  sparkling  in  the  summer  sun. 
Round  his  gray  head  the  wild  curlew 
In  many  a  fearless  circle  flew. 
O'er  chasms  he  pass'd,  where  fractures 

wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride  ;s 
He  cross'd  his  brow  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan,* 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled,5 
He  breathed  a  timid  prayer  for  those 
Who  died  ere  Shiloh's  sun  arose. 

1  MS.:  "Canst  tell  where  they  have  bent  their  way?" 
1  MS. :  "  And  'cross  the  island  took  his  way, 

O'er  hill  and  holt,  to  Brodick  Bay." 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  2  W. 
*  MS.:  "He  cross'd  him  by  the  Druids'  stone, 

That  heard  of  yore  the  victim's  groan." 


Beside  Macfarlane's  Cross  he  staid, 
There  told  his  hours  within  the  shade, 
And  at  the  stream  his  thirst  allay'd. 
Thence  onward  journeying  slowly  still, 
As  evening  closed  he  reach'd  the  hill 
Where,  rising  through  the  woodland  green, 
Old  Brodick's  Gothic  towers  were  seen : 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword.6 
The  sun  that  sunk  behind  the  isle 
Now  tinged  them  with  a  parting  smile. 

VII. 

But  though  the  beams  of  light  decay, 
'Twas  bustle  all  in  Brodick  Bay. 
The  Bruce's  followers  crowd  the  shore, 
And  boats  and  barges  some  unmoor, 
Some  raise  the  sail,  some  seize  the  oar; 
Their  eyes  oft  turn'd  where  glimmer'd  far 
What  might  have  seem'd  an  early  star 
On  heaveu's  blue  arch,  save  that  its  light 
Was  all  too  flickering,  fierce,  and  bright. 
Far  distant  in  the  south,  the  ray 
Shone  pale  amid  retiring  day, 

But  as,  on  Carrick  shore, 
Dim  seen  in  outline  faintly  blue, 
The  shades  of  evening  closer  drew,1 
It  kindled  more  and  more. 
The  Monk's  slow  steps  now  press  the  sands, 
And  now  amid  a  scene  he  stands 

Full  strange  to  churchman's  eye  ; 
Warriors  who,  arming  for  the  fight, 
Rivet  and  clasp  their  harness  light, 
And  twinkling  spears,  and  axes  bright, 
And  helmets  flashing  high. 
Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 
A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears,8 

While,  hastening  all  on  board, 
As  stormy  as  the  swelling  surge 
That  mix'd  its  roar,  the  leaders  urge 
Their  followers  to  the  ocean  verge, 
With  many  a  haughty  word. 

VIII. 

Through  that  wild  throng  the  Father  pass'd, 

And  reach'd  the  royal  Bruce  at  last. 

He  leant  against  a  stranded  boat, 

That  the  approaching  tide  must  float, 

And  counted  every  rippling  wave, 

As  higher  yet  her  sides  they  lave; 

And  oft  the  distant  fire  he  eyed, 

And  closer  yet  his  hauberk  tied, 

And  loosen'd  in  his  sheath  his  brand. 

Edward  and  Lennox  were  at  hand, 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  2  X.  Ibid.  Note  2  Y. 

1  MS.:  "The  shades  of  even  more  closely  drew, 
It  brighten'd  more  and  more. 
Now  print  his  sandall'd  feet  the  sands, 
And  now  amid,"  Ac. 
See  Appendix,  Note  2  Z. 


THE   LORD   OF  THE   ISLES. 


443 


Douglas  and  Ronald  had  the  care 

The  soldiers  to  the  barks  to  share.— 

The  Monk  approach'd,  and  homage  paid  ; 

"  And  art  thou  come,"  King  Robert  said, 

"  So  far  to  bless  us  ere  we  part  ?"— 

— "  My  Liege,  and  with  a  loyal  heart!— 

But  other  charge  I  have  to  tell," — 

And  spoke  the  hest  of  Isabel. 

— "  Now  by  Saint  Giles,"  the  Monarch  cried, 

"  This  moves  me  much !— this  morning  tide 

I  sent  the  stripling  to  Saint  Bride, 

"With  my  commandment  there  to  bide." — 

— "  Thither  he  came  the  portress  show'd, 

But  there,  my  Liege,  made  brief  abode." — 

IX. 

"  'Twas  I,"  said  Edward,  "  found  employ 
Of  nobler  import  for  the  boy. 
Deep  pondering  in  my  anxious  mind 
A  fitting  messenger  to  find 
To  bear  thy  written  mandate  o'er 
To  Cuthbert  on  the  Carrick  shore, 
I  chanced,  at  early  dawn,  to  pass 
The  chapel  gate  to  snatch  a  mass. 
I  found  the  stripling  on  a  tomb 
Low-seated,  weeping  for  the  doom 
That  gave  his  youth  to  convent  gloom. 
I  told  my  purpose,  and  his  eyes 
Flash'd  joyful  at  the  glad  surprise. 
He  bounded  to  the  skiff,  the  sail 
Was  spread  before  a  prosperous  gale,' 
And  well  my  charge  he  hath  obey'd ; 
For,  see !  the  ruddy  signal  made, 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all, 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall." — 1 


"  Oh  wild  of  thought,  and  hard  of  heart !" 
Answer'd  the  Monarch,  "  on  a  part 
Of  such  deep  danger  to  employ 
A  mute,  an  orphan,  and  a  boy  !2 
Unfit  for  flight,  unfit  for  strife, 
Without  a  tongue  to  plead  for  life ! 
Now,  were  my  right  restored  by  Heaven, 
Edward,  my  crown  I  would  have  given, 
Ere,  thrust  on  such  adventure  wild, 
I  perill'd  thus  the  helpless  child." — 
— Offended  half,  and  half  submiss, 
"  Brother  and  Liege,  of  blame  like  this," 
Edward  replied,  "  I  little  dream'd. 
A  stranger  messenger,  I  deem'd, 
Might  safest  seek  the  beadsman's  cell, 
Where  all  thy  squires  are  known  so  well. 
Noteless  his  presence,  sharp  his  sense, 
His  imperfection  his  defence. 

1  The  MS.  reads: 

"  Keeps  careless  guard  in  Turnberry  Hall." 
See  Appendix,  Note  3  A. 


If  seen,  none  can  his  errand  guess ; 
If  ta'en,  his  words  no  tale  express. 
Methinks,  too,  yonder  beacon's  shine 
Might  expiate  greater  fault  than  mine." — 
"  Rash,"  said  King  Robert,  "  was  the  deed- 
But  it  is  done.    Embark  with  speed  t — 
Good  Father,  say  to  Isabel 
How  this  unhappy  chance  befell ; 
If  well  we  thrive  on  yonder  shore, 
Soon  shall  my  care  her  page  restore. 
Our  greeting  to  our  sister  bear, 
And  think  of  us  in  mass  and  prayer." — 

XI. 

"  Aye !"  said  the  Priest,  "  while  this  poor 

hand 
Can  chalice  raise  or  cross  command, 
While  my  old  voice  has  accents'  use, 
Can  Augustine  forget  the  Bruce  ?" 
Then  to  his  side  Lord  Ronald  press'd, 
And  whisper'd,  "  Bear  thou  this  request, 
That  when  by  Bruce's  side  I  fight, 
For  Scotland's  crown  and  freedom's  right, 
The  Princess  grace  her  Knight  to  bear 
Some  token  of  her  favoring  care ; 
It  shall  be  shown  where  England's  best 
May  shrink  to  see  it  on  my  crest. 
And  for  the  boy— since  weightier  care 
For  royal  Bruce  the  times  prepare, 
The  helpless  youth  is  Ronald's  charge, 
His  couch  my  plaid,  his  fence  my  targe." 
He  ceased ;  for  many  an  eager  hand 
Had  urged  the  barges  from  the  strand. 
Their  number  was  a  score  and  ten, 
They  bore  thrice  threescore  chosen  men. 
With  such  small  force  did  Bruce  at  last 
The  die  for  death  or  empire  cast ! 

XII. 

Now  on  the  darkening  main  afloat, 
Ready  and  mann'd,  rocks  every  boat ; 
Beneath  their  oars  the  ocean's  might 
Was  dash'd  to  sparks  of  glimmering  light. 
Faint  and  more  faint,  as  off  they  bore, 
Their  armor  glanced  against  the  shore, 
And,  mingled  with  the  dashing  tide, 
Their  murmuring  voices  distant  died. — 
"  God  speed  them !"  said  the  Priest,  as  dark 
On  distant  billows  glides  each  bark ; 
"  O  Heaven !  when  swords  for  freedom  shine, 
And  monarch's  right,  the  cause  is  thine ! 
Edge  doubly  every  patriot  blow ! 
Beat  down  the  banners  of  the  foe ! 
And  be  it  to  the  nations  known 
That  Victory  is  from  God  alone  !"3 


S  MS. :  "  Said  Robert,  '  to  assign  a  part 
Of  such  deep  peril,  to  employ 
A  mute,  a  stranger,  and  a  boy  "* 

s  MS. :  "  is  thine  alone !" 


444 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


As  up  the  hill  his  path  he  drew, 
He  turn'd  his  blessings  to  renew, 
Oft  turn'd,  till  on  the  darken'd  coast 
All  traces  of  their  course  were  lost; 
Then  slowly  bent  to  Brodick  tower, 
To  shelter  for  the  evening  hour. 

XIII. 
In  night  the  fairy  prospects  sink, 
Where  Cumray's  isles  with  verdant  link 
Close  the  fair  entrance  of  the  Clyde ; 
The  woods  of  Bute,  no  more  descried, 
Are  gone1 — and  on  the  placid  sea 
The  rowers  ply  their  task  with  urlee, 
"While  hands  that  knightly  lances  bore 
Impatient  aid  the  laboring  oar. 
The  half-faced  moon  shone  dim  and  pale, 
And  glanced  against  the  whiten'd  sail ; 
But  on  that  ruddy  beacon-light 
Each  steersman  kept  the  helm  aright, 
And  oft,  for  such  the  King's  command, 
That  all  at  once  might  reach  the  strand, 
From  boat  to  boat  loud  shout  and  hail 
Warn'd  them  to  crowd  or  slacken  sail. 
South  and  by  west  the  armada  bore, 
And  near  at  length  the  Carrick  shore. 
As  less  and  less  the  distance  grows, 
High  and  more  high  the  beacon  rose; 
The  light,  that  seem'd  a  twinkling  star, 
Now  blazed  portentous,  fierce,  and  far. 
Dark-red  the  heaven  above  it  glow'd, 
Dark-red  the  sea  beneath  it  flow'd, 
Bed  rose  the  rocks  on  ocean's  brim, 
In  blood-red  light  her  islets  swim  ; 
Wild  scream  the  dazzled  sea-fowl  gave, 
Dropp'd  from  their  crags  on  plashing 

wave.'2 
The  deer  to  distant  covert  drew, 
The  black-cock  deem'd  it  day,  and  crew. 
Like  some  tall  castle  given  to  flame, 
O'er  half  the  land  the  lustre  came. 
"  Now,  good  my  Liege,  and  brother  sage, 
What  think  ye  of  mine  elfin  page  ?" — 
"  Row  on !"  the  noble  King  replied, 
"  We'll  learn  the  truth,  whate'er  betide  ; 
Yet  sure  the  beadsman  and  the  child 
Could  ne'er  have  waked  that  beacon  wild." 

XIV. 
With  that  the  boats  approach'd  the  land,3 
But  Edward's  grounded  on  the  sand ; 
The  eager  Knight  leap'd  in  the  sea 
Waist-deep,  and  first  on  shore  was  he, 
Though  every  barge's  hardy  band 
Contended  which  should  gain  the  land, 


1  MS.:  "Have  sunk." 

*  MS.:  "And  from  Iheir  crags  plash'd  in  the  wave." 

*  MS. :  "  With  that  the  barges  near'd  the  land." 

*  MS. : "  a  vizard's." 


When  that  strange  light,  which,  seen  afar, 

Seem'd  steady  as  the  polar  star, 

Now,  like  a  prophet's*  fiery  chair, 

Seem'd  travelling  the  realms  of  air. 

Wide  o'er  the  sky  the  splendor  glows, 

As  that  portentous  meteor  rose ; 

Helm,  axe,  and  falchion  glitterM  bright, 

And  in  the  red  and  dusky  light 

His  comrade's  face  each  warrior  saw, 

Nor  niarvell'd  it  was  pale  witli  awe. 

Then  high  in  air  the  beams  were  lost, 

And  darkness  sunk  upon  the  coast. — 

Ronald  to  Heaven  a  prayer  address'd, 

And  Douglas  cross'd  his  dauntless  breast; 

"  Saint  James  protect  us !"  Lennox  cried, 

But  reckless  Edward  spoke  aside, 

"  Deem'st  thou,  Kirkpatrick,  in  that  flame 

Red  Corny n's  angry  spirit  came, 

Or  would  thy  dauntless  heart  endure 

Once  more  to  make  assurance  sure  ?" — 

"  Hush !"  said  the  Bruce ;  "  we  soon  shall  know 

If  this  be  sorcerer's  empty  show,5 

Or  stratagem  of  Southern  foe. 

The  moon  shines  out — upon  the  sand 

Let  every  leader  rank  his  band." 

XV. 

Faintly  the  moon's  pale  beams  supply 

That  ruddy  light's  unnatural  dye ; 

The  dubious  cold  reflection  lay 

On  the  wet  sands  and  quiet  bay. 

Beneath  the  rocks  King  Robert  drew 

His  scatter'd  files  to  order  due, 

Till  shield  compact  and  serried  spear 

In  the  cool  light  shone  blue  and  clear. 

Then  down  a  path  that  sought  the  tide 

That  speechless  page  was  seen  to  glide ; 

He  knelt  him  lowly6  on  the  sand, 

And  gave  a  scroll  to  Robert's  hand. 

"A  torch,"  the  Monarch  cried,  "what,  ho! 

Now  shall  we  Cuthbert's  tidings  know." 

But  evil  news  the  letters  bare : 

The  Clifford's  force  was  strong  and  ware,T 

Augmented,  too,  that  very  morn, 

By  mountaineers  who  came  with  Lorn. 

Long  harrow'd  by  oppressor's  hand, 

Courage  and  faith  had  fled  the  land, 

And  over  Carrick,  dark  and  deep, 

Had  sunk  dejection's  iron  sleep. — 

Cuthbert  had  seen  that  beacon  flame, 

Unwitting  from  what  source  it  came. 

Doubtful  of  perilous  event, 

Edward's  mute  messenger  he  sent, 

If  Bruce  deceived  should  venture  o'er, 

To  warn  him  from  the  fatal  shore. 


&  MS.:  "'Gallants,  be  hush'd;  we  soon  shall  know,' 
Said  Bruce,  '  if  this  be  sorcerer's  show.'  " 

«  MS. :  "  on  the  moisten'd  sand." 

1  MS. :  "  That  Clifford's  force  in  watch  were  ware." 


THE  LOED    OF   THE   ISLES. 


445 


XVI. 

As  round  the  torch  the  leaders  crowd, 

Bruce  read  these  chilling  news  aloud. 

"  What  counsel,  nobles,  have  we  now  ? — 

To  ambush  us  in  greenwood  bough, 

And  take  the  chance  which  fate  may  send 

To  bring  our  enterprise  to  end? 

Or  shall  we  turn  us  to  the  main 

As  exiles,  and  embark  again  ?" — 

Answer'd  fierce  Edward,  "  Hap  what  may, 

In  Carrick  Carrick's  Lord  must  stay. 

I  would  not  minstrels  told  the  tale, 

Wildfire  or  meteor1  made  us  quail." — 

Answer'd  the  Douglas,  "  If  my  Liege 

May  win  yon  walls  by  storm  or  siege, 

Then  were  each  brave  and  patriot  heart 

Kindled  of  new  for  loyal  part." — 2 

Answer'd  Lord  R,onald,  "  Not  for  shame 

Would  I  that  aged  Torquil  came, 

And  found,  for  all  our  empty  boast, 

Without  a  blow  we  fled  the  coast. 

I  will  not  credit  that  this  land, 

So  famed  for  warlike  heart  and  hand, 

The  nurse  of  Wallace  and  of  Bruce, 

Will  long  with  tyrants  hold  a  truce." — 

"  Prove  we  our  fate — the  brunt  we'll  bide !" 

So  Boyd  and  Haye  and  Lennox  cried ; 

So  said,  so  vow'd  the  leaders  all ; 

So  Bruce  resolved :  "  And  in  my  hall 

Since  the  bold  Southern  make  their  home, 

The  hour  of  payment  soon  shall  come,3 

When  with  a  rough  and  rugged  host 

Cliflbrd  may  reckon4  to  his  cost. 

Meantime,  through  well-known  bosk  and  dell, 

I'll  lead  where  we  may  shelter  well." 

XVII. 

Now  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light, 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  ? — 
It  ne'er  was  known5 — yet  gray-hair'd  eld 
A  superstitious  credence  held, 
That  never  did  a  mortal  hand 
Wake  its  broad  glare  on  Carrick  strand ; 
Nay,  and  that  on  the  self-same  night 
When  Bruce  cross'd  o'er,  still  gleams  the 

light. 
Yearly  it  gleams  o'er  mount  and  moor, 
And  glittering  wave  and  crimson'd  shore — 
But  whether  beam  celestial,  lent 
By  Heaven  to  aid  the  King's  descent, 
Or  fire  hell-kindled  from  beneath, 
To  lure  him  to  defeat  and  death, 
Or  were  it  but  some  meteor  strange, 
Of  such  as  oft  through  midnight  range, 

1  MS. :  "  A  wildfire  meteor,"  &e. 

s  MS. :  "  to  play  their  part." 

8  MS.:  "Since  Clifford  needs  will  make  his  home, 
The  hour  of  reckoning  soon  shall  come." 
<  MS.:  "The  Knight  shall  reckon,"  &c. 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  B. 


Startling  the  traveller  late  and  lone,6 
I  know  not — and  it  ne'er  was  known. 

XVIII. 

Now  up  the  rocky  pass  they  drew, 
And  Ronald,  to  his  promise  true, 
Still  made  his  arm  the  stripling's  stay, 
To  aid  him  on  the  rugged  way. 
"  Now  cheer  thee,  simple  Amadine ! 
Why  throbs  that  silly  heart  of  thine  ?" — 
— That  name  the  pirates  to  their  slave 
(In  Gaelic  'tis  the  Changeling)  gave — 
"  Dost  thou  not  rest  thee  on  my  arm  ? 
Do  not  my  plaid-folds  hold  thee  warm  ? 
Hath  not  the  wild  bull's  treble  hide 
This  targe  for  thee  and  me  supplied  ? 
Is  not  Clan-Colla's  sword  of  steel  ? 
And,  trembler,  canst  thou  terror  feel? 
Cheer  thee,  and  still  that  throbbing  heart ; 
From  Ronald's  guard  thou  shalt  not  part." 
— Oh !  many  a  shaft,  at  random  sent, 
Finds  mark  the  archer  little  meant ! 
And  many  a  word,  at  random  spoken, 
May  soothe  or  wound  a  heart  that's  broken ! 
Half  soothed,  half  grieved,  half  terrified, 
Close  drew  the  page  to  Ronald's  side ; 
A  wild  delirious  thrill  of  joy 
Was  in  that  hour  of  agony, 
As  up  the  steepy  pass  he  strove, 
Fear,  toil,  and  sorrow,  lost  in  love ! 

XIX. 

The  barrier  of  that  iron  shore, 
The  rock's  steep  ledge,  is  now  climb'd  o'er ; 
And  from  the  Castle's  distant  wall, 
From  tower  to  tower  the  warders  call : 
The  sound  swings  over  land  and  sea,7 
And  marks  a  watchful  enemy. — 
They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  Castle's  sylvan  reign,8 
(Seek  not  the  scene — the  axe,  the  plough, 
The  boor's  dull  fence,  have  marr'd  it  now,) 
But  then,  soft  swept  in  velvet  green 
The  plain  with  many  a  glade  between, 
Whose  tangled  alleys  far  invade 
The  depth  of  the  brown  forest  shade. 
Here  the  tall  fern  obscured  the  lawn, 
Fair  shelter  for  the  sportive  fawn ; 
There,  tufted  close  with  copsewood  green, 
Was  many  a  swelling  hillock  seen ; 
And  all  around  was  verdure  meet 
For  pressure  of  the  fairies'  feet. 
The  glossy  holly  loved  the  park, 
The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  dark,9 


«  MS. :  "  Such  as  through  midnight  ether  range, 
Affrighting  oft  the  traveller  lone." 

7  MS. :  ^Sounds  sadly  over  land  and  sea." 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  C. 

9  MS. :  "  The  dark -green  holly  loved  the  down, 

The  yew-tree  lent  its  shadow  brown." 


446 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  many  an  old  oak,  worn  and  bare, 
With  all  its  shiverM  boughs,  was  there. 
Lovely  between,  the  moonbeams  fell 
On  lawn  and  hillock,  glade  and  dell. 
The  gallant  Monarch  sigh'd  to  see 
These  glades  so  loved  in  childhood  free, 
Bethinking  that,  as  outlaw  now, 
He  ranged  beneath  the  forest  bough.1 

XX. 

Fast  o'er  the  moonlight  Chase  they  sped. 
Well  knew  the  band  that  measured  tread, 
When,  in  retreat  or  in  advance, 
The  serried  warriors  move  at  once ; 
And  evil  were  the  luck  if  dawn 
Descried  them  on  the  open  lawn. 
Copses  they  traverse,  brooks  they  cross, 
Strain  up  the  bank  and  o'er  the  moss. 
From  the  exhausted  page's  brow2 
Cold  drops  of  toil  are  streaming  now ; 
With  effort  faint3  and  lengthen'd  pause, 
His  weary  step  the  stripling  draws. 
"Nay,  droop  not  yet!"*  the  Warrior  said; 
"  Come,  let  me  give  thee  ease  and  aid ! 
Strong  are  mine  arms,  and  little  care 
A  weight  so  slight  as  thine  to  bear. — 
What!  wilt  thou  not? — capricious  boy! 
Then  thine  own  limbs  and  strength  employ. 
Pass  but  this  night,  and  pass  thy  care, 
I'll  place  thee  with  a  lady  fair, 
Where  thou  shalt  tune  thy  lute  to  tell 
How  Ronald  loves  fair  Isabel !" 
Worn  out,  dishearten'd,  and  dismay'd, 
Here  Amadine  let  go  the  plaid ; 
His  trembling  limbs  their  aid  refuse,5 
He  sunk  among  the  midnight  dews  !6 

XXI. 

What  may  be  done  ? — the  night  is  gone — 
The  Bruce's  band  moves  swiftly  on — 
Eternal  shame,  if  at  the  brunt 
Lord  Ronald  grace  not  battle's  front ! — 
"  See  yonder  oak,  within  whose  trunk 
Decay  a  darken'd  cell  hath  sunk ; 
Enter,  and  rest  thee  there  a  space, 
Wrap  in  my  plaid  thy  limbs,  thy  face.7 


1  "  Their  moonlight  muster  on  the  beach,  after  the  sudden 
extinction  of  this  portentous  flame,  and  their  midnight  march 
through  the  paternal  fields  of  their  royal  leader,  also  display 
much  beautiful  painting  ("stanzas  xv.  and  xix.).  After  the 
castle  is  won,  the  same  strain  is  pursued." — Jeffrey. 

2  MS. :  "  From  Amadine's  exhausted  brow." 

3  MS. :  "  And  double  toil,"  Ac. 

4  MS. :  "  Nay,  fear  not  yet,"  &c. 


6  MS.: 


■  "  his  weight  refuse." 


•  "This  canto  is  not  distinguished  by  many  passages  of 
extraordinary  merit ;  as  it  is,  however,  full  of  business,  and 
comparatively  free  from  those  long  rhyming  dialogues  which 


I  will  not  be,  believe  me,  far ; 

But  must  not  quit  the  ranks  of  war. 

Well  will  I  mark  the  bosky  bourne, 

And  soon,  to  guard  thee  hence,  return. — 

Nay,  weep  not  so,  thou  simple  boy ! 

But  sleep  in  peace,  and  wake  in  joy." 

In  sylvan  lodging  close  bestow'd,8 

He  placed  the  page,  and  onward  strode 

With  strength  put  forth,  o'er  moss  and  brook, 

And  soon  the  marching  band  o'ertook. 

XXII. 

Thus  strangely  left,  long  sobb'd  and  wept 

The  page,  till,  wearied  out,  he  slept — 

A  rough  voice  waked  his  dream — "  Nay,  here, 

Here  by  this  thicket,  pass'd  the  deer — 

Beneath  that  oak  old  Ryno  staid — 

What  have  we  here  ? — a  Scottish  plaid, 

And  in  its  folds  a  stripling  laid ! — 

Come  forth !  thy  name  and  business  tell ! — 

What,  silent  ? — then  I  guess  thee  well, 

The  spy  that  sought  old  Cuthbert's  cell, 

Wafted  from  Arran  yester  morn — 

Come,  comrades,  we  will  straight  return. 

Our  Lord  may  choose  the  rack  should  teach 

To  this  young  lurcher  use  of  speech. 

Thy  bow-string,  till  I  bind  him  fast." — 

"  Nay,  but  he  weeps  and  stands  aghast ; 

Unbound  we'll  lead  him,  fear  it  not ; 

'Tis  a  fair  stripling,  though  a  Scot." 

The  hunters  to  the  Castle  sped, 

And  there  the  hapless  captive  led. 

XXIII. 

Stout  Clifford  in  the  Castle  court 
Prepared  him  for  the  morning  sport ; 
And  now  with  Lorn  held  deep  discourse, 
Now  gave  command  for  hound  and  horse.9 
War-steeds  and  palfreys  paw'd  the  ground, 
And  many  a  deer-dog  howl'd  around. 
To  Amadine,  Lorn's  well-known  word 
Replying  to  that  Southern  Lord, 
Mix'd  with  this  clanging  din,  might  seem 
The  phantasm  of  a  fever'd  dream. 
The  tone  upon  his  ringing  ears 
Came  like  the  sounds  which  fancy  hears, 


are  so  frequent  in  the  poem,  it  is,  upon  the  whole,  spirited 
and  pleasing.  The  scene  in  which  Ronald  is  described  shel- 
tering Edith  under  his  plaid,  for  the  love  which  he  bears  to 
Isabel,  is,  we  think,  more  poetically  conceived  than  any  other 
in  the  whole  poem,  and  contains  some  touches  of  great  pathos 
and  beauty." — Quarterly  Review. 

»  MS.:  "And  mantle  in  my  plaid  thy  face." 

8  MS. :  "  In  sylvan  castle  warm  bestow'd, 
He  left  the  page." 

»  MS. :  "  And  now  with  Lorn  he  spoke  aside, 
And  now  to  squire  and  yeoman  cried. 
War-horse  and  palfrey,"  &c. 


THE   LOED   OF   THE   ISLES. 


447 


When  in  rude  waves  or  roaring  winds 
Some  words  of  woe  the  muser  finds, 
Until  more  loudly  and  more  near, 
Their  speech  arrests  the  page's  ear.1 

XXIV. 

"And  was  she  thus,"  said  Clifford,  "lost? 

The  Priest  should  rue  it  to  his  cost ! 

What  says  the  Monk  ?"— "  The  holy  Sire 

Owns  that  in  masquer's  quaint  attire 

She  sought  his  skiff,  disguised,  unknown 

To  all  except  to  him  alone. 

But,  says  the  Priest,  a  bark  from  Lorn2 

Laid  them  aboard  that  very  morn, 

And  pirates  seized  her  for  their  prey. 

He  proffer'd  ransom-gold  to  pay, 

And  they  agreed — but  ere  told  o'er, 

The  winds  blow  loud,  the  billows  roar ; 

They  sever'd,  and  they  met  no  more. 

He  deems — such  tempests  vex'd  the  coast — 

Ship,  crew,  and  fugitive,  were  lost. 

So  let  it  be,  with  the  disgrace 

And  scandal  of  her  lofty  race  !3 

Thrice  better  she  had  ne'er  been  born, 

Than  brought  her  infamy  on  Lorn !" 

XXV. 

Lord  Clifford  now  the  captive  spied : — 

"  Whom,  Herbert,  hast  thou  there  ?"  he  cried. 

"  A  spy  we  seized  within  the  Chase, 

A  hollow  oak  his  lurking  place." — * 

"  What  tidings  can  the  youth  afford  ?" — 

"  He  plays  the  mute." — "  Then  noose  a  cord — 

Unless  brave  Lorn  reverse  the  doom 

For  his  plaid's  sake." — "  Clan-Colla's  loom," 

Said  Lorn,  whose  careless  glances  trace 

Rather  the  vesture  than  the  face, 

"  Clan-Colla's  dames  such  tartans  twine ; 

Wearer  nor  plaid  claims  care  of  mine. 

Give  him,  if  my  advice  you  crave, 

His  own  scathed  oak  ;5  and  let  him  wave 

In  air,  unless,  by  terror  wrung, 

A  frank  confession  find  his  tongue. — 6 

Nor  shall  he  die  without  his  rite ; 

— Thou,  Angus  Roy,  attend  the  sight, 

And  give  Clan-Colla's  dirge  thy  breath, 

As  they  convey  him  to  his  death." — 


J  MS.: 


"  or  roaring  wind, 


Some  words  of  woe  his  musings  find, 
Till  spoke  more  loudly  and  more  near 
These  words  arrest  the  page's  ear." 

2  MS.:  "To  all  save  to  himself  alone. 

Then,  says  he,  that  a  bark  from  Lorn 
Laid  him  aboard,"  &c. 

3  In  place  of  the  couplet  which  follows,  the  MS.  has: 

"  For,  stood  she  there,  and  should  refuse 
The  choice  my  better  purpose  views, 
I'd  spurn  her  like  a  bond-maid  tame, 
Lost  to  j  resentment  and  to  j  shame  „ 

I  each  sense  of  pride  and  ) 


"  Oh,  brother !  cruel  to  the  last !" 
Through  the  ])oor  captive's  bosom  pass'd 
The  thought ;  but,  to  his  purpose  true, 
He  said  not,  though  he  sigh'd,  "  Adieu !" 

XXVI. 

And  will  he  keep  his  purpose  still, 

In  sight  of  that  last  closing  ill,7 

When  one  poor  breath,  one  single  word, 

May  freedom,  safety,  life,  afford? 

Can  he  resist  the  instinctive  call, 

For  life  that  bids  us  barter  all  ? — 

Love,  strong  as  death,  his  heart  hath  steel'd, 

His  nerves  hath  strung — he  will  not  yield ! 

Since  that  poor  breath,  that  little  word, 

May  yield  Lord  Ronald  to  the  sword. — 8 

Clan-Colla's  dirge  is  pealing  wide, 

The  griesly  headsman's  by  his  side ; 

Along  the  greenwood  Chase  they  bend, 

And  now  their  march  has  ghastly  end ! 

That  old  and  shatter'd  oak  beneath, 

They  destine  for  the  place  of  death.9 

— What  thoughts  are  his,  while  all  in  vain 

His  eye  for  aid  explores  the  plain  ? 

What  thoughts,  while,  with  a  dizzy  ear, 

He  hears  the  death-prayer  mutter'd  near? 

And  must  he  die  such  death  accurst, 

Or  will  that  bosom-secret  burst  ? 

Cold  on  his  brow  breaks  terror's  dew, 

His  trembling  lips  are  livid  blue ; 

The  agony  of  parting  life 

Has  nought  to  match  that  moment's  strife ! 

XXVII. 

But  other  witnesses  are  nigh, 

Who  mock  at  fear,  and  death  defy  ! 

Soon  as  the  dire  lament  was  play'd, 

It  waked  the  lurking  ambuscade. 

The  Island  Lord  look'd  forth,  and  spied 

The  cause,  and  loud  in  fury  cried,10 

"  By  heaven,  they  lead  the  page  to  die, 

And  mock  me  in  his  agony  ! 

They  shall  abye  it!" — On  his  arm 

Bruce  laid  strong  grasp :  "  They  shall  not 

harm 
A  ringlet  of  the  stripling's  hair ; 
But,  till  I  give  the  word,  forbear. 


*  MS. :  "  A  spy,  whom,  guided  by  our  hound, 

Lurking  conceal'd  this  morn  we  found." 
6  MS. :  "  Yon  scathed  oak." 

*  MS. :  "  by  terror  wrung 

To  speech,  confession  finds  his  tongue." 

*  "  last  human  ill." 


8  MS. :  "Since  that  one  word,  that  little  breath, 

May  speak  Lord  Ronald's  doom  of  death." 

9  MS.:  "Beneath  that  shatter'd  old  oak-tree, 

Design'd  the  slaughter  place  to  be." 
10  MS.:  "Soon  as  the  due  lament  was  play'd, 
The  Island  Lord  in  fury  said, 
'  By  heaven,  they  lead,' "  &c. 


448 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


— Douglas,  lead  fifty  of  our  force 

Up  yonder  hollow  water-course, 

And  couch  thee  midway  on  the  wold, 

Between  the  flyers  and  their  hold : 

A  spear  above  the  copse  display'd 

Be  signal  of  the  ambush  made. 

— Edward,  with  forty  spearmen,  straight 

Through  yonder  copse  approach  the  gate, 

Aud,  when  thou  hear'st  the  battle-diu, 

Rush  forward,  and  the  passage  win, 

Secure  the  drawbridge,  storm  the  port, 

And  man  and  guard  the  Castle  court. — 

The  rest  move  slowly  forth  with  me, 

In  shelter  of  the  forest-tree, 

Till  Douglas  at  his  post  I  see." 

XXVIII. 
Like  war-horse  eager  to  rush  on, 
Compell'd  to  wait  the  signal  blown,1 
Hid,  and  scarce  hid,  by  greenwood  bough, 
Trembling  with  rage,  stands  Ronald  now, 
And  in  his  grasp  his  sword  gleams  blue, 
Soon  to  be  dyed  with  deadlier  hue. — 
Meanwhile  the  Bruce,  with  steady  eye, 
Sees  the  dark2  death-train  moving  by, 
And,  heedful,  measures  oft  the  space 
The  Douglas  and  his  band  must  trace, 
Ere  they  can  reach  their  destined  ground. 
Now  sinks  the  dirge's  wailing  sound, 
Now  cluster  round  the  direful  tree 
That  slow  and  solemn  company, 
While  hymn  mistuned  and  mutter'd  prayer 
The  victim  for  his  fate  prepare. — 
What  glances  o'er  the  greenwood  shade  ? 
The  spear  that  marks  the  ambuscade ! — 
"  Now,  noble  Chief!  I  leave  thee  loose ; 
Upon  them,  Ronald !"  said  the  Bruce. 

XXIX. 

"  The  Bruce !  the  Bruce !"  to  well-known  cry 
His  native  rocks  and  woods  reply. 
"  The  Bruce !  the  Bruce !"  in  that  dread  word 
The  knell  of  hundred  deaths  was  heard. 
The  astonish'd  Southern  gazed  at  first, 
Where  the  wild  tempest  was  to  burst, 
That  waked  in  that  presaging  name. 
Before,  behind,  around,  it  came ! 
Half-arm'd,  surprised,  on  every  side 
Hemm'd  in,  hew'd  down,  they  bled  and  died. 
Deep  in  the  ring  the  Bruce  engaged, 
And  fierce  Clan-Colla's  broadsword  raged ! 
Full  soon  the  few  who  fought  were  sped, 

1  MS.:  "Yet  waiting  for  the  trumpet  tone." 
s  MS.:  "Sees  the  slow  death-train." 
8  MS.:  "And  scarce  his  recollection,"  Ac. 
*  MS. :  "A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits, 

Whose  ire  assail'd  the  Castle  gates." 
6  MS.:  "  Where  sober  thought  had  fail'd. 

Upon  the  bridge  himself  he  threw." 


Nor  better  was  their  lot  who  fled, 
And  met,  'mid  terror's  wild  career, 
The  Douglas's  redoubted  spear! 
Two  hundred  yeomen  on  that  morn 
The  Castle  left,  and  none  return. 

XXX. 

Not  on  their  flight  press'd  Ronald's  brand: 
A  gentler  duty  claim'd  his  hand. 
He  raised  the  page,  where  on  the  plain 
His  fear  had  sunk  him  with  the  slain; 
And  twice,  that  morn,  surprise  well  uear 
Betray'd  the  secret  kept  by  fear ; 
Once,  when,  with  life  returning,  came 
To  the  boy's  lip  Lord  Ronald's  name, 
And  hardly  recollection3  drown'd 
The  accents  in  a  murmuring  sound  ; 
And  once,  when  scarce  he  could  resist 
The  Chieftain's  care  to  loose  the  vest, 
Drawn  tightly  o'er  his  laboring  breast. 
But  then  the  Bruce's  bugle  blew, 
For  martial  work  was  yet  to  do. 

XXXI. 

A  harder  task  fierce  Edward  waits. 
Ere  signal  given,  the  Castle  gates 

His  fury  had  assail'd  ;4 
Such  was  his  wonted  reckless  mood, 
Yet  desperate  valor  oft  made  good, 
Even  by  its  daring,  venture  rude, 

Where  prudence  might  have  fail'd. 
Upon  the  bridge  his  strength  he  threw,5 
And  struck  the  iron  chain  in  two, 

By  which  its  planks  arose ; 
The  warder  next  his  axe's  edge 
Struck  down  upon  the  threshold  ledge, 
'Twixt  door  and  post  a  ghastly  wedge  !6 

The  gate  they  may  not  close. 
Well  fought  the  Southern  in  the  fray, 
Clifford  and  Lorn  fought  well  that  day, 
But  stubborn  Edward  forced  his  way7 

Against  a  hundred  foes. 
Loud  came  the  cry,  "  The  Bruce !  the  Bruce  !" 
No  hope  or  in  defence  or  truce, — 

Fresh  combatants  pour  in ; 
Mad  with  success,  and  drunk  with  gore, 
They  drive  the  struggling  foe  before, 

And  ward  on  ward  they  win. 
Unsparing  was  the  vengeful  sword, 
And  limbs  were  lopp'd,  and  life-blood  pour'd, 
The  cry  of  death  and  conflict  roar'd, 

And  fearful  was  the  din ! 


«  MS. :  "  His  axe  was  steel  of  temper'd  edge. 

That  truth  the  warder  well  might  pledge, 
He  sunk  upon  the  threshold  ledge! 
The  gate,"  &c. 
'  MS. :  "  Well  fought  the  English  yeomen  then, 
And  Lorn  and  Clifford  play'd  the  men, 
But  Edward  mann'd  the  pass  he  won 
Against,"  &c. 


THE    LORD   OF   THE    ISLES. 


449 


The  startling  horses  plunged  and  flung, 
Clanior'd  the  dogs  till  turrets  rung, 

Nor  sunk  the  fearful  cry 
Till  not  a  foeman  was  there  found 
Alive,  save  those  who  on  the  ground 

Groan'd  in  their  agony  I1 

XXXII. 

The  valiant  Clifford  is  no  more  ;2 

On  Ronald's  broadsword  stream'd  his  gore. 

But  better  hap  had  he  of  Lorn, 

Who,  by  the  foeman  backward  borne, 

Yet  gain'd  with  slender  train  the  port, 

Where  lay  his  bark  beneath  the  fort, 

And  cut  the  cable  loose.3 
Short  were  his  shrift  in  that  debate, 
That  hour  of  fury  and  of  fate, 

If  Lorn  encounter'd  Bruce  !4 
Then  long  and  loud  the  victor  shout 
From  turret  and  from  tower  rung  out, 

The  rugged  vaults  replied ; 
And  from  the  donjon  tower  on  high, 
The  men  of  Carrick  may  descry 
Saint  Andrew's  cross,  in  blazonry 

Of  silver,  waving  wide ! 

XXXIII. 

The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall  !5 

— "  Welcome,  brave  friends  and  comrades  all, 

Welcome  to  mirth  and  joy ! 
The  first,  the  last,  is  welcome  here, 
From  lord  and  chieftain,  prince  and  peer, 

To  this  poor  speechless  boy. 
Great  God !  once  more  my  sire's  abode 
Is  mine — behold  the  floor  I  trode 

In  tottering  infancy ! 
And  there6  the  vaulted  arch,  whose  sound 
Echo'd  my  joyous  shout  and  bound 
In  boyhood,  and  that  rung  around 

To  youth's  unthinking  glee ! 
Oh  first  to  thee,  all-gracious  Heaven, 
Then  to  my  friends,  my  thanks  be  given !" — 
He  paused  a  space,  his  brow  he  cross'd — 
Then  on  the  board  his  sword  he  toss'd, 


1  The  concluding  stanza  of  the  "Siege  of  Corinth"  con- 
tains an  obvious  though  no  doubt  an  unconscious  imitation 
of  the  preceding  nine  lines,  magnificently  expanded  through 
an  extent  of  about  thirty  couplets : — 

"  All  the  living  things  that  heard 
That  deadly  earth-shock  disappear'd ; 
The  wild  birds  flew  ;  the  wild  dogs  fled, 
And  howling  left  the  unburied  dead  ; 
The  camels  from  their  keepers  broke ; 
The  distant  steer  forsook  the  yoke — 
The  nearer  steed  plunged  o'er  the  plain, 
And  burst  his  girth,  and  tore  his  rein,"  &c. 

2  In  point  of  fact,  Clifford  fell  at  Bannockburn. 

3  MS. :  "  And  swiftly  hoisted  sail." 

4  MS. :  "  Short  were  his  shrift,  if  in  that  hour 

Of  fate,  of  fury,  and  of  power, 
He  'counter'd  Edward  Bruce!" 
29 


Yet  steaming  hot ;  with  Southern  gore 
From  hilt  to  point  'twas  crimson'd  o'er. 

XXXIV. 

"  Bring  here,"  he  said,  "  the  mazers  four 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore  ;7 
Thrice  let  them  circle  round  the  board, 
The  pledge,  fair  Scotland's  rights  restored ! 
And  he  whose  lip  shall  touch  the  wine, 
Without  a  vow  as  true  as  mine, 
To  hold  both  lands  and  life  at  nought, 
Until  her  freedom  shall  be  bought, — 
Be  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot, 
And  lasting  infamy,  his  lot  !8 
Sit,  gentle  friends !  our  hour  of  glee 
Is  brief,  we'll  spend  it  joyously ! 
Blithest  of  all  the  sun's  bright  beams, 
When  betwixt  storm  and  storm  he  gleams. 
Well  is  our  country's  work  begun, 
But  more,  far  more,  must  yet  be  done. 
Speed  messengers  the  country  through ; 
Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new  ;9 
Warn  Lanark's  knights  to  gird  their  mail, 
Rouse  the  brave  sons  of  Teviotdale, 
Let  Ettrick's  archers  sharp  their  darts, 
The  fairest  forms,  the  truest  hearts ! 
Call  all,  call  all!  from  Reedswair  Path 
To  the  wild  confines  of  Cape  Wrath ; 
Wide  let  the  news  through  Scotland  ring, 
The  Northern  Eagle  claps  his  wing!" 


€i)e  ILorti  of  tfje  Bsles. 


CANTO   SIXTH. 


I. 

On  who  that  shared  them  ever  shall  forget10 
The  emotions  of  the  spirit-rousing  time, 
When  breathless  in  the  mart  the  couriers  met, 
Early  and  late,  at  evening  and  at  prime; 
When  the  loud  cannon  and  the  merry  chime 
Hail'd  news  on  news,  as  field  on  field  was  won,11 


6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  D. 

e  MS. :  "  And  see  the  vaulted  arch,"  &c. 

I  See  Appendix,  Note  3  E. 

8  MS. :  "  Be  lasting  infamy  his  lot, 

And  brand  of  a  disloyal  Scot !" 
»  See  Appendix,  Note  3  F. 

10  MS.:  "Hast  thou  forgot?— No!  who  can  e'er  forget." 

11  "  Who  can  avoid  conjuring  up  the  idea  of  men  with  broad 
sheets  of  foolscap  scored  with  victories  rolled  round  their 
hats,  and  horns  blowing  loud  defiance  in  each  other's  mouth, 
from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of  Pall-Mali,  or  the  Haymarket, 
when  he  reads  such  a  passage?  We  actually  hear  the  Park 
and  Tower  guns,  and  the  clattering  of  ten  thousand  bells,  as 
we  read,  and  stop  our  ears  from  the  close  and  sudden  intrusion 
of  the  clamors  of  some  hot  and  homfisled  patriot,  blowing 
ourselves,  as  well  as  Bonaparte,  to  the  devil !  And  what  has 
all  this  to  do  with  Bannockburn  V— Monthly  Seview. 


450 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


When  Hope,  long  doubtful,  soar'd  at  length  sublime, 
And  our  glad  eyes,  awake  as  day  begun, 
Wateh'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  to  meet  the  rising 
sun!1 

Oh  these  were  hours  when  thrilling  joy  repaid 
A  long,  long  course  of  darkness,  doubts,  and  fears ! 
The  heart-sick  faiutness  of  the  hope  delay'd, 
The  waste,  the  woe,  the  bloodshed,  and  the  tears 
That  track'd  with  terror  twenty  rolling  years, 
All  was  forgot  in  that  blithe  jubilee  ! 
Her  downcast  eye  even  pale  Affliction  rears, 
To  sigh  a  thankful  prayer,  amid  the  glee, 
That  hail'd  the  Despot's  fall,  and  peace  and  liberty! 

Such  news  o'er  Scotland's  hills  triumphant  rode, 
When  'gainst  the  invaders  turn'd  the  battle's  scale, 
When  Bruce's  banner  had  victorious  flow'd 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale  ;2 
When  English  blood  oft  deluged  Douglas  dale,3 
And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John,4 
When  Randolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  southern  gale,5 
And  many  a  fortress,  town,  and  tower,  was  won, 
And  Fame  still  sounded  forth  fresh  deeds  of  glory  done. 

II. 

Blithe  tidings  flew  from  baron's  tower 
To  peasant's  cot,  to  forest  bower, 
And  waked  the  solitary  cell 
Where  lone  Saint  Bride's  recluses  dwell. 
Princess  no  more,  fair  Isabel, 

A  vot'ress  of  the  order  now, 
Say,  did  the  rule  that  bid  thee  wear 
Dim  veil  and  woollen  scapulare, 
And  reft  thy  locks  of  dark-brown  hair, 

That  stern  and  rigid  vow, 
Did  it  condemn  the  transport  high 
Which  glisten'd  in  thy  watery  eye 
When  minstrel  or  when  palmer  told 
Each  fresh  exploit  of  Bruce  the  bold  ? — 
And  whose  the  lovely  form  that  shares 
Thy  anxious  hopes,  thy  fears,  thy  prayers? 
No  sister  she  of  convent  shade ; 
So  say  these  locks  in  lengthen'd  braid, 
So  say  the  blushes  and  the  sighs, 
The  tremors  that  unbidden  rise, 
When,  mingled  with  the  Bruce's  fame, 
The  brave  Lord  Ronald's  praises  came. 

III. 

Believe,  his  father's  Castle  won, 
And  his  bold  enterprise  begun, 
That  Bruce's  earliest  cares  restore 
The  speechless  page  to  Arran's  shore : 
Nor  think  that  long  the  quaint  disguise 
Conceal'd  her  from  a  sister's  eyes ; 

1  MS.:  "Wateh'd  Joy's  broad  banner  rise,  wateh'd  Tri- 

umph's flashing  gun." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  G.  3  ibid.  Note  3  H. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  1.  &  ibid.  Note  3  K. 


And  sister-like  in  love  they  dwell 
In  that  lone  convent's  silent  cell. 
There  Bruce's  slow  assent  allows 
Fair  Isabel  the  veil  and  vows ; 
And  there,  her  sex's  dress  regain 'd, 
The  lovely  Maid  of  Lorn  remain'd, 
Unnamed,  unknown,  while  Scotland  tar 
Resounded  with  the  din  of  war; 
And  many  a  month,  and  many  a  day, 
In  calm  seclusion  wore  away. 

IV. 

These  days,  these  months,  to  years  had 

worn, 
When  tidings  of  high  weight  were  borne 

To  that  lone  island's  shore ; 
Of  all  the  Scottish  conquests  made 
By  the  first  Edward's  ruthless  blade, 

His  son  retain'd  no  more, 
Northward  of  Tweed,  but  Stirling's  towers, 
Beleaguer'd  by  King  Robert's  powers ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce,6 
If  England's  King  should  not  relieve 
The  siege  ere  John  the  Baptist's  eve, 

To  yield  them  to  the  Bruce. 
England  was  roused — on  every  side 
Courier  and  post  and  herald  hied, 

To  summon  prince  and  peer 
At  Berwick  bounds  to  meet  their  Liege,7 
Prepared  to  raise  fair  Stirling's  siege, 

With  buckler,  brand,  and  spear. 
The  term  was  nigh — they  muster'd  fast, 
By  beacon  and  by  bugle-blast 

Forth  marshall'd  for  the  field ; 
There  rode  each  knight  of  noble  name, 
There  England's  hardy  archers  came, 
The  land  they  trod  seem'd  all  on  flame 

With  banner,  blade,  and  shield  ! 
And  not  famed  England's  powers  alone, 
Renown'd  in  arms,  the  summons  own ; 

For  Neustria's  knights  obey'd, 
Gascogne  hath  lent  her  horsemen  good,8 
And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued, 
Sent  forth  her  mountain  multitude,9 
And  Connoght  pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 

Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd.10 

V. 

Right  to  devoted  Caledon 

The  storm  of  war  rolls  slowly  on,11 

With  menace  deep  and  dread ; 
So  the  dark  clouds,  with  gathering  power, 
Suspend  a  while  the  threaten'd  shower, 
Till  every  peak  and  summit  lower 

Round  the  pale  pilgrim's  head. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  L.  7  Ibid.  Note  3  M. 

8  The  MS.  has  not  this  line. 

9  See  Appendix,  Note  3  N.  10  Ibid.  Note  3  0. 
n  MS. :  "  The  gathering  storm  of  war  rolls  on." 


THE   LOED  OF   THE   ISLES. 


451 


Not  with  such  pilgrim's  startled  eye 
King  Robert  mark'd  the  tempest  nigh ! 

Resolved  the  brunt  to  bide, 
His  royal  summons  warn'd  the  land 
That  all  who  own'd  their  King's  command 
Should  instant  take  the  spear  and  brand,1 

To  combat  at  his  side. 
Oh  who  may  tell  the  sons  of  fame 
That  at  King  Robert's  bidding  came 

To  battle  for  the  right ! 
From  Cheviot  to  the  shores  of  Ross, 
From  Solway  Sands  to  Marshal's  Moss,2 

All  bouned  them  for  the  fight. 
Such  news  the  royal  courier  tells 
Who  came  to  rouse  dark  Arran's  dells ; 
But  further  tidings  must  the  ear 
Of  Isabel  in  secret  hear. 
These  in  her  cloister  walk,  next  morn, 
Thus  shared  she  with  the  Maid  of  Lorn : — 

VI. 

"  My  Edith,  can  I  tell  how  dear 
Our  intercourse  of  hearts  sincere 

Hath  been  to  Isabel  ? — 
Judge  then  the  sorrow  of  my  heart, 
When  I  must  say  the  words,  We  part ! 

The  cheerless  convent  cell 
Was  not,  sweet  maiden,  made  for  thee ; 
Go  thou  where  thy  vocation  free 

On  happier  fortunes  fell. 
Nor,  Edith,  judge  thyself  betray'd, 
Though  Robert  knows  that  Lorn's  high  Maid 
And  his  poor  silent  page  were  one. 
Versed  in  the  fickle  heart  of  man,3 
Earnest  and  anxious  hath  he  look'd 
How  Ronald's  heart  the  message  brook'd 
That  gave  him,  with  her  last  farewell, 
The  charge  of  Sister  Isabel, 
To  think  upon  thy  better  right, 
And  keep  the  faith  his  promise  plight. 
Forgive  him  for  thy  sister's  sake, 
At  first  if  vain  repinings  wake — * 

Long  since  that  mood  is  gone : 
Now  dwells  he  on  thy  juster  claims, 
And  oft  his  breach  of  faith  he  blames — 

Forgive  him  for  thine  own !" — 

VII. 

"  No !  never  to  Lord  Ronald's  bower 
Will  I  again  as  paramour  " 

J  MS. :  "  Should  instant  belt  them  with  the  brand." 

2  MS. :  "  From  Solway's  sands  to  wild  Cape  Wrath, 

From  Play's  Rinns  to  Colbrand's  Path." 
8  MS. :  "  And  his  mute  page  were  one. 

For,  versant  in  the  heart  of  man." 
4  MS. :  "  If  brief  and  vain  repinings  wake." 
6  MS. :  "  Her  lover's  alter'd  mood  to  try." 
6  MS. :  "  Her  aged  sire  had  own'd  his  reign." 
'  The  MS.  here  presents,  erased— 


"  Nay,  hush  thee,  too  impatient  maid, 
Until  my  final  tale  be  said  !— 
The  good  King  Robert  would  engage 
Edith  once  more  his  elfin  page, 
By  her  own  heart,  and  her  own  eye, 
Her  lover's  penitence  to  try — 5 
Safe  in  his  royal  charge,  and  free, 
Should  such  thy  final  purpose  be, 
Again  unknown  to  seek  the  cell, 
And  live  and  die  with  Isabel." 
Thus  spoke  the  maid — King  Robert's  eye 
Might  have  some  glance  of  policy ; 
Dunstaffnage  had  the  Monarch  ta'en, 
And  Lorn  had  own'd  King  Robert's  reign  ;6 
Her  brother  had  to  England  fled, 
And  there  in  banishment  was  dead ; 
Ample,  through  exile,  death,  and  flight, 
O'er  tower  and  land  was  Edith's  right ; 
This  ample  right  o'er  tower  and  land 
Were  safe  in  Ronald's  faithful  hand. 

VIII. 

Embarrass'd  eye  and  blushing  cheek 
Pleasure  and  shame  and  fear  bespeak  ! 
Yet  much  the  reasoning  Edith  made : — 
"  Her  sister's  faith  she  must  upbraid, 
Who  gave  such  secret,  dark  and  dear, 
In  counsel  to  another's  ear. 
Why  should  she  leave  the  peaceful  cell  ? — 
How  should  she  part  with  Isabel  ? — 
How  wear  that  strange  attire  agen  ? — 
How  risk  herself  'midst  martial  men? — 
And  how  be  guarded  on  the  way  ? — 
At  least  she  might  entreat  delay." 
Kind  Isabel,  with  secret  smile, 
Saw  and  forgave  the  maiden's  wile, 
Reluctant  to  be  thought  to  move 
At  the  first  call  of  truant  love.7 

IX. 

Oh,  blame  her  not ! — when  zephyrs  wake, 
The  aspen's  trembling  leaves  must  shake ; 
When  beams  the  sun  through  April's  shower, 
It  needs  must  bloom,  the  violet  flower; 
And  Love,  howe'er  the  maiden  strive, 
Must  with  reviving  hope  revive ! 
A  thousand  soft  excuses  came 
To  plead  his  cause  'gainst  virgin  shame. 
Pledged  by  their  sires  in  earliest  youth, 
He  had  her  plighted  faith  and  truth — 

"  But  all  was  overruled — a  band 
From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land ; 
Their  chief,  MacLouis,  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 

To  Bruce,  with  {  honor>        X  as  behoved 
( reverence,  > 

To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved." 
With  one  verbal  alteration  these  lines  occur  hereafter — the 
poet  having  postponed  them  in  order  to  apologize  more  at. 
length  for  Edith's  acquiescence  in  an  arrangement  not,  cer- 
tainly, at  first  sight  over  delicate. 


452 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Then,  'twas  her  Liege's  strict  command, 
And  she,  beneath  his  royal  hand, 
A  ward  in  person  and  in  land; — 
And,  last,  she  was  resolved  to  stay 
Only  brief  space — one  little  day — 
Close  hidden  in  her  safe  disguise 
From  all,  but  most  from  Ronald's  eyes — 
But  once  to  see  him  more ! — nor  blame 
Her  wish — to  hear  him  name  her  name ! — 
Then,  to  bear  back  to  solitude 
The  thought  he  had  his  falsehood  rued! 
But  Isabel,  who  long  had  seen 
Her  pallid  cheek  and  pensive  mien, 
And  well  herself  the  cause  might  know, 
Though  innocent,  of  Edith's  woe, 
Joy'd,  generous,  that  revolving  time 
Gave  means  to  expiate  the  crime. 
High  glow'd  her  bosom  as  she  said, 
"  Well  shall  her  sufferings  be  repaid !" 
Now  came  the  parting  hour — a  band 
From  Arran's  mountains  left  the  land ; 
Their  chief,  Fitz-Louis,1  had  the  care 
The  speechless  Amadine  to  bear 
To  Bruce,  with  honor,  as  behoved 
To  page  the  monarch  dearly  loved. 

X. 

The  King  had  deem'd  the  maiden  bright 

Should  reach  him  long  before  the  fight, 

But  storms  and  fate  her  course  delay : 

It  was  on  eve  of  battle-day 

When  o'er  the  Gillies'  hill  she  rode. 

The  landscape  like  a  furnace  glow'd, 

And  far  as  e'er  the  eye  was  borne, 

The  lances  waved  like  autumn  corn. 

In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye2 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie,3 

And  one  below  the  hill  was  laid,4 

Reserved  for  rescue  and  for  aid ; 

And  three,  advanced,  form'd  vanward  line 

'Twixt  Bannock's  brook  and  Ninian's  shrine. 

Detach'd  was  each,  yet  each  so  nigh 

As  well  might  mutual  aid  supply. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  3  P. 

2  MS.:  "Nearest  and  plainest  to  the  eye." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Q. 

4  MS. :  "  One  close  beneath  the  hill  was  laid." 
6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  R. 

«  "As  a  reward  for  the  loyalty  and  distinguished  bravery 
of  the  men  of  Ayr  on  the  occasion  referred  to  in  the  text, 
King  Robert  the  Bruce  granted  them  upwards  of  1300  Scots 
acres  of  land,  part  of  tlie  bailliery  of  Kyle  Stewart,  his  patri- 
monial inheritance,  lying  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the 
town  of  Ayr,  which  grant  King  James  VI.  confirmed  to  their 
successors  by  two  charters ;  one  to  the  freemen  of  Newton- 
upon-Ayr,  the  other  to  the  freemen  of  Preatwick,  both 
boroughs  of  barony  in  the  same  parish,  with  all  the  peculiari- 
ties of  the  original  constitution. 

"The  former  charter  contains  forty-eight  freedoms  or  bar- 
onies—as  these  subdivisions  are  called— and  the  latter  thirty- 
six.  The  right  of  succession  to  these  freeholds  is  limited.  A 
son  succeeds  his  father,  nor  can  his  right  of  succession  be 


Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears,5 
A  boundless  wilderness  of  spears, 
Whose  verge  or  rear  the  anxious  eye 
Strove  far,  but  strove  in  vain,  to  spy. 
Thick  flashing  in  the  evening  beam, 
Glaives,  lances,  bills,  and  banners  gleam ; 
And  where  the  heaven  join'd  with  the  hill 
Was  distant  armor  flashing  still, 
So  wide,  so  far,  the  boundless  host 
Seem'd  in  the  blue  horizon  lost. 

XI. 
Down  from  the  hill  the  maiden  pass'd, 
At  the  wild  show  of  war  aghast ; 
And  toaversed  first  the  rearward  host, 
Reserved  for  aid  where  needed  most. 
The  men  of  Carrick  and  of  Ayr, 
Lennox  and  Lanark,  too,  were  there,6 

And  all  the  western  land ; 
With  these  the  valiant  of  the  Isles 
Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files,7 

In  many  a  plaided  band. 
There,  in  the  centre  proudly  raised, 
The  Bruce's  royal  standard  blazed, 
And  there  Lord  Ronald's  banner  bore 
A  galley  driven  by  sail  and  oar. 
A  wild  yet  pleasing  contrast  made 
Warriors  in  mail  and  plate  array'd, 
With  the  plumed  bonnet  and  the  plaid 

By  these  Hebrideans  worn ; 
But  oh !  unseen  for  three  long  years, 
Dear  was  the  garb  of  mountaineers 

To  the  fair  Maid  of  Lorn ! 
For  one  she  look'd — but  he  was  far 
Busied  amid  the  ranks  of  war — 
Yet  with  affection's  troubled  eye 
She  mark'd  his  banner  boldly  fly, 
Gave  on  the  countless  foe  a  glance, 
And  thought  on  battle's  desperate  chance. 

XII. 

To  centre  of  the  vanward  line 
Fitz-Louis  guided  Amadine.8 

anywise  affected  by  the  amount  of  his  father's  debts.  A  widow 
having  no  son  may  enjoy  her  husband's  freehold  as  long  as  she 
lives,  but  at  her  death  it  reverts  to  the  community,  the  female 
line  being  excluded  from  the  right  of  succession.  Nor  can  any 
freeman  dispose  of  his  freehold  except  to  the  community,  who 
must,  within  a  certain  time,  dispose  of  it  to  a  neutral  person, 
as  no  freeman  or  baron  can  possess  more  than  one  allotment, 
whereby  the  original  number  of  freemen  is  always  kept  up. 

"  Each  freeholder  has  a  vote  in  the  election  of  the  baillies, 
who  have  a  jurisdiction  over  the  freemen  for  the  recovery  of 
small  debts.  But  though  they  have  the  power  of  committing 
a  freeman  to  prison,  they  cannot,  in  right  of  their  office,  lock 
the  prison  doors  on  him,  but  if  he  leaves  the  prison  without 
the  proper  liberation  of  the  baillies,  he  thereby  forfeits  his 
baronship  or  freedom." — Inqui.nl.  Special,  pp.  72,  555,  782; 
Sir  John  Sinclair's  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii. 
pp.  2fi3,  264,  581 ;  Chalmers'  Caledonia,  vol.  iii.  pp.  504,  508 ; 
X<>tr  from  Mr.  Joseph  Train  (1840). 

7  See  Appendix,  Note  3  S. 

8  MS. :  "  Her  guard  conducted  Amadine." 


THE   LORD   OF  THE  ISLES. 


453 


Arm'd  all  on  foot,  that  host  appears 
A  serried  mass  of  glimmering  spears. 
There  stood  the  Marchers'  warlike  band, 
The  warriors  there  of  Lodon's  land ; 
Ettrick  and  Liddell  bent  the  yew, 
A  band  of  archers  fierce,  though  few ; 
The  men  of  Nith  and  Annan's  vale, 
And  the  bold  Spears  of  Teviotdale ; — 
The  dauntless  Douglas  these  obey, 
And  the  young  Stuart's  gentle  sway. 
Northeastward  by  Saint  Ninian's  shrine, 
Beneath  fierce  Randolph's  charge,  combine 
The  warriors  whom  the  hardy  North 
From  Tay  to  Sutherland  sent  forth. 
The  rest  of  Scotland's  war  array 
With  Edward  Bruce  to  westward  lay, 
Where  Bannock,  with  his  broken  bank 
And  deep  ravine,  protects  their  flank. 
Behind  them,  screen'd  by  sheltering  wood, 
The  gallant  Keith,  Lord  Marshal,  stood  : 
His  men-at-arms  bare  mace  and  lance, 
And  plumes  that  wave,  and  helms  that  glance. 
Thus  fair  divided  by  the  King, 
Centre,  and  right,  and  leftward  wing, 
Composed  his  front ;  nor  distant  far 
Was  strong  reserve  to  aid  the  war. 
And  'twas  to  front  of  this  array 
Her  guide  and  Edith  made  their  way. 

XIII. 
Here  must  they  pause ;  for,  in  advance 
As  far  as  one  might  pitch  a  lance, 
The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van,1 
The  foe's  approaching  force  to  scan, 
His  line  to  marshal  and  to  range, 
And  ranks  to  square,  and  fronts  to  change. 
Alone  he  rode — from  head  to  heel 
Sheathed  in  his  ready  arms  of  steel ; 
Nor  mounted  yet  on  war-horse  Wight, 
But,  till  more  near  the  shock  of  fight, 
Reining  a  palfrey  low  and  light. 
A  diadem  of  gold  was  set 
Above  his  bright  steel  basinet, 
And  clasp'd  within  its  glittering  twine 
Was  seen  the  glove  of  Argentine  ; 
Truncheon  or  leading  staff  he  lacks, 
Bearing,  instead,  a  battle-axe. 
He  ranged  his  soldiers  for  the  fight, 
Accoutred  thus,  in  open  sight 
Of  either  host. — Three  bowshots  far 
Paused  the  deep  front  of  Ens-land's  war, 
And  rested  on  their  arms  a  while, 
To  close  and  rank  their  warlike  file, 
And  hold  high  council,  if  that  night 
Should  view  the  strife,  or  dawning  light. 


1  See  Appcjirlix.  Note  3  T 

2  MS. 

3  MS. 


'  Oh  |  falr'      1  yet  fearful,"  &c. 
I  bright,  I  ' 


"princely  blood,"  &c. 


XIV. 

Oh  gay,  yet  fearful2  to  behold, 
Flashing  with  steel  and  rough  with  gold, 

And  bristled  o'er  with  bills  and  spears, 
With  plumes  and  pennons  waving  fair, 
Was  that  bright  battle-front!  for  there 

Rode  England's  King  and  peers : 
And  who  that  saw  that  Monarch  ride, 
His  kingdom  battled  by  his  side, 
Could  then  his  direful  doom  foretell ! — 
Fair  was  his  seat  in  knightly  selle, 
And  in  his  sprightly  eye  was  set 
Some  spark  of  the  Plantagenet. 
Though  light  and  wandering  was  his  glance, 
It  flash'd  at  sight  of  shield  and  lance. 
"  Know'st  thou,"  he  said,  "  De  Argentine, 
Yon  knight  who  marshals  thus  their  line  ?" — 
"  The  tokens  on  his  helmet  tell 
The  Bruce,  my  Liege :  I  know  him  well." — 
"  And  shall  the  audacious  traitor  brave 
The  presence  where  our  banners  wave  ?" — 
"  So  please  my  Liege,"  said  Argentine, 
"  Were  he  but  horsed  on  steed  like  mine, 
To  give  him  fair  and  knightly  chance, 
I  would  adventure  forth  my  lance." — 
"  In  battle-day,"  the  King  replied, 
"  Nice  tourney  rules  are  set  aside. 
—Still  must  the  rebel  dare  our  wrath  ? 
Set  on  him — sweep  him  from  our  path !" 
And,  at  King  Edward's  signal,  soon 
Dash'd  from  the  ranks  Sir  Henry  Boune. 

XV. 

Of  Hereford's  high  blood3  he  came, 

A  race  renown'd  for  knightly  fame. 

He  burn'd  before  his  Monarch's  eye 

To  do  some  deed  of  chivalry. 

He  spurr'd  his  steed,  he  couch'd  his  lance, 

And  darted  on  the  Bruce  at  once. 

— As  motionless  as  rocks,  that  bide 

The  wrath  of  the  advancing  tide, 

The  Bruce  stood  fast.— Each  breast  beat  high, 

And  dazzled  was  each  gazing  eye — 

The.  heart  had  hardly  time  to  think, 

The  eyelid  scarce  had  time  to  wink,4 

While  on  the  King,  like  flash  of  flame, 

Spurr'd  to  full  speed  the  war-horse  came ! 

The  partridge  may  the  falcon- mock, 

If  that  slight  palfrey  stand  the  shock  ; 

But,  swerving  from  the  Knight's  career, 

Just  as  they  met,  Bruce  shunn'd  the  spear.6 

Onward  the  baffled  warrior  bore 

His  course — but  soon  his  course  was  o'er ! — 

High  in  his  stirrups  stood  the  King, 

And  gave  his  battle-axe  the  swing. 


*  MS. :  "The  heart  took  hardly  time  to  think, 
The  eyelid  scarce  had  space  to  wink." 

6  MS. :  "  Just  as  they  closed  in  full  career, 

Bruce  swerved  the  palfrey  from  the  spear.' 


454 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Right  on  De  Boune,  the  whiles  he  pass'd, 
Fell  that  stem  dint — the  first — the  last ! — 
Such  strength  upon  the  hlow  was  put, 
The  helmet  crash'd  like  hazel-nut; 
The  axe-shaft,  with  its  hruzen  clasp, 
Was  shiver'd  to  the  gauntlet  grasp. 
Springs  from  the  blow  the  startled  horse, 
Drops  to  the  plain  the  lifeless  corse ; 
— First  of  that  fatal  field,  how  soon, 
How  sudden,  fell  the  fierce  De  Boune ! 

XVI. 

One  pitying  glance  the  Monarch  sped, 
Where  on  the  field  his  foe  lay  dead; 
Then  gently  tum'd  his  palfrey's  head, 
And,  pacing  back  his  sober  way, 
Slowly  he  gain'd  his  own  array. 
There  round  their  King  the  leaders  crowd, 
And  blame  his  recklessness  aloud, 
That  risk'd  'gainst  each  adventurous  spear 
A  life  so  valued  and  so  dear. 
His  broken  weapon's  shaft  survey'd 
The  King,  and  careless  answer  made, — 
"  My  loss  may  pay  my  folly's  tax ; 
I've  broke  my  trusty  battle-axe." 
'Twas  then  Fitz-Louis,  bending  low, 
Did  Isabel's  commission  show ; 
Edith,  disguised,  at  distance  stands, 
And  hides  her  blushes  with  her  hands. 
The  Monarch's  brow  has  changed  its  hue ; 
Away  the  gory  axe  he  threw, 
While  to  the  seeming  page  he  drew, 

Clearing  war's  terrors  from  his  eye. 
Her  hand  with  gentle  ease  he  took, 
With  such  a  kind  protecting  look 

As  to  a  weak  and  timid  boy 
Might  speak,  that  elder  brother's  care 
And  elder  brother's  love  were  there. 

XVII. 

"  Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  young  Amadine!" 
Then  whisper'd,  "  Still  that  name  be  thine. 
Fate  plays  her  wonted  fantasy,1 
Kind  Amadine,  with  thee  and  me, 
And  sends  thee  here  in  doubtful  hour. 
But  soon  we  are  beyond  her  power ; 
For  on  this  chosen  battle-plain,. 
Victor  or  vanquish'd,  I  remain. 
Do  thou  to  yonder  hill  repair ; 
The  followers  of  our  host  are  there, 
And  all  who  may  not  weapons  bear. — 
Fitz-Louis,  have  him  in  thy  care. — 
Joyful  we  meet,  if  all  go  well ; 
If  not,  in  Arran's  holy  cell 
Thou  must  take  part  with  Isabel ; 


l  MS.: 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  3  U 
,  f  round 


■  "  her  wonted  pranks,  I  see." 


3  MS. :  "  Lo !  {  round     1  thy  post  have  pass'd  the  foes." 
t  throutch ) 


For  brave  Lord  Ronald,  too,  hath  sworn, 

Not  to  regain  the  Maid  of  Lorn 

(The  bliss  on  earth  he  covets  most) 

Would  he  forsake  his  battle-post, 

Or  shun  the  fortune  that  may  fall 

To  Bruce,  to  Scotland,  and  to  all. — 

But,  hark !  some  news  these  trumpets  tell ; 

Forgive  my  haste — farewell ! — farewell !" — 

And  in  a  lower  voice  he  said, 

"  Be  of  good  cheer — farewell,  sweet  maid  !"- 

XVIII. 

"  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet-sound 

And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 

Our  leftward  flank?"''  the  Monarch «ried 

To  Moray's  Earl,  who  rode  beside. 

"  Lo !  round  thy  station  pass  the  foes  !3 

Randolph,  thy  wreath  hath  lost  a  rose." 

The  Earl  his  visor  closed,  and  said, 

"  My  wreath  shall  bloom,  or  life  shall 

fade. — 
Follow,  my  household !" — And  they  go 
Like  lightning  on  the  advancing  foe. 
"  My  Liege,"  said  noble  Douglas  then, 
"  Earl  Randolph  has  but  one  to  ten  :4 
Let  me  go  forth  his  band  to  aid !" — 
— "  Stir  not.    The  error  he  hath  made, 
Let  him  amend  it  as  he  may ; 
I  will  not  weaken  mine  array." 
Then  loudly  rose  the  conflict-cry, 
And  Douglas's  brave  heart  swell'd  high,— 
"  My  Liege,"  he  said,  "  with  patient  ear 
I  must  not  Moray's  death-knell  hear!" — 
"  Then  go — but  speed  thee  back  again." — 
Forth  sprung  the  Douglas  with  his  train : 
But,  when  they  won  a  rising  hill, 
He  bade  his  followers  hold  them  still. — 
"  See,  see !  the  routed  Southern  fly ! 
The  Earl  hath  won  the  victory. 
Lo !  where  yon  steeds  run  masterless, 
His  banner  towers  above  the  press. 
Rein  up ;  our  presence  would  impair 
The  fame  we  come  too  late  to  share." 
Back  to  the  host  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  glad  tidings  are  abroad,5 
That,  Dayncourt  by  stout  Randolph  slain, 
His  followers  fled  with  loosen'd  rein. — 
That  skirmish  closed  the  busy  day, 
And,  couch'd  in  battle's  prompt  array, 
Each  army  on  their  weapons  lay. 

XIX. 

It  was  a  night  of  lovely  June, 
High  rode  in  cloudless  blue  the  moon, 
Demayet  smiled  beneath  her  ray ; 

*  MS. :  "  Earl  Randolph's  strength  is  one  to  ten.' 

6  MS. :  "  Back  to  his  post  the  Douglas  rode, 
And  soon  the  tidings  are  abroad." 


THE   LORD   OF    THE   ISLES. 


455 


Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light, 
And,  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright, 

Her  winding  river  lay.1 
Ah,  gentle  planet!  other  sight 
Shall  greet  thee  next  returning  night, 
Of  broken  arms  and  banners  tore, 
And  marshes  dark  with  human  gore, 
And  piles  of  slaughter'd  men  and  horse, 
And  Forth  that  floats  the  frequent  corse, 
And  many  a  wounded  wretch  to  plain 
Beneath  thy  silver  light  in  vain ! 
But  now,  from  England's  host,  the  cry 
Thou  hear'st  of  wassail  revelry, 
While  from  the  Scottish  legions  pass 
The  murmur'd  prayer,  the  early  mass ! — 
Here,  numbers  had  presumption  given ; 
There,  bands  o'ermatch'd  sought  aid  from  Heaven. 

XX. 

On  Gillies'  hill,  whose  height  commands 

The  battle-field,  fair  Edith  stands, 

With  serf  and  page  unfit  for  war, 

To  eye  the  conflict  from  afar. 

Oh,  with  what  doubtful  agony 

She  sees  the  dawning  tint  the  sky  ! — 

Now  on  the  Ochils  gleams  the  sun, 

And  glistens  now  Demayet  dun ; 
Is  it  the  lark  that  carols  shrill, 
Is  it  the  bittern's  early  hum  ? 
No ! — distant,  but  increasing  still, 
The  trumpet's  sound  swells  up  the  hill, 
With  the  deep  murmur  of  the  drum. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 

Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  were  toss'd,* 

His  breast  and  brow  each  soldier  cross'd, 
And  started  from  the  ground ; 

Arm'd  and  array'd  for  instant  fight, 

Rose  archer,  spearman,  squire,  and  knight, 

And  in  the  pomp  of  battle  bright 
The  dread  battalia  frown'd.3 

XXI. 

Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew,4 

Dark  rolling  like  the  ocean  tide, 

When  the  rough  west  has  chafed  his  pride, 

And  his  deep  roar  sends  challenge  wide 

To  all  that  bars  his  way  ! 
In  front  the  gallant  archers  trode, 
The  men-at-arms  behind  them  rode. 


1  The  MS.  here  interposes  the  couplet — 

"Glancing  by  fits  from  hostile  line, 
Armor  and  lance  return'd  the  shine." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  V. 

3  "  Although  Mr.  Scott  retains  that  necessary  and  charac- 
teristic portion  of  his  peculiar  and  well-known  manner,  he  is 
free,  we  think,  from  any  faulty  self-imitation  ;  and  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn  will  remain  for  ever  as  a  monument  of  the 
fertile  poetical  powers  of  a  writer  who  had  before  so  greatly 
excelled  in  this  species  of  description." — Monthly  Review. 


And  midmost  of  the  phalanx  broad 

The  Monarch  held  his  sway. 
Beside  him  many  a  war-horse  fumes, 
Around  him  waves  a  sea  of  plumes, 
Where  many  a  knight  in  battle  known, 
And  some  who  spurs  had  first  braced  on, 
And  deeni'd  that  fight  should  see  them 
won, 

King  Edward's  hests  obey. 
De  Argentine  attends  his  side, 
With  stout  De  Valence,  Pembroke's  pride, 
Selected  champions  from  the  train, 
To  wait  upon  his  bridle  rein. 
Upon  the  Scottish  foe  he  gazed — 
— At  once,  before  his  sight  amazed, 

Sunk  banner,  spear,  and  shield ; 
Each  weapon-point  is  downward  sent, 
Each  warrior  to  the  ground  is  bent. 
"  The  rebels,  Argentine,  repent ! 

For  pardon  they  have  kneel'd." — 5 
"  Aye ! — but  they  bend  to  other  powers, 
And  other  pardon  sue  than  ours ! 
See  where  yon  barefoot  Abbot  stands, 
And  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands  !6 
Upon  the  spot  where  they  have  kneel'd, 
These  men  will  die,  or  win  the  field." — 
— "  Then  prove  we  If  they  die  or  win ! 
Bid  Gloster's  Earl  the  fight  begin." 

XXII. 

Earl  Gilbert  waved  his  truncheon  high, 

Just  as  the  Northern  ranks  arose, 
Signal  for  England's  archery 

To  halt  and  bend  their  bows. 
Then  stepp'd  each  yeoman  forth  a  pace, 
Glanced  at  the  intervening  space, 

And  raised  his  left  hand  high ; 
To  the  right  ear  the  cords  they  bring — T 
— At  once  ten  thousand  bow-strings  ring, 

Ten  thousand  arrows  fly ! 
Nor  paused  on  the  devoted  Scot 
The  ceaseless  fury  of  their  shot ; 

As  fiercely  and  as  fast, 
Forth  whistling  came  the  gray-goose  wing 
As  the  wild  hailstones  pelt  and  ring 

Adown  December's  blast. 
Nor  mountain  targe  of  tough  bull-hide, 
Nor  Lowland  mail,  that  storm  may  bide ; 
Woe,  woe  to  Scotland's  banner'd  pride, 

If  the  fell  shower  may  last ! 


"  The  battle,  we  think,  is  not  comparable  to  the  battle  in 
'Marmion,'  though  nothing  can  be  finer  than  the  scene  of 
contrasted  repose  and  thoughtful  anxiety  by  which  it  is 
introduced  (stanzas  xix.  xx.  xxi.)." — Jeffrey. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  3  W. 

6  MS.:  "De  Argentine!  the  cowards  repent! 
For  mercy  they  have  kneel'd." 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  3  X. 

\  MS. :  "  Drew  to  his  ear  the  silken  string." 


456 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Upon  the  right,  behind  the  wood, 
Each  by  his  steed  dismounted,  stood 

The  Scottish  chivalry; — 
With  foot  in  stirrup,  hand  on  mane, 
Fierce  Edward  Bruce  can  scarce  restrain 
His  own  keen  heart,  his  eager  train, 
Until  the  archers  gain'd  the  plain ; 

Then,  "  Mount,  ye  gallants  free !" 
He  cried ;  and,  vaulting  from  the  ground, 
His  saddle  every  horseman  found. 
On  high  their  glittering  crests1  they  toss, 
As  springs  the  wild-fire  from  the  moss ; 
The  shield  hangs  down  on  every  breast, 
Each  ready  lance  is  in  the  rest, 

And  loud  shouts  Edward  Bruce, — 
"  Forth,  Marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe ! 
We'll  tame  the  terrors  of  their  bow, 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose  I"2 

XXIII. 

Then  spurs  were  dash'd  in  charters'  flanks, 

They  rush'd  among  the  archer  ranks. 

No  spears  were  there  the  shock  to  let, 

No  stakes  to  turn  the  charge  were  set; 

And  how  shall  yeoman's  armor  slight 

Stand  the  long  lance  and  mace  of  might? 

Or  what  may  their  short  swords  avail 

'Gainst  barbed  horse  and  shirt  of  mail  ? 

Amid  their  ranks  the  chargers  sprung, 

High  o'er  their  heads  the  weapons  swung, 

And  shriek  and  groan  and  vengeful  shout 

Give  note  of  triumph  and  of  rout ! 

A  while,  with  stubborn  hardihood, 

Their  English  hearts  the  strife  made  good. 

Borne  down  at  length  on  every  side, 

Compell'd  to  flight,  they  scatter  wide. — 

Let  stags  of  Sherwood  leap  for  glee, 

And  bound  the  deer  of  Dallom  Lee ! 

The  broken  bows  of  Bannock's  shore 

Shall  in  the  greenwood  ring  no  more ! 

Round  Wakefield's  merry  May-pole  now 

The  maids  may  twine  the  summer  bough, 

May  northward  look  with  longing  glance, 

For  those  that  wont  to  lead  the  dance, 

For  the  blithe  archers  look  in  vain  ! 

Broken,  dispersed,  in  flight  o'crta'en, 

Pierced  through,  trod  down,  by  thousands  slain, 

They  cumber  Bannock's  bloody  plain. 


"  their  brandish'd  spears." 


1  M.S.: 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Y. 
s  See  Appendix,  Note  3  Z. 

*  M8. :  "  an  armed  foe." 

6  MS. :  "  With  many  a  pit  the  ground  to  bore, 
With  turf  and  brushwood  covcr'd  o'er, 
Had  forni'd,"  &c. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  4  A. 
1  See  Appendix,  Note  4  B. 


XXIV. 

The  King  with  scorn  beheld  their  flight. 
"  Are  these,"  he  said,  "  our  yeomen  wight? 
Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore  !3 
Fitter  to  plunder  chase  or  park 
Than  make  a  manly  foe4  their  mark. — 
Forward,  each  gentleman  and  knight ! 
Let  gentle  blood  show  generous  might, 
And  chivalry  redeem  the  fight !" 
To  right  ward  of  the  wild  affray 
The  field  show'd  fair  and  level  way ; 

But,  in  mid-space,  the  Bruce's  care 
Had  bored  the  ground  with  many  a  pit, 
With  turf  and  brushwood  hidden  yet,5 

That  form'd  a  ghastly  snare. 
Rushing,  ten  thousand  horsemen  came, 
With  spears  in  rest,  and  hearts  on  flame, 

That  panted  for  the  shock ! 
With  blazing  crests  and  banners  spread, 
And  trumpet-clang  and  clamor  dread, 
The  wide  plain  thunder'd  to  their  tread, 

As  far  as  Stirling  rock. 
Down !  down  !  in  headlong  overthrow, 
Horseman  and  horse,  the  foremost  go,6 

Wild  floundering  on  the  field ! 
The  first  are  in  destruction's  gorge, 
Their  followers  wildly  o'er  them  urge ; — 

The  knightly  helm  and  shield, 
The  mail,  the  acton,  and  the  spear, 
Strong  hand,  high  heart,  are  useless 

here ! 
Loud  from  the  mass  confused  the  cry 
Of  dying  warriors  swells  on  high, 
And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony  !7 
They  came  like  mountain  torrent  red, 
That  thunders  o'er  its  rocky  bed  ; 
They  broke  like  that  same  torrent's  wave8 
When  swallow'd  by  a  darksome  cave. 
Billows  on  billows  burst  and  boil, 
Maintaining  still  the  stern  turmoil, 
And  to  their  wild  and  tortured  groan 
Each  adds  new  terrors  of  his  own ! 

XXV. 

Too  strong  in  courage  and  in  might 
Was  England  yet,  to  yield  the  fight. 
Her  noblest  all  are  here ; 


8  The  MS.  has: 

"  When  plunging  down  some  darksome  cave, 
Billow  on  billow  rushing  on, 
Follows  the  path  the  first  had  gone." 
It  is  impossible  not  to  recollect  our  author's  own  lines, — 
"  As  Bracklinn's  chasm,  so  black  and  steep, 

Receives  her  roaring  linn, 
As  the  dark  caverns  of  the  deep 

Suck  the  wild  whirlpool  in  ; 
So  did  the  deep  and  darksome  pass 
Devour  the  battle's  mingled  mass." 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  canto  vi.  stanza  xviii. 


THE   LOKD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


457 


Names  that  to  fear  were  never  known, 
Bold  Norfolk's  Earl  de  Brotherton, 

And  Oxford's  famed  De  Vere. 
There  Gloster  plied  the  bloody  sword, 
And  Berkley,  Grey,  and  Hereford, 

Bottetourt  and  Sanzavere, 
Ross,  Montague,  and  Mauley,  came,1 
And  Courtenay's  pride,  and  Percy's  fame — 
Names  known  too  well2  in  Scotland's  war, 
At  Falkirk,  Methven,  and  Dunbar, 
Blazed  broader  yet  in  after  years 
At  Cressy  red  and  fell  Poitiers. 
Pembroke  with  these,  and  Argentine, 
Brought  up  the  rearward  battle-line. 
With  caution  o'er  the  ground  they  tread, 
Slippery  with  blood  and  piled  with  dead, 
Till  hand  to  hand  in  battle  set, 
The  bills  with  spears  and  axes  met, 
And,  closing  dark  on  every  side, 
Raged  the  full  contest  far  and  wide. 
Then  was  the  strength  of  Douglas  tried, 
Then  proved  was  Randolph's  generous  pride, 
And  well  did  Stuart's  actions  grace 
The  sire  of  Scotland's  royal  race ! 

Firmly  they  kept  their  ground ; 
As  firmly  England  onward  press'd, 
And  down  went  many  a  noble  crest, 
And  rent  was  many  a  valiant  breast, 

And  Slaughter  revell'd  round. 

XXVI. 

Unflinching  foot3  'gainst  foot  was  set, 
Unceasing  blow  by  blow  was  met ; 

The  groans  of  those  who  fell 
Were  drown'd  amid  the  shriller  clang 
That  from  the  blades  and  harness  rang, 

And  in  the  battle-yell. 
Yet  fast  they  fell,  unheard,  forgot, 
Both  Southern  fierce  and  hardy  Scot ; 
And  oh,  amid  that  waste  of  life, 
What  various  motives  fired  the  strife ! 
The  aspiring  Noble  bled  for  fame, 
The  Patriot  for  his  country's  claim ; 

1  MS. :  "  Ross,  Tybtot,  Neville,  Mauley,  came." 

2  MS. :  "  Names  known  of  yore,"  &c. 

3  MS.:  "Unshifting  foot,"  Ac. 

*  "  All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done, 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave." — Cowper. 
6  "  The  dramatic  and  even  Shakspearian  spirit  of  much  of 
this  battle  must,  we  think,  strike  and  delight  the  reader.    We 
pass  over  much  alternate  and  much  stubborn  and  '  unflinch- 
ing '  contests — 

'  The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins, 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins ;' 
but  the  description  of  it,  as  we  have  ventured  to  prophesy, 
will  last  for  ever. 

"  It  will  be  as  unnecessary  for  the  sake  of  our  readers  as  it 
would  be  useless  for  the  sake  of  the  author  to  point  out  many 
of  the  obvious  defects  of  these  splendid  passages,  or  of  others 
in  the  poem.    Such  a  line  as 

'The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins' 


This  Knight  his  youthful  strength  to  prove, 

And  that  to  wiu  his  lady's  love ; 

Some  fought  from  ruffian  thirst  of  blood, 

From  habit  some,  or  hardihood. 

But  ruffian  stern,  and  soldier  good, 

The  noble  and  the  slave, 
From  various  cause  the  same  wild  road, 
On  the  same  bloody  morning,  trode, 

To  that  dark  inn,  the  grave  !* 

XXVII. 

The  tug  of  strife  to  flag  begins, 
Though  neither  loses  yet  nor  wins.5 
High  rides  the  sun,  thick  rolls  the  dust,6 
And  feebler  speeds  the  blow  and  thrust. 
Douglas  leans  on  his  war-sword  now, 
And  Randolph  wipes  his  bloody  brow ; 
Nor  less  had  toil'd  each  Southern  knight 
From  morn  till  mid-day  in  the  fight. 
Strong  Egremont  for  air  must  gasp, 
Beauchamp  undoes  his  visor  clasp, 
And  Montague  must  quit  his  spear, 
And  sinks  thy  falchion,  bold  De  Vere ! 
The  blows  of  Berkley  fall  less  fast, 
And  gallant  Pembroke's  bugle-blast 

Hath  lost  its  lively  tone ; 
Sinks,  Argentine,  thy  battle-word, 
And  Percy's  shout  was  fainter  heard, 

"  My  merry -men,  fight  on !" 

XXVIII. 
Bruce,  with  the  pilot's  wary  eye, 
The  slackening7  of  the  storm  could  spy. 
"  One  effort  more,  and  Scotland's  free ! 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  Ailsa  Rock ; 
Rush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge  ;8 

Now,  forward  to  the  shock  !"9 
At  once  the  spears  were  forward  thrown, 
Against  the  sun  the  broadswords  shone  ; 
The  pibroch  lent  its  maddening  tone, 
And  loud  King  Robert's  voice  was  known — 

must  wound  every  ear  that  has  the  least  pretension  to  judge  of 
poetry ;  and  no  one,  we  should  think,  can  miss  the  ridiculous 
point  of  such  a  couplet  as  the  subjoined, — 

'  Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk:' " 

Monthly  Review. 

6  "  The  adventures  of  the  day  are  versified  rather  too  lite- 
rally from  the  contemporary  chronicles.  The  following  pas- 
sage, however,  is  emphatic,  and  exemplifies  what  this  author 
has  so  often  exemplified,  the  power  of  well-chosen  and  well- 
arranged  names  to  excite  lofty  emotions,  with  little  aid  either 
from  sentiment  or  description." — Jeffrey. 

'  MS. :  "  The  sinking." 

»  See  Appendix,  Note  4  C. 

»  MS. :  "  Then  hurry  to  the  shock !" 


458 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"Carrick,  press  on— they  fail,  they  fail! 
Press  on,  brave  sons  of  Innisgail, 

The  foe  is  fainting  fast! 
Each  strike  for  parent,  child,  and  wife, 
For  Scotland,  liberty,  and  life, — 

The  battle  cannot  last!" 

XXIX. 

The  fresh  and  desperate  onset  bore 
The  foes  three  furlongs  back  and  more, 
Leaving  their  noblest  in  their  gore. 

Alone,  De  Argentine 
Yet  bears  on  high  his  red-cross  shield, 
Gathers  the  relics  of  the  field, 
Renews  the  ranks  where  they  have  reel'd, 

And  still  makes  good  the  line. 
Brief  strife,  but  fierce, — his  efforts  raise 
A  bright  but  momentary  blaze. 
Fair  Edith  heard  the  Southern  shout, 
Beheld  them  turning  from  the  rout, 
Heard  the  wild  call  their  trumpets  sent, 
In  notes  'twixt  triumph  and  lament. 
That  rallying  force,  combined  anew, 
Appear'd  in  her  distracted  view 

To  hem  the  islesmen  round ; 
"  0  God !  the  combat  they  renew, 

And  is  no  rescue  found ! 
And  ye  that  look  thus  tamely  on, 
And  see  your  native  land  o'erthrown, 
Oh !  are  your  hearts  of  flesh  or  stone?"1 

XXX. 

The  multitude  that  watch'd  afar,         • 
Rejected  from  the  ranks  of  war, 
Had  not  unmoved  beheld  the  fight, 
When  strove  the  Bruce  for  Scotland's  right ; 
Each  heart  had  caught  the  patriot  spark, 
Old  man  and  stripling,  priest  and  clerk, 
Bondsman  and  serf;  even  female  hand 
Stretch'd  to  the  hatchet  or  the  brand ; 
But,  when  mute  Amadine  they  heard 
Give  to  their  zeal  his  signal  word, 

A  frenzy  fired  the  throng ; 
"  Portents  and  miracles  impeach 
Our  sloth — the  dumb  our  duties  teach — 
And  He  that  gives  the  mute  his  speech 
Can  bid  the  weak  be  strong. 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  are  given 
A  native  earth,  a  promised  heaven  ; 
To  us,  as  to  our  lords,  belongs2 
The  vengeance  for  our  nation's  wrongs; 
The  choice,  'twixt  death  or  freedom,  warms 
Our  breasts  as  theirs — To  arms !  to  arms  I" 
To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear,3 

—  "  of  lead  or  stone." 


1  MS.:  - 

2  MS. :  "  To  us,  as  well  as  them,  belongs." 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  4  D. 

*  M.S. :  "And  rode  in  bands  away." 


And,  like  a  banner'd  host  afar, 

Bear  down  on  England's  wearied  war. 

XXXI. 

Already  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain, 
Reproof,  command,  and  counsel  vain, 
The  rearward  squadrons  fled  amain, 

Or  made  but  doubtful  stay ; — 4 
But  when  they  mark'd  the  seeming  show 
Of  fresh  and  fierce  and  marshall'd  foe, 

The  boldest  broke  array. 
Oh,  give  their  hapless  Prince  his  due  !5 
In  vain  the  royal  Edward  threw 

His  person  'mid  the  spears, 
Cried  "  Fight !"  to  terror  and  despair, 
Menaced,  and  wept,  and  tore  his  hair,6 

And  cursed  their  caitiff  fears ; 
Till  Pembroke  turn'd  his  bridle  rein, 
And  forced  him  from  the  fatal  plain. 
With  them  rode  Argentine,  until 
They  gain'd  the  summit  of  the  hill, 
But  quitted  there  the  train : — 
"  In  yonder  field  a  gage  I  left, — 
I  must  not  live  of  fame  bereft ; 

I  needs  must  turn  again. 
Speed  hence,  my  Liege,  for  on  your  trace 
The  fiery  Douglas  takes  the  chase, — 

I  know  his  banner  well. 
God  send  my  Sovereign  joy  and  bliss, 
And  many  a  happier  field  than  this  ! — 

Once  more,  my  Liege,  farewell." 

XXXII. 
Again  he  faced  the  battle  field, — 
Wildly  they  fly,  are  slain,  or  yield.7 
"  Now  then,"  he  said,  and  couch'd  his  spear, 
"  My  course  is  run,  the  goal  is  near; 
One  effort  more,  one  brave  career, 

Must  close  this  race  of  mine." 
Then  in  his  stirrups  rising  high, 
He  shouted  loud  his  battle-cry, 

"  Saint  James  for  Argentine !" 
And,  of  the  bold  pursuers,  four 
The  gallant  Knight  from  saddle  bore. 
But  not  unharm'd — a  lance's  point 
Has  found  his  breastplate's  loosen'd  joint, 

An  axe  has  razed  his  crest ; 
Yet  still  on  Colonsay's  fierce  Lord, 
Who  press'd  the  chase  with  gory  sword, 

He  rode  with  spear  in  rest, 
And  through  his  bloody  tartans  bored, 

And  through  his  gallant  breast. 
Nail'd  to  the  earth,  the  mountaineer 
Yet  writhed  him  up  against  the  spear, 

And  swung  his  broadsword  round ! 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  4  E. 

«  MS. :  "  And  bade  them  hope  amid  despair." 

i  The  MS.  has  not  the  seven  lines  which  follow. 


THE  LORD    OF   THE   ISLES. 


459 


.—Stirrup,  steel  boot,  and  cuish  gave  way 
Beneath  that  blow's  tremendous  sway ; 

The  blood  gush'd  from  the  wound ; 
And  the  grim  Lord  of  Colonsay 

Hath  turn'd  him  on  the  ground, 
And  laugh'd  in  death-pang  that  his  blade 
The  mortal  thrust  so  well  repaid. 

XXXIII. 

Now  toil'd  the  Bruce,  the  battle  done, 
To  use  his  conquest  boldly  won  j1 
And  gave  command  for  horse  and  spear 
To  press  the  Southron's  scattered  rear, 
Nor  let  his  broken  force  combine, 
When  the  war-cry  of  Argentine 

Fell  faintly  on  his  ear ; 
"  Save,  save  his  life,"  he  cried,  "  oh  save 
The  kind,  the  noble,  and  the  brave !" 
The  squadrons  round  free  passage  gave, 

The  wounded  Knight  drew  near ; 
He  raised  his  red-cross  shield  no  more, 
Helm,  cuish,  and  breastplate  stream'd  with 

gore, 
Yet,  as  he  saw  the  King  advance, 
He  strove  even  then  to  couch  his  lance — 

The  effort  was  in  vain ! 
The  spur-stroke  fail'd  to  rouse  the  horse ; 
Wounded  and  weary,  in  mid  course 

He  stumbled  on  the  plain. 
Then  foremost  was  the  generous  Bruce 
To  raise  his  head,  his  helm  to  loose ; — 

"  Lord  Earl,  the  day  is  thine ! 
My  Sovereign's  charge,  and  adverse  fate, 
Have  made  our  meeting  all  too  late : 

Yet  this  may  Argentine, 
As  boon  from  ancient  comrade,  crave — ■ 
A  Christian's  mass,  a  soldier's  grave." 

XXXIV. 

Bruce  press'd  his  dying  hand — its  grasp 
Kindly  replied ;  but,  in  his  clasp, 

1  MS. :  "  Now  toil'd  the  Bruce,  as  leaders  ought, 

To  use  his  conquest  boldly  bought." 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  4  F. 

3  MS. :  "  And  the  best  names  that  England  owns 

Swell  the  sad  death-prayer's  dismal  tones." 

4  MS. :  "  When  for  her  rights  her  sword  was  bare, 

Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  share." 

5  "The  fictitious  part  of  the  story  is,  on  the  whole,  the 
least  interesting— though  we  think  that  the  author  has  haz- 
arded rather  too  little  embellishment  in  recording  the  adven- 
tures of  the  Bruce.  There  are  many  places,  at  least,  in  which 
he  has  evidently  given  an  air  of  heaviness  and  flatness  to  his 
narration,  by  adhering  too  closely  to  the  authentic  history ; 
and  has  lowered  down  the  tone  of  his  poetry  to  the  tame  level 
of  the  rude  chroniclers  by  whom  the  incidents  were  originally 
recorded.  There  is  a  more  serious  and  general  fault,  however, 
in  the  conduct  of  all  this  part  of  the  story,— and  that  is,  that 
it  is  not  sufficiently  national,  and  breathes  nothing  either  of 
that  animosity  towards  England,  or  that  exultation  over  her 
defeat,  which  must  have  animated  all  Scotland  at  the  period 
to  which  he  refers,  and  ought,  consequently,  to  have  been 
the  ruling  passion  of  his  poem.    Mr.  Scott,  however,  not  only 


It  stiffen'd  and  grew  cold — 
"  And,  oh  farewell !"  the  victor  cried, 
"  Of  chivalry  the  flower  and  pride, 

The  arm  in  battle  bold, 
The  courteous  mien,  the  noble  race, 
The  stainless  faith,  the  manly  face ! — 
Bid  Ninian's  convent  light  their  shrine 
For  late-wake  of  De  Argentine. 
O'er  better  knight,  on  death-bier  laid, 
Torch  never  gleam'd,  nor  mass  was  said  I" 

XXXV. 

Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone 

Through  Ninian's  church  these  torches  shone, 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone.2 

That  yellow  lustre  glimmer'd  pale 

On  broken  plate  and  bloodied  mail, 

Rent  crest  and  shatter'd  coronet, 

Of  baron,  earl,  and  banneret ; 

And  the  best  names  that  England  knew 

Claim'd  in  the  death-prayer  dismal  due.3 

Yet  mourn  not,  Land  of  Fame ! 
Though  ne'er  the  leopards  on  thy  shield 
Retreated  from  so  sad  a  field, 

Since  Norman  William  came. 
Oft  may  thine  annals  justly  boast 
Of  battles  stern  by  Scotland  lost  ; 

Grudge  not  her  victory, 
When  for  her  freeborn  rights  she  strove ; 
Rights  dear  to  all  who  freedom  love,4 

To  none  so  dear  as  thee  !5 

XXXVI. 

Turn  we  to  Bruce,  whose  curious  ear 
Must  from  Fitz-Louis  tidings  hear; 
With  him,  a  hundred  voices  tell 
Of  prodigy  and  miracle, 

"  For  the  mute  page  had  spoke." — 
"  Page !"  said  Fitz-Louis,  "  rather  say, 
An  angel  sent  from  realms  of  day, 

To  burst  the  English  yoke. 

dwells  fondly  on  the  valor  and  generosity  of  the  invaders, 
but  actually  makes  an  elaborate  apology  to  the  English  for 
having  ventured  to  select  for  his  theme  a  story  which  records 
their  disasters.  We  hope  this  extreme  courtesy  is  not  in- 
tended merely  to  appease  critics  and  attract  readers  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  island ;  and  yet  it  is  difficult  to  see  for  what 
other  purposes  it  could  be  assumed.  Mr.  Scott  certainly  need 
not  have  been  afraid  either  of  exciting  rebellion  among  his 
countrymen  or  of  bringing  his  own  liberality  and  loyalty  into 
question,  although,  in  speaking  of  the  events  of  that  remote 
period,  where  an  overbearing  conqueror  was  overthrown  in  a 
lawless  attempt  to  subdue  an  independent  kingdom,  he  had 
given  full  expression  to  the  hatred  and  exultation  which  must 
have  prevailed  among  the  victors,  and  are  indeed  the  only  pas- 
sions which  can  be  supposed  to  be  excited  by  the  story  of  their 
exploits.  It  is  not  natural,  and  we  are  sure  it  is  not  poetical,  to 
represent  the  agents  in  such  tremendous  scenes  as  calm  and  in- 
dulgent judges  of  the  motives  or  merits  of  their  opponents ;  and, 
by  lending  such  a  character  to  the  leaders  of  his  host,  the  author 
has  actually  lessened  the  interest  of  the  mighty  fight  of  Ban- 
nockburn,  to  that  which  might  be  supposed  to  belong  to  a  well- 
regulated  tournament  among  friendly  rivals."— Jeffrey. 


460 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


I  saw  his  plume  and  bonnet  drop, 

When  hurrying  from  the  mountain  top; 

A  lovely  brow,  dark  locks  that  wave, 

To  his  bright  eyes  new  lustre  gave, 

A  step  as  light  upon  the  green 

As  if  his  pinions  waved  unseen  !'' — 

"  Spoke  he  with  none  ?" — "  With  none — one  word 

Burst  when  he  saw  the  Island  Lord1 

Returning  from  the  battle-field." — 

"  What  answer  made  the  Chief?"—"  He  kneel'd, 

Durst  not  look  up,  but  mutter'd  low 

Some  mingled  sounds  that  none  might  know,2 

And  greeted  him  'twixt  joy  and  fear, 

As  being  of  superior  sphere." 

XXXVII. 

Even  upon  Bannock's  bloody  plain, 
Heap'd  then  with  thousands  of  the  slain, 
Mid  victor  Monarch's  musings  high, 
Mirth  laugh'd  in  good  King  Robert's  eye. 
"  And  bore  he  such  angelic  air, 
Such  noble  front,  such  waving  hair  ? 
Hath  Ronald  kneel'd  to  him  ?"  he  said ; 
"  Then  must  we  call  the  Church  to  aid — 
Our  will  be  to  the  Abbot  known, 
Ere  these  strange  news  are  wider  blown, 
To  Cambus-kenneth  straight  ye  pass, 
And  deck  the  church  for  solemn  mass,3 
To  pay,  for  high  deliverance  given, 
A  nation's  thanks  to  gracious  Heaven. 


1  MS. :  "  Excepted  to  the  Island  Lord, 
When  turning,"  &c. 

8  MS. :  "  Some  mingled  sounds  of  joy  and  woe." 

a  The  MS.  adds: 

"  That  priests  and  choir,  with  morning  beams, 
Prepare,  with  reverence  as  beseems, 
To  pay,"  &c. 

*  "  Bruce  issues  orders  for  the  celebration  of  the  nuptials ; 
whether  they  were  ever  solemnized  it  is  impossible  to  say. 
As  critics,  we  should  certainly  have  forbidden  the  banns; 
because,  although  it  is  conceivable  that  the  mere  lapse  of  time 
might  not  have  eradicated  the  passion  of  Edith,  yet  how  such 
a  circumstance  alone,  without  even  the  assistance  of  an  in- 
terview, could  have  created  one  in  the  bosom  of  Ronald  is 
altogether  inconceivable.  He  must  have  proposed  to  marry 
her  merely  from  compassion,  or  for  the  sake  of  her  lands; 
and  upon  either  supposition,  it  would  have  comported  with 
the  delicacy  of  Edith  to  refuse  his  proffered  hand." — Quarterly 
Review. 

"  To  Mr.  James  Ballantyne. — Pear  Sir, — You  have  now  the 
whole  affair,  excepting  two  or  three  concluding  stanzas.  As 
your  taste  for  bride's-cake  may  induce  you  to  desire  to  know 
more  of  the  wedding,  I  will  save  you  some  criticism  by  saying, 
I  have  settled  to  stop  short  as  above.— Witness  my  hand. 

"  W.  S." 

6  The  reader  is  referred  to  Mr.  Hogg's  "  Pilgrims  of  the 
Sun"  for  some  beautiful  lines,  and  a  highly  interesting  note, 
on  the  death  of  the  Duchess  of  Bueeleuch.    See  ante,  p.  407. 

8  The  Edinburgh  Reviewer  (Mr.  Jeffrey)  says,  "  The  story  of 
the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles,'  in  so  far  as  it  is  fictitious,  is  palpably 
deficient  both  in  interest  and  probability ;  and,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  founded  on  historical  truth,  seems  to  us  to  be  objectionable, 
both  for  want  of  incident  and  want  of  variety  aud  connection 


Let  him  array,  besides,  such  state 
As  should  on  princes'  nuptials  wait. 
Ourself  the  cause,  through  fortune's  spite, 
That  once  broke  short  that  spousal  rite, 
Ourself  will  grace,  with  early  morn, 
The  bridal  of  the  Maid  of  Lorn."* 


CONCLUSION. 


Go  forth,  my  Song,  upon  thy  venturous  way ; 
Go  boldly  forth ;  nor  yet  thy  master  blame, 
Who  chose  no  patron  for  his  humble  lay, 
And  graced  thy  numbers  with  no  friendly  name 
Whose  partial  zeal  might  smooth  thy  path  to  fame. 
There  was — and  oh,  how  many  sorrows  crowd 
Into  these  two  brief  words ! — there  was  a  claim 
By  generous  friendship  given — had  fate  allow'd, 
It  well  had  bid  thee  rank  the  proudest  of  the  proud ! 

All  angel  now — yet  little  less  than  all, 
While  still  a  pilgrim  in  our  world  below ! 
What  'vails  it  us  that  patience  to  recall, 
Which  hid  its  own  to  soothe  all  other  woe  ; 
What  'vails  to  tell  how  Virtue's  purest  glow 
Shone  yet  more  lovely  in  a  form  so  fair  ;5 
And,  least  of  all,  what  'vails  the  world  should  know 
That  one  poor  garland,  twined  to  deck  thy  hair, 
Is  hung  upon  thy  hearse,  to  droop  and  wither  there  !e 


in  the  incidents  that  occur.  There  is  a  romantic  grandeur, 
however,  in  the  scenery,  and  a  sort  of  savage  greatness  and 
rude  antiquity  in  many  of  the  characters  and  events,  which 
relieves  the  insipidity  of  the  narrative,  and  atone6  for  many 
defects  in  the  execution." 

After  giving  copious  citations  from  what  he  considers  as 
"  the  better  parts  of  the  poem,"  the  critic  says,  "  To  give  a 
complete  and  impartial  idea  of  it,  we  ought  to  subjoin  some 
from  its  more  faulty  passages.  But  this  is  but  an  irksome 
task  at  all  times,  and,  with  such  an  author  as  Mr.  Scott,  is 
both  invidious  and  unnecessary.  His  faults  are  nearly  as 
notorious  as  his  beauties ;  and  we  have  announced  in  the  out- 
set that  they  are  equally  conspicuous  in  this  as  in  his  other 
productions.  There  are  innumerable  harsh  lines  and  uncouth 
expressions, — passages  of  a  coarse  and  heavy  diction, — and 
details  of  uninteresting  minuteness  and  oppressive  explana- 
tion.   It  is  needless,  after  this,  to  quote  such  couplets  as 

'  A  damsel  tired  of  midnight  bark, 
Or  wanderers  of  a  moulding  stark,'— 
or— 

"Tis  a  kind  youth,  tmt  fanciful, 
Unfit  against  the  tide  to  pull  ;'— 

or  to  recite  the  many  weary  pages  which  cefntain  the  collo- 
quies of  Isabel  and  Edith,  and  set  forth  the  unintelligible  rea- 
sons of  their  unreasonable  conduct.  The  concerns  of  thesfe 
two  young  ladies,  indeed,  form  the  heaviest  part  of  the  poem. 
The  mawkish  generosity  of  the  one,  and  the  piteous  fidelity  of 
the  other,  are  equally  oppressive  to  the  reader,  and  do  not 
tend  at  all  to  put  him  in  good  humor  with  Lord  Ronald,— 
who,  though  the  beloved  of  both,  and  the  nominal  hero  of  the 
work,  is  certainly  as  far  as  possible  from  an  interesting  per- 
son.   The  lovers  of  poetry  have  a  particular  aversion  to  the 


THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


461 


inconstancy  of  other  lovers, — and  especially  to  that  sort  of 
inconstancy  which  is  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  being  partly 
inspired  by  worldly  ambition,  and  partly  abjured  from  consid- 
erations of  a  still  meaner  selfishness.  We  suspect,  therefore, 
that  they  will  have  but  little  indulgence  for  the  fickleness  of 
the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  who  breaks  the  troth  he  had  pledged 
to  the  heiress  of  Lorn  as  soon  as  he  sees  a  chance  of  succeed- 
ing with  the  king's  sister,  and  comes  back  to  the  slighted 
bride  when  his  royal  mistress  takes  the  vows  in  a  convent, 
and  the  heiress  gets  into  possession  of  her  lands  by  the  for- 
feiture of  her  brother.  These  characters,  and  this  story,  form 
the  great  blemish  of  the  poem ;  but  it  has  rather  less  fire  and 
flow  and  facility,  we  think,  on  the  whole,  than  some  of  the 
author's  other  performances." 


The  Monthly  Reviewer  thus  assails  the  title  of  the  poem : — 
"  The  Lord  of  the  Isles  himself,  selon  les  regies  of  Mr.  Scott's 
compositions,  being  the  hero,  is  not  the  first  person  in  the 
poem.  The  attendant  here  is  always  in  white  muslin,  and 
Tilburina  herself  in  white  linen.  Still,  among  the  Deulero- 
protoi  (or  second  best)  of  the  author,  Lord  Ronald  holds  a  re- 
spectable rank.  He  is  not  so  mere  a  magic-lantern  figure,  once 
seen  in  bower  and  once  in  field,  as  Lord  Cranstoun ;  he  far 
exceeds  that  tame  rabbit  boiled  to  rags  without  onions  or  other 
sauce,  De  Wilton  ;  and  although  he  certainly  falls  infinitely 
short  of  that  accomplished  swimmer  Malcolm  Gramme,  yet  he 
rises  proportionately  above  the  red-haired  Redmond.  Lord 
Ronald,  indeed,  bating  his  intended  marriage  with  one  woman 
while  he  loves  another,  is  a  very  noble  fellow ;  and,  were  he  not 
so  totally  eclipsed  by  '  the  Bruce,'  he  would  have  served  very 
well  to  give  a  title  to  any  octosyllabic  epic,  were  it  even  as 
vigorous  and  poetical  as  the  present.  Nevertheless,  it  would 
have  been  just  as  proper  to  call  Virgil's  divine  poem  'The 
Anchiseid'  as  it  is  to  call  this  'The  Lord  of  the  Isles.'  To  all 
intents  and  purposes  the  aforesaid  quarto  is,  and  ought  to  be, 
'  The  Bruce.' " 

The  Monthly  Reviewer  thus  concludes  his  article : — "In  some 
detached  passages,  the  present  poem  may  challenge  any  of  Mr. 
Scott's  compositions;  and  perhaps  in  the  abbot's  involuntary 
blessing  it  excels  any  single  part  of  any  one  of  them.  The 
battle,  too,  and  many  dispersed  lines  besides,  have  transcend- 
ent merit.  In  point  of  fable,  however,  it  has  not  the  grace  and 
elegance  of  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  nor  the  general  clearness 
and  vivacity  of  its  narrative,  nor  the  unexpected  happiness  of 
its  catastrophe ;  and  still  less  does  it  aspire  to  the  praise  of  the 
complicated  but  very  proper  and  well-managed  story  of 
'  Rokeby.'  It  has  nothing  so  pathetic  as  the  '  Cypress  Wreath ;' 
nothing  so  sweetly  touching  as  the  last  evening  scene  at 
Rokeby,  before  it  is  broken  by  Bertram ;  nothing  (with  the 
exception  of  the  abbot)  so  awfully  melancholy  as  much  of 
Mortham's  history,  or  so  powerful  as  Bertram's  farewell  to 
Edmund.  It  vies,  as  we  have  already  said,  with  '  Marmion,' 
in  the  generally  favorite  part  of  that  poem ;  but  what  has  it 
(with  the  exception  before  stated)  equal  to  the  immurement 
of  Constance  ?  On  the  whole,  however,  we  prefer  it  to  '  Mar- 
mion;' which,  in  spite  of  much  merit,  always  had  a  sort  of 
noisy  royal-circus  air  with  it;  a  clap-trappery,  if  we  may  ven- 
ture on  such  a  word.  'Marmion,'  in  short,  has  become  quite 
identified  with  Mr.  Braham  in  our  minds ;  and  we  are  there- 
fore not  perhaps  unbiassed  judges  of  its  perfections.  Finally, 
we  do  not  hesitate  to  place  the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles '  below  both 
of  Mr.  Scott's  remaining  longer  works;  and  as  to  the  'Lay  of 
the  Last  Minstrel,'  for  numerous  commonplaces  and  separate 
beauties,  that  poem,  we  believe,  still  constitutes  one  of  the 
highest  steps,  if  not  the  very  highest,  in  the  ladder  of  the 
author's  reputation.  The  characters  of  the  present  tale  (with 
the  exception  of  '  the  Bruce,'  who  is  vividly  painted  from 
history,  and  of  some  minor  sketches)  are  certainly,  in  point  of 
invention,  of  the  most  novel,  that  is,  of  the  most  Minerva-press 


description;  and,  as  to  the  language  and  versification,  the 
poem  is  in  its  general  course  as  inferior  to  '  Rokeby'  (by  much 
the  most  correct  and  the  least  justly  appreciated  of  the 
author's  works)  as  it  is  in  the  construction  and  conduct  of  its 
fable.  It  supplies  whole  pages  of  the  most  prosaic  narrative ; 
but,  as  we  conclude  by  recullecting,  it  displays  also  whole 
pages  of  the  noblest  poetry." 


The  British  Critic  says: — "No  poem  of  Mr.  Scott  has  yet 
appeared  with  fairer  claims  to  the  public  attention.  If  it 
have  less  pathos  than  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake,'  or  less  display 
of  character  than  '  Marmion,'  it  surpasses  them  both  in  gran- 
deur of  conception  and  dignity  of  versification.  It  is  in  every 
respect  decidedly  superior  to  '  Rokeby ;'  and  though  it  may 
not  reach  the  'Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel'  in  a  few  splendid 
passages,  it  is  far  more  perfect  as  a  whole.  The  fame  of  Mr. 
Scott,  amoug  those  who  are  capable  of  distinguishing  the  rich 
ore  of  poetry  from  the  dross  which  surrounds  it,  will  receive 
no  small  advancement  by  this  last  effort  of  his  genius.  We 
discover  in  it  a  brilliancy  in  detached  expressions,  and  a 
power  of  language  in  the  combination  of  images,  which  has 
never  yet  appeared  in  any  of  his  previous  publications. 

"  We  would  also  believe  that  as  his  strength  has  increased, 
so  his  glaring  errors  have  been  diminished.  But  so  embedded 
and  engrained  are  these  in  the  gems  of  his  excellence,  that  no 
blindness  can  overlook,  no  art  can  divide  or  destroy  their  con- 
nection. They  must  be  tried  together  at  the  ordeal  of  time, 
and  descend  unseparated  to  posterity.  Could  Mr.  Scott  but 
'  endow  his  purposes  with  words ' — could  he  but  decorate  the 
justice  and  the  splendor  of  his  conceptions  with  more  unal- 
loyed aptness  of  expression,  and  more  uniform  strength  and 
harmony  of  numbers — he  would  claim  a  place  in  the  highest 
rank  among  the  poets  of  natural  feeling  and  natural  imagery. 
Even  as  it  is,  with  all  his  faults,  we  love  him  still ;  and  when 
he  shall  cease  to  write,  we  shall  find  it  difficult  to  supply  his  place 
with  a  belter." 


The  Quarterly  Reviewer,  after  giving  his  outline  of  the 
story  of  the  "Lord  of  the  Isles,"  thus  proceeds: — "In  what- 
ever point  of  view  it  be  regarded,  whether  with  reference  to 
the  incidents  it  contains,  or  the  agents  by  whom  it  is  carried 
on,  we  think  that  one  less  calculated  to  keep  alive  the  interest 
and  curiosity  of  the  reader  could  not  easily  have  been  con- 
ceived. Of  the  characters  we  cannot  say  much  ;  they  are  not 
conceived  with  any  great  degree  of  originality,  nor  delineated 
with  any  particular  spirit.  Neither  are  we  disposed  to  criti- 
cise with  minuteness  the  incidents  of  the  story  ;  but  we  con- 
ceive that  the  whole  poem,  considering  it  as  a  narrative  poem, 
is  projected  upon  wrong  principles. 

"  The  story  is  obviously  composed  of  two  independent  plots, 
connected  with  each  other  merely  by  the  accidental  circum- 
stances of  time  and  place.  The  liberation  of  Scotland  by 
Bruce  has  not  naturally  any  more  connection  with  the  loves 
of  Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn  than  with  those  of  Dido  and 
iEneas;  nor  are  we  able  to  conceive  any  possible  motive 
which  should  have  induced  Mr.  Scott  to  weave  them  as  he 
has  done  into  the  same  narrative,  except  the  desire  of  com- 
bining the  advantages  of  a  heroical  with  what  we  may  call, 
for  want  of  an  appropriate  word,  an  ethical  subject ;  an  attempt 
which  we  feel  assured  he  never  would  have  made  had  he 
duly  weighed  the  very  different  principles  upon  which  these 
dissimilar  sorts  of  poetry  are  founded.  Thus,  had  Mr.  Scott 
introduced  the  loves  of  Ronald  and  the  Maid  of  Lorn  as  an 
episode  of  an  epic  poem  upon  the  subject  of  the  battle  of  Ban- 
nockburn,  its  want  of  connection  with  the  main  action  might 
have  been  excused,  in  favor  of  its  intrinsic  merit ;  but,  by  a 
great  singularity  of  judgment,  he  has  introduced  the  battle  of 
Bannockburn  as  an  episode  in  the  loves  of  Ronald  and  the 


4G2 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Maid  of  Lorn.  To  say  nothing  of  the  obvious  preposterous- 
ness  of  Bach  a  design,  abstractedly  considered,  the  effect  of  it 
has,  we  think,  decidedly  been  to  destroy  that  interest  which 
either  of  them  might  separately  have  created;  or,  if  any  in- 
terest remain  respecting  the  fate  of  the  ill-requited  Edith,  it 
is  because  at  no  moment  of  the  poem  do  we  feel  the  slightest 
degree  of  it  respecting  the  enterprise  of  Bruce. 

"The  many  beautiful  passages  which  we  have  extracted 
from  the  poem,  combined  with  the  brief  remarks  subjoined 
to  each  canto,  will  sufficiently  show  that,  although  the  '  Lord 
of  the  Isles'  is  not  likely  to  add  very  much  to  the  reputation 
of  Mr.  Scott,  yet  this  must  be  imputed  rather  to  the  greatness 
of  his  previous  reputation  than  to  the  absolute  inferiority 
of  the  poem  itself.  Unfortunately,  its  merits  are  merely 
incidental,  while  its  defects  are  mixed  up  with  the  very  ele- 
ments of  the  poem.  But  it  is  not  in  the  power  of  Mr.  Scott 
to  write  with  tameness ;  be  the  subject  what  it  will  (and  he 
could  not  easily  have  chosen  one  more  impracticable),  he 
impresses  upon  whatever  scenes  he  describes  so  much  move- 
ment and  activity, — he  infuses  into  his  narrative  such  a  flow 
of  life,  and,  if  we  may  so  express  ourselves,  of  animal  spirits, — 
that  without  satisfying  the  judgment,  or  moving  the  feelings, 
or  elevating  the  mind,  or  even  very  greatly  interesting  the 
curiosity,  he  is  able  to  seize  upon  and,  as  it  were,  exhilarate 
the  imagination  of  his  readers,  in  a  manner  which  is  often 
truly  unaccountable.  This  quality  Mr.  Scott  possesses  in  an 
admirable  degree ;  and  supposing  that  he  had  no  other  object 
in  view  than  to  convince  the  world  of  the  great  poetical 
powers  with  which  he  is  gifted,  the  poem  before  us  would  be 
quite  sufficient  for  his  purpose.  But  this  is  of  very  inferior 
importance  to  the  public;  what  they  want  is  a  good  poem 
and,  as  experience  has  shown,  this  can  only  be  constructed 
upon  a  solid  foundation  of  taste  and  judgment  and  medita- 
tion." 


"These  passages  [referring  to  the  preceding  extract  from 
the  Quarterly,  and  that  from  the  Edinburgh  Review,  at  the 
commencement  of  the  poem]  appear  to  me  to  condense  the 
result  of  deliberate  and  candid  reflection,  and  I  have  there- 
fore quoted  them.  The  most  important  remarks  of  either 
Essayist  on  the  details  of  the  plot  and  execution  are  annexed 
to  the  last  edition  of  the  poem ;  and  show  such  an  exact  co- 
incidence of  judgment  in  two  masters  of  their  calling  as  had 
not  hitherto  been  exemplified  in  the  professional  criticism  of 
his  metrical  romances.  The  defects  which  both  point  out 
are,  I  presume,  but  too  completely  explained  by  the  preced- 
ing statement  of  the  rapidity  with  which  this,  the  last  of  those 
great  performances,  had  been  thrown  off  [see  Life,  vol.  v. 
pp.  13-15] ;  nor  do  I  see  that  either  Reviewer  has  failed  to  do 
sufficient  justice  to  the  beauties  which  redeem  the  imperfec- 
tions of  the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles,'  except  as  regards  the  whole 
character  of  Bruce,  its  real  hero,  and  the  picture  of  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn,  which,  now  that  one  can  compare  these 
works  from  something  like  the  same  point  of  view,  does  not 
appear  to  me  in  the  slightest  particular  inferior  to  the  Flod- 
den  of  '  Marmion.' 

"  This  poem  is  now,  I  believe,  about  as  popular  as  '  Eokeby ;' 
but  it  has  never  reached  the  same  station  in  general  favor 
with  the  '  Lay,'  '  Marmion,'  or  the  '  Lady  of  the  Lake.'  The 
first  edition  of  1800  copies  in  quarto  was,  however,  rapidly 
disposed  of,  and  the  separate  editions  in  octavo,  which  ensued 
before  his  poetical  works  were  collected,  amounted  together 
to  15,250  copies.  This,  in  the  case  of  almost  any  other  author, 
would  have  been  splendid  success;  but,  as  compared  with 
what  he  had  previously  experienced,  even  in  his  '  Rokeby,' 
and  still  more  so  as  compared  with  the  enormous  circulation 
at  once  attained  by  Lord  Byron's  early  tales,  which  were 
then  following  each  other  in  almost  breathless  succession, 
the  falling  off  was  decided." — Lockhart,  vol.  v.  p.  27. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Thy  rugged  halls,  ArtornUh !  rung. — P.  410. 

The  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Artornish  are  situated  upon  a 
promontory  on  the  Morven  or  mainland  side  of  the  Sound  of 
Mull,  a  name  given  to  the  deep  arm  of  the  sea  which  divides 
that  island  from  the  continent.  The  situation  is  wild  and 
romantic  in  the  highest  degree,  having  on  the  one  hand  a 
high  and  precipitous  chain  of  rocks  overhanging  the  sea,  and 
on  the  other  the  narrow  entrance  to  the  beautiful  salt-water 
lake,  called  Loch  Alline,  which  is  in  many  places  finely 
fringed  with  copsewood.  The  ruins  of  Artornish  are  not 
now  very  considerable,  and  consist  chiefly  of  the  remains  of 
an  old  keep  or  tower,  with  fragments  of  outward  defences ; 
but  in  former  days  it  was  a  place  of  great  consequence,  being 
one  of  the  principal  strongholds  which  the  Lords  of  the  Isles, 
during  the  period  of  their  stormy  independence,  possessed 
upon  the  mainland  of  Argyleshire.  Here  they  assembled 
what  popular  tradition  calls  their  parliaments,  meaning,  I 
suppose,  their  cour  pleniire,  or  assembly  of  feudal  and  patri- 
archal vassals  and  dependents.  From  this  castle  of  Artor- 
nish, upon  the  19th  day  of  October,  1461,  John  de  Yle,  desig- 
nating himself  Earl  of  Ross  and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  granted, 
in  the  style  of  an  independent  sovereign,  a  commission  to 
his  trusty  and  well-beloved  cousins,  Ronald  of  the  Isles  and 
Duncan,  Archdean  of  the  Isles,  for  empowering  them  to  enter 
into  a  treaty  with  the  most  excellent  Prince  Edward,  by  the 
grace  of  God  King  of  France  and  England,  and  Lord  of  Ire- 
land. Edward  IV.,  on  his  part,  named  Laurence,  Bishop  of 
Durham,  the  Earl  of  Worcester,  the  Prior  of  St.  John's,  Lord 
Wenlock,  and  Mr.  Robert  Stillington,  keeper  of  the  privy 
seal,  his  deputies  and  commissioners,  to  confer  with  those 
named  by  the  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  conference  terminated 
in  a  treaty  by  which  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  agreed  to  become  a 
vassal  to  the  crown  of  England,  and  to  assist  Edward  IV.  and 
James,  Earl  of  Douglas,  then  in  banishment,  in  subduing  the 
realm  of  Scotland. 

The  first  article  provides  that  John  de  Isle,  Earl  of  Ross, 
with  his  son  Donald  Balloch,  and  his  grandson  John  de  Isle, 
with  all  their  subjects,  men,  people,  and  inhabitants,  become 
vassals  and  liegemen  to  Edward  TV.  of  England,  and  assist 
him  in  his  wars  in  Scotland  or  Ireland ;  and  then  follow  the 
allowances  to  be  made  to  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  in  recompense 
of  his  military  service,  and  the  provisions  for  dividing  such 
conquests  as  their  united  arms  should  make  upon  the  main- 
land of  Scotland  among  the  confederates.  These  appear 
such  curious  illustrations  of  the  period  that  they  are  here 
subjoined : — 

"Item,  The  seid  John,  Erie  of  Rosse,  shall,  from  the  seid 
fest  of  Whittesontyde  next  comyng,  yerely,  duryng  his  lyf, 
have  and  take,  for  fees  and  wages  in  tyme  of  peas,  of  the  seid 
most  high  and  Christien  prince  c.  marc  sterlyng  of  Englysh 
money ;  and  in  tyme  of  werre,  as  long  as  he  shall  entende 
with  his  myght  and  power  in  the  said  werres,  in  manner  and 


fourme  abovesaid,  he  shall  have  wages  of  cc.  lb.  sterlyng  of 
Englysh  money  yerely ;  and  after  the  rate  of  the  tyme  that 
he  shall  be  occupied  in  the  seid  werres. 

"Item,  The  seid  Donald  shall,  from  the  seid  feste  of  Whit- 
tesontyde, have  and  take,  during  his  lyf,  yerely,  in  tyme  of 
peas,  for  his  fees  and  wages,  xx  1.  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money ; 
and  when  he  shall  be  occupied  and  intend  to  the  werre,  with 
his  myght  and  power,  and  in  manner  and  fourme  aboveseid, 
he  shall  have  and  take,  for  his  wages  yerely,  xl  1.  sterlyng  of 
Englysh  money ;  or  for  the  rate  of  the  tyme  of  werre 

"Item,  The  seid  John,  sonn  and  heire  apparant  of  the  seid 
Donald,  shall  have  and  take  yerely,  from  the  seid  fest,  for  his 
fees  and  wages,  in  the  tyme  of  peas,  x  1.  sterlyng  of  Englysh 
money ;  and  for  tyme  of  werre,  and  his  intendyng  thereto,  in 
manner  and  fourme  aboveseid,  he  shall  have,  for  his  fees  and 
wages  yerely,  xx  1.  sterlyng  of  Englysh  money;  or  after  the 
rate  of  the  tyme  that  he  shall  be  occupied  in  the  werre :  And 
the  seid  John,  th'  Erie  Donald  and  John,  and  eche  of  them, 
shall  have  good  and  sufficiaunt  paiment  of  the  seid  fees  and 
wages,  as  wel  for  tyme  of  peas  as  of  werre,  accordyng  to  thtes 
articules  and  appoyntements.  Item,  It  is  appointed,  accorded, 
concluded,  and  finally  determined,  that,  if  it  so  be  that  here- 
after the  seid  reaume  of  Scotlande,  or  the  more  part  thereof, 
be  conquered,  subdued,  and  brought  to  the  obeissance  of  tie 
seid  most  high  and  Christien  prince,  and  his  heires,  or  suc- 
cessoures,  of  the  seid  Lionell,  in  fourme  aboveseid  descend- 
yng,  be  the  assistance,  helpe,  and  aide  of  the  seid  John,  Erie 
of  Rosse,  and  Donald,  and  of  James,  Erie  of  Douglas,  then,  the 
seid  fees  and  wages  for  the  tyme  of  peas  cessying,  the  same 
erles  and  Donald  shall  have,  by  the  graunte  of  the  same  most 
Christien  prince,  all  the  possessions  of  the  seid  reaume  be- 
yonde  Scottishe  see,  they  to  be  departed  equally  betwix 
them ;  eche  of  them,  his  heires  and  successours,  to  holde  his 
parte  of  the  seid  most  Christien  prince,  his  heires  and  succes- 
sours, for  evermore,  in  right  of  his  croune  of  England,  by 
homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore. 

"  Item,  If  so  be  that,  by  th'  aide  and  assistence  of  the  eeid 
James,  Erie  of  Douglas,  the  said  reaume  of  Scotlande  be  con- 
quered and  subdued  as  above,  then  he  shall  have,  enjoie,  and 
inherite  all  his  own  possessions,  landes,  and  inheritaunce,  on 
this  syde  the  Scottishe  see;  that  is  to  saye,  betwixt  the  seid 
Scottishe  see  and  Englande,  such  he  hath  rejoiced  and  be 
possessed  of  before  this ;  there  to  holde  them  of  the  seid  most 
high  and  Christien  prince,  his  heires,  and  successours,  as  is 
aboveseid,  for  evermore,  in  right  of  the  croune  of  Englonde, 
as  weel  the  seid  Erie  of  Douglas,  as  his  heires  and  successours, 
by  homage  and  feaute  to  be  done  therefore." — Rymer's  Feed- 
era  Conventiones  Literal  et  ctijttscunque  generis  Acta  Publica, 
fol.  vol.  v.,  1741. 

Such  was  the  treaty  of  Artornish ;  but  it  does  not  appear 
that  the  allies  ever  made  any  very  active  effort  to  realize 
their  ambitious  designs.  It  will  serve  to  show  both  the  power 
of  these  reguli  and  their  independence  upon  the  crown  of 
Scotland. 

It  is  only  further  necessary  to  say  of  the  castle  of  Artornish 

(463) 


464 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


that  it  is  almost  opposite  to  the  Bay  of  Aros,  in  the  Island 
of  Mull,  where  there  was  another  castle,  the  occasional  res- 
idence of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles. 


Note  B. 


Rude  Heiskar's  seal  through  surges  dark 
Will  long  pursue  the  minstrels  bark. — P.  410. 

The  seal  displays  a  taste  for  music  which  could  scarcely  be 
expected  from  his  habits  and  local  predilections.  They  will 
long  follow  a  boat  in  which  any  musical  instrument  is 
played,  and  even  a  tune  simply  whistled  has  attractions  for 
them.  The  Dean  of  the  Isles  says  of  Heiskar,  a  small  unin- 
habited rock  about  twelve  (Scottish)  miles  from  the  Isle  of 
List,  that  an  infinite  slaughter  of  seals  takes  place  there. 


Note  C. 

•  a  turret's  airy  head, 


Slender  and  steep,  and  battled  round, 

QerlooKd,  dark  Mull !  thy  mighty  Sound. — P.  411. 

The  Sound  of  Mull,  which  divides  that  island  from  the  con- 
tinent of  Scotland,  is  one  of  the  most  striking  scenes  which 
the  Hebrides  afford  to  the  traveller.  Sailing  from  Oban  to 
Aros  or  Tobermory,  through  a  narrow  channel,  yet  deep 
enough  to  bear  vessels  of  the  largest  burden,  he  has  on  his 
left  the  bold  and  mountainous  shores  of  Mull ;  on  the  right 
those  of  that  district  of  Argyleshire  called  Morven  or  Mor- 
vern,  successively  indented  by  deep  salt-water  lochs,  running 
up  many  miles  inland.  To  the  southeastward  arise  a  pro- 
digious range  of  mountains,  among  which  Cruachan-Ben  is 
pre-eminent;  and  to  the  northeast  is  the  no  less  huge  and 
picturesque  range  of  the  Ardnamurchan  hills.  Many  ruin- 
ous castles,  situated  generally  upon  cliffs  overhanging  the 
ocean,  add  interest  to  the  scene.  Those  of  Donolly  and  Dun- 
statfnage  are  first  passed,  then  that  of  Duart,  formerly  be- 
longing to  the  chief  of  the  warlike  and  powerful  sept  of 
Macleans,  and  the  scene  of  Miss  Baillie's  beautiful  tragedy 
entitled  The  Family  Legend.  Still  passing  on  to  the  north- 
ward, Artornish  and  Aros  become  visible  upon  the  opposite 
shores ;  and  lastly  Mingarry  and  other  ruins  of  less  distin- 
guished note.  In  fine  weather,  a  grander  and  more  impress- 
ive scene,  both  from  its  natural  beauties  and  associations 
with  ancient  history  and  tradition,  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
When  the  weather  is  rough,  the  passage  is  both  difficult  and 
dangerous,  from  the  narrowness  of  the  channel,  and  in  part 
from  the  number  of  inland  lakes,  out  of  which  sally  forth  a 
number  of  conflicting  and  thwarting  tides,  making  the  nav- 
igation perilous  to  open  boats.  The  sudden  flaws  and  gusts 
of  wind  which  issue  without  a  moment's  warning  from  the 
mountain  glens  are  equally  formidable;  so  that  in  unsettled 
weather  a  stranger,  if  not  much  accustomed  to  the  sea,  may 
sometimes  add  to  the  other  sublime  sensations  excited  by 
the  scene  that  feeling  of  dignity  which  arises  from  a  sense 
of  danger. 


Note  D. 


'  these  seas  behold. 


Hound  twice  a  hundred  islands  roWd, 
From  Hirl,  that  hears  their  north*  rn  roar, 
To  the  green  Hay's  fertile  shore." — P.  412. 

The  number  of  the  western  isles  of  Scotland  exceeds  two 
hundred,  of  which  St.  Kilda  is  the  most  northerly,  anciently 


called  Hirth  or  Hirt,  probably  from  "earth,"  being  in  fact 
the  whole  globe  to  its  inhabitants.  Hay,  which  now  belongs 
almost  entirely  to  Walter  Campbell,  Esq.,  of  Shawfield,  is  by 
far  the  most  fertile  of  the  Hebrides,  and  has  been  greatly  im- 
proved under  the  spirited  and  sagacious  management  of  the 
present  proprietor.  This  was  in  ancient  times  the  principal 
abode  of  the  Lords  of  the  Isles,  being,  if  not  the  largest,  the 
most  important  island  of  their  archipelago.  In  Martin's  time 
some  relies  of  their  grandeur  were  yet  extant.  "Loch-Fin- 
lagan,  about  three  miles  in  circumference,  affords  salmon, 
trouts,  and  eels:  this  lake  lies  in  the  centre  of  the  isle.  The 
Isle  Finlagan,  from  which  this  lake  hath  its  name,  is  in  it. 
It's  famous  for  being  once  the  court  in  which  the  great  Mac- 
Donald,  King  of  the  Isles,  had  his  residence;  his  houses, 
chapel,  &c,  are  now  ruinous.  His  guards  de  corps,  called 
Luchttach,  kept  guard  on  the  lake  side  nearest  to  the  isle ; 
the  walls  of  their  houses  are  still  to  be  seen  there.  The  high 
court  of  judicature,  consisting  of  fourteen,  sat  always  here  ; 
and  there  was  an  appeal  to  them  from  all  the  courts  in  the 
isles:  the  eleventh  share  of  the  sum  in  debate  was  due  to  the 
principal  judge.  There  was  a  big  stone  of  seven  foot  square, 
in  which  there  was  a  deep  impression  made  to  receive  the 
feet  of  MacDonald ;  for  he  was  crowned  King  of  the  Isles 
standing  in  this  stone,  and  swore  that  he  would  continue  his 
vassals  in  the  possession  of  their  lands,  and  do  exact  justice 
to  all  his  subjects ;  and  then  his  father's  sword  was  put  into 
his  hand.  The  Bishop  of  Argyle  and  seven  priests  anointed 
him  king,  in  presence  of  all  the  heads  of  the  tribes  in  the 
isles  and  continent,  and  were  his  vassals ;  at  which  time  the 
orator  rehearsed  a  catalogue  of  his  ancestors,  &c." — Martin's 
Account  of  the  Western  Isles.    Lond.  8vo,  1716,  p.  240, 1. 


Note  E. 


Mingarry,  sternly  placed, 

O'erawes  the  woodland  and  the  waste. — P.  412. 

The  castle  of  Mingarry  is  situated  on  the  sea-coast  of  the 
district  of  Ardnamurchan.  The  ruins,  which  are  tolerably 
entire,  are  surrounded  by  a  very  high  wall,  forming  a  kind 
of  polygon,  for  the  purpose  of  adapting  itself  to  the  projecting 
angles  of  a  precipice  overhanging  the  sea,  on  which  the  cas- 
tle stands.  It  was  anciently  the  residence  of  the  Maclans,  a 
clan  of  MacDonalds,  descended  from  Ian  or  John,  a  grand- 
son of  Angus  Og,  Lord  of  the  Isles.  The  last  time  that  Min- 
garry was  of  military  importance  occurs  in  the  celebrated 
Leabhar-dearg  or  Red-book  of  Clanronald,  a  MS.  renowned 
in  the  Ossianic  controversy.  Allaster  MacDonald,  commonly 
called  Colquitto,  who  commanded  the  Irish  auxiliaries  sent 
over  by  the  Earl  of  Antrim  during  the  great  Civil  War  to  the 
assistance  of  Montrose,  began  his  enterprise  in  1644  by  taking 
the  castles  of  Kinloch-Alline  and  Mingarry,  the  last  of  which 
made  considerable  resistance,  as  might,  from  the  strength  of 
the  situation,  be  expected.  In  the  meanwhile,  Allaster  Mac- 
Donald's  ships,  which  had  brought  him  over,  were  attacked 
in  Loch  Eisord,  in  Skye,  by  an  armament  sent  round  by  the 
covenanting  parliament,  and  his  own  vessel  was  taken.  This 
circumstance  is  said  chiefly  to  have  induced  him  to  continue 
in  Scotland,  where  there  seemed  little  prospect  of  raising  an 
army  in  behalf  of  the  king.  He  had  no  sooner  moved  east- 
ward to  join  Montrose — a  junction  which  he  effected  in  the 
braes  of  Athole— than  the  Marquis  of  Argyle  besieged  the 
castle  of  Mingarry,  but  without  success.  Among  other  war- 
riors and  chiefs  whom  Argyle  summoned  to  his  camp  to  assist 
upon  this  occasion  was  John  of  Moidart,  captain  of  Clanron- 
ald. Clanronald  appeared;  but,  far  from  yielding  effectual 
assistance  to  Argyle,  he  took  the  opportunity  of  being  in 
anus  to  lay  waste  the  district  of  Sunart,  then  belonging  to  the 
adherents  of  Argyle,  and  sent  part  of  the  spoil  to  relieve  the 


APPENDIX   TO   THE    LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


465 


castle  of  Mingarry.  Thus  the  castle  was  maintained  until 
relieved  by  Allaster  MacDonald  (Colquitto),  who  had  been 
detached  for  the  purpose  by  Montrose.  These  particulars  are 
hardly  worth  mentioning,  were  they  not  connected  with  the 
memorable  successes  of  Montrose,  related  by  an  eyewitness, 
and  hitherto  unknown  to  Scottish  historians. 


Note  F. 


The  heir  of  mighty  Somerled. — P.  412. 

Somerled  was  Thane  of  Argyle  and  Lord  of  the  Isles,  about 
the  middle  of  the  twelfth  century.  He  seems  to  have  exer- 
cised his  authority  in  both  capacities,  independent  of  the 
crown  of  Scotland,  against  which  he  often  stood  in  hostility. 
He  made  various  incursions  upon  the  western  lowlands  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Malcolm  IV.,  and  seems  to  have  made  peace 
with  him  upon  the  terms  of  an  independent  prince,  about  the 
year  1157.  In  1164  he  resumed  the  war  against  Malcolm,  and 
invaded  Scotland  with  a  large  but  probably  a  tumultuary 
army,  collected  in  the  isles,  in  the  mainland  of  Argyleshire, 
and  in  the  neighboring  provinces  of  Ireland.  He  was  de- 
feated and  slain  in  an  engagement  with  a  very  inferior  force, 
near  Renfrew.  His  son  Gillicolane  fell  in  the  same  battle. 
This  mighty  chieftain  married  a  daughter  of  Olaus,  King  of 
Man.  From  him  our  genealogists  deduce  two  dynasties,  dis- 
tinguished in  the  stormy  history  of  the  middle  ages:  the 
Lords  of  the  Isles,  descended  from  his  elder  son  Ronald,  and 
the  Lords  of  Lorn,  who  took  their  surname  of  M'Dougal,  as 
descended  of  his  second  son  Dougal.  That  Somerled's  terri- 
tories upon  the  mainland  and  upon  the  islands  should  have 
been  thus  divided  between  his  two  sons,  instead  of  passing 
to  the  elder  exclusively,  may  illustrate  the  uncertainty  of 
descent  among  the  great  Highland  families,  which  we  shall 
presently  notice. 


Note  G. 


Lord  of  the  Isles.— P.  412. 

The  representative  of  this  independent  principality,  for 
such  it  seems  to  have  been,  though  acknowledging  occasion- 
ally the  pre-eminence  of  the  Scottish  crown,  was,  at  the  period 
of  the  poem,  Angus,  called  Angus  Og ;  but  the  name  has  been, 
euphonice  gratia,  exchanged  for  that  of  Ronald,  which  fre- 
quently occurs  in  the  genealogy.  Angus  was  a  protector  of 
Robert  Bruce,  whom  he  received  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty 
during  the  time  of  his  greatest  distress.  As  I  shall  be  equally 
liable  to  censure  for  attempting  to  decide  a  controversy  which 
has  long  existed  between  three  distinguished  chieftains  of 
this  family,  who  have  long  disputed  the  representation  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  or  for  leaving  a  question  of  such  importance 
altogether  untouched,  I  choose,  in  the  first  place,  to  give 
such  information  as  I  have  been  able  to  derive  from  High- 
land genealogists,  and  which,  for  those  who  have  patience  to 
investigate  such  subjects,  really  contains  some  curious  infor- 
mation concerning  the  history  of  the  Isles.  In  the  second 
place,  I  shall  offer  a  few  remarks  upon  the  rules  of  succession 
at  that  period,  without  pretending  to  decide  their  bearing 
upon  the  question  at  issue,  which  must  depend  upon  evidence 
which  I  have  had  no  opportunity  to  examine. 


1  Western  Isles  and  adjacent  coast. 


"  Angus  Og,"  says  an  ancient  manuscript  translated  from 
the  Gaelic,  "  son  of  Angus  Mor,  son  of  Donald,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Somerled,  high  chief  and  superior  Lord  of  Innisgall  (or 
the  Isles  of  the  Gael,  the  general  name  given  to  the  Hebrides), 
he  married  a  daughter  of  Cunbui,  namely,  Cathan  ;  she  was 
mother  to  John,  son  of  Angus,  and  with  her  came  an  unusual 
portion  from  Ireland,  viz.,  twenty-four  clans,  of  whom  twenty- 
four  families  in  Scotland  are  descended.  Angus  had  another 
son,  namely,  young  John  Fraoch,  whose  descendants  are  called 
Clan-Ean  of  Glencoe,  and  the  M'Donalds  of  Fraoch.  This 
Angus  Og  died  in  Isla,  where  his  body  was  interred.  His  son 
John  succeeded  to  the  inheritance  of  Innisgall.  He  had  good 
descendants,  namely,  three  sons  procreate  of  Ann,  daughter 
of  Rodric,  high  chief  of  Lorn,  and  one  daughter,  Mary,  mar- 
ried to  John  Maclean,  Laird  of  Duart,  and  Lauchlan,  his 
brother,  Laird  of  Coll ;  she  was  interred  in  the  church  of  the 
Black  Nuns.    The  eldest  sons  of  John  were  Ronald,  Godfrey, 

and  Angus He  gave  Ronald  a  great  inheritance. 

These  were  the  lands  which  he  gave  him,  viz.,  from  Kilcumin 
in  Abertarf  to  the  river  Seil,  and  from  thence  to  Beilli,  north 
of  Eig  and  Rum,  and  the  two  Uists,  and  from  thence  to  the 
foot  of  the  river  Glaichan,  and  threescore  long  ships.  John 
married  afterwards  Margaret  Stewart,  daughter  to  Robert 
Stewart,  King  of  Scotland,  called  John  Fernyear;  she  bore 
him  three  good  sons,  Donald  of  the  Isles,  the  heir,  John  the 
Tainister  (i.  e.,  Thane),  the  second  son,  and  Alexander  Car- 
rach.  John  had  another  son  called  Marcus,  of  whom  the 
clan  Macdonald  of  Cnoc,  in  Tirowen,  are  descended.  This 
John  lived  long,  and  made  donations  to  Icolumkill;  he  cov- 
ered the  chapel  of  Eorsay-Elan,  the  chapel  of  Finlagan,  and 
the  chapel  of  the  Isle  of  Tsuibhne,  and  gave  the  proper  furni- 
ture for  the  service  of  God,  upholding  the  clergy  and  monks; 
he  built  or  repaired  the  church  of  the  Holy  Cross  immediately 
before  his  death.  He  died  at  his  own  castle  of  Ardtorinish, 
many  priests  and  monks  took  the  sacrament  at  his  funeral, 
and  they  embalmed  the  body  of  this  dear  man,  and  brought 
it  to  Icolumkill ;  the  abbot,  monks,  and  vicar,  came  as  they 
ought  to  meet  the  King  of  Fiongal,1  and  out  of  great  respect 
to  his  memory  mourned  eight  days  and  nights  over  it,  and 
laid  it  in  the  same  grave  with  his  father,  in  the  church  of 
Oran,  1380. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  was  chief  ruler  of  the  Isles  in  his 
father's  lifetime,  and  was  old  in  the  government  at  his  father's 
death. 

"  He  assembled  the  gentry  of  the  Isles,  brought  the  sceptre 
from  Kildonan  in  Eig,  and  delivered  it  to  his  brother  Donald, 
who  was  thereupon  called  M'Donald,  and  Donald,  Lord  of  the 
Isles,2  contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  men  of  the  Isles. 

"  Ronald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  was  a  great  sup- 
porter of  the  church  and  clergy  ;  his  descendants  are  called 
Clanronald.  He  gave  the  lands  of  Tiruma,  in  Uist,  to  the 
minister  of  it  for  ever,  for  the  honor  of  God  and  Columkill ; 
he  was  proprietor  of  all  the  lands  of  the  north  along  the  coast 
and  the  isles ;  he  died  in  the  year  of  Christ  1386,  in  his  own 
mansion  of  Castle  Tirim,  leaving  five  children.  Donald  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  the  brother  of  Ronald, 
took  possession  of  Inisgall  by  the  consent  of  his  brother  and 
the  gentry  thereof;  they  were  all  obedient  to  him :  he  mar- 
ried Mary  Lesley,  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Ross,  and  by  her 
came  the  earldom  of  Ross  to  the  M'Donalds.  After  his  suc- 
cession to  that  earldom,  he  was  called  M'Donald,  Lord  of  the 
Isles  and  Earl  of  Ross.  There  are  many  things  written  of 
him  in  other  places. 

"  He  fought  the  battle  of  Garioch  (i.  e.,  Harlaw)  against; 
Duke  Murdoch,  the  governor,  the  Earl  of  Mar  commanded  the- 
army,  in  support  of  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of  Ross,  which' 
was  ceded  to  him  by  King  James  I.,  after  his  release  from 
the  King  of  England ;  and  Duke  Murdoch,  his  two  sons  andi 
retainers,  were  beheaded :  he  gave  lands  in  Mull  and  Isl&i 


Innisgal. 


30 


466 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


to  the  minister  of  Ht.and  every  privilege  which  the  minister 
of  Iona  had  formerly,  besides  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  to 
Columkill  for  the  monastery,  and  became  himself  one  of  the 

fraternity.  He  left  issue,  a  lawful  heir  to  Innisgall  and  Ross, 
namely,  Alexander,  the  son  of  Donald:  he  died  in  Isla,  and 
his  body  was  interred  in  the  south  side  of  the  temple  of  Oran. 
Alexander,  called  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the 
Isles,  son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles.  Angus,  the  third  son  of 
John,  son  of  Angus  Og,  married  the  daughter  of  John,  the  son 
t>f  Allan,  which  connection  caused  some  disagreement  betwixt 
ihe  two  families  about  their  marches  and  division  of  lands, 
the  one  party  adhering  to  Angus,  and  the  other  to  John  :  the 
differences  iuereased  so  much  that  John  obtained  from  Allan 
all  the  lands  betwixt  Abhnn  fhluia  {i.  e.,  the  long  river)  and 
old  na  sionnach  (i.  e.,  the  fox-burn  brook),  in  the  upper  part 
of  Cantyre.  Allan  went  to  the  king  to  complain  of  his  son-in- 
law  ;  in  a  short  time  thereafter,  there  happened  to  be  a  great 
meeting  about  this  young  Angus's  lands  to  the  north  of  Inver- 
ness, where  he  was  murdered  by  his  own  harper  MacCairbre, 
by  cutting  his  throat  with  a  long  knife.  He1  lived  a  year 
thereafter,  and  many  of  those  concerned  were  delivered  up  to 
the  king.  Angus's  wife  was  pregnant  at  the  time  of  his  mur- 
der, and  she  bore  him  a  son  who  was  named  Donald,  and 
called  Donald  Du.  He  was  kept  in  confinement  until  he  was 
thirty  years  of  age,  when  he  was  released  by  the  men  of  Glenco, 
•by  the  strong  hand.  After  this  enlargement,  he  came  to  the 
Isles,  and  convened  the  gentry  thereof.  There  happened 
great  feuds  betwixt  these  families  while  Donald  Du  was  in 
confinement,  insomuch  that  MacCean  of  Ardnamurchan  de- 
stroyed the  greatest  part  of  the  posterity  of  John  Mor  of  the 
Isles  and  Cantyre.  For  John  Cathanach,  son  of  John,  son  of 
Donald  Balloch,  son  of  John  Mor,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og 
r(the  chief  of  the  descendants  of  John  Mor),  and  John  Mor,  son 

•  of  John  Cathanach,  and  young  John,  son  of  John  Cathanach, 
.and  young  Donald  Balloch,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  were 

treacherously  taken  by  MacCean  in  the  island  of  Finlagan, 
in  Isla,  and  carried  to  Edinburgh,  where  he  got  them  hanged 

:  at  the  Burrow-muir,  and  their  bodies  were  buried  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Anthony,  called  the  New  Church.    There  were 

i  none  left  alive  at  that  time  of  the  children  of  John  Cathanach, 

•  except  Alexander,  the  son  of  John  Cathanach,  and  Agnes 
Flach,  who  concealed  themselves  in  the  glens  of  Ireland. 
MacCean,  hearing  of  their  hiding-places,  went  to  cut  down 
the  woods  of  these  glens,  in  order  to  destroy  Alexander,  and 

■  extirpate  the  whole  race.  At  length  MacCean  and  Alex- 
ander met,  were  reconciled,  and  a  marriage  alliance  took 
place;  Alexander  married  MacCean's  daughter,  and  she 
brought  him  good  children.  The  MacDonalds  of  the  north 
had  also  descendants;  for,  after  the  death  of  John,  Lord  of 
the  Isles,  Earl  of  Ross,  and  the  murder  of  Angus,  Alexander, 
the  son  of  Archibald,  the  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles,  took 
possession,  and  John  was  in  possession  of  the  earldom  of  Ross, 
and  the  north  bordering  country  ;  he  married  a  daughter  of 
the  Earl  of  Moray,  of  whom  some  of  the  men  of  the  north 
had  descended.  The  MacKeuzies  rose  against  Alexander, 
and  fought  the  battle  called  Hlar  na  Paire.    Alexander  had 

.only  a  few  of  the  men  of  Ross  at  the  battle.  He  went  after 
that  battle  to  take  possession  of  the  Isles,  and  sailed  in  a  ship 
to  the  south  to  see  if  he  could  find  any  of  the  posterity  of 

.John  Mor  alive,  to  rise  along  with  him;  but  MacCean  of 
Ardnamurchan  watched  him  as  he  sailed  past,  followed  him 
to  Oransay  and  Colonsay,  went  to  the  house  where  he  was, 
and  he  and  Alexander,  son  of  John  Cathanach,  murdered 
hiin  there. 

"  A  good  while  after  these  things  fell  out,  Donald  Galda,  son 
of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  became  major;  he,  with  the 
advice  and  direction  of  the  Earl  of  Moray,  came  to  the  Isles, 
and  MacLeod  of  the  Lewis,  and  many  of  the  gentry  of  the 


1  The  murderer,  I  presume,  not  the  man  who  was  mur- 
dered. 


Isles,  rose  with  him:  they  went  by  the  promontory  of  Ard- 
namurchan, where  they  met  Alexander,  the  son  of  John 
Cathanach,  were  reconciled  to  him,  he  joined  his  men  with 
theirs  against  MacCean  of  Ardnamurchan,  came  upon  him  at 
a  place  called  the  Silver  Craig,  where  he  and  his  three  sons, 
and  a  great  number  of  his  people,  were  killed,  and  Donald 
Galda  was  immediately  declared  MacDonald  :  And,  after  the 
affair  of  Ardnamurchan,  all  the  men  of  the  Isles  yielded  to 
him,  but  be  did  not  live  above  seven  or  eight  weeks  after  it ; 
he  died  at  Carnaborg,  in  Mull,  without  issue.  He  had  three 
sisters'  (laughters  of  Alexander,  son  of  Archibald,  who  were 
portioned  in  the  north  upon  the  continent,  but  the  earldom  of 
Ross  was  kept  for  them.  Alexander,  the  son  of  Archibald, 
had  a  natural  son,  called  John  Cam,  of  whom  is  descended 
Achnacoichau,  in  Ramoeh,  and  Donald  Gorm,  son  of  Ronald, 
son  of  Alexander  Duson,  of  John  Cam.  Donald  Du,  son  of 
Angus,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander  of  the  Isles, 
son  of  Donald  of  the  Isles,  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of 
Angus  Og,  namely,  the  true  heir  of  the  Isles  and  Ross,  came 
after  his  release  from  captivity  to  the  Isles,  and  convened  the 
men  thereof,  and  he  and  the  Earl  of  Lennox  agreed  to  raise 
a  great  army  for  the  purpose  of  taking  possession,  and  a  ship 
came  from  England  with  a  supply  of  money  to  carry  on  the 
war,  which  landed  at  Mull,  and  the  money  was  given  to  Mac- 
Lean  of  Duart  to  be  distributed  among  the  commanders  of  the 
army,  which  they  not  receiving  in  proportion  as  it  should 
have  been  distributed  among  them,  caused  the  army  to  dis- 
perse, which,  when  the  Earl  of  Lennox  heard,  he  disbanded 
his  own  men,  and  made  it  up  with  the  king.  MacDonald 
went  to  Ireland  to  raise  men,  but  he  died  on  his  way  to  Dub- 
lin, at  Drogheda,  of  a  fever,  without  issue  of  either  sons  or 
daughters.," 

In  this  history  may  be  traced,  though  the  Bard  or  Sen- 
nachie  touches  such  a  delicate  discussion  with  a  gentle  hand, 
the  point  of  difference  between  the  three  principal  septs  de- 
scended from  the  Lords  of  the  Isles.  The  first  Question,  and 
one  of  no  easy  solution  where  so  little  evidence  is  produced, 
respects  the  nature  of  the  connection  of  John,  called  by  the 
Archdean  of  the  Isles  "the  Good  John  of  Ila,"  and  "the  last 
Lord  of  the  Isles,"  with  Anne,  daughter  of  Roderick  Mac- 
Dougal,  high  chief  of  Lorn.  In  the  absence  of  positive  evi- 
dence, presumptive  must  be  resorted  to,  and  I  own  it  appears 
to  render  it  in  the  highest  degree  improbable  that  this  con- 
nection was  otherwise  than  legitimate.  In  the  wars  between 
David  II.  and  Edward  Baliol,  John  of  the  Isles  espoused  the 
Baliol  interest,  to  which  he  was  probably  determined  by  his 
alliance  with  Roderick  of  Lorn,  who  was,  from  every  family 
predilection,  friendly  to  Baliol  and  hostile  to  Bruce.  It  seems 
absurd  to  suppose  that  between  two  chiefs  of  the  same  de- 
scent, and  nearly  equal  power  and  rank  (though  the  Mac- 
Dougals  had  been  much  crushed  by  Robert  Bruce),  such  a 
connection  should  have  been  that  of  concubinage;  and  it  ap- 
pears more  likely  that  the  tempting  offer  of  an  alliance  with 
the  Bruce  family,  when  they  had  obtained  the  decided  supe- 
riority in  Scotland,  induced  "the  Good  John  of  Ila"  to  dis- 
inherit, to  a  certain  extent,  his  eldest  son  Ronald,  who  came 
of  a  stock  so  unpopular  as  the  MacDougals,  and  to  call  to 
his  succession  his  younger  family,  born  of  Margaret  Stuart, 
daughter  of  Robert,  afterwards  King  of  Scotland.  The  setting 
aside  of  this  elder  branch  of  his  family  was  most  probably  a 
condition  of  his  new  alliance,  and  his  being  received  into 
favor  with  the  dynasty  he  had  always  opposed.  Nor  were 
the  laws  of  succession  at  this  early  period  so  clearly  under- 
stood as  to  bar  such  transactions.  The  numerous  and  strange 
claims  set  up  to  the  crown  of  Scotland,  when  vacant  by  the 
death  of  Alexander  III.,  make  it  manifest  how  very  little  the 
indefeasible  hereditary  right  of  primogeniture  was  valued  at 
that  period.  In  fact,  the  title  of  the  Bruces  themselves  to  the 
crown,  though  justly  the  most  popular,  when  assumed  with 
the  determination  of  asserting  the  independence  of  Scotland, 
was,  upon  pure  principle,  greatly  inferior  to  that  of  Baliol. 
For  Bruce,  the  competitor,  claimed  as  son  of  Isabella,  second 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LOKD    OF    THE    ISLES. 


467 


daughter  of  David,  Earl  of  Huntingdon  ;  and  John  Baliol,  as 
grandson  of  Margaret,  the  elder  daughter  of  that  same  earl. 
So  that  the  plea  of  Bruce  was  founded  upon  the  very  loose 
idea  that  as  the  great-grandson  of  David  I.,  King  of  Scotland, 
and  the  nearest  collateral  relation  of  Alexander  III.,  he  was 
entitled  to  succeed  in  exclusion  of  the  great-great-grandson 
of  the  same  David,  though  by  an  elder  daughter.  This  maxim 
savored  of  the  ancient  practice  of  Scotland,  which  often  called 
a  brother  to  succeed  to  the  crown  as  nearer  in  blood  than  a 
grandchild,  or  even  a  son,  of  a  deceased  monarch.  But,  in 
truth,  the  maxims  of  inheritance  in  Scotland  were  sometimes 
departed  from  at  periods  when  they  were  much  more  dis- 
tinctly understood.  Such  a  transposition  took  place  in  the 
family  of  Hamilton  in  1513,  when  the  descendants  of  James, 
third  lord,  by  Lady  Janet  Home,  were  set  aside,  with  an  ap- 
panage of  great  value  indeed,  in  order  to  call  to  the  succession 
those  which  he  had  by  a  subsequent  marriage  with  Janet 
Beatoun.  In  short,  many  other  examples  might  be  quoted 
to  show  that  the  question  of  legitimacy  is  not  always  deter- 
mined by  the  fact  of  succession ;  and  there  seems  reason  to 
believe  that  Ronald,  descendant  of  "John  of  Ila"  by  Anne  of 
Lorn,  was  legitimate,  and  therefore  Lord  of  the  Isles  dejure, 
though  de  facto  his  younger  half-brother  Donald,  son  of  his 
father's  second  marriage  with  the  Princess  of  Scotland,  super- 
seded him  in  his  right,  and  apparently  by  his  own  consent. 
From  this  Donald  so  preferred  is  descended  the  family  of 
Sleat,  now  Lords  Mac  Donald.  On  the  other  hand,  from  Ron- 
ald, the  excluded  heir,  upon  whom  a  very  large  appanage  was 
settled,  descended  the  chiefs  of  Glengary  and  Clanronald, 
each  of  whom  had  large  possessions  and  a  numerous  vassal- 
age, and  boasted  a  long  descent  of  warlike  ancestry.  Their 
common  ancestor  Ronald  was  murdered  by  the  Earl  of  Ross 
at  the  Monastery  of  Elcho,  A.  D.  1346.  I  believe  it  has  been 
subject  of  fierce  dispute  whether  Donald,  who  carried  on  the 
line  of  Glengary,  or  Allan  of  Moidart,  the  ancestor  of  the  cap- 
tains of  Clanronald,  was  the  eldest,  son  of  Ronald,  the  son  of 
John  of  Isla.  A  humble  Lowlander  may  be  permitted  to  waive 
the  discussion,  since  a  Sennachie  of  no  small  note,  who  wrote 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  expresses  himself  upon  this  delicate 
topic  in  the  following  words : — 

"  I  have  now  given  you  an  account  of  every  thing  you  can 
expect  of  the  descendants  of  the  clan  Colla  (i.  e.  the  Mae- 
Donalds),  to  the  death  of  Donald  Du  at  Drogheda,  namely, 
the  true  line  of  those  who  possessed  the  Isles,  Ross,  and  the 
mountainous  countries  of  Scotland.  It  was  Donald,  the  son 
of  Angus,  that  was  killed  at  Inverness  (by  his  own  harper 
Mac-i'Cairbre),  son  of  John  of  the  Isles,  son  of  Alexander, 
son  of  Donald,  son  of  John,  son  of  Angus  Og.  And  I  know 
not  which  of  his  kindred  or  relations  is  the  true  heir,  except 
these  five  sons  of  John,  the  son  of  Angus  Og,  whom  I  here 
set  down  for  you,  namely,  Roland  and  Godfrey,  the  two  sons 
of  the  daughter  of  MacDonald  of  Lorn,  and  Donald  and  John 
Mor,  and  Alexander  Carrach,  the  three  sons  of  Margaret 
Stewart,,  daughter  of  Robert  Stewart,  King  cf  Scotland."— 
Leabhar-dearg, 


Note  H. 

the  House  of  Lorn. — P.  412. 

The  House  of  Lorn,  as  we  observed  in  a  former  note,  was, 
like  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  descended  from  a  son  of  Somerled, 


1  The  aunt,  according  to  Lord  Hailes.    But  the  genealogy 
is  distinctly  given  by  Wyntoun:— 

"The  thryd  douchtyr  of  Red  Cwmyn, 
Alysawndyr  of  Argayle  syne 


I  slain  at  Renfrew  in  1164.  This  son  obtained  the  succession 
of  his  mainland  territories,  comprehending  the  greater  part 
of  the  three  districts  of  Lorn,  in  Argyleshire,  and  of  course 
might  rather  be  considered  as  petty  princes  than  feudal 
barons.  They  assumed  the  patronymic  appellation  of  Mac- 
Dougal,  by  which  they  are  distinguished  in  the  history  of  the 
middle  ages.  The  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  flourished  during  the 
wars  of  Bruce,  was  Allaster  (or  Alexander)  MacDougal,  called 
Allaster  of  Argyle.  He  had  married  the  third  daughter  of 
John,  called  the  Red  Comyn,1  who  was  slain  by  Bruce  in  the 
Dominican  church  at  Dumfries,  and  hence  he  was  a  mortal 
enemy  of  that  prince,  and  more  than  once  reduced  him  to 
great  straits  during  the  early  and  distressed  period  of  his 
reign,  as  we  shall  have  repeated  occasion  to  notice.  Bruce, 
when  he  began  to  obtain  an  ascendency  in  Scotland,  took  the 
first  opportunity  in  his  power  to  requite  these  injuries.  He 
marched  into  Argyleshire  to  lay  waste  the  country.  John  of 
Lorn,  son  of  the  chieftain,  was  posted  with  his  followers  in 
the  formidable  pass  between  Dalmally  and  Bunawe.  It  is  a 
narrow  path  along  the  verge  of  the  huge  and  precipitous 
mountain  called  Cruachan-Ben,  and  guarded  on  the  other  side 
by  a  precipice  overhanging  Loch  Awe.  The  pass  seems  to 
the  eye  of  a  soldier  as  strong  as  it  is  wild  and  romantic  to 
that  of  an  ordinary  traveller.  But  the  skill  of  Bruce  had 
anticipated  this  difficulty.  While  his  main  body,  engaged  in 
a  skirmish  with  the  men  of  Lorn,  detained  their  attention  to 
the  front  of  their  position,  James  of  Douglas,  with  Sir  Alex- 
ander Fraser,  Sir  William  Wiseman,  and  Sir  Andrew  Grey, 
ascended  the  mountain  with  a  select  body  of  archery,  and 
obtained  possession  of  the  heights  which  commanded  the 
pass.  A  volley  of  arrows  descending  upon  them  directly 
warned  the  Argyleshire  men  of  their  perilous  situation,  and 
their  resistance,  which  had  hitherto  been  bnld  and  manly, 
was  changed  into  a  precipitate  flight.  The  deep  and  rapid 
river  of  Awe  was  then  (we  learn  the  fact  from  Barbour  with 
some  surprise)  crossed  by  a  bridge.  This  bridge  the  moun- 
taineers attempted  to  demolish,  but  Bruce's  followers  were 
too  close  upon  their  rear ;  they  were,  therefore,  without  refuge 
and  defence,  and  were  dispersed  with  great  slaughter.  John 
of  Lorn,  suspicious  of  the  event,  had  early  betaken  himself 
to  the  galleys  which  he  had  upon  the  lake;  but  the  feelings 
which  Barbour  assigns  to  him,  while  witnessing  the  rout  and 
slaughter  of  his  followers,  exculpate  him  from  the  charge  of 
cowardice: — 

"  To  Jhone  off"  Lome  it  suld  displese 

I  trow,  quhen  he  his  men  mycht  se, 

Owte  off  his  schippis  fra  the  se, 

Be  slayne  and  chassyt  in  the  hill, 

That  he  mycht  set  na  help  thar  till. 

Bot  it  angrys  als  gretumly, 

To  gud  hartis  that  ar  worthi, 

To  se  thar  fayis  fulfill  thair  will 

As  to  thaim  selff  to  thole  the  ill." — B.  vii.  v.  304. 

After  this  decisive  engagement,  Bruce  laid  waste  Argyleshire, 
and  besieged  Dunstaffnage  Castle,  on  the  western  shore  of 
Lorn,  compelled  it  to  surrender,  and  placed  in  that  principal 
stronghold  of  the  MacDougala  a  garrison  and  governor  of  his 
own.  The  elder  MacDougal,  now  wearied  with  the  contest, 
submitted  to  the  victor;  but  his  son,  " rebellious,"  says  Bar- 
bour, "as  he  wont  to  be,"  fled  to  England  by  sea.  When  the 
wars  between  the  Bruce  and  Baliol  factions  again  broke  out 
in  the  reign  of  David  II.,  the  Lords  of  Lorn  were  again  found 
upon  the  losing  side,  owing  to  their  hereditary  enmity  to  the 


Tuk,  and  weddyt  til  hys  wyf, 
And  on  hyr  he  gat  in-til  hys  lyfe 
Jhon  of  Lome,  the  quhilk  gat 
Ewyn  of  Lome  eftyr  that." 
Wyntoun's  Chronicle,  book  viii.  chap.  vi.  line  206. 


468 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


house  of  Bruce.  Accordingly,  upon  the  issue  of  that  contest, 
they  were  deprive  by  David  II.  and  his  successor  of  by  far 
the  greater  part  of  their  extensive  territories,  which  were 
conferred  upon  Stewart,  called  the  Knight  of  Lorn.  The 
house  of  MacDougal  continued,  however,  to  survive  the  loss 
of  power,  and  affords  a  very  rare,  if  not  unique,  instance  of  a 
family  of  such  unlimited  power,  and  so  distinguished  during 
the  middle  ages,  surviving  the  decay  of  their  grandeur,  and 
flourishing  in  a  private  station.  The  castle  of  Dunolly,  near 
Oban,  with  its  dependencies,  was  the  principal  part  of  what 
remained  to  them,  with  their  right  of  chieftainship  over  the 
families  of  their  name  and  blood.  These  they  continued  to 
enjoy  until  the  year  1715,  when  the  representative  incurred 
the  penalty  of  forfeiture,  for  his  accession  to  the  insurrection 
of  that  period ;  thus  losing  the  remains  of  his  inheritance  to 
replace  upon  the  throne  the  descendants  of  those  princes 
whose  accession  his  ancestors  had  opposed  at  the  expense  of 
their  feudal  grandeur.  The  estate  was,  however,  restored, 
about  1745,  to  the  father  of  the  present  proprietor,  whom 
family  experience  had  taught  the  hazard  of  interfering  with 
the  established  government,  and  who  remained  quiet  upon 
that  occasion.  He  therefore  regained  his  property  when 
many  Highland  chiefs  lost  theirs. 

Nothing  can  be  more  wildly  beautiful  than  the  situation  of 
Dunolly.  The  ruins  are  situated  upon  a  bold  and  precipitous 
promontory,  overhanging  Loch  Etive,  and  distant  about  a 
mile  from  the  village  and  port  of  Oban.  The  principal  part 
which  remains  is  the  donjon  or  keep;  but  fragments  of  other 
buildings,  overgrown  with  ivy,  attest  that  it  had  been  once 
a  place  of  importance,  as  large  apparently  as  Artornish  or 
Duustaffnage.  These  fragments  enclose  a  courtyard,  of  which 
the  keep  probably  formed  one  side ;  the  entrance  being  by  a 
steep  ascent  from  the  neck  of  the  isthmus,  formerly  cut  across 
by  a  moat,  and  defended  doubtless  by  outworks  and  a  draw- 
bridge. Beneath  the  castle  stands  the  present  mansion  of  the 
family,  having  on  the  one  hand  Loch  Etive,  with  its  islands 
and  mountains,  on  the  other  two  romantic  eminences  tufted 
with  copsewood.  There  are  other  accompaniments  suited  to 
the  scene ;  in  particular  a  huge  upright  pillar,  or  detached 
fragment  of  that  sort  of  rock  called  plum-pudding  stone,  upon 
the  shore,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  castle.  It  ia 
called  Clach-na-cau,  or  the  Dog's  Pillar,  because  Fingal  is  said 
to  have  used  it  as  a  stake  to  which  he  hound  his  celebrated 
dog  Bran.  Others  say  that  when  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  came 
upon  a  visit  to  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  the  dogs  brought  for  his 
sport  were  kept  beside  this  pillar.  Upon  the  whole,  a  more 
delightful  and  romantic  spot  can  scarce  be  conceived;  and  it 
receives  a  moral  interest  from  the  considerations  attached  to 
the  residence  of  a  family  once  powerful  enough  to  confront 
and  defeat  Bobert  Bruce,  and  now  sunk  into  the  shade  of 
private  life.  It  is  at  present  possessed  by  Patrick  MacDougal, 
Esq.,  the  lineal  and  undisputed  representative  of  the  ancient 
Lords  of  Lorn.  The  heir  of  Dunolly  fell  lately  in  Spain, 
fighting  under  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  a  death  well  becom- 
ing his  ancestry. 


Note  I. 


Awaked  before  the  rushing  prow, 
The  mimic  fires  of  ocean  glow, 

Those  lightnings  of  the  wave. — P.  414. 

The  phenomenon  called  by  sailors  Sea-fire  is  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  interesting  which  is  witnessed  in  the  He- 
brides. At  times  the  ocean  appears  entirely  illuminated 
around  the  vessel,  rind  a  long  train  of  lambent  coruscations 
are  perpetually  burstiug  upon  the  sides  of  the  vessel,  or  pur- 


suing her  wake  through  the  darkness.  These  phosphoric 
appearances,  concerning  the  origin  of  which  naturalists  are 
not  agreed  in  opinion,  seem  to  be  called  into  action  by  the 
rapid  motion  of  the  ship  through  the  water,  and  are  probably 
owing  to  the  water  being  saturated  with  fish-spawn,  or  other 
animal  substances.  They  remind  one  strongly  of  the  de- 
scription of  the  sea-snakes  in  Mr.  Coleridge's  wild  but  highly 
poetical  ballad  of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner :" — 

"  Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watch'd  the  water-snakes ; 
They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 
And  when  they  rear'd,  the  elvish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes." 


Note  K. 


the  dark  fortress. — P.  415. 

The  fortress  of  a  Hebridean  chief  was  almost  always  on  the 
sea-shore,  for  the  facility  of  communication  which  the  ocean 
afforded.  Nothing  can  be  more  wild  than  the  situations 
which  they  chose  and  the  devices  by  which  the  architects 
endeavored  to  defend  them.  Narrow  stairs  and  arched  vaults 
were  the  usual  mode  of  access ;  and  the  drawbridge  appears 
at  Dunstaffnage  and  elsewhere  to  have  fallen  from  the  gate 
of  the  building  to  the  top  of  such  a  staircase ;  so  that  any  one 
advancing  with  hostile  purpose  found  himself  in  a  state  of 
exposed  and  precarious  elevation,  with  a  gulf  between  him 
and  the  object  of  his  attack. 

These  fortresses  were  guarded  with  equal  care.  The  duty 
of  the  watch  devolved  chiefly  upon  an  officer  called  the  Cock- 
man,  who  had  the  charge  of  challenging  all  who  approached 
the  castle.  The  very  ancient  family  of  MacNiel  of  Barra  kept 
this  attendant  at  their  castle  about  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Martin  gives  the  following  account  of  the  difficulty  which 
attended  his  procuring  entrance  there: — "The  little  island 
Kismal  lies  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  of  this 
isle  (Barra) ;  it  is  the  seat  of  Mackneil  of  Barra ;  there  is  a 
stone  wall  round  it  two  stories  high,  reaching  the  sea ;  and 
within  the  wall  there  is  an  old  tower  and  an  hall,  with  other 
houses  about  it.  There  is  a  little  magazine  in  the  tower,  to 
which  no  stranger  has  access.  I  saw  the  officer  called  the 
Cockman,  and  an  old  cock  he  is;  when  I  bid  him  ferry  me 
over  the  water  to  the  island,  he  told  me  that  he  was  but  an 
inferior  officer,  his  business  being  to  attend  in  the  tower;  but 
if  (says  he)  the  constable,  who  then  stood  on  the  wall,  will 
give  you  access,  I'll  ferry  you  over.  I  desired  him  to  procure 
me  the  constable's  permission,  and  I  would  reward  him;  but 
having  waited  some  hours  for  the  constable's  answer,  and  not 
receiving  any,  I  was  obliged  to  return  without  seeing  this 
famous  fort.  Mackneil  and  his  lady  being  absent  was  the 
cause  of  this  difficulty,  and  of  my  not  seeing  the  place.  I  was 
told  some  weeks  after  that  the  constable  was  very  apprehen- 
sive of  some  design  I  might  have  in  viewing  the  fort,  and 
thereby  to  expose  it  to  the  conquest  of  a  foreign  power;  of 
which  I  supposed  there  was  no  great  cause  of  fear." 


Note  L. 

that  keen  knight,  De  Argent in-e. — P.  417. 

Sir  Egidius  or  Giles  de  Argentine  was  one  of  the  most  ac- 
complished knights  of  the  period.   He  had  served  in  the  wars 


APPENDIX   TO   THE    LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


469 


of  Henry  of  Luxemburg  with  such  high  reputation  that  he 
was,  in  popular  estimation,  the  third  worthy  of  the  age. 
Those  to  whom  fame  assigned  precedence  over  him  were, 
Henry  of  Luxemburg  himself,  and  Robert  Bruce.  Argentine 
had  warred  in  Palestine,  encountered  thrice  with  the  Sara- 
cens, and  had  slain  two  antagonists  in  each  engagement :  an 
easy  matter,  he  said,  for  one  Christian  knight  to  slay  two 
Pagan  dogs.  His  death  corresponded  with  his  high  character. 
With  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  he  was  appointed 
to  attend  immediately  upon  the  person  of  Edward  II.  at  Ban- 
nockburn.  When  the  day  was  utterly  lost  they  forced  the 
king  from  the  field.  De  Argentine  saw  the  king  safe  from 
immediate  danger,  and  then  took  his  leave  of  him ;  "  God  be 
with  you,  sir,"  he  said,  "  it  is  not  my  wont  to  fly."  So  saying, 
he  turned  his  horse,  cried  his  war-cry,  plunged  into  the  midst 
of  the  combatants,  and  was  slain.  Baston,  a  rhyming  monk 
who  had  been  brought  by  Edward  to  celebrate  his  expected 
triumph,  and  who  was  compelled  by  the  victors  to  compose  a 
poem  on  his  defeat,  mentions  with  some  feeling  the  death  of 
Sir  Giles  de  Argentine : — 

Nobilis  Argenten,  pugil  inclyte,  dulcis  Egidi, 
Vix  scieram  mentem  cum  te  succumbere  vidi. 

"The  first  line  mentions  the  three  chief  requisites  of  a 
true  knight,  noble  birth,  valour,  and  courteousness.  Few 
Leonine  couplets  can  be  produced  that  have  so  much  senti- 
ment. I  wish  that  I  could  have  collected  more  ample  memo- 
rials concerning  a  character  altogether  different  from  modern 
manners.  Sir  Giles  d'Argentine  was  a  hero  of  romance  in 
real  life."    So  observes  the  excellent  Lord  Hailes. 


Note  M. 

" Fill  me  the  mighty  cup,"  he  said, 
"Erst  own'd  by  royal  Somerled." — P.  417. 

A  Hebridean  drinking  cup,  of  the  most  ancient  and  curious 
workmanship,  has  been  long  preserved  in  the  castle  of  Dun- 
vegan  in  Skye,  the  romantic  seat  of  MacLeod  of  MacLeod, 
the  chief  of  that  ancient  and  powerful  clan.  The  horn  of 
Rorie  More,  preserved  in  the  same  family,  and  recorded  by 
Dr.  Johnson,  is  not  to  be  compared  with  this  piece  of  anti- 
quity, which  is  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  Scotland. 
The  following  is  a  pretty  accurate  description  of  its  shape 
and  dimensions,  but  cannot,  I  fear,  be  perfectly  understood 
without  a  drawing : — 

This  very  curious  piece  of  antiquity  is  nine  inches  and  th  ree- 
quarters  in  inside  depth,  and  ten  and  a  half  in  height  on  the 
outside,  the  extreme  measure  over  the  lips  being  four  inches 
and  a  half.  The  cup  is  divided  into  two  parts  by  a  wrought 
ledge,  beautifully  ornamented,  about  three-fourths  of  an  inch 
in  breadth.  Beneath  this  ledge  the  shape  of  the  cup  is 
rounded  off,  and  terminates  in  a  flat  circle,  like  that  of  a  tea- 
cup ;  four  short  feet  support  the  whole.  Above  the  project- 
ing ledge  the  shape  of  the  cup  is  nearly  square,  projecting 
outward  at  the  brim.  The  cup  is  made  of  wood  (oak  to  all 
appearance),  but  most  curiously  wrought  and  embossed  with 
silver  work,  which  projects  from  the  vessel.  There  are  a 
number  of  regular  projecting  sockets,  which  appear  to  have 
been  set  with  stones ;  two  or  three  of  them  still  hold  pieces  of 
coral,  the  rest  are  empty.  At  the  four  corners  of  the  project- 
ing ledge,  or  cornice,  are  four  sockets,  much  larger,  probably 
for  pebbles  or  precious  stones.  The  workmanship  of  the  sil- 
ver is  extremely  elegant,  and  appears  to  have  been  highly 
gilded.    The  ledge,  brim,  and  legs  of  the  cup  are  of  silver. 


The  family  tradition  bears  that  it  was  the  property  of  Neil 
Ghlune-dhu,  or  Black-knee.  But  who  this  Neil  was  no  one 
pretends  to  say.  Around  the  edge  of  the  cup  is  a  legend,  per- 
fectly legible,  in  the  Saxon  black-letter,  which  seems  to  run 
thus : — 

®fo  :  3of)is  :  pirf)  :  ||  £lgrt  :  ^luipis  :  ®£  :  || 
&r  :  jHana*  :  TJit\>  :  ||  HUafjia  :  $L$T$ntil  :  \\ 
3Bt :  Spat :  39o  :  3f)u  :  ©a :  ||  <£lta :  3lliira  3f  a :  || 
jFuit :  &no  :  j0i  :  3r  :  93o  ©nil*  :  ©imi :  |j 

The  inscription  may  run  thus  at  length :  Cfo  Johanis  Mich 
Magni  Principu  de  Hr  Manae  Vich  Liahia  Magryneil  et  spe- 
rat  Domino  Ihesu  dari  clemenlkim  illorum  opera.  Fecit  Anno 
Domini  993  Onili  Oimi.  Which  may  run  in  English :  Ufo, 
the  son  of  John,  the  son  of  Magnus,  Prince  of  Man,  the  grand- 
son of  Liahia  Macgryneil,  trusts  in  the  Lord  Jesus  that  their 
works  (i.  e.  his  own  and  those  of  his  ancestors)  will  obtain 
mercy.  Oneil  Oimi  made  this  in  the  year  of  God  nine  hun- 
dred and  ninety-three. 

But  this  version  does  not  include  the  puzzling  letters  hr 
before  the  word  Manae.  Within  the  mouth  of  the  cup  the 
letters  Jf)8.  (Jesus)  are  repeated  four  times.  From  this  and 
other  circumstances  it  would  seem  to  have  been  a  chalice. 
This  circumstance  may  perhaps  account  for  the  use  of  the 
two  Arabic  numerals  93.  These  figures  were  introduced  by 
Pope  Sylvester  A.  D.  991,  and  might  be  used  in  a  vessel  formed 
for  church  service  so  early  as  993.  The  workmanship  of  the 
whole  cup  is  extremely  elegant,  and  resembles,  I  am  told, 
antiques  of  the  same  nature  preserved  in  Ireland. 

The  cups,  thus  elegantly  formed  and  highly  valued,  were 
by  no  means  utensils  of  mere  show.  Martin  gives  the  follow- 
ing account  of  the  festivals  of  his  time,  and  I  have  heard 
similar  instances  of  brutality  in  the  Lowlands  at  no  very 
distant  period : — 

"The  manner  of  drinking  used  by  the  chief  men  of  the  Isles 
is  called  in  their  language  Streah,  i.  e.  a  Round ;  for  the  com- 
pany sat  in  a  circle,  the  cup-bearer  fill'd  the  drink  round  to 
them,  and  all  was  drank  out,  whatever  the  liquor  was, 
whether  strong  or  weak  ;  they  continued  drinking  sometimes 
twenty-four,  sometimes  forty-eight  hours:  It  was  reckoned  a 
piece  of  manhood  to  drink  until  they  became  drunk,  and 
there  were  two  men  with  a  barrow  attending  punctually  on 
such  occasions.  They  stood  at  the  door  until  some  became 
drunk,  and  they  carry'd  them  upon  the  barrow  to  bed,  and 
returned  again  to  their  post  as  long  as  any  continued  fresh, 
and  so  carried  off  the  whole  company,  one  by  one,  as  they 
became  drunk.  Several  of  my  acquaintance  have  been  wit- 
nesses to  this  custom  of  drinking,  but  it  is  now  abolished." 

This  savage  custom  was  not  entirely  done  away  within  this 
last  generation.  I  have  heard  of  a  gentleman  who  happened 
to  be  a  water-drinker,  and  was  permitted  to  abstain  from  the 
strong  potations  of  the  company.  The  bearers  carried  away 
one  man  after  another,  till  no  one  was  left  but  this  Scottish 
Mirglip.  They  then  came  to  do  him  the  same  good  office, 
which,  however,  he  declined  as  unnecessary,  and  proposed  to 
walk  to  his  bedroom.  It  was  a  permission  he  could  not 
obtain.  Never  such  a  thing  had  happened,  they  said,  in  the 
castle !  that  it  was  impossible  but  he  must  require  their 
assistance,  at  any  rate  he  must  submit  to  receive  it ;  and 
carried  him  off  in  the  barrow  accordingly.  A  classical 
penalty  was  sometimes  imposed  on  those  who  balked  the 
rule's  of  good  fellowship  by  evading  their  share  of  the  ban- 
quet.   The  same  author  continues: — 

"  Among  persons  of  distinction  it  was  reckoned  an  affront 
put  upon  any  company  to  broach  a  piece  of  wine,  ale,  or  aqua- 
vitse,  and  not  to  see  it  all  drunk  out  at  one  meeting.  If  any 
man  chance  to  go  out  from  the  company,  though  but  for  a  few 
minutes,  he  is  obliged,  upon  his  return,  and  before  he  take 
his  seat,  to  make  an  apology  for  his  absence  in  rhyme ;  which 


470 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


if  lie  cannot  perform,  ho  is  liable  to  such  a  share  of  the  reck- 
oning as  the  company  think  fit  to  impose:  which  custom 
obtains  in  many  places  still,  and  is  called  Bianchiz  Hani, 
which,  in  their  language,  signifies  the  poet's  congratulating 
the  company." 

Few  cups  were  better,  at  least  more  actively,  employed  in 
the  rude  hospitality  of  the  period  than  those  of  Dunvegan ; 
one  of  which  we  have  just  described.  There  la  in  the  Leabhar- 
dearg  a  song  intimating  the  overflowing  gratitude  of  a  bard 
of  Clanronald,  after  the  exuberance  of  a  Hebridean  festival 
at  the  patriarchal  fortress  of  MacLeod.  The  translation 
being  obviously  very  literal,  has  greatly  flattened,  as  I  am 
informed,  the  enthusiastic  gratitude  of  the  ancient  bard; 
and  it  must  be  owned  that  the  works  of  Homer  or  Virgil,  to 
say  nothing  of  MaeVuirich,  might  have  suffered  by  their 
transfusion  through  such  a  medium.  It  is  pretty  plain  that 
when  the  tribute  of  poetical  praise  was  bestowed,  the  horn  of 
Rorie  More  had  not  been  inactive. 

Upon  Sir  Roderic  Mor  MacLeod,  by  Xiall  Mor  Mac  Vuirich. 

"The  six  nights  I  remained  in  the  Dunvegan,  it  was  not  a 
show  of  hospitality  I  met  with  there,  but  a  plentiful  feast  in 
thy  fair  hall  among  thy  numerous  host  of  heroes. 

"  The  family  placed  all  around  under  the  protection  of 
their  great  chief,  raised  by  his  prosperity  and  respect. for  his 
warlike  feats,  now  enjoying  the  company  of  his  friends  at  the 
feast, — Amidst  the  sound  of  harps,  overflowing  cups,  and 
happy  youth  unaccustomed  to  guile,  or  feud,  partaking  of  the 
generous  fare  by  a  flaming  fire. 

"Mighty  Chief,  liberal  to  all  in  your  princely  mansion, 
filled  with  your  numerous  warlike  host,  whose  generous  wine 
would  overcome  the  hardiest  heroes,  yet  we  continued  to 
enjoy  the  feast,  so  happy  our  host,  so  generous  our  fare." — 
Translated  by  D.  Macintosh. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  in  a  modern  bard,  who  has  expe- 
rienced the  hospitality  of  Dunvegan  Castle  in  the  present  day, 
to  omit  paying  his  own  tribute  of  gratitude  for  a  reception 
more  elegant  indeed,  but  not  less  kindly  sincere,  than  Sir 
Roderick  More  himself  could  have  afforded.  But  Johnson  has 
already  described  a  similar  scene  in  the  same  ancient  patri- 
archal residence  of  the  Lords  of  MacLeod : — "  Whatever  is 
imaged  in  the  wildest  tales,  if  giants,  dragons,  and  enchant- 
ment be  excepted,  would  be  felt  by  him  who,  wandering  in 
the  mountains  without  a  guide,  or  upon  the  sea  without  a 
pilot,  should  be  carried,  amidst  his  terror  and  uncertainty,  to 
the  hospitality  and  elegance  of  Raasay  or  Dunvegan." 


Note  N. 


With  solemn  strp,  and  silver  wand., 
The  Senesc/ial  the  presence  scann'd 
Of  these  strange  guests. — P.  418. 

The  Sewer,  to  whom,  rather  than  the  Seneschal,  the  office 
of  arranging  the  guests  "I"  an  island  chief  appertained,  was 
an  officer  of  importance  in  the  family  of  a  Ibbridean  chief. 
"  Every  family  had  commonly  two  stewards,  which,  in  their 
language,  were  called  Marischal  Tach  :  the  first  of  these  served 
always  at  home,  and  was  obliged  to  be  versed  in  the  pedigree 
of  all  the  tribes  in  the  Isles,  and  in  the  highlands  of  Scot- 
land ;  for  it  was  his  province  to  assign  every  man  at  table 
his  seat  according  to  his  quality;  and  this  was  done  without 
one  word  speaking,  only  by  drawing  a  score  with  a  white 
rod,  which  this  Marischal  had  in  his  hand,  before  the  person 
who  waa  bid  by  him  to  sit  down :  and  this  was  necessary  to 


prevent  disorder  and  contention ;  and  though  the  Marischal 
might  sometimes  be  mistaken,  the  master  of  the  family  in- 
curred no  censure  by  such  an  escape ;  but  this  custom  has 
been  laid  aside  of  late.  They  had  also  cup-bearers,  who 
always  filled  and  carried  the  cup  round  the  company,  and 
he  himself  always  drank  off  the  first  draught.  They  had 
likewise  purse-masters,  who  kept  their  money.  Both  these 
officers  had  an  hereditary  right  to  their  office  in  writing,  and 
each  of  them  had  a  town  and  land  for  his  service:  some  of 
those  rights  I  have  seen  fairly  written  on  good  parchment." — 
Martin's  Western  Isles. 


Note  O. 

the  rebellious  Scottish  crew, 

Who  to  Rath-Erin's  shelter  drew. 

With  Carrick's  oullaw'd  Chief. — P.  418. 

It  must  be  remembered  by  all  who  have  read  the  Scottish 
history  that  after  he  had  slain  Comyn  at  Dumfries,  and 
asserted  his  right  to  the  Scottish  crown,  Robert  Bruce  was 
reduced  to  the  greatest  extremity  by  the  English  and  their 
adherents.  He  was  crowned  at  Scone  by  the  general  consent 
of  the  Scottish  barons,  but  his  authority  endured  but  a  short 
time.  According  to  the  phrase  said  to  have  been  used  by  his 
wife,  he  was  for  that  year  "  a  summer  king,  but  not  a  winter 
one."  On  the  29th  March,  1306,  he  was  crowned  king  at  Scone. 
Upon  the  19th  of  June,  in  the  same  year,  he  was  totally  defeat- 
ed at  Methven,  near  Perth ;  and  his  most  important  adherents, 
with  few  exceptions,  were  either  executed  or  compelled  to 
embrace  the  English  interest  for  safety  of  their  lives  and  for- 
tunes. After  this  disaster,  his  life  was  that  of  an  outlaw 
rather  than  a  candidate  for  monarchy.  He  separated  himself 
from  the  females  of  his  retinue,  whom  he  sent  for  safety  to 
the  castle  of  Kildrummie,  in  Aberdeenshire,  where  they 
afterward  became  captives  to  England.  From  Aberdeenshire., 
Bruce  retreated  to  the  mountainous  parts  of  Breadalbane,  and 
approached  the  borders  of  Argyleshire.  There,  as  mentioned 
in  the  Appendix,  Note  H,  and  more  fully  in  Note  P,  he  was 
defeated  by  the  Lord  of  Lorn,  who  had  assumed  arms  against 
him  in  revenge  of  the  death  of  his  relative,  John  the  Red 
Comyn.  Escaped  from  this  peril,  Bruce,  with  his  few  attend- 
ants, subsisted  by  hunting  and  fishing,  until  the  weather 
compelled  them  to  seek  better  sustenance  and  shelter  than 
the  Highland  mountains  afforded.  With  great  difficulty  they 
crossed,  from  Rowardennan  probably,  to  the  western  banks 
of  Loch  Lomond,  partly  in  a  miserable  boat,  and  partly  by 
swimming.  The  valiant  and  loyal  Earl  of  Lennox,  to  whose 
territories  they  had  now  found  their  way,  welcomed  them 
with  tears,  but  was  unable  to  assist  them  to  make  an  effectual 
head.  The  Lord  of  the  Isles,  then  in  possession  of  great  part 
of  Cantyre,  received  the  fugitive  monarch  and  future  restorer 
of  his  country's  independence,  in  his  castle  of  Dunnaverty,  in 
that  district.  But  treason,  says  Barbour,  was  so  general  that 
the  king  durst  not  abide  there.  Accordingly,  with  the  rem- 
nant of  his  followers,  Bruce  embarked  for  Rath-Erin,  or 
Rachrine,  the  Recina  of  Ptolemy,  a  small  island  lying  almost 
opposite  to  the  shores  of  Ballycastle,  on  the  coast  of  Ireland. 
The  islanders  at  first  fled  from  their  new  and  armed  guests, 
but  upon  some  explanation  submitted  themselves  to  Bruce's 
sovereignty.  He  resided  among  them  until  the  approach  of 
spring  [1806],  when  he  again  returned  to  Scotland,  with  the 
desperate  resolution  to  reconquer  his  kingdom  or  perish  in 
the  attempt.  The  progress  of  his  success,  from  its  commence- 
ment to  its  completion,  forms  the  brightest  period  in  Scottish 
history. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


471 


Note  P. 

The  Brooch  of  Lorn.— P.  419. 

It  has  been  generally  mentioned  in  the  preceding  notes  that 
Robert  Bruce,  after  his  defeat  at  Methven,  being  hard  pressed 
by  the  English,  endeavored,  with  the  dispirited  remnant  of 
his  followers,  to  escape  from  Breadalbane  and  the  mountains 
of  Perthshire  into  the  Argyleshire  Highlands.  But  he  was 
encountered  and  repulsed,  after  a  very  severe  engagement,  by 
the  Lord  of  Lorn.  Bruce's  personal  strength  and  courage 
were  never  displayed  to  greater  advantage  than  in  this  con- 
flict. There  is  a  tradition  in  the  family  of  the  MacDougals  of 
Lorn  that  their  chieftain  engaged  in  personal  battle  with 
Bruce  himself,  while  the  latter  was  employed  in  protecting 
the  retreat  of  his  men  ;  that  MacDougal  was  struck  down  by 
the  fcing,  whose  strength  of  body  was  equal  to  his  vigor  of 
mind,  and  would  have  been  slain  on  the  spot  had  not  two 
of  Lorn's  vassals,  a  father  and  son,  whom  tradition  terms 
MacKeoch,  rescued  him  by  seizing  the  mantle  of  the  monarch 
and  dragging  him  from  above  his  adversary.  Bruce  rid  him- 
self of  these  foes  by  two  blows  of  his  redoubted  battle-axe, 
but  was  so  closely  pressed  by  the  other  followers  of  Lorn  that 
he  was  forced  to  abandon  the  mantle,  and  brooch  which  fas- 
tened it,  clasped  in  the  dying  grasp  of  the  MacKeochs.  A 
studded  brooch,  said  to  have  been  that  which  King  Robert 
lost  upon  this  occasion,  was  long  preserved  in  the  family  of 
MacDougal,  and  was  lost  in  a  fire  which  consumed  their  tem- 
porary residence. 

The  metrical  history  of  Barbour  throws  an  air  of  credibility 
upon  the  tradition,  although  it  does  not  entirely  coincide 
either  in  the  names  or  number  of  the  vassals  by  whom  Bruce 
was  assailed,  and  makes  no  mention  of  the  personal  danger 
of  Lorn,  or  of  the  loss  of  Bruce's  mantle.  The  last  circum- 
stance, indeed,  might  be  warrantably  omitted. 

According  to  Barbour,  the  king,  with  his  handful  of  follow- 
ers, not  amounting  probably  to  three  hundred  men,  encoun- 
tered Lorn  with  about  a  thousand  Argyleshire  men  in  Glen- 
Douchart,  at  the  head  of  Breadalbane,  near  Teyndrum.  The 
place  of  action  is  still  called  Dairy,  or  the  King's  Field.  The 
field  of  battle  was  unfavorable  to  Bruce's  adherents,  who 
were  chiefly  men-at-arms.  Many  of  the  horses  were  slain 
by  the  long  pole-axes,  of  which  the  Argyleshire  Scottish  bad 
learned  the  use  from  the  Norwegians.  At  length  Bruce  com- 
manded a  retreat  up  a  narrow  and  difficult  pass,  he  himself 
bringing  up  the  rear,  and  repeatedly  turning  and  driving 
back  the  more  venturous  assailants.  Lorn,  observing  the 
skill  and  valor  used  by  his  enemy  in  protecting  the  retreat  of 
his  followers,  "Methinks,  Murthokson,"  said  he,  addressing 
on,e  of  his  followers,  "  he  resembles  Gol  Mak-morn,  protecting 
his  followers  from  Fingal." — "  A  most  unworthy  comparison," 
observes  the  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  unsuspicious  of  the 
future  fame  of  these  names ;  "  he  might  with  more  propriety 
have  compared  the  king  to  Sir  Gaudefer  de  Layrs,  protecting 
the  foragers  of  Gadyrs  against  the  attacks  of  Alexander."1 
Two  brothers,  the  strongest  among  Lorn's  followers,  whose 
names  Barbour  calls  Mackyn-Drosser  (interpreted  Durward, 
or  Porterson),  resolved  to  rid  their  chief  of  this  formidable 
foe.  A  third  person  (perhaps  the  MacKeoch  of  the  family 
tradition)  associated  himself  with  them  for  this  purpose. 
They  watched  their  opportunity  until  Bruce's  party  had 
entered  a  pass  between  a  lake  (Loch  Dochart  probably)  and 
a  precipice,  where  the  king,  who  was  the  last  of  the  party, 


1  "  This  is  a  very  curious  passage,  and  has  been  often  quoted 
in  the  Ossianic  controversy.  That  it  refers  to  ancient  Celtic 
tradition  there  can  be  no  doubt,  and  as  little  that  it  refers  to 
no  incident  in  the  poems  published  by  Mr.  Macpherson  as 
from  the  Gaelic.  The  hero  of  romance,  whom  Barbour  thinks 


had  scarce  room  to  manage  his  steed.  Here  his  three  foes 
sprung  upon  him  at  once.  One  seized  his  bridle,  but  received 
a  wound  which  hewed  off  his  arm;  a  second  grasped  Bruce 
by  the  stirrup  and  leg,  and  endeavored  to  dismount  him, 
but  the  king,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  threw  him  down, 
still  holding  by  the  stirrup.  The  third,  taking  advantage  of 
an  acclivity,  sprung  up  behind  him  upon  his  horse.  Bruce, 
however,  whose  personal  strength  is  uniformly  mentioned  as 
exceeding  that  of  most  men,  extricated  himself  from  his 
grasp,  threw  him  to  the  ground,  and  cleft  his  skull  with  his 
sword.  By  similar  exertion  he  drew  the  stirrup  from  his 
grasp  whom  he  had  overthrown,  and  killed  him  also  with  his 
sword  as  he  lay  among  the  horse's  feet.  The  story  seems 
romantic,  but  this  was  the  age  of  romantic  exploit;  and  it 
must  be  remembered  that  Bruce  was  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  the 
assailants  were  half-clad  mountaineers.  Barbour  adds  tlie 
following  circumstance,  highly  characteristic  of  the  senti- 
ments of  chivalry : — MacNaughton,  a  baron  of  Cowal,  pointed 
out  to  the  Lord  of  Lorn  the  deeds  of  valor  which  Bruce  per- 
formed in  this  memorable  retreat,  with  the  highest  expres- 
sions  of  admiration.  "  It  seems  to  give  thee  pleasure,"  said 
Lorn,  "that  he  makes  such  havoc  among  our  friends." — 
"Not  so,  by  my  faith,"  replied  MacNaughton;  "but  be  he 
friend  or  foe  who  achieves  high  deeds  of  chivalry,  men  should 
bear  faithful  witness  to  his  valor ;  and  never  have  I  heard  of 
one  who,  by  his  knightly  feats,  has  extricated  himself  from 
such  dangers  as  have  this  day  surrounded  Bruce." 


Note  Q. 

Wrought  and  chased  with  rare  device, 
Studded  fair  with  gems  of  price. — P.  419. 

Great  art  and  expense  was  bestowed  upon  the  fibula,  or 
brooch,  which  secured  the  plaid,  when  the  wearer  was  a  per- 
son of  importance.  Martin  mentions  having  seen  a  silver 
brooch  of  a  hundred  marks  value.  "  It  was  broad  as  any 
ordinary  pewter  plate,  the  whole  curiously  engraven  with 
various  animals,  &c.  There  was  a  lesser  buckle,  which  was 
worn  in  the  middle  of  the  larger,  and  above  two  oonces 
weight ;  it  had  in  the  centre  a  large  piece  of  crystal,  or  some 
finer  stone,  and  this  was  set  all  round  with  several  finer 
stones  of  a  lesser  size." — Western  Isla?ids.  Pennant  has  given 
an  engraving  of  such  a  brooch  as  Martin  describes,  and  the 
workmanship  of  which  is  very  elegant.  It  is  said  to  have 
belonged  to  the  family  of  Lochbuy. — See  Pennant's  Tour, 
vol.  iii.  p.  14. 


Note  R. 


Vain  was  then  the  Douglas  brand, 

Vain  the  Campbell's  vaunted  hand. — P.  419. 

The  gallant  Sir  James,  called  the  Good  Lord  Douglas,  the 
most  faithful  and  valiant  of  Bruce's  adherents,  was  wounded 


a  more  proper  prototype  for  the  Bruce,  occurs  in  the  romance 
of  Alexander,  of  which  there  is  a  unique  translation  into 
Scottish  verse  in  the  library  of  the  Honorable  Mr.  Maule, 
now  Earl  of  Panmure." — See  Weber's  Romances,  vol.  i.  Ap 
pendix  to  Introduction,  p.  lxxiii. 


472 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


at  the  battle  of  Dairy.  Sir  Nigel  or  Noil  Campbell  was  also 
in  that  unfortunate  skirmish.  He  married  Marjorie,  sister 
to  Robert  Bruee,  and  was  among  his  most  faithful  followers. 
In  a  manuscript  account  of  the  house  of  Argyle,  supplii  il  it 
would  seem,  as  material  for  Archbishop  Spottiswoode's  His- 
tory of  the  Church  of  Scotland,  I  find  the  following  passage 
concerning  Sir  Neil  Campbell : — "  Moreover,  when  all  the 
nobles  in  Scotland  had  left  King  Robert  after  his  hard  suc- 
cess, yet  this  noble  knight  was  most  faithful,  and  shrinked 
not,  as  it  is  to  be  seen  in  an  indenture  bearing  these  words : — 
Memorandum  quod  cum  ab  incarnatione  Domini  1308  conventum 
fuit  ei  concordalum  inter  nobiles  viros  Dominium  Alezandrum  de 
Seaioun  miliiem  ei  Dominum  Gilbcrtum  de  Haye  miliiem  et 
Dominum  Nigellum  Campbell  militem  apud  nwnasterium  de 
Oambuskenneth  9°  Septembris  qui  lacta  sancta  eucharisia,  mag- 
noque  juramento  facto,  jurarunt  se  debere  libertatem  regni  et 
Itobertum  nuper  regetn  coronalum  contra  omne-s  mortalcs  Fran- 
cot  Anglos  Scotos  defendere  usque  ad  ultimum  terminum  vita 
xpsorum.  Their  sealles  are  appended  to  the  indenture  in 
greene  wax,  togithir  with  the  seal  of  Gulfrid,  Abbot  of  Cain- 
buskenneth." 


Note  S. 


When  Comyn  fell  beneath  the  knife 
Of  that  fell  homicide  the  Bruce. — P.  416. 
Vain  Kirkpalrick's  bloody  dirk, 
Making  sure  of  murder's  work. — P.  419. 

Every  reader  must  recollect  that  the  proximate  cause  of 
Bruce's  asserting  his  right  to  the  crown  of  Scotland  was  the 
death  of  John,  called  the  Red  Comyn.  The  causes  of  this  act 
of  violence,  equally  extraordinary  from  the  high  rank  both  of 
the  perpetrator  and  sufferer  and  from  the  place  where  the 
slaughter  was  committed,  are  variously  related  by  the  Scot- 
tish and  English  historians,  and  cannot  now  be  ascertained. 
The  fact  that  they  met  at  the  high  altar  of  the  Minorites,  or 
Greyfriar's  Church  in  Dumfries,  that  their  difference  broke 
out  into  high  and  insulting  language,  and  that  Bruce  drew 
his  dagger  and  stabbed  Comyn,  is  certain.  Rushing  to  the 
door  of  the  church,  Bruce  met  two  powerful  barons,  Kirk- 
patrick  of  Closeburn  and  James  de  Lindsay,  who  eagerly 
asked  him  what  tidings.  "Bad  tidings,"  answered  Bruce;  "I 
doubt  I  have  slain  Comyn." — "  Doubtest  thou?"  said  Kirk- 
pat  rick  ;  "  I  make  sicker"  (i.  e.  sure).  With  these  words,  he 
and  Lindsay  rushed  into  the  church  and  despatched  the 
wounded  Comyn.  The  Kirkpatricks  of  Closeburn  assumed, 
in  memory  of  this  deed,  a  hand  holding  a  dagger,  with  the 
memorable  words,  "  I  make  sicker."  Some  doubt  having 
been  started  by  the  late  Lord  Hailes  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
Kirkpatrick  who  completed  this  day's  work  with  Sir  Roger, 
then  representative  of  the  ancient  family  of  Closeburn,  my 
kind  and  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  (hailes  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe, 
has  furnished  me  with  the  following  memorandum,  which 
appears  to  fix  the  deed  with  his  ancestor  : — 

"The  circumstances  of  the  Regent  Cummin's  murder,  from 
which  the  family  of  Kirkpatrick,  irl  Nithsdale,  is  said  to  have 
derived  its  crest  and  motto,  are  well  known  to  all  conversant 
with  Scottish  history ;  but  Lord  Hailes  has  started  a  doubt 
as  to  the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  when  recording  the 
murder  of  Roger  Kirkpatrick  in  his  own  castle  of  Caerla- 
verock,  by  Sir  James  Lindsay.  '  Fordun,'  says  his  lordship, 
'  remarks  that  Lindsay  and  Kirkpatrick  were  the  heirs  of  the 
two  men  who  accompanied  Robert  Brus  at  the  fatal  confer- 
ence with  Comyn.  If  Fordun  was  rightly  informed  as  to  this 
particular,  an  argument  arises,  in  support  of  a  notion  which  I 
have  long  entertained,  that  the  person  who  struck  his  dagger 
in  Comyn's  heart  was  not  the  representative  of  the  honour- 


able family  of  Kirkpatrick  in  Nithsdale.  Roger  de  K.  was 
made  prisoner  at  the  battle  of  Durham,  in  1346.  Roger  de 
Kirkpatrick  was  alive  on  the  6th  of  August,  1357  ;  for,  on  that 
day,  Humphry,  the  son  and  heir  of  Roger  de  K.,  is  proposed 
as  one  of  the  young  gentlemen  who  were  to  be  hostages  for 
David  Bruce.  Roger  de  K.  Miles  was  present  at  the  parlia- 
ment held  at  Edinburgh,  25th  September,  1357,  and  he  is 
mentioned  as  alive  3d  October,  1357,  (Faidera;)  it  follows,  of 
necessary  consequence,  that  Roger  de  K.,  murdered  in  June, 
1357,  must  have  been  a  different  person.' — Annals  of  Scotla7id, 
vol.  ii.  p.  242. 

"To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  at  the  period  of  the  re- 
gent's murder,  there  were  only  two  families  of  the  name  of 
Kirkpatrick  (nearly  allied  to  each  other)  in  existence — Ste- 
phen Kirkpatrick,  styled  in  the  Chartulary  of  Kelso  (1278) 
Dominus  villa;  de  Closeburn,  Filius  et  hojres  Domini  Ade  de 
Kirkpatrick,  Militis,  (whose  father,  Ivone  de  Kirkpatrick, 
witnesses  a  charter  of  Robert  Brus,  Lord  of  Annandale,  before 
the  year  1141,)  had  two  sons,  Sir  Roger,  who  carried  on  the 
line  of  Closeburn,  and  Duncan,  who  married  Isobel,  daughter 
and  heiress  of  Sir  David  Torthorwald  of  that  Ilk  ;  they  had 
a  charter  of  the  lands  of  Torthorwald  from  King  Robert 
Brus,  dated  10th  August,  the  year  being  omitted — Umphray, 
the  son  of  Duncan  and  Isobel,  got  a  charter  of  Torthorwald 
from  the  king,  16th  July,  1322— his  son,  Roger  of  Torthor- 
wald, got  a  charter  from  John  the  Grahame,  son  of  Sir  John 
Grahame  of  Moskessen,  of  an  annual  rent  of  40  shillings,  out 
of  the  lands  of  Overdryft,  1355 — his  son,  William  Kirkpatrick, 
grants  a  charter  to  John  of  Garroch,  of  the  twa  merk  land  of 
Glengip  and  Garvellgill,  within  the  tenement  of  Wamphray, 
22d  April,  1372.  From  this,  it  appears  that  the  Torthorwald 
branch  was  not  concerned  in  the  affair  of  Comyn's  murder, 
and  the  inflictions  of  Providence  which  ensued:  Duncan 
Kirkpatrick,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  Blind  Minstrel,  was  the 
firm  friend  of  Wallace,  to  whom  he  was  related: — 

'  Ane  Kyrk  Patrick,  that  cruel  was  and  keyne, 
In  Esdail  wod  that  half  yer  he  had  beyne ; 
With  Ingliss  men  he  couth  nocht  weyll  accord, 
Off  Torthorowald  he  Barron  was  and  Lord, 
Off  kyn  he  was,  and  Wallace  modyr  ner ;'  Ac. 

B.  v.,  v.  920. 

But  this  baron  seems  to  have  had  no  share  in  the  adventures 
of  King  Robert ;  the  crest  of  his  family,  as  it  still  remains  on 
a  carved  stone  built  into  a  cottage  wall,  in  the  village  of  Tor- 
thorwald, bears  some  resemblance,  says  Grose,  to  a  rose. 

"Universal  tradition,  and  all  our  later  historians,  have  at- 
tributed the  regent's  death-blow  to  Sir  Roger  K.  of  Closeburn. 
The  author  of  the  MS.  History  of  the  Presbytery  of  Penpont, 
in  the  Advocates'  Library,  affirms,  that  the  crest  and  motto 
were  given  by  the  king  on  that  occasion  ;  and  proceeds  to  re- 
late some  circumstances  respecting  a  grant  to  a  cottager  and 
his  wife  in  the  vicinity  of  Closeburn  Castle,  which  are  cer- 
tainly authentic,  and  strongly  vouch  for  the  truth  of  the  other 
report. — 'The  steep  hill,'  (says  he,)  'called  the  Dune  of  Tyn- 
ron,  of  a  considerable  height,  upon  the  top  of  which  there 
hath  been  some  habitation  or  fort.  There  have  been  in  an- 
cient times,  on  all  hands  of  it,  very  thick  woods,  and  great 
about  that  place,  which  made  it  the  more  inaccessible,  into 
which  K.  Ro.  Bruce  is  said  to  have  been  conducted  by  Roger 
Kirkpatrick  of  Closeburn,  after  they  had  killed  the  Cumin  at 
Dumfriess,  which  is  nine  miles  from  this  place,  whereabout  it 
is  probable  that  he  did  abide  for  some  time  thereafter;  and  it 
is  reported,  that  during  his  abode  there,  he  did  often  divert 
to  a  poor  man's  cottage,  named  Brownrig,  situate  in  a  small 
parcel  of  stoney  ground,  encompassed  with  thick  woods, 
where  he  was  content  sometimes  with  such  mean  accommo- 
dation as  the  place  could  afford.  The  poor  man's  wife  being 
advised  to  petition  the  king  for  somewhat,  was  so  modest  in 
her  desires,  that  she  sought  no  more  but  security  for  the  croft 
in  her  husband's  possession,  and  a  liberty  of  pasturage  for  a 


APPENDIX    TO   THE   LOED   OF  THE   ISLES. 


473 


very  few  cattle  of  different  kinds  on  the  hill,  and  the  rest  of 
the  bounds.  Of  which  priviledge  that  ancient  family,  by  the 
injury  of  time,  hath  a  long  time  been,  and  is,  deprived :  but 
the  croft  continues  in  the  possession  of  the  heirs  and  succes- 
sours  lineally  descended  of  this  Brownrig  and  his  wife ;  so 
that  this  family,  being  more  ancient  than  rich,  doth  yet  con- 
tinue in  the  name,  and,  as  they  say,  retains  the  old  charter.' " 
— MS.  History  of  the  Presbytery  of  Penpont,  in  the  Advocates' 
Library  of  Edinburgh. 


Note  T. 

Barendown  fled  fast  away, 

Fled  the  fiery  De  la  Haye.— P.  419. 

These  knights  are  enumerated  by  Barbour  among  the 
email  number  of  Bruce's  adherents  who  remained  in  arms 
with  him  after  the  battle  of  Methven. 

"  With  him  was  a  bold  baron, 
Schyr  William  the  Baroundoun, 


Schyr  Gilbert  de  la  Haye  alsua." 

There  were  more  than  one  of  the  noble  family  of  Hay  engaged 
in  Bruce's  cause  ;  but  the  principal  was  Gilbert  de  la  Haye, 
Lord  of  Errol,  a  stanch  adherent  to  King  Robert's  interest, 
and  whom  he  rewarded  by  creating  him  hereditary  Lord 
High  Constable  of  Scotland,  a  title  which  he  used  16th  March, 
1308,  where  in  a  letter  from  the  peers  of  Scotland  to  Philip 
the  Fair  of  France,  he  is  designed  GUbertus  de  Hay  Consta- 
bularius  Scotia.  He  was  slain  at  the  battle  of  Halidon  Hill. 
Hugh  de  la  Haye,  his  brother,  was  made  prisoner  at  the  battle 
of  Methven. 


Note  U. 


Well  hast  thou  framed,  Old  Man,  thy  strains, 
To  praise  the  hand  thai  pays  thy  pains. — P.  419. 

The  character  of  the  Highland  bards,  however  high  in  an 
earlier  period  of  society,  seems  soon  to  have  degenerated. 
The  Irish  affirm  that  in  their  kindred  tribes  severe  laws  be- 
came necessary  to  restrain  their  avarice.  In  the  Highlands 
they  seem  gradually  to  have  sunk  into  contempt,  as  well  as 
the  orators,  or  men  of  speech,  with  whose  office  that  of  family 
poet  was  often  united.  "The  orators,  in  their  language  called 
Isdane,  were  in  high  esteem  both  in  these  islands  and  the 
continent;  until  within  these  forty  years,  they  sat  always 
among  the  nobles  and  chiefs  of  families  in  the  streah,  or  cir- 
cle. Their  houses  and  little  villages  were  sanctuaries,  as  well 
as  churches,  and  they  took  place  before  doctors  of  physick. 
The  orators,  after  the  Druids  were  extinct,  were  brought  in 
to  preserve  the  genealogy  of  families,  and  to  repeat  the  same 
at  every  succession  of  chiefs ;  and  upon  the  occasion  of  mar- 
riages and  births,  they  made  epithalamiums  and  panegyricks, 
which  the  poet  or  bard  pronounced.  The  orators,  by  the  force 
of  their  eloquence,  had  a  powerful  ascendant  over  the  greatest 
men  in  their  time ;  for  if  any  orator  did  but  ask  the  habit, 
arms,  horse,  or  any  other  thing  belonging  to  the  greatest  man 
in  these  islands,  it  was  readily  granted  them,  sometimes  out 
of  respect,  and  sometimes  for  fear  of  being  exclaimed  against 
by  a  satyre,  which,  in  those  days,  was  reckoned  a  great  dis- 
honour. But  these  gentlemen  becoming  insolent,  lost  ever 
since  both  the  profit  and  esteem  which  was  formerly  due  to 


their  character ;  for  neither  their  panegyricks  nor  satyres  are 
regarded  to  what  they  have  been,  and  they  are  now  allowed 
but  a  small  salary.  I  must  not  omit  to  relate  their  way  of 
study,  which  is  very  singular:  They  shut  their  doors  and 
windows  for  a  day's  time,  and  lie  on  their  backs,  with  a  stone 
upon  their  belly,  and  plads  about  their  heads,  and  their  eyes 
being  covered,  they  pump  their  brains  for  rhetorical  enco- 
mium or  panegyrick ;  and  indeed  they  furnish  such  a  style 
from  this  dark  cell  as  is  understood  by  very  few ;  and  if  they 
purchase  a  couple  of  horses  as  the  reward  of  their  meditation, 
they  think  they  have  done  a  great  matter.  The  poet,  or  bard, 
had  a  title  to  the  bridegroom's  upper  garb,  that  is,  the  plad 
and  bonnet ;  but  now  he  is  satisfied  with  what  the  bridegroom 
pleases  to  give  him  on  such  occasions." — Maktin's  Western 
Isles. 


Note  V. 


Was' l  not  enough  to  Ronald's  bower 

I  brought  thee,  like  a  paramour. — P.  422. 

It  was  anciently  customary  in  the  Highlands  to  bring  the 
bride  to  the  house  of  the  husband.  Nay,  in  some  cases  the 
complaisance  was  stretched  so  far  that  she  remained  there 
upon  trial  for  a  twelvemonth  ;  and  the  bridegroom,  even  after 
this  period  of  cohabitation,  retained  an  option  of  refusing  to 
fulfill  his  engagement.  It  is  said  that  a  desperate  feud  ensued 
between  the  clans  of  MacDonald  of  Sleate  and  MacLeod, 
owing  to  the  former  chief  having  availed  himself  of  this 
license  to  send  back  to  Dunvegan  a  sister  or  daughter  of  the 
latter.  MacLeod,  resenting  the  indignity,  observed  that 
since  there  was  no  wedding  bonfire,  there  should  be  one  to 
solemnize  the  divorce.  Accordingly,  he  burned  and  laid  waste 
the  territories  of  MacDonald,  who  retaliated,  and  a  deadly 
feud,  with  all  its  accompaniments,  took  place  in  form. 


Note  "W. 


Since  matchless  Wallace,  first  had  been 

In  mock'ry  crown' d  with  wreaths  of  green. — P.  422. 

Stow  gives  the  following  curious  account  of  the  trial  and 
execution  of  this  celebrated  patriot : — "  William  Wallace, 
who  had  oft-times  set  Scotland  in  great  trouble,  was  taken 
and  brought  to  London,  with  great  numbers  of  men  and 
women  wondering  upon  him.  He  was  lodged  in  the  house  of 
William  Delect,  a  citizen  of  London,  in  Fenchurch-street. 
On  the  morrow,  being  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew,  he  was 
brought  on  horseback  to  Westminster,  John  Legrave  and 
Geffrey,  knights,  the  mayor,  sheriffs,  and  aldermen  of  Lon- 
don, and  many  others,  both  on  horseback  and  on  foot,  accom- 
panying him  ;  and  in  the  great  hall  at  Westminster,  he  being 
placed  on  the  south  bench,  crowned  with  laurel,  for  that  he 
had  said  in  times  past  that  he  ought  to  bear  a  crown  in  that 
hall,  as  it  was  commonly  reported  ;  and  being  appeached  for 
a  traitor  by  Sir  Peter  Malorie,  the  king's  justice,  he  answered, 
that  he  was  never  traitor  to  the  King  of  England ;  but  for 
other  things  whereof  he  was  accused,  he  confessed  them ;  and 
was  after  headed  and  quartered."— Stow,  Chr.  p.  209.  There 
is  something  singularly  doubtful  about  the  mode  in  which 
Wallace  was  taken.  That  he  was  betrayed  to  the  English  is 
indubitable;  and  popular  fame  charges  Sir  John  Menteith 
with  the  indelible  infamy.    "Accursed,"  says  Arnold  Blair, 


474 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"be  the  day  of  nativity  of  John  de  Menteith,  and  may  his 
name  be  struck  out  of  the  book  of  life."  But  John  de  Men- 
teith was  all  along  a  zealous  favorer  of  the  English  interest, 
and  was  governor  of  Dumbarton  Castle  by  commission  from 
Edward  I.,  and  therefore,  as  the  accurate  Lord  Hailea  has 
observed,  could  not  be  the  friend  and  confidant  of  Wallace, 
as  tradition  states  him  to  be.  Truth  seems  to  be  that  Men- 
teith, thoroughly  engaged  in  the  English  interest,  pursued 
Wallace  closely,  and  made  him  prisoner  through  the  treach- 
ery of  an  attendant,  whom  Peter  Langtoft  calls  J  ack  Short. 

"  William  Waleis  is  nomen  that  master  was  of  theves, 
Tiding  to  the  king  is  comen  that  robbery  mischcives, 
Sir  John  of  Menetest  sued  William  so  nigh, 
He  tok  him  when  he  ween'd  least,  on  night,  his  leman  him 

by, 

That  was  through  treason  of  Jack  Short  his  man, 
He  was  the  encheson  that  Sir  John  so  him  ran, 
Jack's  brother  had  he  slain,  the  Walleis  that  is  said, 
The  more  Jack  was  fain  to  do  William  that  braid." 

From  this  it  would  appear  that  the  infamy  of  seizing  Wallace 
must  rest  between  a  degenerate  Scottish  nobleman,  the  vas- 
sal of  England,  and  a  domestic,  the  obscure  agent  of  his 
treachery ;  between  Sir  John  Menteith,  son  of  Walter,  Earl 
of  Menteith,  and  the  traitor  Jack  Short. 


Note  X. 


Wliere's  Nigel  Bruce  ?  and  De  la  Ilaye, 
And  valiant  Selon — where  are  theyf 
Where  Somerville,  the  kind  and  /reef 
And  Fraser,  flower  of  chivalry  ? — P.  422. 

When  these  lines  were  written,  the  author  was  remote  from 
the  means  of  correcting  his  indistinct  recollection  concerning 
the  individual  fate  of  Bruce's  followers,  after  the  battle  of 
Methven.  Hugh  de  la  Ilaye,  and  Thomas  Somerville  of  Lin- 
toun  and  Cowdally,  ancestor  of  Lord  Somerville,  were  both 
made  prisoners  at  that  defeat,  but  neither  was  executed. 

Sir  Nigel  Bruce  was  the  younger  brother  of  Robert,  to 
whom  he  committed  the  charge  of  his  wife  and  daughter, 
Marjorie,  and  the  defence  of  his  strong  castle  of  Kildrummie, 
near  the  head  of  the  Don,  in  Aberdeenshire.  Kildrummie 
long  resisted  the  arms  of  the  Earls  of  Lancaster  and  Here- 
ford, until  the  magazine  was  treacherously  burnt.  The  gar- 
rison was  then  compelled  to  surrender  at  discretion,  and 
Nigel  Bruce,  a  youth  remarkable  for  personal  beauty,  as  well 
as  for  gallantry,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  unrelenting  Edward. 
He  was  tried  by  a  special  commission  at  Berwick,  was  con- 
demned, and  executed. 

Christopher  Scatoun  shared  the  same  unfortunate  fate.  He 
also  was  distinguished  by  personal  valor,  and  signalized  him- 
self in  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven.  Robert  liruce  adventured 
his  person  in  that  battle  like  a  knight  of  romance.  He  dis- 
mounted Aymer  de  Valence,  Marl  of  Pembroke,  but  was  in 
his  turn  dismounted  by  Sir  Philip  Mowbray.  In  this  emer- 
gence Scatoun  came  to  bis  aid,  and  remounted  him.  Langtoft 
mentions  that  in  this  battle  the  Scottish  wore  white  surplices 
or  shirts  over  their  armor,  that  those  of  rank  might  not  be 
known.  In  this  manner  both  Bruce  and  Seatoun  escaped. 
But  the  latter  was  afterwards  betrayed  to  the  English,  through 
means,  according  to  Barbour,  of  one  MacNab,  "a  disciple  of 
Judas,"  in  whom  the  unfortunate  knight  reposed  entire  con- 
fidence.   There  was  some  peculiarity  respecting  his  punish- 


ment ;  because,  according  to  Matthew  of  Westminster,  he  was 
considered  not  as  a  Scottish  subject,  but  an  Englishman.  He 
was  therefore  taken  to  Dumfries,  where  he  was  tried,  con- 
demned, and  executed,  for  the  murder  of  a  soldier,  slain  by 
him.  His  brother,  John  de  Seton,  had  the  same  fate  at  New- 
castle; both  were  considered  as  accomplices  in  the  slaughter 
of  Comyn,  but  in  what  manner  they  were  particularly  acces- 
sary to  that  deed  does  not  appear. 

The  fate  of  Sir  Simon  Frazer,  or  Frizel,  ancestor  of  the 
family  of  Lovat,  is  dwelt  upon  at  great  length,  and  with  sav- 
age exultation,  by  the  English  historians.  This  knight,  who 
was  renowned  for  personal  gallantry  and  high  deeds  of  chiv- 
alry, was  also  made  prisoner,  after  a  gallant  defence,  in  the  bat* 
tie  of  Methven.  Some  stanzas  of  a  ballad  of  the  times,  which, 
for  the  sake  of  rendering  it  intelligible,  I  have  translated  out 
of  its  rude  orthography,  give  minute  particulars  of  his  fate. 
It  was  written  immediately  at  the  period,  for  it  mentions  the 
Earl  of  Athole  as  not  yet  in  custody.  It  was  first  published 
by  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Ritson,  but  with  so  many  contrac- 
tions and  peculiarities  of  character  as  to  render  it  illegible, 
excepting  by  antiquaries : — 

"This  was  before  Saint  Bartholomew's  mass, 
That  Frizel  was  y-taken,  were  it  more  other  less, 
To  Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  gentil  baron  and  free, 
And  to  Sir  Johan  Jose  be-take  tho  was  he 
To  hand, 
He  was  y-fettered  wele 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel 

To  bringen  of  Scotland. 

"  Soon  thereafter  the  tiding  to  the  king  come. 
He  sent  him  to  London,  with  niony  armed  groom, 
He  came  in  at  Newgate,  I  tell  you  it  on  a-plight, 
A  garland  of  leaves  on  his  head  y-dight 

Of  green, 
For  he  should  be  y-know, 
Both  of  high  and  of  low, 

For  traitour  I  ween. 

"Y-fettered  were  his  legs  under  his  horse's  wombe, 
Both  with  iron  and  with  steel  mancled  were  his  bond, 
A  garland  of  pervynk1  set  upon  his  heved,2 
Much  was  the  power  that  him  was  bereved, 
In  land. 
So  God  me  amend, 
Little  he  ween'd 

So  to  be  brought  in  hand. 

"This  was  upon  our  lady's  even,  forsooth  I  understand, 
The  justices  sate  for  the  knights  of  Scotland, 
Sir  Thomas  of  Multon,  an  kinde  knyght  and  wise, 
And  Sir  Ralph  of  Sandwich  that  miekle  is  told  in  price, 
And  Sir  Johan  Abel, 
Moe  I  might  tell  by  tale 
Both  of  great  and  of  small 

Ye  know  sooth  well. 

"  Then  said  the  justice,  that  gentil  is  and  free, 
Sir  Simon  Frizel  the  king's  traitor  hast  thou  be; 
In  water  and  in  land  that  mony  mighten  see, 
What  sayst  thou  thereto,  how  will  thou  quite  thee, 
Do  say. 
So  foul  he  him  wist, 
Nede  war  on  trust 

For  to  say  nay. 

"  With  fetters  and  with  gives'  y-hot  he  was  to-draw 
From  the  Tower  of  London  that  many  men  might  know, 


1  Periwinkle. 


*  Head. 


'  He  was  condemned  to  be  drawn. 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES. 


475 


In  a  kirtle  of  burel,  a  selcouth  wise, 

And  a  garland  on  his  head  of  the  new  guise. 

Through  Cheape 
Many  men  of  England 
For  to  see  Syrnond 

Thitherward  can  leap. 

"  Though  he  cam  to  the  gallows  first  he  was  on  hung, 
All  quick  beheaded  that  him  thought  long: 
Then  he  was  y-opened,  his  bowels  y-brend,1 
The  heved  to  London-bridge  was  send 

To  shende. 
So  evermore  mote  I  the, 
Some  while  weened  he 

Thus  little  to  stand.2 

"  He  rideth  through  the  city,  as  I  tell  may, 
With  gamen  and  with  solace  that  was  their  play, 
To  London-bridge  he  took  the  way, 
Mony  was  the  wives  child  that  thereon  lacketh  a  day,3 
And  said,  alas ! 
That  he  was  y-born, 
And  so  vilely  forelorn, 

So  fair  man  he  was.* 

"  Now  standeth  the  heved  above  the  tu-brigge, 
Fast  by  Wallace  sooth  for  to  segge ; 
After  succour  of  Scotland  long  may  he  pry, 
And  after  help  of  France  what  halt  it  to  lie, 
I  ween, 
Better  him  were  in  Scotland, 
With  his  axe  in  his  hand, 

To  play  on  the  green,"  Ac. 

The  preceding  stanzas  contain  probably  as  minute  an  ac- 
count as  can  be  found  of  the  trial  and  execution  of  state 
criminals  of  the  period.  Superstition  mingled  its  horrors 
with  those  of  a  ferocious  state  policy,  as  appears  from  the 
following  singular  narrative  : — 

"  The  Friday  next  before  the  assumption  of  Our  Lady,  King 
Edward  met  Robert  the  Bruce  at  Saint  Johnstouue,  in  Scot- 
land, and  with  his  company,  of  which  company  King  Edward 
quelde  seven  thousand.  When  Robert  the  Bruce  saw  this 
mischief,  and  gan  to  flee,  and  hov'd  him  that  men  might  not 
him  find ;  but  S.  Simond  Frisell  pursued  was  so  sore,  so  that 
he  turned  again  and  abode  bataille,  for  he  was  a  worthy 
knight  and  a  bolde  of  bodye,  and  the  Englishmen  pursuede 
him  sore  on  every  side,  and  quelde  the  steed  that  Sir  Simon 
Frisell  rode  upon,  and  then  toke  him  and  led  him  to  the  host. 
And  S.  Symond  began  for  to  flatter  and  speke  fair,  and  saide, 
Lordys,  I  shall  give  you  four  thousand  markes  of  silver,  and 
myne  horse  and  harness,  and  all  my  armoure  and  income. 
Tho'  answered  Thobaude  of  Pevenes,  that  was  the  kinges 
archer,  Now,  God  me  so  helpe,  it  is  for  nought  that  thou 
speakest,  for  all  the  gold  of  England  I  would  not  let  thee  go 
without  commandment  of  King  Edward.  And  tho'  he  was 
led  to  the  king,  and  the  king  would  not  see  him,  but  com- 
manded to  lead  him  away  to  his  doom  in  London,  on  Our 
Lady's  even  nativity.  And  he  was  hung  and  drawn,  and  his 
head  smitten  otF,  and  hanged  again  with  chains  of  iron  upon 
the  gallows,  and  his  head  was  set  at  London-bridge  upon  a 
spear,  and  against  Christmas  the  body  was  burnt,  for  enche- 
son  (reason)  that  the  men  that  keeped  the  body  saw  many 
devils  ramping  with  iron  crooks,  running  upon  the  gallows, 
and  horribly  tormenting  the  body.  And  many  that  them 
saw,  anon  thereafter  died  for  dread,  or  waxen  mad,  or  sore 
sickness  they  had."— MS.  Chronicle  in  the  British  Museum, 
quoted  by  Ritson. 


1  Burned. — 2  Meaning,   at  one  time  he  little  thought  to 
stand  thus.— *  Viz.,  saith  Lack-a-day— *  The  gallant  knight, 


Note  Y. 

Was  not  the  life  of  At  hole  shed 

To  soothe  the  tyrant's  sicke7i'd  bedf—T?.  422. 

John  de  Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole,  had  attempted  to  es- 
cape out  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  storm  cast  him  upon  the  coast, 
when  he  was  taken,  sent  to  London,  and  executed  with  cir- 
cumstances of  great  barbarity,  being  first  half  strangled,  then 
let  down  from  the  gallows  while  yet  alive,  barbarously  dis- 
membered, and  his  body  burnt.  It  may  surprise  the  reader 
to  learn  that  this  was  a  mitigated  punishment ;  for  in  respect 
that  his  mother  was  a  granddaughter  of  King  John,  by  his 
natural  son  Richard,  he  was  not  drawn  on  a  sledge  to  execu- 
tion ;  "  that  point  was  forgiven,"  and  he  made  the  passage  on 
horseback.  Matthew  of  Westminster  tells  us  that  King  Ed- 
ward, then  extremely  ill,  received  great  ease  from  the  news 
that  his  relative  was  apprehended.  "Quo  audita,  Rex  Anglian, 
etsi  gravissimo,  morbo  tune  languerel,  levius  tamen  iulii  dolorem." 
To  this  singular  expression  the  text  alludes. 


Note  Z. 


And  must  his  word,  till  dying  day, 

Be  nought  but  quarter,  hang,  and  slay  ? — P.  422. 

This  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Barbour,  singularly  expressive 
of  the  vindictive  spirit  of  Edward  I.  The  prisoners  taken  at 
the  castle  of  Kildrummie  had  surrendered  upon  condition 
that  they  should  be  at  King  Edward's  disposal.  "But  his 
will,"  says  Barbour,  "  was  always  evil  towards  Scottishmen." 
The  news  of  the  surrender  of  Kildrummie  arrived  when  he 
was  in  his  mortal  sickness  at  Burgh-upon-Sands. 

"  And  when  he  to  the  death  was  near, 

The  folk  that  at  Kildromy  wer 

Come  with  prisoners  that  they  had  tane, 

And  syne  to  the  king  are  gane. 

And  for  to  comfort  him  they  tauld 

How  they  the  castell  to  them  yauld  ; 

And  how  they  till  his  will  were  brought, 

To  do  off  that  whatever  he  thought ; 

And  ask'd  what  men  should  off  them  do. 

Then  look'd  he  angryly  them  to, 

He  said,  grinning,  '  hangs  and  draws.' 

That  was  wonder  of  sic  saws, 

That  he,  that  to  the  death  was  near, 

Should  answer  upon  sic  maner, 

Forouten  moaning  and  mercy ; 

How  might  he  trust  on  him  to  cry, 

That  sooth-fastly  dooms  all  thing 

To  have  mercy  for  his  crying, 

Off  him  that,  throw  his  felony, 

Into  sic  point  had  no  mercy  ?" 

There  was  much  truth  in  the  Leonine  couplet  with  which 
Matthew  of  Westminster  concludes  his  encomium  on  the  first 
Edward : — 

"  Scotos  Edwardus,  dum  vixit,  suppeditavit, 
Tenuit,  afflixit,  depressit,  dilaniavit." 


like  others  in  the  same  situation,  was  pitied  by  the  female 
spectators  as  "  a  proper  young  man." 


476 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Note  2  A. 

While  I  the  blessed  cross  advance, 
And  expiate  this  unhappy  chance 
In  Palestine,  with  sword  and  lance. — P.  423. 

Bruce  uniformly  professed,  and  probably  felt,  compunc- 
tion for  having  violated  the  sanctuary  of  the  church  by  the 
slaughter  of  Comyn ;  and  finally,  in  his  last  hours,  in  testi- 
mony of  his  faith,  penitence,  and  zeal,  he  requested  James 
Lord  Douglas  to  carry  his  heart  to  Jerusalem,  to  be  there 
deposited  in  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 


Note  2  B. 


De  Bruce  !  I  rose  with  purpose  dread 

To  speak  my  curse  upon  thy  head. — P.  423. 

So  soon  as  the  notice  of  Comyn's  slaughter  reached  Pome, 
Bruce  and  his  adherents  were  excommunicated.  It  was  pub- 
lished first  by  the  Archbishop  of  York,  and  renewed  at  differ- 
ent times,  particularly  by  Lambyrton,  Bishop  of  St.  Andrews, 
in  1308 ;  but  it  does  not  appear  to  have  answered  the  purpose 
which  the  English  monarch  expected.  Indeed,  for  reasons 
which  it  may  be  difficult  to  trace,  the  thunders  of  Rome  de- 
scended upon  the  Scottish  mountains  with  less  effect  than  in 
more  fertile  countries.  Probably  the  comparative  poverty 
of  the  benefices  occasioned  that  fewer  foreign  clergy  settled 
in  Scotland ;  and  the  interest  of  the  native  churchmen  was 
linked  with  that  of  their  country.  Many  of  the  Scottish  prel- 
ates, Lambyrton  the  primate  particularly,  declared  for  Bruce 
while  he  was  yet  under  the  ban  of  the  church,  although  he 
afterwards  again  changed  sides. 


Note  2  C. 

I  feel  within  mine  aged  breast 

A  power  that  will  not  be  repress'd. — P.  423. 

Bruce,  like  other  heroes,  observed  omens,  and  one  is  re- 
corded by  tradition.  After  he  had  retreated  to  one  of  the 
miserable  places  of  shelter  in  which  he  could  venture  to  take 
some  repose  after  his  disasters,  he  lay  stretched  upon  a  hand- 
ful of  straw,  and  abandoned  himself  to  his  melancholy  med- 
itations. He  had  now  been  defeated  four  times,  and  was 
upon  the  point  of  resolving  to  abandon  all  hopes  of  further 
opposition  to  his  fate,  and  to  go  to  the  Holy  Land.  It  chanced 
his  eye,  while  he  was  thus  pondering,  was  attracted  by  the 
exertions  of  a  spider,  who,  in  order  to  fix  his  web,  endeavored 
to  swing  himself  from  one  beam  to  another  above  his  head. 
Involuntarily  he  became  interested  in  the  pertinacity  with 
which  the  insect  renewed  his  exertions,  after  failing  six 
times;  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  he  would  decide  his  own 
course  according  to  the  success  or  failure  of  the  spider.  At 
the  seventh  effort  the  insect  gained  }\\<  object;  and  Bruce,  in 
like  manner,  persevered  and  carried  his  own.  Hence  it  has 
been  held  unlucky  or  ungrateful,  or  both,  in  one  of  the  name 
of  Bruce  to  kill  a  spider. 

The  Archdeacon  of  Aberdeen,  instead  of  the  abbot  of  this 
tale,  introduces  an  Irish  Pythoness,  who  not  only  predicted 


>  Need. 


his  good  fortune  as  he  left  the  island  of  Rachrin,  but  sent 
her  two  sons  along  with  him,  to  ensure  her  own  family  a 
share  in  it: — 

"  Then  in  schort  time  men  myeht  t  haiin  se 

Schute  all  thair  galayis  to  the  se, 

And  ber  to  se  baith  ayr  and  ster, 

And  othyr  thingis  that  inystir1  wer. 

And  as  the  king  apon  the  sand 

Wcs  gangand  wp  and  doun,  bidand2 

Till  that  his  menye  redy  war, 

His  ost  come  rycht  till  him  thar. 

And  quhen  that  scho  him  halyst  had, 

And  priwg  spek  till  him  scho  made ; 

And  said,  'Takis  gud  kep  till  my  saw: 

Por  or  ye  pass  I  sail  yow  schaw, 

Off  your  fortoun  a  gret  party. 

Bot  our  all  speceally 

A  wyttring  her  I  sail  yow  ma, 

Quhat  end  that  your  purposs  sail  ta. 

For  in  this  land  is  nane  trewly 

Wate  thingis  to  come  sa  weill  as  I. 

Ye  pass  now  furth  on  your  wiage, 

To  wenge  the  harm,  and  the  owtrag, 

That  Ingliss  men  has  to  yow  done ; 

Bot  ye  wat  nocht  quhatkyne  forton 

Ye  mon  drey  in  your  werraying. 

Bot  wyt  ye  weill,  with  outyn  lesing, 

That  fra  ye  now  haift'  takyn  land, 

Nane  sa  mychty,  na  sa  strenth  thi  of  hand, 

Sail  ger  yow  pass  owt  of  your  countrg 

Till  all  to  yow  abandownyt  be. 

With  in  schort  tyme  ye  sail  be  king, 

And  haiff  the  land  at  your  liking, 

And  ourcum  your  fayis  all. 

Bot  fele  anoyis  thole  ye  sail, 

Or  that  your  purposs  end  haiff  rane: 

Bot  ye  sail  thaim  ourdryve  ilkane. 

And,  that  ye  trow  this  sekerly, 

My  twa  sonnys  with  yow  sail  I 

Send  to  take  part  of  your  trawaill ; 

Por  I  wate  weill  thai  sail  nocht  faill 

To  be  rewardyt  weill  at  rycht, 

Quhen  ye  ar  heyit  to  yowr  mycht.'  " 

Babbour's  Bruce,  book  ill.  v.  856. 


Note  2  D. 


A  hunted  wanderer  on  the  wild, 

On  foreign  shores  a  man  exiled. — P.  424. 


This  is  not  metaphorical, 
actually 


The  echoes  of  Scotland  did 


"ring 


With  the  blood-hounds  that  bayed  for  her  fugitive  king." 

A  very  curious  and  romantic  tale  is  told  by  Barbour  upon 
this  subject,  which  may  be  abridged  as  follows: — 

When  Bruce  had  again  got  footing  in  Scotland,  in  the  spring 
of  1306,  he  continued  to  be  in  a  very  weak  and  precarious  con- 
dition, gaining,  indeed,  occasional  advantages,  but  obliged  to 
fly  before  his  enemies  whenever  they  assembled  in  force.  Upon 


2  Abiding. 


APPENDIX  TO   THE   LORD   OF   THE  ISLES. 


477 


one  occasion,  while  he  was  lying  with  a  small  party  in  the 
wilds  of  Cumnock,  in  Ayrshire,  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of 
Pembroke,  with  his  inveterate  foe  John  of  Lorn,  came  against 
him  suddenly  with  eight  hundred  Highlanders,  besides  a  large 
body  of  men-at-arms.  They  brought  with  them  a  slough-dog, 
or  blood-hound,  which,  some  say,  had  been  once  a  favorite 
with  the  Bruce  himself,  and  therefore  was  least  likely  to  lose 
the  trace. 

Bruce,  whose  force  was  under  four  hundred  men,  continued 
to  make  head  against  the  cavalry,  till  the  men  of  Lorn  had 
nearly  cut  ofl'  his  retreat.  Perceiving  the  danger  of  his  situa- 
tion, he  acted  as  the  celebrated  and  ill-requited  Mina  is  said 
to  have  done  in  similar  circumstances.  He  divided  his  force 
into  three  parts,  appointed  a  place  of  rendezvous,  and  com- 
manded them  to  retreat  by  different  routes.  But  when  John 
of  Lorn  arrived  at  the  spot  where  they  divided,  he  caused  the 
hound  to  be  put  upon  the  trace,  which  immediately  directed 
him  to  the  pursuit  of  that  party  which  Bruce  headed.  This, 
therefore,  Lorn  pursued  with  his  whole  force,  paying  no  at- 
tention to  the  others.  The  king  again  subdivided  his  small 
body  into  three  parts,  and  with  the  same  result,  for  the  pur- 
suers attached  themselves  exclusively  to  that  which  he  led  in 
person.  He  then  caused  his  followers  to  disperse,  and  retained 
only  his  foster-brother  in  his  company.  The  slough-dog  fol- 
lowed the  trace,  and,  neglecting  the  others,  attached  himself 
and  his  attendants  to  the  pursuit  of  the  king.  Lorn  became 
convinced  that  his  enemy  was  nearly  in  his  power,  and  de- 
tached five  of  his  most  active  attendants  to  follow  him,  and 
interrupt  his  flight.  They  did  so  with  all  the  agility  of  moun- 
taineers. "What  aid  wilt  thou  make?"  said  Bruce  to  his 
single  attendant,  when  he  saw  the  five  men  gain  ground  on 
him.  "  The  best  I  can,"  replied  his  foster-brother.  "  Then," 
said  Bruce,  "here  I  make  my  stand."  The  five  pursuers 
came  up  fast.  The  king  took  three  to  himself,  leaving  the 
other  two  to  his  foster-brother.  He  slew  the  first  who  en- 
countered him ;  but  observing  his  foster-brother  hard  pressed, 
he  sprung  to  his  assistance,  and  despatched  one  of  his  assail- 
ants. Leaving  him  to  deal  with  the  survivor,  he  returned 
upon  the  other  two,  both  of  whom  he  slew  before  his  foster- 
brother  had  despatched  his  single  antagonist.  When  this  hard 
encounter  was  over,  with  a  courtesy  which  in  the  whole  work 
marks  Bruce's  character,  he  thanked  his  foster-brother  for  his 
aid.  "It  likes  you  to  say  so,"  answered  his  follower;  "but 
you  yourself  slew  four  of  the  five." — "  True,"  said  the  king, 
"  but  only  because  I  had  better  opportunity  than  you.  They 
were  not  apprehensive  of  me  when  they  saw  me  encounter 
three,  so  I  had  a  moment's  time  to  spring  to  thy  aid,  and  to 
return  equally  unexpectedly  upon  my  own  opponents." 

In  the  meanwhile  Lorn's  party  approached  rapidly,  and  the 
king  and  his  foster-brother  betook  themselves  to  a  neighbor- 
ing wood.  Here  they  sat  down,  for  Bruce  was  exhausted  by 
fatigue,  until  the  cry  of  the  slough-hound  came  so  near  that 
his  foster-brother  entreated  Bruce  to  provide  for  his  safety  by 
retreating  further.  "  I  have  heard,"  answered  the  king, "  that 
whosoever  will  wade  a  bow-shot  length  down  a  running  stream 
shall  make  the  slough-hound  lose  scent.  Let  us  try  the  expe- 
riment, for  were  yon  devilish  hound  silenced,  I  should  care 
little  for  the  rest." 

Lorn  in  the  meanwhile  advanced,  and  found  the  bodies  of 
his  slain  vassals,  over  whom  he  made  his  moan,  and  threat- 
ened the  most  deadly  vengeance.  Then  he  followed  the  hound 
to  the  side  of  the  brook,  down  which  the  king  had  waded  a 
great  way.  Here  the  hound  was  at  fault,  and  John  of  Lorn, 
after  long  attempting  in  vain  to  recover  Bruce's  trace,  relin- 
quished the  pursuit. 

"Others,"  says  Barbour,  "affirm  that  upon  this  occasion 
the  king's  life  was  saved  by  an  excellent  archer  who  accompa- 
nied him,  and  who  perceiving  they  would  be  finally  taken  by 
means  of  the  blood-hound,  hid  himself  in  a  thicket,  and  shot 
him  with  an  arrow.  In  which  way,"  adds  the  metrical  bio- 
grapher, "this  escape  happened  I  am  uncertain,  but  at  that 
brook  the  king  escaped  from  his  pursuers." 


"  Quhen  the  chasseris  relyit  war, 
And  Jhon  of  Lorn  had  met  thaim  thar, 
He  tauld  Schyr  Aymer  all  the  cass 
How  that  the  king  eschapyt  wass ; 
And  how  that  he  his  five  men  slew, 
And  syne  to  the  wode  him  drew. 
Quhen  Schyr  Aymer  herd  this,  in  hy 
He  sanyt  him  for  the  ferly : 
And  said ;  '  He  is  gretly  to  pryss ; 
For  I  knaw  nane  that  liffand  is, 
That  at  myscheyff  gan  help  him  swa. 
I  trow  he  suld  be  hard  to  sla, 
And  he  war  bodyn1  ewynly.' 
On  this  wiss  spak  Schyr  Aymery." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  v.  v.  391. 

The  English  historians  agree  with  Barbour  as  to  the  mode 
in  which  the  English  pursued  Bruce  and  his  followers,  and 
the  dexterity  with  which  he  evaded  them.  The  following  is 
the  testimony  of  Harding,  a  great  enemy  to  the  Scottish 
nation : — 

"  The  King  Edward  with  hoost  hym  sought  full  sore, 
But  ay  he  fled  into  woodes  and  strayte  forest, 
And  slewe  his  men  at  staytes  and  daungers  thore, 
And  at  marreys  and  mires  was  ay  full  prest 
Englyshmen  to  kyll  withoutyn  any  rest ; 
In  the  mountaynes  and  cragges  he  slew  ay  where, 
And  in  the  nyght  his  foes  he  frayed  full  sere : 

"  The  King  Edward  with  homes  and  houndes  him  soght, 
With  menne  on  fote,  through  marris,  mosse,  and  myre, 
Through  wodes  also,  and  mountens  (wher  thei  fought), 
And  euer  the  Kyng  Edward  hight  men  greate  hyre. 
Hym  for  to  take  and  by  myght  conquere ; 
But  thei  might  hym  not  gette  by  force  ne  by  train, 
He  satte  by  the  fyre  when  thei  went  in  the  rain." 

Habding's  Chronicle,  p.  303-4. 

Peter  Langtoft  has  also  a  passage  concerning  the  extremi- 
ties to  which  King  Robert  was  reduced,  which  he  entitles 

Be  Roberto  Brus  etfuga  circum  circa  fit. 
"  And  wele  I  understode  that  the  Kyng  Robyn 
Has  drunken  of  that  blode  the  drink  of  Dan  Waryn. 
Dan  Waryn  he  les  tounes  that  he  held, 
With  wrong  he  mad  a  res,  and  misberyng  of  scheld, 
Sithen  into  the  forest  he  yede  naked  and  wode, 
Als  a  wild  beast,  ete  of  the  gras  that  stode, 
Thus  of  Dan  Waryn  in  his  boke  men  rede, 
God  gyf  the  King  Robyn,  that  alle  his  kynde  so  spede, 
Sir  Robynet  the  Brus  he  durst  noure  abide, 
That  thei  mad  him  restus,  both  in  more  and  wod-side, 
To  while  he  mad  this  train,  and  did  um  while  outrage,"  Ac. 
Peter  Langtoft's  Chronicle,  vol.  ii.  p.  335. 
8vo,  London,  1810. 


Note  2  E. 


For,  glad  of  each  pretext  for  spoil, 

A  pirate  sworn  was  Cormac  Doil. — P.  425. 

A  sort  of  persons  common  in  the  isles,  as  may  be  easily  be- 
lieved, until  the  introduction  of  civil  polity.  Witness  the 
Dean  of  the  Isles'  account  of  Ronay :— "  At  the  north  end  oi 

1  Matched. 


478 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Raarsay,  be  half  myle  of  sea  frae  it,  layes  ane  ilc  callit  Ronay, 
mairo  then  a  myle  in  lengthe,  full  of  wood  and  heddir,  with 
ane  havein  for  heiland  galeys  in  the  ruiddis  of  it,  and  the  same 
havein  is  guid  for  fostering  of  thieves,  ruggairs,  and  reivairs, 
till  a  nail,  upon  the  peilling  and  spulzeing  of  poor  pepill. 
This  ile  perteins  to  M'Gillyehallan  of  Raarsay  by  force,  and 
to  the  bishope  of  the  iles  be  heritage." — Sir  Donald  Mon- 
ro's Description  of  the  Western  Islands  of  Scotland.  Edinburgh, 
1805,  p.  22. 


Note  2  F. 


"  Alas !  dear  youth,  the  unhappy  time," 
Answered  the  Bruce,  "  must  bear  the  crime, 

Since,  guiltier  far  than  you, 
Even  I" — he  paused;  for  Ihlkirk's  woes 
Upon  his  conscious  soul  arose. — P.  426. 

I  have  followed  the  vulgar  and  inaccurate  tradition  that 
Bruce  fought  against  Wallace  and  the  array  of  Scotland  at 
the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk.  The  story,  which  seems  to  have 
no  better  authority  than  that  of  Blind  Harry,  bears  that, 
having  made  much  slaughter  during  the  engagement,  he  sat 
down  to  dine  with  the  conquerors  without  washing  the  filthy 
witness  from  his  hands. 

"Fasting  he  was,  and  had  been  in  great  need, 
Blooded  were  all  his  weapons  and  his  weed ; 
Southeron  lords  scorn'd  him  in  terms  rude, 
And  said,  Behold  yon  Scot  eats  his  own  blood. 

"  Then  rued  he  sore,  for  reason  bad  be  known, 
That  blood  and  land  alike  should  be  his  own  ; 
With  them  he  long  was,  ere  he  got  away, 
But  contrair  Scots  he  fought  not  from  that  day." 

The  account  given  by  most  of  our  historians,  of  the  conver- 
sation between  Bruce  and  Wallace  over  the  Carron  river,  is 
equally  apocryphal.  There  is  full  evidence  that  Bruce  was 
not  at  that  time  on  the  English  side,  nor  present  at  the  battle 
of  Falkirk  ;  nay,  that  he  acted  as  a  guardian  of  Scotland,  along 
with  John  Comyn,  in  the  name  of  Baliol,  and  in  opposition  to 
the  English.  He  was  the  grandson  of  the  competitor,  with 
whom  he  has  been  sometimes  confounded.  Lord  Hailes  has 
well  described,  and  in  some  degree  apologized  for,  the  earlier 
part  of  his  life : — "  His  grandfather,  the  competitor,  had  pa- 
tiently acquiesced  in  the  award  of  Edward.  His  father, 
yielding  to  the  times,  had  served  under  the  English  banners. 
But  young  Bruce  had  more  ambition,  and  a  more  restless 
spirit.  In  his  earlier  years  he  acted  upon  no  regular  plan. 
By  turns  the  partisan  of  Edward  and  the  vicegerent  of  Baliol, 
he  seems  to  have  forgotten  or  stifled  his  pretensions  to  the 
crown.  But  his  character  developed  itself  by  degrees,  and  in 
maturer  age  became  firm  and  consistent." — Annals  of  Scotland, 
p.  290.    4to,  London,  1776. 


Note  2  G. 


These  are  (he  saragr  wilds  that  lie 

North  of  Slrathnardill  and  Dunskye. — P.  427. 

The  extraordinary  piece  of  scenery  which  I  have  here  at- 
tempted to  describe  is,  I  think,  unparalleled  in  any  part  of 
Scotland,  at  least  in  any  which  I  have  happened  to  visit.  It 
lies  just  upon  the  frontier  of  the  Laird  of  MacLeod's  country, 


which  is  thereabouts  divided  from  the  estate  of  Mr.  MacAllister 
of  Strathaird,  called  Strathnardill  by  the  Dean  of  the  Isles. 
The  following  account  of  it  is  extracted  from  a  journal1  kept 
during  a  tour  through  the  Scottish  islands: — 

"The  western  coast  of  Skye  is  highly  romantic,  and  at  the 
same  time  displays  a  richness  of  vegetation  in  the  lower 
grounds  to  which  we  have  hitherto  been  strangers.  We  passed 
three  salt-water  lochs,  or  deep  embayments,  called  Loch  Bra- 

cadale,  Loch    Einort,  and   Loch  ,  and   about   11  o'clock 

opened  Loch  Slavig.  We  were  now  under  the  western  ter- 
mination of  the  high  ridge  of  mountains  called  Guillen,  or 
Quillin,  or  Coolin,  whose  weather-beaten  and  serrated  peaks 
we  had  admired  at  a  distance  from  Dunvegan.  They  sank  here 
upon  the  sea,  but  with  the  same  bold  and  peremptory  aspect 
which  their  distant  appearance  indicated.  They  appeared  to 
consist  of  precipitous  sheets  of  naked  rock,  down  which  the 
torrents  were  leaping  in  a  hundred  lines  of  foam.  The  tops 
of  the  ridge,  apparently  inaccessible  to  human  foot,  were  rent 
and  split  into  the  most  tremendous  pinnacles.  Towards  the 
base  of  these  bare  and  precipitous  crags,  the  ground,  enriched 
by  the  soil  washed  down  from  them,  is  comparatively  verdant 
and  productive.  Where  we  passed  within  the  small  isle  of 
Soa,  we  entered  Loch  Slavig,  under  the  shoulder  of  one  of 
these  grisly  mountains,  and  observed  that  the  opposite  side  of 
the  loch  was  of  a  milder  character,  the  mountains  being  soft- 
ened  down  into  steep  green  declivities.  From  the  bottom  of 
the  bay  advanced  a  headland  of  high  rocks,  which  divided  its 
depth  into  two  recesses,  from  each  of  which  a  brook  issued. 
Here  it  had  been  intimated  to  us  we  would  find  some  roman- 
tic scenery;  but  we  were  uncertain  up  which  inlet  we  should 
proceed  in  search  of  it.  We  chose,  against  our  better  judg- 
ment, the  southerly  dip  of  the  bay,  where  we  saw  a  house 
which  might  afford  us  information.  We  found,  upon  inquiry, 
that  there  is  a  lake  adjoining  to  each  branch  of  the  bay  ;  and 
walked  a  couple  of  miles  to  see  that  near  the  farm-house, 
merely  because  the  honest  Highlander  seemed  jealous  of  the 
honor  of  his  own  loch,  though  we  were  speedily  convinced 
it  was  not  that  which  we  were  recommended  to  examine.  It 
had  no  particular  merit,  excepting  from  its  neighborhood 
to  a  very  high  cliff,  or  precipitous  mountain,  otherwise  the 
sheet  of  water  had  nothing  differing  from  any  ordinary  low- 
country  lake.  We  returned  and  re-embarked  in  our  boat, 
for  our  guide  shook  his  head  at  our  proposal  to  climb  over 
the  peninsula  or  rocky  headland  which  divided  the  two 
lakes.  In  rowing  round  the  headland,  we  were  surprised  at 
the  infinite  number  of  sea-fowl,  then  busy  apparently  with 
a  shoal  of  fish. 

"  Arrived  at  the  depth  of  the  bay,  we  found  that  the  dis- 
charge from  this  second  lake  forms  a  sort  of  waterfall,  or  rather 
a  rapid  stream,  which  rushes  down  to  the  sea  with  great  fury 
and  precipitation.  Round  this  place  were  assembled  hun- 
dreds of  trouts  and  salmon,  struggling  to  get  up  into  the  fresh 
water:  with  a  net  we  might  have  had  twenty  salmon  at  a 
haul ;  and  a  sailor,  with  no  better  hook  than  a  crooked  pin, 
caught  a  dish  of  trouts  during  our  absence.  Advancing  up 
this  huddling  and  riotous  brook,  we  found  ourselves  in  a  most 
extraordinary  scene  ;  we  lost  sight  of  the  sea  almost  imme- 
diately after  we  had  climbed  over  a  low  ridge  of  crags,  and 
were  surrounded  by  mountains  of  naked  rock,  of  the  boldest 
and  most  precipitous  character.  The  ground  on  which  we 
walked  was  the  margin  of  a  lake,  which  seemed  to  have  sus- 
tained the  constant  ravage  of  torrents  from  these  rude  neigh- 
bors. The  shores  consisted  of  huge  strata  of  naked  granite, 
here  and  there  intermixed  with  bogs,  and  heaps  of  gravel  and 
sand  piled  in  the  empty  water-courses.  Vegetation  there  was 
little  or  none;  and  the  mountains  rose  so  perpendicularly 
from  the  water  edge  that  Borrowdale,  or  even  Glencoe,  is  a 
jest  to  them.  We  proceeded  a  mile  and  a  half  up  this  deep, 
dark,  and  solitary  lake,  which  was  about  two  miles  long,  half 


1  This  is  the  poet's  own  journal. — Ed. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   LOED   OF   THE   ISLES. 


479 


a  mile  broad,  and  is,  as  we  learned,  of  extreme  depth.  The 
murky  vapors  which  enveloped  the  mountain  ridges  obliged 
us  by  assuming  a  thousand  varied  shapes,  changing  their 
drapery  into  all  sorts  of  forms,  and  sometimes  clearing  off 
altogether.  It  is  true,  the  mist  made  us  pay  the  penalty  by 
some  heavy  and  downright  showers,  from  the  frequency  of 
which  a  Highland  boy,  whom  we  brought  from  the  farm,  told 
us  the  lake  was  popularly  called  the  Water-kettle.  The  pro- 
per name  is  Loch  Coriskin,  from  the  deep  corrie,  or  hollow, 
in  the  mountains  of  Guillen,  which  affords  the  basin  for  this 
wonderful  sheet  of  water.  It  is  as  exquisite  a  savage  scene 
as  Loch  Katrine  is  a  scene  of  romantic  beauty.  After  having 
penetrated  so  far  as  distinctly  to  observe  the  termination  of 
the  lake  under  an  immense  precipice,  which  rises  abruptly 
from  the  water,  we  returned,  and  often  stopped  to  admire  the 
ravages  which  storms  must  have  made  in  these  recesses,  where 
all  human  witnesses  were  driven  to  places  of  more  shelter  and 
security.  Stones,  or  rather  large  masses  and  fragments  of 
rocks  of  a  composite  kind,  perfectly  different  from  the  strata 
of  the  lake,  were  scattered  upon  the  bare  rocky  beach,  in  the 
strangest  and  most  precarious  situations,  as  if  abandoned  by 
the  torrents  which  had  borne  them  down  from  above.  Some 
lay  loose  and  tottering  upon  the  ledges  of  the  natural  rock, 
with  so  little  security  that  the  slightest  push  moved  them, 
though  their  weight  might  exceed  many  tons.  These  detached 
rocks,  or  stones,  were  chiefly  what  is  called  plum-pudding 
stones.  The  bare  rocks  which  formed  the  shore  of  the  lake 
were  a  species  of  granite.  The  opposite  side  of  the  lake  seemed 
quite  pathless  and  inaccessible,  as  a  huge  mountain,  one  of  the 
detached  ridges  of  the  Guillen  hills,  sinks  in  a  profound  and 
perpendicular  precipice  down  to  the  water.  On  the  left-hand 
side,  which  we  traversed,  rose  a  higher  and  equally  inaccessi- 
ble mountain,  the  top  of  which  strongly  resembled  the  shivered 
crater  of  an  exhausted  volcano.  I  never  saw  a  spot  in  which 
there  was  less  appearance  of  vegetation  of  any  kind.  The  eye 
rested  on  nothing  but  barren  and  naked  crags,  and  the  rocks 
on  which  we  walked  by  the  side  of  the  loch  were  as  bare  as 
the  pavements  of  Cheapside.  There  are  one  or  two  small 
Islets  in  the  loch,  which  seem  to  bear  juniper,  or  some  such 
low  bushy  shrub.  Upon  the  whole,  though  I  have  seen  many 
scenes  of  more  extensive  desolation,  I  never  witnessed  any 
in  which  it  pressed  more  deeply  upon  the  eye  and  the  heart 
than  at  Loch  Coriskin ;  at  the  same  time  that  its  grandeur 
elevated  and  redeemed  it  from  the  wild  and  dreary  character 
of  utter  barrenness." 


Note  2  H. 


Men  were  they  all  of  evil  mien, 
Doivn-look'd,  unwilling  to  be  seen. — P.  428. 

The  story  of  Bruce's  meeting  the  banditti  is  copied,  with 
such  alterations  as  the  fictitious  narrative  rendered  neces- 
sary, from  a  striking  incident  in  the  monarch's  history,  told 
by  Barbour,  and  which  I  shall  give  in  the  words  of  the  hero's 
biographer.  It  is  the  sequel  to  the  adventure  of  the  blood- 
hound, narrated  in  Note  2  D.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
the  narrative  broke  off,  leaving  the  Bruce  escaped  from  his 
pursuers,  but  worn  out  with  fatigue,  and  having  no  other  at- 
tendant but  his  foster-brother. 

"  And  the  gude  king  held  forth  his  way, 
Betuix  him  and  his  man,  quhill  thai 
Passyt  owt  throw  the  forest  war ; 
Syne  in  the  more  thai  entryt  thar. 


i  Neck.— 2  Saluted.— 3  Returned  their  salute.—4  Make. — 
Gesture  or  manner. —  •  Kill  him. — ?  Therefore. — 8  There  is 


It  wes  bathe  hey,  and  lang,  and  braid ; 
And  or  thai  halff  it  passyt  had, 
Thai  saw  on  syd  thre  men  cummand, 
Lik  to  lycht  men  and  wauerand. 
Swerdis  thai  had,  and  axys  als ; 
And  ane  off  thaim,  apon  his  hals,1 
A  mekill  boundyn  wethir  bar. 
Thai  met  the  king,  and  hailst2  him  thar: 
And  the  king  thaim  thar  hailsing  yauld;3 
And  askyt  thaim  quethir  thai  wauld. 
Thai  said,  Robert  the  Bruyss  thai  soucht; 
Tor  mete  with  him  giff  that  thai  moucht, 
Thar  duelling  with  him  wauld  thai  ma.4 
The  king  said,  '  Giff  that  ye  will  swa, 
Haldys  furth  your  way  with  me, 
And  I  sail  ger  yow  sone  him  se.' 

"Thai  persawyt,  be  his  speking, 
That  he  wes  the  selwyn  Robert  king. 
And  chaungyt  contenance  and  late  ;5 
And  held  noc-ht  in  the  fyrst  state. 
For  thai  war  fayis  to  the  king ; — 
And  thoucht  to  cum  in  to  sculking, 
And  duell  with  him,  quhill  that  thai  saw 
Thar  poynt,  and  bryng  him  than  off  daw.s 
Thai  grantyt  till  his  spek  forthi.' 
Bot  the  king,  that  wes  witty, 
Persawyt  weill,  by  thar  hawing, 
That  thai  lufi'yt  him  na  thing: 
And  said,  '  Falowis,  ye  mon,  all  thre, 
Forthir  aqwent  till  that  we  be, 
All  be  your  selwyn  furth  ga; 
And,  on  the  samyn  wyss,  we  twa 
Sail  folow  behind  weill  ner.' 
Quoth  thai,  'Schyr,  it  is  na  myster8 
To  trow  in  ws  ony  ill.' — 
'  Nane  do  I,'  said  he ;  '  bot  I  will, 
That  yhe  ga  fourth  thus,  quhill  we 
Better  with  othyr  knawin  be.' — 
'  We  grant,'  thai  said,  '  sen  ye  will  swa :' 
And  furth  apon  thair  gate  gan  ga. 

"  Thus  yeid  thai  till  the  nycht  wes  ner. 
And  than  the  formast  cummyn  wer 
Till  a  waist  housband  houss  ;9  and  thar 
Thai  slew  the  wethir  that  thai  bar : 
And  slew  fyr  for  to  rost  thar  mete ; 
And  askyt  the  king  giff  he  wald  ete, 
And  rest  him  till  the  mete  war  dycht. 
The  king,  that  hungry  was,  Ik  hycht, 
Assentyt  till  thair  spek  in  hy. 
Bot  he  said,  he  wald  anerly10 
At  a  fyr;  and  thai  all  thre 
On  na  wyss  with  thaim  till  gyddre  be. 
In  the  end  off  the  houss  thai  suld  ma 
Ane  othyr  fyr;  and  thai  did  swa. 
Thai  drew  thaim  in  the  houss  end, 
And  halff  the  wethir  till  him  send. 
And  thai  rostyt  in  hy  thair  mete ; 
And  fell  rycht  freschly  for  till  ete. 
For  the  king  weill  lang  fastyt  had ; 
And  had  rycht  mekill  trawaill  mad: 
Tharfor  he  eyt  full  egrely. 
And  quhen  he  had  etyn  hastily, 
He  had  to  slep  sa  mekill  will, 
That  he  moucht  set  na  let  thar  till. 
For  quhen  the  wanys11  fillyt  ar, 
Men  worthys12  hewy  euirmar; 
And  to  slepe  drawys  hewynes. 
The  king,  that  all  fortrawaillyt13  wes, 


no   need.  — 9    Husbandman's   house,   cottage.  — 10   Alone.— 
"  Bellies.—12  Becomes.—13  Fatigued. 


480 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Saw  that  him  worthyt  slep  nedwayis. 
Till  his  fostyr-brodyr  he  sayis; 
'May  I  traist  in  the,  me  to  waik, 
Till  Ik  a  little  sleping  tak?'— 
'  Ya,  Schyr,'  he  said,  '  till  I  may  drey.'1 
The  king  then  wyukyt  a  lit  ill  wey; 
And  slepyt  nocht  full  encrely ; 
Bot  gliffnyt  wp  oft  sodanly. 
For  he  had  dreid  off  thai  thre  men, 
That  at  the  tothyr  fyr  war  then. 
That  thai  ljjs  fais  war  he  wyst ; 
Tharfor  he  slepyt  as  foule  on  twyst.2 
"  The  king  slepyt  hot  a  litill  than ; 
Quhen  sic  slep  fell  on  his  man, 
That  he  mycht  nocht  hald  wp  his  ey, 
Bot  fell  in  slop,  and  rowtyt  hey. 
Now  is  the  king  in  gret  perile: 
For  slep  he  swa  a  litill  quhile, 
He  sail  be  ded,  for  owtyn  dreid. 
For  the  thre  tratours  tuk  gud  hcid, 
That  he  on  slep  w»s,  and  his  man. 
In  full  gret  hy  thai  raiss  wp  than, 
And  drew  the  suerdis  hastily ; 
And  went  towart  the  king  in  hy, 
Quhen  that  thai  saw  him  sleip  swa, 
And  slepand  thoucht  thei  wald  him  sla. 
The  king  wp  blenkit  hastily, 
And  saw  his  man  slepand  him  by ; 
And  saw  cummand  the  tothyr  thre. 
Deliuerly  on  fute  gat  he ; 
And  drew  his  suerd  owt,  and  thaim  mete. 
And,  as  he  yude,  his  fute  he  set 
Apon  his  man,  weill  hewyly. 
He  waknyt,  and  raiss  disily: 
For  the  slep  maistryt  hym  sway, 
That  or  he  gat  wp,  ane  off  thai, 
That  come  for  to  sla  the  king, 
Gaiff  hym  a  strak  in  his  rysing, 
Swa  that  he  mycht  help  him  no  mar. 
The  king  sa  straitly  stad3  wes  thar, 
That  he  wes  neuir  yeyt  sa  stad. 
Ne  war  the  annyng4  that  he  had, 
He  had  been  dede,  for  owtyn  wer. 
But  nocht  for  thi5  on  sic  maner 
He  helpyt  him,  in  that  bargayne,6 
That  thai  thre  tratowris  he  has  slan, 
Throw  Goddis  grace,  and  his  manheid. 
His  fostyr-brothyr  thar  was  dede. 
Then  wes  he  wondre  will  of  wayn,7 
Quhen  he  saw  him  left  allane. 
His  fostyr-brodyr  menyt  he; 
And  waryit8  all  the  tothyr  thre. 
And  syne  hys  way  tuk  him  allane, 
And  rycht  towart  his  tryst9  is  gane." 

The  Bruce,  book  v.  v.  405. 


Note  2  I. 

And  mermaid's  alabaster  grot, 

Who  bathes  her  limbs  in  sunless  well 

Deep  in  Strathaird's  enchanted  cell. — P.  431. 

Imagination  can  hardly  conceive  any  thing  more  beautiful 
than  the  extraordinary  grotto  discovered  not  many  years  since 

1  Endure. — 2  Bird  on  bough. — 3  So  dangerously  situated. — 
4  Had  it  not  been  for  the  armor  he  wore. — 6  Nevertheless. 


upon  the  estate  of  Alexander  MacAllister,  Esq.,  of  .Strathaird. 
It  lias  since  been  much  and  deservedly  celebrated,  and  a  full 
account  of  its  beauties  has  been  published  by  Dr.  MacLeay 
of  Oban.  The  general  impression  may  perhaps  be  gathered 
from  the  following  extract  from  a  journal  which,  written 
under  the  feelings  of  the  moment,  is  likely  to  be  more  accu- 
rate than  any  attempt  to  recollect  the  impressions  then  re- 
ceived:—"The  first  entrance  to  this  celebrated  cave  is  rude 
and  unpromising;  but  the  light  of  the  torches  with  which 
we  were  provided  was  soon  reflected  from  the  roof,  floor,  and 
walls,  which  seem  as  if  they  were  sheeted  with  marble,  partly 
smooth,  partly  rough  with  frost-work  and  rustic  ornaments 
and  partly  seeming  to  be  wrought  into  statuary.  The  floor 
forms  a  steep  and  ditEcult  ascent,  and  might  be  fancifully 
compared  to  a  sheet  of  water,  which,  while  it  rushed  whiten- 
ing and  foaming  down  a  declivity,  had  been  suddenly  arrested 
and  consolidated  by  the  spell  of  an  enchanter.  Upon  attain- 
ing the  summit  of  this  ascent,  the  cave  opens  into  a  splendid 
gallery,  adorned  with  the  most  dazzling  crystallizations,  and 
finally  descends  with  rapidity  to  the  brink  of  a  pool  of  the 
most  limpid  water,  about  four  or  five  yards  broad.  There 
opens  beyond  this  pool  a  portal  arch,  formed  by  two  columns 
of  white  spar,  with  beautiful  chasing  upon  the  sides,  which 
promises  a  continuation  of  the  cave.  One  of  our  sailors  swam 
across,  for  there  is  no  other  mode  of  passing,  and  informed  us 
(as  indeed  we  partly  saw  by  the  light  he  carried)  that  the  en- 
chantment of  MacAllister's  cave  terminates  with  this  portal, 
a  little  beyond  which  there  was  only  a  rude  cavern,  speedily 
choked  with  stones  and  earth.  But  the  pool,  on  the  brink  of 
which  we  stood,  surrounded  by  the  most  fanciful  mouldings, 
in  a  substance  resembling  white  marble,  and  distinguished 
by  the  depth  and  purity  of  its  waters,  might  have  been  the 
bathing  grotto  of  a  naiad.  The  groups  of  combined  figures 
projecting  or  embossed,  by  which  the  pool  is  surrounded,  are 
exquisitely  elegant  and  fanciful.  A  statuary  might  catch 
beautiful  hints  from  the  singular  and  romantic  disposition  of 
these  stalactites.  There  is  scarce  a  form  or  group  on  which 
active  fancy  may  not  trace  figures  or  grotesque  ornaments, 
which  have  been  gradually  moulded  in  this  cavern  by  the 
dropping  of  the  calcareous  water  hardening  into  petrifactions. 
Many  of  these  fine  groups  have  been  injured  by  the  senseless 
rage  of  appropriation  of  recent  tourists ;  and  the  grotto  has 
lost  (I  am  informed),  through  the  smoke  of  torches,  some- 
thing of  that  vivid  silver  tint  which  was  originally  one  of  its 
chief  distinctions.  But  enough  of  beauty  remains  to  compen- 
sate for  all  that  may  be  lost."  Mr.  MacAllister  of  Strathaird 
has,  with  great  propriety,  built  up  the  exterior  entrance  to 
this  cave,  in  order  that  strangers  may  enter  properly  at- 
tended by  a  guide,  to  prevent  any  repetition  of  the  wanton 
and  selfish  injury  which  this  singular  scene  has  already  sus- 
tained. 


Note  2  K. 


Yet  to  no  sense  of  selfish  wrongs, 
Bear  witness  with  me,  Heaven,  belongs 
My  joy  o'er  Edward's  bier. — P.  433. 

The  generosity  which  does  justice  to  the  character  of  an 
enemy  often  marks  Bruce's  sentiments  as  recorded  by  the 
faithful  Barbour.  He  seldom  mentions  a  fallen  enemy  with- 
out praising  such  good  qualities  as  he  might  possess.  I  shall 
only  take  one  instance.  Shortly  after  Bruce  landed  in  Car- 
rick,  in  1306,  Sir  Ingram  Bell,  the  English  governor  of  Ayr, 

—  •  Fray  or  dispute.—'  Much   afflicted.— «  Cursed.—9  The 
place  of  rendezvous  appointed  for  his  soldiers. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE    LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


481 


engaged  a  wealthy  yeoman,  who  had  hitherto  been  a  follower 
of  Bruce,  to  undertake  the  task  of  assassinating  him.  The 
king  learned  this  treachery,  as  he  is  said  to  have  done  other 
secrets  of  the  enemy,  by  means  of  a  female  with  whom  he 
had  an  intrigue.  Shortly  after  he  was  possessed  of  this  in- 
formation, Bruce,  resorting  to  a  small  thicket  at  a  distance 
from  his  men,  with  only  a  single  page  to  attend  him,  met  the 
traitor,  accompanied  by  two  of  his  sons.  They  approached 
him  with  their  wonted  familiarity,  but  Bruce,  taking  his 
page's  bow  and  arrow,  commanded  them  to  keep  at  a  dis- 
tance. As  they  still  pressed  forward  with  professions  of  zeal 
for  his  person  and  service,  he,  after  a  second  warning,  shot 
the  father  with  the  arrow,  and,  being  assaulted  successively 
by  the  two  sons,  despatched  first  one,  who  was  armed  with  an 
axe,  then,  as  the  other  charged  him  with  a  spear,  avoided  the 
thrust,  struck  the  head  from  the  spear,  and  cleft  the  skull  of 
the  assassin  with  a  blow  of  his  two-handed  sword. 

"He  rushed  down  of  blood  all  red, 
And  when  the  king  saw  they  were  dead, 
All  three  lying,  he  wiped  his  brand. 
With  that  his  boy  came  fast  running, 
And  said,  'Our  lord  might  lowyt1  be, 
That  granted  you  might  and  poweste3 
To  fell  the  felony  and  the  pride 
Of  three  in  so  little  tide.' 
The  king  said,  '  So  our  lord  me  see, 
They  have  been  worthy  men  all  three, 
Had  they  not  been  full  of  treason : 
But  that  made  their  confusion.'  " 

Bakbouk's  Bruce,  book  v.  p.  152. 


Note  2  L. 


Such  hale  was  his  on  Solway's  strand, 
When  vengeance  clench' d  his  palsied  hand, 
Thai  pointed  yet  to  Scotland's  land. — P.  433. 

To  establish  his  dominion  in  Scotland  had  been  a  favorite 
object  of  Edward's  ambition,  and  nothing  could  exceed  the 
pertinacity  with  which  he  pursued  it,  unless  his  inveterate 
resentment  against  the  insurgents,  who  so  frequently  broke 
the  English  yoke  when  he  deemed  it  most  firmly  riveted. 
After  the  battles  of  Falkirk  and  Methven,  and  the  dreadful 
examples  which  he  had  made  of  Wallace  and  other  cham- 
pions of  national  independence,  he  probably  concluded  every 
chance  of  insurrection  was  completely  annihilated.  This 
was  in  1306,  when  Bruce,  as  we  have  seen,  was  utterly  ex- 
pelled from  Scotland ;  yet,  in  the  conclusion  of  the  same 
year,  Bruce  was  again  in  arms  and  formidable ;  and  in  1307, 
Edward,  though  exhausted  by  a  long  and  wasting  malady, 
put  himself  at  the  head  of  the  army  destined  to  destroy  him 
utterly.  This  was,  perhaps,  partly  in  consequence  of  a  vow 
which  he  had  taken  upon  him,  with  all  the  pomp  of  chiv- 
alry, upon  the  day  in  which  he  dubbed  his  son  a  knight,  for 
which  see  a  subsequent  note.  But  even  his  spirit  of  vengeance 
was  unable  to  restore  his  exhausted  strength.  He  reached 
Burgh-upon-Sands,  a  petty  village  of  Cumberland,  on  the 
shores  of  the  Solway  Firth,  and  there,  6th  July,  1307,  expired 
in  sight  of  the  detested  and  devoted  country  of  Scotland.  His 
dying  injunctions  to  his  son  required  him  to  continue  the 
Scottish  war,  and  never  to  recall  Gaveston.    Edward  II.  dis- 


i  Lauded. 


31 


obeyed  both  charges.  Yet  more  to  mark  his  animosity,  the 
dying  monarch  ordered  his  bones  to  be  carried  with  the  in- 
vading army.  Froissart,  who  probably  had  the  authority  of 
eye-witnesses,  has  given  us  the  following  account  of  this  re- 
markable charge : — 

"  In  the  said  forest,  the  old  King  Robert  of  Scotland  dyd 
kepe  hymselfe,  whan  King  Edward  the  Fyrst  conquered  nygh 
all  Scotland ;  for  he  was  so  often  chased,  that  none  durst  loge 
him  in  castell,  nor  fortresse,  for  feare  of  the  said  king. 

"  And  ever  whan  the  king  was  returned  into  Ingland,  than 
he  would  gather  together  agayn  his  people,  and  conquere 
townes,  castells,  and  fortresses,  iuste  to  Berwick,  some  by 
battle,  and  some  by  fair  speech  and  love :  and  when  the  said 
King  Edward  heard  thereof,  than  would  he  assemble  his 
power,  and  wyn  the  realme  of  Scotland  again ;  thus  the  chance 
went  between  these  two  foresaid  kings.  It  was  shewed  me, 
how  that  this  King  Robert  wan  and  lost  his  realme  v.  times. 
So  this  continued  till  the  said  King  Edward  died  at  Berwick  : 
and  when  he  saw  that  he  should  die,  he  called  before  him  his 
eldest  son,  who  was  king  after  him,  and  there,  before  all  the 
barones,  he  caused  him  to  swear,  that  as  soon  as  he  were  dead, 
that  he  should  take  his  body,  and  boyle  it  in  a  cauldron,  till 
the  flesh  departed  clean  from  the  bones,  and  than  to  bury  the 
flesh,  and  keep  still  the  bones  ;  and  that  as  often  as  the  Scotts 
should  rebell  against  him,  he  should  assemble  the  people 
against  them,  and  carry  with  him  the  bones  of  his  father ;  for 
he  believed  verily,  that  if  they  had  his  bones  with  them,  that 
the  Scotts  should  never  attain  any  victory  against  them.  The 
which  thing  was  not  accomplished,  for  when  the  king  died 
his  son  carried  him  to  London."— Berners'  Froissart's 
Chronicle.    London,  1812,  pp.  39,  40. 

Edward's  commands  were  not  obeyed,  for  he  was  interred 
in  Westminster  Abbey,  with  the  appropriate  inscription : — 

"Edwardus  Primus  Scotorum  malleus  hic  est. 
Pactum  Serva." 

Yet  some  steps  seem  to  have  been  taken  towards  rendering 
his  body  capable  of  occasional  transportation,  for  it  was 
exquisitely  embalmed,  as  was  ascertained  when  his  tomb  was 
opened  some  years  ago.  Edward  II.  judged  wisely  in  not 
carrying  the  dead  body  of  his  father  into  Scotland,  since  he 
would  not  obey  his  living  counsels. 

It  ought  to  be  observed  that,  though  the  order  of  the  inci- 
dents is  reversed  in  the  poem,  yet  in  point  of  historical  accu- 
racy, Bruce  had  landed  in  Scotland,  and  obtained  some 
successes  of  consequence,  before  the  death  of  Edward  I. 


Note  2  M. 


Canna's  tower,  that,  steep  and  gray, 

IAke  falcon  nest  o'er  hangs  the  bay. — P.  434. 

The  little  island  of  Canna,  or  Cannay,  adjoins  to  those  of 
Rum  and  Muick,  with  which  it  forms  one  parish.  In  a  pretty 
bay  opening  towards  the  east  there  is  a  lofty  and  slender  rock 
detached  from  the  shore.  Upon  the  summit  are  the  ruins  of 
a  very  small  tower,  scarcely  accessible  by  a  steep  and  precip- 
itous path.  Here,  it  is  said,  one  of  the  kings  or  lords  of  the 
Isles  confined  a  beautiful  lady,  of  whom  he  was  jealous.  The 
ruins  are  of  course  haunted  by  her  restless  spirit,  and  many 
romantic  stories  are  told  by  the  aged  people  of  the  island 
concerning  her  fate  in  life  and  her  appearances  after  death. 


3  Power. 


482 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Note  2  N. 

And  Ronin's  mountains  dark  have  sent 
Their  hunters  to  the  s/wre. — P.  434. 

Ronin  (popularly  called  Rum,  a  name  which  a  poet  may  be 
pardoned  for  avoiding  if  possible)  is  a  very  rough  and  moun- 
tainous island,  adjacent  to  those  of  Eigg  and  Cannay.  There 
is  almost  no  arable  ground  upon  it,  so  that,  except  in  the 
plenty  of  the  deer,  which  of  course  are  now  nearly  extirpated, 
it  still  deserves  the  description  bestowed  by  the  Arehdean  of 
the  Isles :— "  Ronin,  sixteen  rnyle  north-wast  from  the  ile  of 
Coll,  lyes  ane  ile  callit  Ronan  Ile,  of  sixteen  myle  long,  and 
six  in  bredthe  in  the  narrowest,  ane  forest  of  heigh  mount- 
ains, and  abundance  of  little  deir  in  it,  quhilk  dcir  will  never 
be  slane  dounewith,  but  the  principal  saittis  man  be  in  the 
height  of  the  hill,  because  the  deir  will  be  callit  upwart  ay  be 
the  tainchell,  or  without  tynchel  they  will  pass  upwart  per- 
force. In  this  ile  will  be  gotten  about  Britane  als  many  wild 
nests  upon  the  plane  mure  as  men  pleasis  to  gadder,  and  yet 
by  resson  the  fowls  lies  few  to  start  them  except  deir.  This 
lie  lyes  from  the  west  to  the  eist  in  lenth,  and  pertains  to 
^I'Kenabrey  of  Colla.  Many  solan  geese  are  in  this  ile." — 
Monro's  Description  of  the  Western  Isles,  p.  18. 


Note  2  O. 


On  Seooreigg  next  a,  warning  light 

Summon' d  her  warriors  to  the  fight; 

A  numerous  race  ere  stem  MacLeod 

O'er  their  bleak  shores  in  vengeance  strode.r-P.  435. 

These  and  the  following  lines  of  the  stanza  refer  to  adread- 
ful  tale  of  feudal  vengeance,  of  which  unfortunately  there  are 
relies  that  still  attest  the  truth.  Seooreigg  is  a  high  peak  in 
the  centre  of  the  small  Isle  of  Eigg  or  Egg.  It  is  well  known 
to  mineralogists  as  affording  many  interesting  specimens, 
and  to  others  whom  chance  or  curiosity  may  lead  to  the 
island,  for  the  astonishing  view  of  the  mainland  and  neigh- 
boring isles  which  it  commands.  I  shall  again  avail  myself 
of  the  journal  I  have  quoted : — 1 

"  26th  August,  1814. — At  seven  this  morning  we  were  in  the 
sound  which  divides  the  Isle  of  Rum  from  that  of  Eigg.  The 
latter,  although  hilly  and  rocky,  and  traversed  by  a  remark- 
ably high  and  barren  ridge,  called  Seooreigg,  has,  in  point 
of  soil,  a  much  more  promising  appearance.  Southward  of 
both  lies  the  Isle  of  Muick,  or  Muck,  a  low  and  fertile  island, 
and  though  the  least,  yet  probably  the  most  valuable,  of  the 
three.  We  manned  the  boat  and  rowed  along  the  shore  of 
Eigg  in  quest  of  a  cavern  which  had  been  the  memorable 
scene  of  a  horrid  feudal  vengeance.  We  had  rounded  more 
than  half  the  island,  admiring  the  entrance  of  many  a  bold 
natural  cave  which  its  rocks  exhibited,  without  finding  that 
which  we  sought,  until  we  procured  a  guide.  Nor,  indeed, 
was  it  surprising  that  it  should  have  escaped  the  search  of 
strangers,  as  there  are  no  outward  indications  more  than 
might  distinguish  the  entrance  of  a  fox-earth.  This  noted 
cave  has  a  very  narrow  opening,  through  which  one  can  hardly 
creep  on  his  knees  and  hands.  It  rises  steep  and  lofty  within, 
and  runs  into  the  bowels  of  the  rock  to  the  depth  of  255  mea- 
sured feet;  the  height  at  the  entrance  maybe  about  three 
feet,  but  rises  within  to  eighteen  or  twenty,  and  the  breadth 
may  vary  in  the  same  proportion.  The  rude  and  stony  bot- 
tom of  this  cave  is  strewed  with  the  bones  of  men,  women, 


1  See  Note  2  G,  p.  478,  ante. 


and  children,  the  sad  relics  of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  the 
island,  200  in  number,  who  were  slain  on  the  following  occa- 
sion : — The  MacDonalds  of  the  Isle  of  Eigg,  a  people  depend- 
ent on  Clan-Ranald,  had  done  some  injury  to  the  Laird  of 
MacLeod.  The  tradition  of  the  isle  says  that  it  was  by  a 
personal  attack  on  the  chieftain,  in  which  his  back  was 
broken.  But  that  of  the  other  isles  bears,  more  probably, 
that  the  injury  was  offered  to  two  or  three  of  the  MacLeods, 
who,  landing  upon  Eigg,  and  using  some  freedom  with  the 
young  women,  were  seized  by  the  islanders,  bound  hand  and 
foot,  and  turned  adrift  in  a  boat,  which  the  wind  and  waves 
safely  conducted  to  Skye.  To  avenge  the  offence  given,  Mac- 
Leod sailed  with  such  a  body  of  men  as  rendered  resistance 
hopeless.  The  natives,  fearing  his  vengeance,  concealed 
themselves  in  this  cavern,  and,  after  a  strict  search,  the  Mac- 
Leods went  on  board  their  galleys,  after  doing  what  mischief 
they  could,  concluding  the  inhabitants  had  left  the  isle,  and 
betaken  themselves  to  the  Long  Island,  or  some  of  Clan- 
Ranald's  other  possessions.  But  next  morning  they  espied 
from  the  vessels  a  man  upon  the  island,  and  immediately 
landing  again,  they  traced  his  retreat  by  the  marks  of  his 
footsteps,  a  light  snow  being  unhappily  on  the  ground. 
MacLeod  then  surrounded  the  cavern,  summoned  the  sub- 
terranean garrison,  and  demanded  that  the  individuals  who 
had  offended  him  should  be  delivered  up  to  him.  This  was 
peremptorily  refused.  The  chieftain  then  caused  his  people 
to  divert  the  course  of  a  rill  of  water,  which,  falling  over  the 
entrance  of  the  cave,  would  have  prevented  his  purposed 
vengeance.  He  then  kindled  at  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  a 
huge  fire,  composed  of  turf  and  fern,  and  maintained  it  with 
unrelenting  assiduity,  until  all  within  were  destroyed  by 
suffocation.  The  date  of  this  dreadful  deed  must  have  been 
recent,  if  one  may  judge  from  the  fresh  appearance  of  those 
relics.  I  brought  off,  in  spite  of  the  prejudice  of  our  sailors, 
a  skull  from  among  the  numerous  specimens  of  mortality 
which  the  cavern  afforded.  Before  re-embarking  we  visited 
another  cave,  opening  to  the  sea,  but  of  a  character  entirely 
different,  being  a  large  open  vault,  as  high  as  that  of  a 
cathedral,  and  running  back  a  great  way  into  the  rock  at 
the  same  height.  The  height  and  width  of  the  opening 
gives  ample  light  to  the  whole.  Here,  after  1745,  when  the 
Catholic  priests  were  scarcely  tolerated,  the  priest  of  Eigg 
used  to  perform  the  Roman  Catholic  service,  most  of  the 
islanders  being  of  that  persuasion.  A  huge  ledge  of  rocks 
rising  about  half-way  up  one  side  of  the  vault  served  for 
altar  and  pulpit ;  and  the  appearance  of  a  priest  and  High- 
land congregation  in  such  an  extraordinary  place  of  worship 
might  have  engaged  the  pencil  of  Salvator." 


Note  2  P. 


•  that  wondrous  dome, 


Where,  as  to  shame  the  temples  deck'd 
By  skill  of  earthly  architect, 
Nature  herself,  it  seem'd,  would  raise 
A  minster  to  her  Maker's  praise .' — P.  435. 

It  would  be  unpardonable  to  detain  the  reader  upon  a  won- 
der so  often  described,  and  yet  so  incapable  of  being  under- 
stood by  description.  This  palace  of  Neptune  is  even  grander 
upon  a  second  than  the  first  view.  The  stupendous  columns 
which  form  the  sides  of  the  cave ;  the  depth  and  strength  of 
the  tide  which  rolls  its  deep  and  heavy  swell  up  to  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  vault ;  the  variety  of  tints  formed  by  white, 
crimson,  and.yellow  stalactites  or  petrifactions  which  occupy 
the  vacancies  between  the  base  of  the  broken  pillars  which 
form  the  roof,  and  intersect  them  with   a  rich,  curious, 


APPENDIX    TO   THE   LOKD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


483 


and  variegated  chasing,  occupying  each  interstice ;  the  cor- 
responding variety  below  water,  where  the  ocean  rolls  over  a 
dark-red  or  violet-colored  rock,  from  which,  as  from  a  base, 
the  basaltic  columns  arise ;  the  tremendous  noise  of  the  swell- 
ing tide,  mingling  with  the  deep-toned  echoes  of  the  vault, — 
are  circumstances  elsewhere  unparalleled. 

Nothing  can  be  more  interesting  than  the  varied  appear- 
ance of  the  little  archipelago  of  islets,  of  which  Staffa  is  the 
most  remarkable.  This  group,  called  in  Gaelic  Tresharnish, 
affords  a  thousand  varied  views  to  the  voyager,  as  they  appear 
in  different  positions  with  reference  to  his  course.  The  va- 
riety of  their  shape  contributes  much  to  the  beauty  of  these 
effects. 


Note  2  Q. 

Scenes  sung  by  him  who  sings  no  more. — P.  435. 

The  ballad  entitled  "  Macphail  of  Colonsay  and  the  Mer- 
maid of  Corrievrekin  "  (see  Border  Minstrelsy  vol.  iv.  p.  285) 
was  composed  by  John  Leyden,  from  a  tradition  which  he 
found  while  making  a  tour  through  the  Hebrides  about  1801, 
Boon  before  his  fatal  departure  for  India,  where,  after  having 
made  further  progress  in  Oriental  literature  than  any  man 
of  letters  who  had  embraced  those  studies,  he  died  a  martyr 
to  his  zeal  for  knowledge,  in  the  Island  of  Java,  immediately 
after  the  landing  of  our  forces  near  Batavia,  in  August,  1811. 


Note  2  R. 


Up  Tarbat  s  western  lake  they  bore, 

Then  dragg'd  their  bark  the  isthmus  o'er. — P.  436. 

The  peninsula  of  Cantire  is  joined  to  South  Knapdale  by  a 
very  narrow  isthmus,  formed  by  the  western  and  eastern  Loch 
of  Tarbat.  These  two  salt-water  lakes  or  bays  encroach  so  far 
upon  the  land,  and  the  extremities  come  so  near  to  each  other, 
that  there  is  not  above  a  mile  of  land  to  divide  them. 

"  It  is  not  long,"  says  Pennant,  "  since  vessels  of  nine  or  ten 
tons  were  drawn  by  horses  out  of  the  west  loch  into  that  of  the 
east,  to  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  Mull  of  Cantyre,  so  dreaded 
and  so  little  known  was  the  navigation  round  that  promontory. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  many  that  these  little  isthmuses,  so  fre- 
quently styled  Tarbat  in  North  Britain,  took  their  name  from 
the  above  circumstance ;  Tarruing,  signifying  to  draw,  and 
Bata,  a  boat.  This  too  might  be  called,  by  way  of  pre-emi- 
nence, the  Tarbat,  from  a  very  singular  circumstance  related 
by  Torfeeus.  When  Magnus,  the  barefooted  King  of  Norway, 
obtained  from  Donald-bane  of  Scotland  the  cession  of  the 
Western  Isles,  or  all  those  places  that  could  be  surrounded  in 
a  boat,  he  added  to  them  the  peninsula  of  Cantyre  by  this 
fraud :  he  placed  himself  in  the  stern  of  a  boat,  held  the  rud- 
der, was  drawn  over  this  narrow  track,  and  by  this  species  of 
navigation  wrested  the  country  from  his  brother  monarch." — 
Pennant's  Scotland.    London,  1790,  p.  190. 

But  that  Bruce  also  made  this  passage,  although  at  a  period 
two  or  three  years  later  than  in  the  poem,  appears  from  the 
evidence  of  Barbour,  who  mentions  also  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  minds  of  the  Highlanders,  from  the  prophecies  cur- 
rent amongst  them : — 


1  Were  obliged  to.— «  Laid  with  trees.—3  Caused.—4  Could. 


"  Bot  to  King  Robert  will  we  gang, 

That  we  haff  left  wnspokyn  of  lang. 

Quhen  he  had  conwoyit  to  the  se 

His  brodyr  Eduuard,  and  his  menye, 

And  othyr  men  off  gret  noblay, 

To  Tarbart  thai  held  thair  way, 

In  galayis  ordanyt  for  thair  far. 

Bot  thaim  worthyt1  draw  thair  schippis  thar: 

And  a  myle  wes  betuix  the  seys ; 

Bot  that  wes  lompnyt2  all  with  treis. 

The  king  his  schippis  thar  gert3  draw. 

And  for  the  wynd  couth*  stoutly  blaw 

Apon  thair  bak,  as  thai  wald  ga, 

He  gert  men  rapys  and  mastis  ta, 

And  set  thaim  in  the  schippis  hey, 

And  sayllis  to  the  toppis  tey ; 

And  gert  men  gang  thar  by  drawand. 

The  wynd  thaim  helpyt,  that  was  blawand ; 

Swa  that,  in  a  litill  space, 

Thair  flote  all  our  drawin  was. 

"  And  quhen  thai,  that  in  the  His  war, 
Hard  tell  how  the  gud  king  had  thar 
Gert  hys  schippis  with  saillis  ga 
Owt  our  betuix  [the]  Tarbart  [is]  twa, 
Thai  war  abaysit5  sa  wtrely. 
For  thai  wyst,  throw  auld  prophecy, 
That  he  suld  ger6  schippis  sua 
Betuix  thai  seis  with  saillis  ga, 
Suld  wyne  the  His  sua  till  hand, 
That  nane  with  strenth  suld  him  withstand. 
Tharfor  they  come  all  to  the  king. 
Wes  nane  withstud  his  bidding, 
Owtakyn?  Jhone  of  Lome  allayne. 
Bot  weill  sone  eftre  wes  he  tayne ; 
And  present  rycht  to  the  king. 
And  thai  that  war  of  his  leding, 
That  till  the  king  had  brokyn  fay,8 
War  all  dede,  and  destroyit  away." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  x.  v.  821. 


Note  2  S. 


The  sun,  ere  yet  he  sunk  behind 
Ben-Ghoil,  "  the  Mountain  of  the  Wind," 
Gave  his  grim  peaks  a  greeting  kind, 

And  bade  Loch  Ranza  smile. — P.  436. 

Loch  Ranza  is  a  beautiful  bay,  on  the  northern  extremity 
of  Arran,  opening  towards  East  Tarbat  Loch.  It  is  well  de- 
scribed by  Pennant : — "  The  approach  was  magnificent ;  a  fine 
bay  in  front,  about  a  mile  deep,  having  a  ruined  castle  near 
the  lower  end,  on  a  low  far  projecting  neck  of  land,  that  forms 
another  harbor,  with  a  narrow  passage ;  but  within  has  three 
fathom  of  water,  even  at  the  lowest  ebb.  Beyond  is  a  little 
plain  watered  by  a  stream,  and  inhabited  by  the  people  of  a 
small  village.  The  whole  is  environed  with  a  theatre  of  moun- 
tains; and  in  the  background  the  serrated  crags  of  Grianan- 
Athol  soar  above."— Pennant's  Tour  to  the  Western  Isles,  pp. 
191-2.  Ben-Ghoil,  "  the  mountain  of  the  winds,"  is  generally 
known  by  its  English  and  less  poetical  name  of  Goatfield. 


5  Confounded.—6  Make.— ?  Excepting.— 8  Faith. 


484 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Note  2  T. 

Each  to  Loch  Rama's  margin  spring ; 
Thai  blast  was  winded  by  tlia  King.' — P.  437. 

The  passage  in  Barbour  describing  the  landing  of  Bruce, 
and  his  being  recognized  by  Douglas  and  those  of  his  followers 
who  had  preceded  him  by  the  sound  of  his  horn,  is  in  the 
original  singularly  simple  and  affecting.  The  king  arrived 
in  Arran  with  thirty-three  small  row-boats.  He  interro- 
gated a  female  if  there  had  arrived  any  warlike  men  of  late 
in  that  country.  "Surely,  sir,"  she  replied,  "I  can  tell  yon 
of  many  who  lately  came  hither,  discomfited  the  English 
governor,  and  blockaded  his  castle  of  Brodick.  They  main- 
tain themselves  in  a  wood  at  no  great  distance."  The  king, 
truly  conceiving  that  this  must  be  Douglas  and  his  follow- 
ers, who  had  lately  set  forth  to  try  their  fortune  in  Arran, 
desired  the  woman  to  conduct  him  to  the  wood.    She  obeyed. 

"The  king  then  blew  his  horn  on  high ; 
And  gert  his  men  that  were  him  by, 
Hold  them  still,  and  all  privy; 
And  syne  again  his  borne  blew  he. 
James  of  Dowglas  heard  him  blow, 
And  at  the  last  alone  gan  know, 
And  said,  'Soothly  yon  is  the  king; 
I  know  long  while  since  his  blowing.' 
The  third  time  therewithall  he  blew, 
And  then  Sir  Robert  Boid  it  knew ; 
And  said, '  Yon  is  the  king,  but  dread, 
Go  we  forth  till  him,  better  speed.' 
Then  went  they  till  the  king  in  hye, 
And  him  inclined  courteously. 
And  blithly  welcomed  them  the  king, 
And  was  joyful  of  their  meeting. 
And  kissed  them ;  and  speared1  syne 
How  they  had  fared  in  hunting. 
And  they  him  told  all,  but  lesing  :2 
Syne  laud  they  God  of  their  meeting. 
Syne  with  the  king  to  his  harbourye 
Went  both  joyfu'  and  jolly." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  v.  pp.  115, 116. 


Note  2  U. 


his  brother  blamed, 


But  s/uired  the  weakness,  while  ashamed, 

With  haughty  laugh  his  head  he  lurn'd, 

And  da-sh'd  away  the  tear  he  scorn'd. — P.  438.     , 

The  kind  and  yet  fiery  character  of  Edward  Bruce  is  well 
painted  by  Barbour  in  the  account  of  his  behavior  after  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn.  Sir  Walter  Ross,  one  of  the  very  few 
Scottish  nobles  who  fell  in  that  battle,  was  so  dearly  beloved 
by  Edward  that  he  wished  the  victory  had  been  lost,  so  Ross 
had  lived. 

"Out-taken  him,  men  has  not  seen 
Where  he  for  any  men  made  moaning." 

And  here  the  venerable  archdeacon  intimates  a  piece  of 


1  Asked.— 2  Without  lying.— 3  Wonder.—*  Haste- 
dress.— o  Child-bed. 


Laun- 


BCandal.  Sir  Edward  Bruce,  it  seems,  loved  Ross's  sister,  par 
amours,  to  the  neglect  of  his  own  lady,  sister  to  David  de 
Strathbogie,  Earl  of  Athole.  This  criminal  passion  had  evil 
consequences ;  for,  in  resentment  to  the  affront  done  to  his 
sister,  Athole  attacked  the  guard  which  Bruce  had  left  at 
Cambus-kenneth,  during  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  to  pro- 
tect his  magazine  of  provisions,  and  slew  Sir  William  Keith, 
the  commander,  for  which  treason  he  was  forfeited. 

In  like  manner,  when,  in  a  sally  from  Carrickfergus,  Neil 
Fleming  and  the  guards  whom  he  commanded  had  fallen, 
after  the  protracted  resistance  which  saved  the  rest  of  Edward 
Bruce's  army,  he  made  such  moan  as  surprised  his  followers : 

"Sic  moan  he  made  men  had  ferly,3 
For  he  was  not  customably 
Wont  for  to  moan  men  any  thing, 
Nor  would  not  hear  men  make  moaning." 

Such  are  the  nice  traits  of  character  so  often  lost  in  general 
history. 


Note  2  V. 

Thou  heardsl  a  wretched  female  plain 

In  agony  of  travail-pain, 

And  thou  didst  bid  thy  little  band 

Upon  the  instant  turn  and  stand, 

And  dare  the  worst  the  foe  might  do, 

Bather  than,  like  a  knight  untrue, 

Leave  to  pursuers  merciless 

A  woman  in  her  last  distress. — P.  440. 

This  incident,  which  illustrates  so  happily  the  chivalrou* 
generosity  of  Bruce's  character,  is  one  of  the  many  simple 
and  natural  traits  recorded  by  Barbour.  It  occurred  during 
the  expedition  which  Bruce  made  to  Ireland  to  support  the 
pretensions  of  his  brother  Edward  to  the  throne  of  that  king- 
dom. Bruce  was  about  to  retreat,  and  his  host  was  arrayed 
for  moving. 

"  The  king  has  heard  a  woman  cry, 
He  asked  what  that  was  in  hy.4 
'  It  is  the  layndar.6  sir,'  sai  ane, 
'  That  her  child-ill6  right  now  has  ta'en : 
And  must  leave  now  behind  us  here, 
Therefore  she  makes  an  evil  cheer.'7 
The  king  said, '  Certes,8  it  were  pity 
That  she  in  that  point  left  should  be, 
For  certes  I  trow  there  is  no  man 
That  he  will  no  rue9  a  woman  than.' 
His  hosts  all  there  arested  he, 
And  gert10  a  tent  soon  stinted11  be, 
And  gert  her  gang  in  hastily, 
And  other  women  to  be  her  by, 
While  she  was  delivered  he  bade ; 
And  syne  forth  on  his  ways  rade. 
And  how  she  forth  should  carried  be, 
Or  he  forth  fure,12  ordained  he. 
This  was  a  full  great  courtesy, 
That  swilk  a  king  and  so  mighty, 
Gert  his  men  dwell  on  this  manner, 
But  for  a  poor  lavender." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  xvi.  pp.  39,  40. 


t  Stop.—  8  Certainly.— »  Pity.- 
12  Moved. 


-io  Caused.  —  11  Pitched.— 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LOED    OF    THE    ISLES. 


485 


Note  2  W. 

O'er  chasms  hepass'd,  where  fractures  wide 
Craved  wary  eye  and  ample  stride. — P.  442. 

The  interior  of  the  Island  of  Arran  abounds  with  beautiful 
Highland  scenery.  The  hills,  being  very  rocky  and  precipi- 
tous, afford  some  cataracts  of  great  height,  though  of  incon- 
siderable breadth.  There  is  one  pass  over  the  river  Machrai, 
renowned  for  the  dilemma  of  a  poor  woman,  who,  being 
tempted  by  the  narrowness  of  the  ravine  to  step  across,  suc- 
ceeded in  making  the  first  movement,  but  took  fright  when 
it  became  necessary  to  move  the  other  foot,  and  remained  in 
a  posture  equally  ludicrous  and  dangerous,  until  some  chance 
passenger  assisted  her  to  extricate  herself.  It  is  said  she 
remained  there  some  hours. 


Note  2  X. 


He  cross'd  his  brow1  beside  the  stone 
Where  Druids  erst  heard  victims  groan, 
And  at  the  cairns  upon  the  wild, 
O'er  many  a  heathen  hero  piled.— P.  442. 

The  Isle  of  Arran,  like  those  of  Man  and  Anglesea,  abounds 
with  many  relics  of  heathen,  and  probably  Druidical,  super- 
stition. There  are  high  erect  columns  of  unhewn  stone,  the 
most  early  of  all  monuments,  the  circles  of  rude  stones,  com- 
monly entitled  Druidical,  and  the  cairns,  or  sepulchral  piles, 
within  which  are  usually  found  urns  enclosing  ashes.  Much 
doubt  necessarily  rests  upon  the  history  of  such  monuments, 
nor  is  it  possible  to  consider  them  as  exclusively  Celtic  or 
Druidical.  By  much  the  finest  circles  of  standing  stones, 
excepting  Stonehenge,  are  those  of  Stenhouse,  at  Stennis,  in 
the  Island  of  Pomona,  the  principal  isle  of  the  Orcades. 
These,  of  course,  are  neither  Celtic  nor  Druidical ;  and  we  are 
assured  that  many  circles  of  the  kind  occur  both  in  Sweden 
and  Norway. 


Note  2  Y. 


Old  Brodick's  Gothic  towers  were  seen : 
From  Hastings,  late  their  English  lord, 
Douglas  had  won  them  by  the  sword. — P.  442. 

Brodick  or  Brathwick  Castle,  in  the  Isle  of  Arran,  is  an 
ancient  fortress,  near  an  open  roadstead  called  Brodick  Bay, 
and  not  far  distant  from  a  tolerable  harbor,  closed  in  by  the 
Island  of  Lamlash.  This  important  place  had  been  assailed  a 
short  time  before  Bruce's  arrival  in  the  island.  James  Lord 
Douglas,  who  accompanied  Bruce  to  his  retreat  in  Rachrin, 
seems,  in  the  spring  of  1306,  to  have  tired  of  his  abode  there, 
and  set  out  accordingly,  in  the  phrase  of  the  times,  to  see 
what  adventure  God  would  send  him.  Sir  Robert  Boyd  ac- 
companied him ;  and  his  knowledge  of  the  localities  of  Arran 
appears  to  have  directed  his  course  thither.  They  landed  in 
the  island  privately,  and  appear  to  have  laid  an  ambush  for 
Sir  John  Hastings,  the  English  governor  of  Brodwick,  and 


1  Spring. — 2  Began. — 3  Loftily. — 4  Several. 


surprised  a  considerable  supply  of  arms  and  provisions,  and 
nearly  took  the  castle  itself.  Indeed,  that  they  actually  did 
so  has  been  generally  averred  by  historians,  although  it  does 
not  appear  from  the  narrative  of  Barbour.  On  the  contrary, 
it  would  seem  that  they  took  shelter  within  a  fortification  of 
the  ancient  inhabitants,  a  rampart  called  Tor  an  Sckian. 
When  they  were  joined  by  Bruce,  it  seems  probable  that 
they  had  gained  Brodick  Castle.  At  least  tradition  says  that 
from  the  battlements  of  the  tower  he  saw  the  supposed 
signal-fire  on  Turnberry-nook.  .  .  .  The  castle  is  now  much 
modernized,  but  has  a  dignified  appearance,  being  surrounded 
by  flourishing  plantations. 


Note  2  Z. 


Oft,  too,  with  unaccustom'd  ears, 

A  language  much  unmeet  he  hears. — P.  442. 

Barbour,  with  great  simplicity,  gives  an  anecdote,  from 
which  it  would  seem  that  the  vice  of  profane  swearing,  after- 
wards too  general  among  the  Scottish  nation,  was,  at  this 
time,  confined  to  military  men.  As  Douglas,  after  Bruce's 
return  to  Scotland,  was  roving  about  the  mountainous  coun- 
try of  Tweeddale,  near  the  water  of  Line,  he  chanced  to  hear 
some  persons  in  a  farm-house  say  "  the  devil."  Concluding, 
from  this  hardy  expression,  that  the  house  contained  war- 
like guests,  he  immediately  assailed  it,  and  had  the  good 
fortune  to  make  prisoners  Thomas  Randolph,  afterwards  the 
famous  Earl  of  Murray,  and  Alexander  Stuart,  Lord  Bonkle. 
Both  were  then  in  the  English  interest,  and  had  come  into 
that  country  with  the  purpose  of  driving  out  Douglas.  They 
afterwards  ranked  among  Bruce's  most  zealous  adherents. 


Note  3  A. 


For,  see  !  the  ruddy  signal  made, 
That  Clifford,  with  his  merry-men  all, 
Guards  carelessly  our  father's  hall. — P.  443. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  by  which  Bruce  was  induced 
to  enter  Scotland,  under  the  false  idea  that  a  signal-fire  was 
lighted  upon  the  shore  near  his  maternal  castle  of  Turnberry 
— the  disappointment  which  he  met  with,  and  the  train  of 
success  which  arose  out  of  that  very  disappointment — are  too 
curious  to  be  passed  over  unnoticed.  The  following  is  the  nar- 
rative of  Barbour.  The  introduction  is  a  favorable  specimen 
of  his  style,  which  seems  to  be  in  some  degree  the  model  for 
that  of  Gawain  Douglas : — 

"  This  wes  in  ver,1  quhen  wynter  tid, 
With  his  blastis  hidwyss  to  bid, 
Was  our  drywyn :  and  byrdis  smale, 
As  turturis  and  the  nychtyngale, 
Begouth2  rycht  sariely3  to  syng ; 
And  for  to  mak  in  thair  singyng 
Swete  notis,  and  sownys  ser,* 
And  melodys  plesand  to  her. 
And  the  treis  begouth  to  ma5 
Burgeans,6  and  brycht  blomys  alsua, 
To  wyn  the  helyng7  off  thair  hewid, 


*  Make.—  6  Buds.—  7  Covering. 


486 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


That  wykkyt  wyntir  had  thaini  rewid.1 
And  all  gressys  beguth  to  spryng. 
In  to  that  tyme  the  nobill  king, 
With  his  flote,  and  a  few  menye,2 
Thre  hundyr  I  trow  thai  mycht  be, 
Is  to  the  se,  owte  off  Aranc 
A  lit  ill  forouth,3  ewyn  gane. 

"Thai  rowit  fast,  with  all  thair  mycht, 
Till  that  apon  thaim  fell  the  nycht, 
That  woux  myrk*  apon  grct  maner, 
Swa  that  thai  wyst  nocht  quhar  thai  wer. 
For  tliai  na  nedill  had,  na  stane ; 
Bot  rowyt  alwayis  in  till  ane, 
Sterand  all  tyme  apon  the  fyr, 
That  thai  saw  brynnand  lyeht  and  schyr.5 
It  wes  bot  auentur6  thaim  led : 
And  they  in  schort  tyme  sa  thaim  sped, 
That  at  the  fyr  arywyt  thai; 
And  went  to  land  bot  mar  delay. 
And  Cuthbert,  that  has  sene  the  fyr, 
Was  full  off  angyr,  and  off  ire : 
For  he  durst  nocht  do  it  away ; 
And  wes  alsua  dowtand  ay 
That  his  lord  suld  pass  to  se. 
Tharfor  thair  cummyn  waytit  he; 
And  met  them  at  thair  arywing. 
He  wes  wele  sone  broucht  to  the  king, 
That  speryt  at  him  how  he  had  done. 
And  he  with  sar  hart  tauld  him  sone, 
How  that  he  fand  nane  weill  luffand  ; 
Bot  all  war  fayis,  that  he  fand : 
And  that  the  lord  the  Persy, 
With  ner  thre  hundre  in  cumpany, 
Was  in  the  castell  thar  besid, 
Fulltillyt  off  dispyt  and  prid. 
Bot  ma  than  twa  partis  off  his  rowt 
War  herberyt  in  the  toune  without ; 
'  And  dyspyty t  yow  mar,  Schir  King, 
Than  men  may  dispyt  ony  thing.' 
Than  said  the  king,  in  full  gret  ire ; 
'  Tratour,  quhy  maid  thow  than  the  fyr?' — 
'  A !  Schyr,'  said  he, '  sa  God  me  se ! 
The  fyr  wes  newyr  maid  for  me. 
Na,  or  the  nycht,  I  wyst  it  nocht ; 
But  fra  I  wyst  it,  weill  I  thocht 
That  ye,  and  haly  your  menye, 
In  hy7  suld  put  yow  to  the  se. 
For  thi  I  cum  to  mete  yow  her, 
To  tell  perellys  that  may  aper.' 

"  The  king  wes  off  his  spek  angry, 
And  askyt  his  prywe  men,  in  hy, 
Quhat  at  thaim  thoucht  wes  best  to  do. 
Srhyr  Edward  fryst  answert  thar  to, 
Hys  brodyr  that  wes  swa  hardy, 
And  said  :  '  I  saw  yow  sekyrly 
Thar  sail  na  perell,  that  may  be, 
Dryve  me  eftsonys8  to  the  se. 
Myne  auentur  her  tak  will  I, 
Quhethir  it  be  esfull  or  angry.' — 
'Brothyr,'  he  said,  'sen  thou  will  sua, 
It  is  gude  that  we  samyn  ta 
Disscse  or  ese,  or  paync  or  play, 
Eftyr  as  God  will  ws  purway.9 
And  sen  men  sayis  that  the  Persy 
Myn  heretage  will  occupy ; 


1  Bereaved.— 2  Men.— 3  Before.—*  Dark.— 6  Clear.— «  Ad- 
venture.—' Haste. 


And  his  menye  sa  ner  ws  lyis, 
That  ws  dispytis  mony  wyss; 
Ga  we  and  wenge10  sum  off  the  dispyte 
And  that  may  we  haiff  done  alss  tite  j11 
For  thai  ly  traistly,12  but  dreding 
Off  ws,  or  off  our  her  cummyng. 
And  thoucht  we  slepand  slew  thaim  all, 
Repruff  tharof  na  man  sail. 
For  werrayour  na  forss  suld  ma, 
Quhethir  he  mycht  ourcom  his  fa 
Throw  strenth,  or  throw  suteltg ; 
Bot  that  gud  faith  ay  haldyn  be.' " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  iv.  v.  1. 


Note  3  B. 


Now  ask  you  whence  that  wondrous  light, 
Whose  fairy  glow  beguiled  their  sight  t — 
It  ne'er  was  known. — P.  445. 

The  following  are  the  words  of  an  ingenious  correspondent, 
to  whom  I  am  obliged  for  much  information  respecting  Turn- 
berry  and  its  neighborhood : — "  The  only  tradition  now  re- 
membered of  the  landing  of  Robert  the  Bruce  in  Carrick 
relates  to  the  fire  seen  by  him  from  the  Isle  of  Arran.  It  is 
still  generally  reported,  and  religiously  believed  by  many; 
that  this  fire  was  Teally  the  work  of  supernatural  power,  un- 
assisted by  the  hand  of  any  mortal  being;  and  it  is  said  that, 
for  several  centuries,  the  flame  arose  yearly  on  the  same  hour 
of  the  same  night  of  the  year  on  which  the  king  first  saw  it 
from  the  turrets  of  Brodick  Castle ;  and  some  go  so  far  as  to 
say  that  if  the  exact  time  were  known,  it  would  still  be  seen. 
That  this  superstitious  notion  is  very  ancient  is  evident  from 
the  place  where  the  fire  is  said  to  have  appeared  being  called 
the  Bogles'  Brae,  beyond  the  remembrance  of  man.  In  sup- 
port of  this  curious  belief,  it  is  said  that  the  practice  of  burn- 
ing heath  for  the  improvement  of  land  was  then  unknown ; 
that  a  spunkie  (Jack  o'  lanthorn)  could  not  have  been  seen 
across  the  breadth  of  the  Forth  of  Clyde,  between  Ayrshire 
and  Arran ;  and  that  the  courier  of  Bruce  was  his  kinsman, 
and  never  suspected  of  treachery." — Letter  from  Mr.  Joseph 
Train,  of  Newton  Stuart,  author  of  an  ingenious  Collection  of 
Poems,  illustrative  of  many  ancient  Traditions  in  Galloway 
and  Ayrshire,  Edinburgh,  1814.  [Mr.  Train  made  a  journey 
into  Ayrshire  at  Sir  Walter  Scott's  request,  on  purpose  to 
collect  accurate  information  for  the  Notes  to  this  poem ;  and 
the  reader  will  find  more  of  the  fruits  of  his  labors  in  Note 
3  D.  This  is  the  same  gentleman  whose  friendly  assistance 
is  so  often  acknowledged  in  the  Notes  and  Introductions  of 
the  Waverley  Novels.] 


Note  3  C. 


They  gain'd  the  Chase,  a  wide  domain 
Left  for  the  Castle's  sylvan  reign. — P.  445. 

The  castle  of  Turnberry,  on  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  was  the 
property  of  Robert  Bruce,  in  right  of  his  mother.  Lord  Hailes 


8  Soon  after.—9  Prepare.—  10  Avenge.—11  Quickly.—  13  Con- 
fidently. 


APPENDIX    TO   THE    LOED   OF   THE    ISLES. 


487 


mentions  the  following  remarkable  circumstance  concerning 
the  mode  in  which  he  became  proprietor  of  it : — "  Martha, 
Countess  of  Carrick  in  her  own  right,  the  wife  of  Robert 
Bruce,  Lord  of  Annandale,  bare  him  a  son,  afterwards  Robert 
I.  (11th  July,  1274).  The  circumstances  of  her  marriage  were 
singular :  happening  to  meet  Robert  Bruce  in  her  domains, 
she  became  enamoured  of  him,  and  with  some  violence  led 
him  to  her  castle  of  Turnberry.  A  few  days  after  she  married 
him,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  either  party, 
and  without  the  requisite  consent  of  the  king.  The  king 
instantly  seized  her  castle  and  whole  estates:  she  afterwards 
atoned  by  a  fine  for  her  feudal  delinquency.  Little  did  Alex- 
ander foresee  that,  from  this  union,  the  restorer  of  the  Scot- 
tish monarchy  was  to  arise." — Annals  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.p.  180. 
The  same  obliging  correspondent  whom  I  have  quoted  in  the 
preceding  note  gives  me  the  following  account  of  the  present 
state  of  the  ruins  of  Turnberry  : — "  Turnberry  Point  is  a  rock 
projecting  into  the  sea;  the  top  of  it  is  about  eighteen  feet 
above  high-water  mark.  Upon  this  rock  was  built  the  castle. 
There  is  about  twenty-five  feet  high  of  the  wall  next  to  the 
sea  yet  standing.  Upon  the  land-side  the  wall  is  only  about 
four  feet  high  ;  the  length  has  been  sixty  feet,  and  the  breadth 
forty-five:  it  was  surrounded  by  a  ditch,  but  that  is  now 
nearly  filled  up.  The  top  of  the  ruin,  rising  between  forty 
and  fifty  feet  above  the  water,  has  a  majestic  appearance  from 
the  sea.  There  is  not  much  local  tradition  in  the  vicinity 
connected  with  Bruce  or  his  history.  In  front,  however,  of 
the  rock,  upon  which  stands  Culzean  Castle,  is  the  mouth  of 
a  romantic  cavern,  called  the  Cove  of  Colean,  in  which  it  is 
said  Bruce  and  his  followers  concealed  themselves  immedi- 
ately after  landing,  till  they  arranged  matters  for  their  further 
enterprises.  Burns  mentions  it  in  the  poem  of  'Hallowe'en.' 
The  only  place  to  the  south  of  Turnberry  worth  mentioning, 
with  reference  to  Bruce's  history,  is  the  Weary  Nuik,  a  little 
romantic  green  hill,  where  he  and  his  party  are  said  to  have 
rested  after  assaulting  the  castle." 

Around  the  castle  of  Turnberry  was  a  level  plain  of  about 
two  miles  in  extent,  forming  the  castle  park.  There  could 
be  nothing,  I  am  informed,  more  beautiful  than  the  copse- 
wood  and  verdure  of  this  extensive  meadow,  before  it  was 
invaded  by  the  ploughshare. 


Note  3  D. 


The  Bruce  hath  won  his  father's  hall  I — P.  449. 

I  have  followed  the  flattering  and  pleasing  tradition  that  the 
Bruce,  after  his  descent  upon  the  coast  of  Ayrshire,  actually 
gained  possession  of  his  maternal  castle.  But  the  tradition  is 
not  accurate.  The  fact  is  that  he  was  only  strong  enough  to 
alarm  and  drive  in  the  outposts  of  the  English  garrison,  then 
commanded,  not  by  Clifford,  as  assumed  in  the  text,  but  by 
Percy.  Neither  was  Clifford  slain  upon  this  occasion,  though 
he  had  several  skirmishes  with  Bruce.  He  fell  afterwards  in 
the  battle  of  Bannockburn.  Bruce,  after  alarming  the  castle 
of  Turnberry,  and  surprising  some  part  of  the  garrison,  who 
were  quartered  without  the  walls  of  the  fortress,  retreated 
into  the  mountainous  parts  of  Carrick,  and  there  made  him- 
self so  strong  that  the  English  were  obliged  to  evacuate  Turn- 
berry, and  at  length  the  castle  of  Ayr.  Many  of  his  benefac- 
tions and  royal  gifts  attest  his  attachment  to  the  hereditary 
followers  of  his  house,  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

It  is  generally  known  that  Bruce,  in  consequence  of  his  dis- 
tresses after  the  battle  of  Methven,  was  affected  by  a  scor- 


1  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  misread  Mr.  Train's  MS.,  which  gave 
not  King's  Ease,  but  King's  Case,  i.  e.,  Casa  Regis,  the  name 


butic  disorder,  which  was  then  called  a  leprosy.  It  is  said  he 
experienced  benefit  from  the  use  of  a  medicinal  spring,  about 
a  mile  north  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  called  from  that  circum- 
stance King's  Ease.1  The  following  is  the  tradition  of  the 
country,  collected  by  Mr.  Train: — "After  Robert  ascended 
the  throne,  he  founded  the  priory  of  Dominican  monks,  every 
one  of  whom  was  under  the  obligation  of  putting  up  to  Heaven 
a  prayer  once  every  week-day,  and  twice  in  holydays,  for  the 
recovery  of  the  king ;  and  after  his  death  these  masses  were 
continued  for  the  saving  of  his  soul.  The  ruins  of  this  old 
monastery  are  now  nearly  level  with  the  ground.  Robert 
likewise  caused  houses  to  be  built  around  the  well  of  King's 
Case,  for  eight  lepers,  and  allowed  eight  bolls  of  oatmeal  and 
£28  Scotch  money,  per  annum,  to  each  person.  These  dona- 
tions were  laid  upon  the  lands  of  Fullarton,  and  are  now 
payable  by  the  Duke  of  Portland.  The  farm  of  Shiels,  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Ayr,  has  to  give,  if  required,  a  certain 
quantity  of  straw  for  the  lepers'  beds,  and  so  much  to  thatch 
their  houses  annually.  Each  leprous  person  had  a  drinking- 
horn  provided  him  by  the  king,  which  continued  to  be  hered- 
itary in  the  house  to  which  it  was  first  granted.  One  of  these 
identical  horns,  of  very  curious  workmanship,  was  in  the  pos- 
session of  the  late  Colonel  Fullarton  of  that  ilk." 

My  correspondent  proceeds  to  mention  some  curious  rem- 
nants of  antiquity  respecting  this  foundation: — "In  compli- 
ment to  Sir  William  Wallace,  the  great  deliverer  of  his  coun- 
try, King  Robert  Bruce  invested  the  descendants  of  that  hero 
with  the  right  of  placing  all  the  lepers  upon  the  establishment 
of  King's  Case.  This  patronage  continued  in  the  family  of 
Craigie,  till  it  was  sold  along  with  the  lands  of  the  late  Sir 
Thomas  Wallace.  The  burgh  of  Ayr  then  purchased  the 
right  of  applying  the  donations  of  King's  Case  to  the  support 
of  the  poor-house  of  Ayr.  The  lepers'  charter-stone  was  a 
basaltic  block,  exactly  the  shape  of  a  sheep's  kidney,  and 
weighing  an  Ayrshire  boll  of  meal.  The  surface  of  this  stone 
being  as  smooth  as  glass,  there  was  not  any  other  way  of  lift- 
ing it  than  by  turning  the  hollow  to  the  ground,  there  ex- 
tending the  arms  along  each  side  of  the  stone,  and  clasping 
the  hands  in  the  cavity.  Young  lads  were  always  considered 
as  deserving  to  be  ranked  among  men  when  they  could  lift 
the  blue  stone  of  King's  Case.  It  always  lay  beside  the  well, 
till  a  few  years  ago,  when  some  English  dragoons  encamped 
at  that  place  wantonly  broke  it,  since  which  the  fragments 
have  been  kept  by  the  freemen  of  Prestwick  in  a  place  of 
security.  There  is  one  of  these  charter-stones  at  the  village 
of  Old  Daily,  in  Carrick,  which  has  become  more  celebrated 
by  the  following  event,  which  happened  only  a  few  years 
ago : — The  village  of  New  Daily  being  now  larger  than  the 
old  place  of  the  same  name,  the  inhabitants  insisted  that  the 
charter-stone  should  be  removed  from  the  old  town  to  the 
new;  but  the  people  of  Old  Daily  were  unwilling  to  part  with 
their  ancient  right.  Demands  and  remonstrances  were  made 
on  each  side  without  effect,  till  at  last  man,  woman,  and 
child,  of  both  villages,  marched  out,  and  by  one  desperate 
engagement  put  an  end  to  a  war  the  commencement  of  which 
no  person  then  living  remembered.  Justice  and  victory  in 
this  instance  being  of  the  same  party,  the  villagers  of  the  old 
town  of  Daily  now  «njoy  the  pleasure  of  keeping  the  blue- 
stane  unmolested.  Ideal  privileges  are  often  attached  to 
some  of  these  stones.  In  Girvan,  if  a  man  can  set  his  back 
against  one  of  the  above  description,  he  is  supposed  not  lia- 
ble to  be  arrested  for  debt ;  nor  can  cattle,  it  is  imagined,  be 
poinded  as  long  as  they  are  fastened  to  the  same  stone.  That 
stones  were  often  used  as  symbols  to  denote  the  right  of  pos- 
sessing land,  before  the  use  of  written  documents  became 
general  in  Scotland,  is,  I  think,  exceedingly  probable.  The 
charter-stone  of  Inverness  is  still  kept  with  great  care,  set  in 
a  frame,  and  hooped  with  iron,  at  the  market-place  of  that 


of  the  royal  foundation  described  below.    Mr.  Train's  kind- 
ness enables  the  editor  to  make  this  correction.    1833. 


488 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


town.  It  is  called  by  the  inhabitants  of  that  district  Clack 
naCouddin.  I  think  it  is  very  liktly  that  Carey  has  men- 
tioned tin's  stone  in  his  poem  of  'Craig  Phaderick.'  This  is 
only  a  conjecture,  as  I  have  never  seen  that  work.  While 
the  famous  marhle  chair  was  allowed  to  remain  at  Scoon, 
it  was  considered  as  the  charter-stone  of  the  kingdom  of 
Scotland." 


Note  3  E. 


"  Bring  here"  he.  said,  "  the  mazers  four 
My  noble  fathers  loved  of  yore." — P.  449. 

These  mazers  were  large  drinking-cups  or  gohlets.  Men- 
tion of  them  occurs  in  a  curious  inventory  of  the  treasure 
and  jewels  of  James  III.,  which  will  he  published,  with  other 
curious  documents  of  antiquity,  by  my  friend,  Mr.  Thomas 
Thomson,  1).  Register  of  Scotland,  under  the  title  of  A  Col- 
lection of  Inventories  and  other  Records  of  the  Royal  Wardrobe, 
Jewel-House,  &c.  I  copy  the  passage  in  which  mention  is 
made  of  the  mazers,  and  also  of  a  habiliment  called  "King 
Robert  Bruce's  serk,"  i.  e.,  shirt,  meaning,  perhaps,  his  shirt 
of  mail — although  no  other  arms  are  mentioned  in  the  in- 
ventory. It  might  have  been  a  relic  of  more  sanctified  de- 
scription, a  penance-shirt  perhaps. 

Extract  from  "  Invenlare  of  ane  Parte  of  the  Gold  and  Silver 
conyeil  and  unconyeil,  Jowellis,  and  uiher  Stuff  perteining  to 
UmquhUe  mire  Soverane  Lords  Fader,  thai  he  had  in  Depois 
the  Tyme  of  his  Deceis,  and  that  come  to  the  Handis  of  oure 
Soverane  Lord  that  now  is,  m.cccc.lxxxviii. 

"  Memorandum  fundin  in  a  bandit  kist  like  a  gardeviant,1 
in  the  fyrst  the  grete  chenye2  of  gold,  contenand  sevin  score 
six  linkis. 

Item,  thre  platis  of  silver. 

Item,  tuelf  salfatis.3 

Item,  fyftene  discheis4  ouregilt. 

Item,  a  grete  gilt  plate. 

Item,  twa  grete  bassingis5  ouregilt. 

Item,  four  Masaris,  called  King  Robert  the  Brocis, 
with  a  cover. 

Item,  a  grete  cok  maid  of  silver. 

Item,  the  hedc  of  silver  of  ane  of  the  coveris  of  masar. 

Item,  a  fare  dialle,* 

Item,  twa  kasis  of  knyffis.7 

Item,  a  pare  of  old  kniffis. 

Item,  takin  be  the  smyth  that  opinnit  the  lokkis,  in  gold 
fourty  demyis. 

Item,  in  Inglys  grotis8 xxiiii.  li.  and  the  said  silver 

given  again  to  the  takaris  of  hym. 

Item,  resavit  in  the  eiossat  of  Davidis  tour,  ane  haly  water- 
fat  of  silver,  twa  boxis,  a  cageat  tunic,  a  glas  with  rois- 
water,  adosoune  of  torchis,  King  Robert  ISuucis  Serk." 

The  real  use  of  the  antiquarian's  studies  is  to  bring  the 
minute  information  which  he  collects  to  bear  upon  points  of 
history.  For  example,  in  the  inventory  I  have  just  quoted 
there  is  given  the  contents  of  the  black  kist,  or  chest,  belong- 
ing to  James  III.,  which  was  his  strong  box,  and  contained  a 
quantity  of  treasure,  in  money  and  jewels,  surpassing  what 
might  have  been  at  the  period  expected  of  "  poor  Scotland's 


1  Gard-vin,   or    wine-cooler. — 2  Chain. — 8  Salt-cellars,   an- 
ciently the  object  of  much  curious  workmanship. 


gear."  This  illustrates  and  authenticates  a  striking  passage 
in  the  history  of  the  house  of  Douglas,  by  Hume  of  Gods- 
croft.  Tie-  last  Earl  of  Douglas  (of  the  elder  branch)  had 
been  reduced  to  monastic  seclusion  in  the  Abbey  of  Lin- 
dores,  by  James  II.  James  III.,  in  his  distresses,  would  will- 
ingly have  recalled  him  to  public  life,  and  made  him  his  lieu- 
tenant. "But  he,"  says  Godscroft,  "laden  with  years  and 
old  age,  and  weary  of  troubles,  refused,  saying,  Sir,  you  have 
keept  nice,  and  your  black  coffer  in  Sterling,  too  long,  neither 
of  us  can  doe  you  any  good :  I,  because  my  friends  have  for- 
saken me,  and  my  followers  and  dependers  are  fallen  from 
me,  betaking  themselves  to  other  masters ;  and  your  black 
trunk  is  too  farre  from  you,  and  your  enemies  are  between 
you  and  it ;  or  (as  others  say)  because  there  was  in  it  a  sort 
of  black  coyne,  that  the  king  had  caused  to  be  coyned  by  the 
advice  of  his  courtiers ;  which  moneyes  (saith  he),  sir,  if  you 
had  put  out  at  the  first,  the  people  would  have  taken  it;  and 
if  you  had  employed  me  in  due  time,  I  might  have  done  you 
service.  But  now  there  is  none  that  will  take  notice  of  me, 
nor  meddle  with  your  money." — Hume's  History  of  the  House 
of  Douglas.    Fol.  Edin.  1644,  p.  206. 


Note  3  F. 

Arouse  old  friends,  and  gather  new. — P.  449. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Kyle,  says  ancient  tradition, 
that  Robert  Bruce  had  lauded  in  Carrick,  with  the  intention 
of  recovering  the  crown  of  Scotland,  the  Laird  of  Craigie  and 
forty-eight  men  in  his  immediate  neighborhood  declared  in 
favor  of  their  legitimate  prince.  Bruce  granted  them  a  tract 
of  land,  still  retained  by  the  freemen  of  Newton  to  this  day. 
The  original  charter  was  lost  when  the  pestilence  was  raging 
at  Ayr;  but  it  was  renewed  by  one  of  the  Jameses,  and  is 
dated  at  Faulklaud.  The  freemen  of  Newton  were  formerly 
officers  by  rotation.  The  Provost  of  Ayr  at  one  time  was  a 
freeman  of  Newton,  and  it  happened  to  be  his  turn,  while 
provost  in  Ayr,  to  be  officer  in  Newton,  both  of  which  offices 
he  discharged  at  the  same  time. 

The  forest  of  Selkirk  or  Ettriek  at  this  period  occupied  all 
the  district  which  retains  that  denomination,  and  embraced 
the  neighboring  dales  of  Tweeddale  and  at  least  the  Upper 
Ward  of  Clydesdale.  All  that,  tract  was  probably  as  waste  as 
it  is  mountainous,  and  covered  with  the  remains  of  the  ancient 
Caledonian  Forest,  which  is  supposed  to  have  stretched  from 
Cheviot  Hills  as  far  as  Hamilton,  and  to  have  comprehended 
even  a  part  of  Ayrshire.  At  the  fatal  battle  of  Falkirk,  Sir 
John  Stewart  of  Bonkill,  brother  to  the  Steward  of  Scotland, 
commanded  the  archers  of  Selkirk  Forest,  who  fell  around 
the  dead  body  of  their  leader.  The  English  historians  have 
commemorated  the  tall  and  stately  persons,  as  well  as  the 
unswerving  faith,  of  these  foresters.  Nor  has  their  interesting 
fall  escaped  the  notice  of  an  elegant  modern  poetess,  whose 
subject  led  her  to  speak  of  that  calamitous  engagement: — 

"  The  glance  of  the  morn  had  sparkled  bright 
On  their  plumage  green  and  their  actons  light; 
The  bugle  was  strung  at  each  hunter's  side, 
As  they  had  been  bound  to  the  chase  to  ride ; 
But  the  bugle  is  mute,  and  the  shafts  are  spent, 
The  arm  unnerved,  and  the  bow  unbent, 
And  the  tired  forester  is  laid 
Far,  far  from  the  clustering  greenwood  shade ! 


*  Dishes.- 
groats. 


Basins.—'  Dial.—7  Cases  of  knives.—*  English 


APPENDIX    TO    THE    LORD    OF    THE    ISLES. 


489 


Sore  have  they  toil'd — they  are  fallen  asleep, 
And  their  slumber  is  heavy,  and  dull,  and  deep! 
When  over  their  bones  the  grass  shall  wave, 
When  the  wild  winds  over  their  tombs  shall  rave, 
Memory  shall  lean  on  their  graves,  and  tell 
How  Selkirk's  hunters  bold  around  old  Stewart  fell !" 
Wallace,  or  the  Fight  of  Falkirk  [by  Miss 
Holfokd].  Lond.  4to,  1809,  pp.  170-1. 


Note  3  G. 

When  Bruce's  banner  had  vichtrimts  florid 
O'er  Loudoun's  mountain,  and  in  Ury's  vale.- 


-P.  450. 


The  first  important  advantage  gained  by  Bruce,  after  land- 
ing at  Turnberry,  was  over  Aymer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke, the  same  by  whom  he  had  been  defeated  near  Methven. 
They  met,  as  has  been  said,  by  appointment,  at  Loudon  Hill, 
in  the  west  of  Scotland.  Pembroke  sustained  a  defeat ;  and 
from  that  time  Bruce  was  at  the  head  of  a  considerable  fly- 
ing army.  Yet  he  was  subsequently  obliged  to  retreat  into 
Aberdeenshire,  and  was  there  assailed  by  Comyn,  Earl  of 
Buchan,  desirous  to  avenge  the  death  of  his  relative,  the  Red 
Comyn,  and  supported  by  a  body  of  English  troops  under 
Philip  de  Mowbray.  Bruce  was  ill  at  the  time  of  a  scrofulous 
disorder,  but  took  horse  to  meet  his  enemies,  although  obliged 
to  be  supported  on  either  side.  He  was  victorious,  and  it  is 
said  that  the  agitation  of  his  spirits  restored  his  health. 


Note  3  H. 


When  English  blood  oft.  deluged  Douglas  dale. — P.  450. 

The  "good  Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  during  these  commo- 
tions, often  took  from  the  English  his  own  castle  of  Douglas, 
but  being  unable  to  garrison  it,  contented  himself  with  de- 
stroying the  fortifications  and  retiring  into  the  mountains. 
As  a  reward  to  his  patriotism,  it  is  said  to  have  been  prophe- 
sied that  how  often  soever  Douglas  Castle  should  be  destroyed, 
it  should  always  again  arise  more  magnificent  from  its  ruins. 
Upon  one  of  these  occasions  he  used  fearful  cruelty,  causing 
all  the  store  of  provision  which  the  English  had  laid  up  in 
his  castle  to  be  heaped  together,  bursting  the  wine  and  beer 
casks  among  the  wheat  and  flour,  slaughtering  the  cattle 
upon  the  same  spot,  and  upon  the  top  of  the  whole  cutting 
the  throats  of  the  English  prisoners.  This  pleasantry  of  the 
"  good  Lord  James"  is  commemorated  under  the  name  of  the 
Douglas's  Larder.  A  more  pleasing  tale  of  chivalry  is  recorded 
by  Godscroft: — "By  this  means,  and  such  other  exploits,  he 
so  affrighted  the  enemy  that  it  was  counted  a  matter  of  great 
jeopardie  to  keep  this  castle,  which  began  to  be  called  the 
udvenlurous  (or  hazardous)  Castle  of  Douglas;  whereupon  Sir 
John  Walton  being  in  suit  of  an  English  lady,  she  wrote  to 
him,  that  when  he  had  kept  the  adventurous  Castle  of  Dou- 
glas seven  years,  then  he  might  think  himself  worthy  to  be  a 
suitor  to  her.  Upon  this  occasion  Walton  took  upon  him  the 
keeping  of  it,  and  succeeded  to  Thruswall,  but  he  ran  the 
same  fortune  with  the  rest  that  were  before  him.  For  Sir 
James,  having  first  dressed  an  ambuscado  near  unto  the  place, 
he  made  fourteen  of  his  men  take  so  many  sacks,  and  fill 
them  with  grass,  as  though  it  had  been  corn,  which  they  car- 
ried in  the  way  to  Lanark,  the  chief  market  town  in  that 


county :  so  hoping  to  draw  forth  the  captain  by  that  bait,  and 
either  to  take  him  or  the  castle,  or  both.  Neither  was  this 
expectation  frustrated,  for  the  captain  did  bite,  and  came 
forth  to  have  taken  this  victual  (as  he  supposed).  But  ere  he 
could  reach  these  carriers,  Sir  James,  with  his  company,  had 
gotten  between  the  castle  and  him ;  and  these  disguised  car- 
riers, seeing  the  captain  following  after  them,  did  quickly 
cast  off  their  sacks,  mounted  themselves  on  horseback,  and 
met  the  captain  with  a  sharp  encounter,  being  so  much  the 
more  amazed,  as  it  was  unlooked  for:  wherefore,  when  he 
saw  these  carriers  metamorphosed  into  warriors,  and  ready 
to  assault  him,  fearing  that  which  was,  that  there  was  some 
train  laid  for  them,  he  turned  about  to  have  retired  to  his 
castle,  but  there  he  also  met  with  his  enemies ;  between 
which  two  companies  he  and  his  whole  followers  were  slain, 
so  that  none  escaped :  the  captain  afterwards  being  searched, 
they  found  (as  it  is  reported)  his  mistress's  letter  about  him." 
— Hume's  History  of  the  House  of  Douglas,  fol.  pp.  29,  30.1 


Note  3  I. 


And  fiery  Edward  routed  stout  St.  John. — P.  450. 

"  John  de  St.  John,  with  15,000  horsemen,  had  advanced 
to  oppose  the  inroad  of  the  Scots.  By  a  forced  march  he 
endeavoured  to  surprise  them,  but  intelligence  of  his  motions 
was  timeously  received.  The  courage  of  Edward  Bruce,  ap- 
proaching to  temerity,  frequently  enabled  him  to  achieve 
what  men  of  more  judicious  valour  would  never  have  attempt- 
ed. He  ordered  the  infantry  and  the  meaner  sort  of  his 
army  to  intrench  themselves  in  strong  narrow  ground.  He 
himself,  with  fifty  horsemen  well  harnessed,  issued  forth 
under  cover  of  a  thick  mist,  surprised  the  English  on  their 
march,  attacked  and  dispersed  them." — Dalkymple's  Annals 
of  Scotland.    4to,  Edinburgh,  1779,  p.  25. 


Note  3  K. 


When  Randolph's  war-cry  swell'd  the  southern  gale. — P.  450. 

Thomas  Randolph,  Bruce's  sister's  son,  a  renowned  Scottish 
chief,  was  in  the  early  part  of  his  life  not  more  remarkable 
for  consistency  than  Bruce  himself.  He  espoused  his  uncle's 
party  when  Bruce  first  assumed  the  crown,  and  was  made 
prisoner  at  the  fatal  battle  of  Methven,  in  which  his  relative's 
hopes  appeared  to  be  ruined.  Randolph  accordingly  not  only 
submitted  to  the  English,  but  took  an  active  part  against 
Bruce;  appeared  in  arms  against  him;  and,  in  the  skirmish 
where  he  was  so  closely  pursued  by  the  blood-hound,  it  is  said 
his  nephew  took  his  standard  with  his  own  hand.  But  Ran- 
dolph was  afterwards  made  prisoner  by  Douglas  in  Tweeddale, 
and  brought  before  King  Robert.  Some  harsh  language  was 
exchanged  between  the  uncle  and  nephew,  and  the  latter  was 
committed  for  a  time  to  close  custody.  Afterwards,  however, 
they  were  reconciled,  and  Randolph  was  created  Earl  of 
Moray  about  1312.  After  this  period  he  eminently  distin- 
guished himself,  first  by  the  surprise  of  Edinburgh  Castle, 
and  afterwards  by  many  similar  enterprises,  conducted  with 
equal  courage  and  ability. 


1  This  is  the  foundation  of  the  author's  last  romance,  "  Cas- 
tle Dangerous."— Ed. 


490 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Note  3  L. 


Stirling's  towers, 

Beleaguer' d  by  Kiny  Roberts  powers ; 

And  they  took  term  of  truce. — P.  450. 

When  a  long  train  of  success,  actively  improved  by  Robert 
Bruce,  had  made  him  master  of  almost  all  Scotland,  Stirling 
( lastle  continued  to  hold  out.  The  care  of  the  blockade  was 
committed  by  the  king  to  his  brother  Edward,  who  concluded 
a  treaty  with  Sir  Philip  Mowbray,  the  governor,  that  he 
should  surrender  the  fortress  if  it  were  not  succored  by  the 
King  of  England  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day.  The  king 
severely  blamed  his  brother  for  the  impolicy  of  a  treaty  which 
gave  time  to  the  King  of  England  to  advance  to  the  relief  of 
the  castle  with  all  his  assembled  forces,  and  obliged  himself 
either  to  meet  them  in  battle  with  an  inferior  force  or  to 
retreat  with  dishonor.  "  Let  all  England  come,"  answered 
the  reckless  Edward ;  "  we  will  fight  them  were  they  more." 
The  consequence  was,  of  course,  that  each  kingdom  mustered 
its  strength  for  the  expected  battle ;  and  as  the  space  agreed 
upon  reached  from  Lent  to  Midsummer,  full  time  was  allowed 
for  that  purpose. 


Note  3  M. 


To  summon  prince  and  peer 
At  Berwick  bounds  to  meet  their  Liege. — P.  450. 

There  is  printed  in  Bymer's  Fcedera  the  summons  issued 
upon  this  occasion  to  the  sheriff  of  York ;  and  he  mentions 
eighteen  other  persons  to  whom  similar  ordinances  were 
issued.  It  seems  to  respect  the  infantry  alone,  for  it  is  en- 
titled Be  pedUibus  ad  recussum  Caslri  de  Slryvelin  a  Scotis 
obsessi,  properare  faciendis.  This  circumstance  is  also  clear 
from  the  reasoning  of  the  writ,  which  states :  "  We  have 
understood  that  our  Scottish  enemies  and  rebels  are  endeav- 
ouring to  collect  as  strong  a  force  as  possible  of  infantry,  in 
strong  and  marshy  grounds,  where  the  approach  of  cavalry 
would  be  difficult,  between  us  and  the  castle  of  Stirling." 
It  then  sets  forth  Mowbray's  agreement  to  surrender  the  cas- 
tle if  not  relieved  before  St.  John  the  Baptist's  day,  and  the 
king's  determination,  with  divine  grace,  to  raise  the  siege. 
"  Therefore,"  the  summons  further  bears,  "  to  remove  our 
said  enemies  and  rebels  from  such  places  as  above  mentioned, 
it  is  necessary  for  us  to  have  a  strong  force  of  infantry  fit  for 
arms.''  And  accordingly  the  sheriff  of  York  is  commanded 
to  equip  and  send  forth  a  body  of  four  thousand  infantry, 
to  be  assembled  at  Work,  upon  the  tenth  day  of  June  first, 
under  pain  of  the  royal  displeasure,  &c. 


Note  3  N. 

And  Cambria,  but  of  late  subdued, 

Sent  forth  her  mountain  multitude. — P.  450. 

Edward  I.,  with  the  usual  policy  of  a  conqueror,  employed 
the  Welsh,  whom  he  had  subdued,  to  assist  him  in  his  Scot- 
tish wars,  for  which  their  habits,  as  mountaineers,  particu- 
larly fitted  them.  But  this  policy  was  not  without  its  risks. 
Previous  to  the  battle  of  Falkirk,  the  Welsh  quarrelled  with 
the  English  men-at-arms,  and  after  bloodshed  on  both  parts, 
separated  themselves  from  his  army,  and  the  feud  between 
them,  at  so  dangerous  and  critical  a  juncture,  was  reconciled 


with  difficulty.  Edward  II.  followed  his  father's  example  in 
this  particular,  and  with  no  better  success.  They  could  not 
be  brought  to  exert  themselves  in  the  cause  of  their  conquer- 
ors. But  they  had  an  indifferent  reward  for  their  forbearani  e. 
Without  arms,  and  clad  only  in  scanty  dresses  of  linen  cloth, 
they  appeared  naked  in  the  eyes  even  of  the  Scottish  peas- 
antry ;  and  after  the  rout  of  Bannockburn  were  massacred 
by  them  in  great  numbers,  as  they  retired  in  confusion 
towards  their  own  country.  They  were  under  command  of 
Sir  Maurice  de  Berkeley. 


Note  3  O. 

And  Connoght pour'd  from  waste  and  wood 
Her  hundred  tribes,  whose  sceptre  rude 
Dark  Eth  O'Connor  sway'd. — P.  450. 

There  is  in  the  Fcedera  an  invitation  to  Eth  O'Connor,  chief 
of  the  Irish  of  Connaught,  setting  forth  that  the  king  was 
about  to  move  against  his  Scottish  rebels,  and  therefore  re- 
questing the  attendance  of  all  the  force  he  could  muster, 
either  commanded  by  himself  in  person  or  by  some  noble- 
man of  his  race.  These  auxiliaries  were  to  be  commanded  by 
Richard  de  Burgh,  Earl  of  Ulster.  Similar  mandates  were 
issued  to  the  following  Irish  chiefs,  whose  names  may  aston- 
ish the  unlearned  and  amuse  the  antiquary : — 

"  Eth  O  Donnuld,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tyconil ; 

Demod  0  Kahan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Fernetrew ; 

Doneval  O  Neel,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tryowyn  ; 

Neel  Macbreen,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Kynallewan ; 

Eth  Offyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Turtery  ; 

Admely  Mac  Anegus,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Onehagh ; 

Neel  O  Hanlan,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Erthere; 

Bien  Mac  Mahun,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Uriel; 

Lauercagh  Mac  Wyr,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Lougherin ; 

Gillys  O  Railly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Bresfeny ; 

Geffrey  O  Fergy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Montiragwil; 

Felyn  O  Honughur,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Connach  ; 

Donethuth  O  Bien,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Tothmund ; 

Dermod  Mac  Arthy,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Dessemound  ; 

Denenol  Carbragh  ; 

Maur.  Kenenagh  Mac  Murgh ; 

Murghugh  O  Bryn ; 

David  O  Tothvill ; 

Dermod  O  Tonoghur,  Doffaly ; 

Fyn  0  Dymsy ; 

Souethuth  Mac  (iillephatrick ; 

Lyssagh  O  Morth  ; 

Gilbertus  Ekelly,  Duci  Hibernicorum  de  Omany  ; 

Mac  Ethelau ; 

Omalau  Helyn,  Duci  Hibernicorum  Midie." 

Rymeu's  Fcedera,  vol.  iii.  pp.  476,  477. 


Note  3  P. 

Their  chief,  Fitz-LouU.—V.  452. 

Fitz  Louis,  or  MacLouis,  otherwise  called  Fullarton,  is  a 
family  of  ancient  descent  in  the  Isle  of  Arran.  They  are 
said  to  be  of  French  origin,  as  the  name  intimates.  They 
attached  themselves  to  Bruce  upon  his  first  landing;  and 
Fergus  MacLouis,  or  Fullarton,  received  from  the  grateful 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


491 


monarch  a  charter,  dated  26th  November,  in  the  second  year 
of  his  reign  (1307),  for  the  lands  of  Kilmichel  and  others, 
which  still  remain  in  this  very  ancient  and  respectable 
family. 


Note  3  Q. 

In  battles  four  beneath  their  eye 

The  forces  of  King  Robert  lie. — P.  452. 

The  arrangements  adopted  by  King  Robert  for  the  decisive 
battle  of  Bannockburn  are  given  very  distinctly  by  Barbour, 
and  form  an  edifying  lesson  to  tacticians.  Yet,  till  com- 
mented upon  by  Lord  Hailes,  this  important  passage  of  his- 
tory has  been  generally  and  strangely  misunderstood  by  his- 
torians.   I  will  here  endeavor  to  detail  it  fully. 

Two  days  before  the  battle,  Bruce  selected  the  field  of  ac- 
tion, and  took  post  there  with  his  army,  consisting  of  about 
thirty  thousand  disciplined  men,  and  about  half  the  number 
of  disorderly  attendants  upon  the  camp.  The  ground  was 
called  the  New  Park  of  Stirling ;  it  was  partly  open  and 
partly  broken  by  copses  of  wood  and  marshy  ground.  He 
divided  his  regular  forces  into  four  divisions.  Three  of  these 
occupied  a  front  line,  separated  from  each  other,  yet  sufficient- 
ly near  for  the  purpose  of  communication.  The  fourth  divis- 
ion formed  a  reserve.  The  line  extended  in  a  northeasterly 
direction  from  the  brook  of  Bannock,  which  was  so  rugged 
and  broken  as  to  cover  the  right  flank  effectually.,  to  the  vil- 
lage of  St.  Ninians,  probably  in  the  line  of  the  present  road 
from  Stirling  to  Kilsyth.  Edward  Bruce  commanded  the 
right  wing,  which  was  strengthened  by  a  strong  body  of  cav- 
alry under  Keith,  the  Marshal  of  Scotland,  to  whom  was  com- 
mitted the  important  charge  of  attacking  the  English  archers ; 
Douglas  and  the  young  Steward  of  Scotland  led  the  central 
wing,  and  Thomas  Randolph,  Earl  of  Moray,  the  left  wing. 
The  king  himself  commanded  the  fourth  division,  which 
lay  in  reserve  behind  the  others.  The  royal  standard  was 
pitched,  according  to  tradition,  in  a  stone,  having  a  round 
hole  for  its  reception,  and  thence  called  the  Bore-stone.  It 
is  still  shown  on  the  top  of  a  small  eminence  called  Brock's- 
brae,  to  the  southwest  of  St.  Ninians.  His  main  body  thus 
disposed,  King  Robert  sent  the  followers  of  the  camp,  fifteen 
thousand  and  upwards  in  number,  to  the  eminence  in  rear 
of  his  army,  called  from  that  circumstance  the  Gillies'  (i.  e. 
the  servants')  hill. 

The  military  advantages  of  this  position  were  obvious.  The 
Scottish  left  flank,  protected  by  the  brook  of  Bannock,  could 
not  be  turned ;  or,  if  that  attempt  were  made,  a  movement 
by  the  reserve  might  have  covered  it.  Again,  the  English 
could  not  pass  the  Scottish  army  and  move  towards  Stirling 
without  exposing  their  flank  to  be  attacked  while  in  march. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  the  Scottish  line  had  been  drawn  up 
east  and  west,  and  facing  to  the  southward,  as  affirmed  by 
Buchanan  and  adopted  by  Mr.  Nimmo,  the  author  of  the 
History  of  Stirlingshire,  there  appears  nothing  to  have  pre- 
vented the  English,  approaching  upon  the  carse  or  level 
ground  from  Falkirk,  either  from  turning  the  Scottish  left 
flank,  or  from  passing  their  position,  if  they  preferred  it, 
without  coming  to  an  action,  and  moving  on  to  the  relief  of 
Stirling.  And  the  Gillies'  hill,  if  this  less  probable  hypoth- 
esis be  adopted,  would  be  situated,  not  in  the  rear,  as  allowed 
by  all  the  historians,  but  upon  the  left  flank,  of  Bruce's  army. 


1  An  assistance  which,  by  the  way,  could  not  have  been 
rendered  had  not  the  English  approached  from  the  south- 
east; since,  had  their  march  been  due  north,  the  whole 


The  only  objection  to  the  hypothesis  above  laid  down  is  that 
the  left  flank  of  Bruce's  army  was  thereby  exposed  to  a  sally 
from  the  garrison  of  Stirling.  But,  1st,  the  garrison  were 
bound  to  neutrality  by  the  terms  of  Mowbray's  treaty ;  and 
Barbour  even  seems  to  censure  as  a  breach  of  faith  some 
secret  assistance  which  they  rendered  their  countrymen 
upon  the  eve  of  battle,  in  placing  temporary  bridges  of  doors 
and  spars  over  the  pools  of  water  in  the  carse,  to  enable  them 
to  advance  to  the  charge.1  2dly,  had  this  not  been  the  case, 
the  strength  of  the  garrison  was  probably  not  sufficient  to 
excite  apprehension.  3dly,  the  adverse  hypothesis  leaves  the 
rear  of  the  Scottish  army  as  much  exposed  to  the  Stirling 
garrison  as  the  left  flank  would  be  in  the  case  supposed. 

It  only  remains  to  notice  the  nature  of  the  ground  in  front 
of  Bruce's  line  of  battle.  Being  part  of  a  park  or  chase,  it 
was  considerably  interrupted  with  trees;  and  an  extensive 
marsh,  still  visible,  in  some  places  rendered  it  inaccessible, 
and  in  all  of  difficult  approach.  More  to  the  northward, 
where  the  natural  impediments  were  fewer,  Bruce  fortified 
his  position  against  cavalry  by  digging  a  number  of  pits,  so 
close  together,  says  Barbour,  as  to  resemble  the  cells  in  a 
honeycomb.  They  were  a  foot  in  breadth  and  between  two 
and  three  feet  deep,  many  rows  of  them  being  placed  one 
behind  the  other.  They  were  slightly  covered  with  brush- 
wood and  green  sods,  so  as  not  to  be  obvious  to  an  impetuous 
enemy. 

All  the  Scottish  army  were  on  foot,  excepting  a  select  body 
of  cavalry  stationed  with  Edward  Bruce  on  the  right  wing, 
under  the  immediate  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith,  the  Mar- 
shal of  Scotland,  who  were  destined  for  the  important  service 
of  charging  and  dispersing  the  English  archers. 

Thus  judiciously  posted,  in  a  situation  fortified  both  by  art 
and  nature,  Bruce  awaited  the  attack  of  the  English. 


Note  3  R. 


Beyond,  the  Southern  host  appears. — P.  452. 

Upon  the  23d  June,  1314,  the  alarm  reached  the  Scottish 
army  of  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  Douglas  and  the  mar- 
shal were  sent  to  reconnoitre  with  a  body  of  cavalry : — 

"  And  soon  the  great  host  have  they  seen, 
Where  shields  shining  were  so  sheen, 
And  basinets  burnished  bright, 
That  gave  against  the  sun  great  light. 
They  saw  so  fele2  brawdyne3  baners, 
Standards  and  pennons  and  spears, 
And  so  fele  knights  upon  steeds, 
All  flaming  in  their  weeds, 
And  so  fele  bataills,  and  so  broad, 
And  too  so  great  room  as  they  rode, 
That  the  maist  host,  and  the  stoutest 
Of  Christendom,  and  the  greatest, 
Should  be  abaysit  for  to  see 
Their  foes  into  such  quantity." 

The  Bruce,  vol.  ii.  p.  111. 

The  two  Scottish  commanders  were  cautious  in  the  account 
which  they  brought  back  to  their  camp.  To  the  king  in  pri- 
vate they  told  the  formidable  state  of  the  enemy ;  but  in  public 
reported  that  the  English  were  indeed  a  numerous  host,  but 
ill  commanded  and  worse  disciplined. 


Scottish  army  must  have  been  between  them  and  the  j 
rison. 

2  Many.  3  Displayed. 


492 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Note  3  S. 

With  these  tftt'  valiant  of  the  isles 

Beneath  their  chieftains  rank'd  their  files. — P.  452. 

The  men  of  Argyle,  the  islanders,  and  the  Highlanders  in 
general,  were  ranked  in  the  rear.  They  must  have  been 
numerous,  for  Bruce  had  reconciled  himself  with  almost  all 
their  chieftains  excepting  the  obnoxious  MacDougals  of 
Lorn.  The  following  deed,  containing  the  submission  of  the 
potent  Earl  of  Ross  to  the  king,  was  never  before  published. 
It  is  dated  in  the  third  year  of  Robert's  reign,  that  is,  1309: — 

"Obligacio   Comitis   Rossensis   pek  IIomagium   Fidel- 
itatem  et  scrii'tim. 

"Universis  christi  fidelibus  ad  quorum  noticiam  presentes 
litere  peruenerint  Willielmua  Comes  de  Ross  salutem  in  do- 
mino sempiternam.  Quia  magnificus  princeps  Dominus  Ro- 
bertus  dei  gracia  Rex  Scottorum  Dominus  meus  ex  innata 
sibi  bonitate,  inspirataque  clemencia,  et  gracia  speciali  remi- 
sit  michi  pure  rancorem  animi  sui,  et  relaxauitac  condonauit 
michi  omnimodas  transgressiones  seu  offensas  contra  ipsum 
et  suos  per  me  et  meos  vsque  ad  confeccionem  literarum  pre- 
sencium  perpetratas :  Et  terras  meas  et  tenementa  mea  om- 
nia graciose  concessit.  Et  me  nichilominus  de  terra  de  Ding- 
wal  et  ferncroskry  infra  comitatum  de  Suthyrland  de  benigna 
liberalitate  sua  heriditarie  infeodare  carauit.  Ego  tantam 
principis  beneuolenciam  efficaciter  attendens,  et  pro  tot  gra- 
ciis  michi  factis,  vicem  sibi  gratitudinis  meis  pro  viribus  de 

cetero  digne vite  cupiens  exhibere,  subicio 

et  obligo  me  et  heredes  meos  et  homines  meos  vniuersos  dicto 

Domino  meo  Regi  per  omnia erga 

suam  regiam  dignitatem,  quod  erimus  de  cetero  fideles  sibi  et 
heredibus  suis  et  fidele  sibi  seruicium  auxilium  et  concilium 

contra  omnes  homines  et  feminas  qui 

vivere  poterint  aut  mori,  et  super  h  .  .  .  Ego  Willielmua  pro 

me hominibus  meis  vniuersis  dicto 

domino  meo  Regi manibus  homagium  sponte 

feci  et  super  dei  ewangelia  sacramentum  prestiti 

In  quorum  omnium  testimonium  sigillum  meum, 

et  sigilla  Hugonis  filii  et  heredis  et  Johannis  filii  mei  vna  cum 
sigillis  venerabilium  patrum  Dominorum  Dauid  et  Thome 
Moraviensis  et  Rossensis  dei  gracia  episcoporum  presentibus 
Uteris  sunt  appensa.  Acta  scripta  et  data  apud  Aldern  in  Mo- 
rauia  vltimo  die  mensis  Octobris,  Anno  Regni  dicti  domini 
nostri  Regis  Roberti  Tertio.  Testibus  venerabilibus  patribus 
supradictis,  Domino  Bernardo  Cancellario  Regis,  Dominis 
Willielmo  de  Haya,  Johaune  de  Striuelyn,  Willielmo  Wys- 
man,  Johanne  de  Ffenton,  Dauid  de  Berkeley,  et  Waltero  de 
Berkeley  militibus,  magistro  Waltero  Ileroc,  Decano  ecclesie 
Morauie,  magistro  Willielmo  de  Creswel  eiusdem  ecclesie  pre- 
centore  et  mult  is  aliis  nobilibus  clericis  et  laicis  dictis  die  et 
loco  congregatis." 

The  copy  of  this  curious  dortiment  was  supplied  by  my 
friend  Mr.  Thomson,  Deputy  Register  of  Scotland,  whose 
researches  into  our  ancient  records  are  daily  throwing  new 
and  important  light  upon  the  history  of  the  country. 


Note  3  T. 

The  Monarch  rode  along  the  van. — P.  453. 

The  English  vanguard,  commanded  by  the  Earls  of  Glou- 
cester and  Hereford,  came  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army  upon 


1  Comrades.—2  Haste.- 
-6  Line. 


-3  Without  shrinking.—  *  Spurred. 


the  evening  of  the  23d  of  June.  Bruce  was  then  riding  upon 
a  little  palfrey,  in  front  of  his  foremost  line,  putting  his  host 
in  order.  It  was  then  that  the  personal  encounter  took  place 
betwixt  him  and  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun,  a  gallant  English 
knight,  the  issue  of  which  had  a  great  effect  upon  the  spirits 
of  both  armies.    It  is  thus  recorded  by  Barbour: — 

"  And  quhen  Glosyster  and  Herfurd  war 
With  thair  bataill,  approchand  ner, 
Befor  thaim  all  thar  come  rydand, 
With  helm  on  heid,  and  sper  in  hand, 
Schyr  Henry  the  Boune,  the  worthi, 
That  wes  a  wycht  kuycht,  and  a  hardy; 
And  to  the  Erie  off  Herfurd  cusyne : 
Armyt  in  armys  gud  and  fyne; 
Come  on  a  sted,  a  bow  sehote  ner, 
Befor  all  othyr  that  thar  wer : 
And  knew  the  king,  for  that  he  saw 
Him  swa  rang  his  men  on  raw ; 
And  by  the  croune,  that  wes  set 
Alsua  apon  his  bassynet. 
And  towart  him  he  went  in  hy. 
And  [quhen]  the  king  sua  apertly 
Saw  him  cum,  forouth  all  his  feris,1 
In  hy2  till  him  the  hors  he  steris. 
And  quhen  Schyr  Henry  saw  the  king 
Cum  on,  for  owtyn  abaysing,3 
Till  him  he  raid  in  full  gret  hy. 
He  thoucht  that  he  suld  weill  lychtly 
Wyn  him,  and  haf  him  at  his  will, 
Sen  he  him  horsyt  saw  sa  ill. 
Sprent4  thai  samyn  in  till  a  ling.s 
Schyr  Henry  myssit  the  noble  king. 
And  he,  that  in  his  sterapys  stud, 
With  the  ax  that  wes  hard  and  gud, 
With  sa  gret  mayne6  racht  him  a  dynt, 
That  nothyr  hat,  na  helm,  mycht  stynt 
The  hewy'  dusche8  that  he  him  gave, 
That  ner  the  heid  till  the  harynys  clave. 
The  hand  ax  schaft  fruschit9  in  twa ; 
And  he  doune  to  the  erd  gan  ga 
All  flatlynys,10  for  him  faillyt  mycht. 
This  wes  the  fyrst  strak  off  the  fycht."' 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  viii.  v.  684. 

The  Scottish  leaders  remonstrated  with  the  king  upon  his 
temerity.  He  only  answered,  "  I  have  broken  my  good  battle- 
axe."  The  English  vanguard  retreated  after  witnessing  this 
single  combat.  Probably  their  generals  did  not  think  it 
advisable  to  hazard  an  attack  while  its  unfavorable  issue 
remained  upon  their  minds. 


Note  3  U. 


"  What  train  of  dust,  with  trumpet  sound 
And  glimmering  spears,  is  wheeling  round 
Our  leftward  flank  .<"'— P.  454. 

While  the  van  of  the  English  army  advanced,  a  detached 
body  attempted  to  relieve  Stirling.  Lord  Hailes  gives  the 
following  account  of  this  manoeuvre  and  the  result,  which  is 
accompanied  by  circumstances  highly  characteristic  of  the 
chivalrous  manners  of  the  age,  and  displays  that  generosity 
which  reconciles  us  even  to  their  ferocity  upon  other  occa- 
sions. 


«  Strength  or  force.— ~  Heavy.— 8  Clash.—*  Broke.—  ™  Flat 


APPENDIX   TO   THE    LORD   OF   THE   ISLES. 


493 


Bruce  had  enjoined  Randolph,  who  commanded  the  left 
wing  of  his  army,  to  be  vigilant  in  preventing  any  advanced 
parties  of  the  English  from  throwing  succors  into  the  castle 
of  Stirling. 

"  Eight  hundred  horsemen,  commanded  by  Sir  Robert  Clif- 
ford, were  detached  from  the  English  army;  they  made  a 
circuit  by  the  low  grounds  to  the  east,  and  approached  the 
castle.  The  king  perceived  their  motions,  and,  coming  up  to 
Randolph,  angrily  exclaimed,  '  Thoughtless  man !  you  have 
suffered  the  enemy  to  pass.'  Randolph  hasted  to  repair  his 
fault,  or  perish.  As  he  advanced,  the  English  cavalry  wheeled 
to  attack  him.  Randolph  drew  up  his  troops  in  a  circular 
form,  with  their  spears  resting  on  the  ground,  and  protended 
on  every  side.  At  the  first  onset,  Sir  William  Daynecourt,  an 
English  commander  of  distinguished  note,  was  slain.  The 
enemy,  far  superior  in  numbers  to  Randolph,  environed  him, 
and  pressed  hard  on  his  little  band.  Douglas  saw  his  jeopar- 
dy, and  requested  the  king's  permission  to  go  and  succor 
him.  'You  shall  not  move  from  your  ground,'  cried  the 
king;  'let  Randolph  extricate  himself  as  he  best  may.  I 
will  not  alter  my  order  of  battle,  and  lose  the  advantage  of 
my  position.' — 'In  truth,'  replied  Douglas,  'I  cannot  stand 
by  and  see  Randolph  perish  ;  and,  therefore,  with  your  leave, 
I  must  aid  him.'  The  king  unwillingly  consented,  and  Dou- 
glas flew  to  the  assistance  of  his  friend.  While  approaching, 
he  perceived  that  the  English  were  falling  into  disorder,  and 
that  the  perseverance  of  Randolph  had  prevailed  over  their 
impetuous  courage.  '  Halt,'  cried  Douglas, '  those  brave  men 
have  repulsed  the  enemy ;  let  us  not  diminish  their  glory  by 
sharing  it.'  " — Dalrymple's  Annals  of  Scotland.  4to,  Edin- 
burgh, 1779,  pp.  44,  45. 

Two  large  stones  erected  at  the  north  end  of  the  village  of 
Newhouse,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  south  part  of 
Stirling,  ascertain  the  place  of  this  memorable  skirmish.  The 
circumstance  tends,  were  confirmation  necessary,  to  support 
the  opinion  of  Lord  Hailes  that  the  Scottish  line  had  Stirling 
on  its  left  flank.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Randolph  com- 
manded infantry,  Daynecourt  cavalry.  Supposing,  therefore, 
according  to  the  vulgar  hypothesis,  that  the  Scottish  line  was 
drawn  up,  facing  to  the  south,  in  the  line  of  the  brook  of  Ban- 
nock, and  consequently  that  Randolph  was  stationed  with 
his  left  flank  resting  upon  Milntown  bog,  it  is  morally  impos- 
sible that  his  infantry,  moving  from  that  position  with  what- 
ever celerity,  could  cut  off  from  Stirling  a  body  of  cavalry 
who  had  already  passed  St.  Ninians,1  or,  in  other  words,  were 
already  between  them  and  the  town.  Whereas,  supposing 
Randolph's  left  to  have  approached  St.  Ninians,  the  short 
movement  to  Newhouse  could  easily  be  executed,  so  as  to  in- 
tercept the  English  in  the  manner  described. 


Note  3  V. 

Responsive  from  the  Scottish  host, 

Pipe-clang  and  bugle-sound  were  toss'd. — P.  455. 

There  is  an  old  tradition  that  the  well-known  Scottish  tune 
of  "  Hey,  tutti  taitti "  was  Bruce's  march  at  the  battle  of 


1  Barbour  says  expressly,  they  avoided  the  New  Park 
(where  Bruce's  army  lay),  and  held  "  well  neath  the  Kirk," 
which  can  only  mean  St.  Ninians. 

2  Together. 

3  Schiltrum. — This  word  has  been  variously  limited  or  ex- 
tended in  its  signification.  In  general,  it  seems  to  imply  a 
large  body  of  men  drawn  up  very  closely  together.  But  it  has 
been  limited  to  imply  a  round  or  circular  body  of  men  so 
drawn  up.  I  cannot  understand  it  with  this  limitation  in  the 
present  case.    The  schiltrum  of  the  Scottish  army  at  Falkirk 


Bannockburn.  The  late  Mr.  Ritson,  no  granter  of  proposi- 
tions, doubts  whether  the  Scots  had  any  martial  music,  quotes 
Froissart's  account  of  each  soldier  in  the  host  bearing  a  little 
horn,  on  which,  at  the  onset,  they  would  make  such  a  horrible 
noise,  as  if  all  the  devils  of  hell  had  been  among  them.  He 
observes  that  these  horns  are  the  only  music  mentioned  by 
Barbour,  and  concludes  that  it  must  remain  a  moot  point 
whether  Bruce's  army  were  cheered  by  the  sound  even  of  a 
solitary  bagpipe.— Historical  Essay  prefixed  to  Ritson's  Scottish 
Songs.  It  may  be  observed  in  passing  that  the  Scottish  of 
this  period  certainly  observed  some  musical  cadence,  even  in 
winding  their  horns,  since  Bruce  was  at  once  recognized  by 
his  followers  from  his  mode  of  blowing.  See  Note  2  T  on 
canto  iv.  But  the  tradition,  true  or  false,  has  been  the  means 
of  securing  to  Scotland  one  of  the  finest  lyrics  in  the  lan- 
guage, the  celebrated  war-song  of  Burns, — "  Scots,  wha  ha'e 
wi'  Wallace  bled." 


Note  3  W. 


Now  onward,  and  in  open  view, 

The  countless  ranks  of  England  drew. — P.  455. 

Upon  the  24th  of  June,  the  English  army  advanced  to  the 
attack.  The  narrowness  of  the  Scottish  front,  and  the  nature 
of  the  ground,  did  not  permit  them  to  have  the  full  advantage 
of  their  numbers,  nor  is  it  very  easy  to  find  out  what  was  their 
proposed  order  of  battle.  The  vanguard,  however,  appeared 
a  distinct  body,  consisting  of  archers  and  spearmen  on  foot, 
and  commanded,  as  already  said,  by  the  Earls  of  Gloucester 
and  Hereford.  Barbour,  in  one  place,  mentions  that  they 
formed  nine  battles  or  divisions ;  but  from  the  following  pas- 
sage, it  appears  that  there  was  no  room  or  space  for  them  to 
extend  themselves,  so  that,  except  the  vanguard,  the  whole 
army  appeared  to  form  one  solid  and  compact  body : — 

"  The  English  men,  on  either  party, 

That  as  angels  shone  brightly, 

Were  not  array'd  on  such  manner : 

For  all  their  battles  samyn2  were 

In  a  schiltrum.3    But  whether  it  was 

Through  the  great  straitness  of  the  place 

That  they  were  in,  to  bide  fighting; 

Or  that  it  was  for  abaysing  ;* 

I  wete  not.    But  in  a  schiltrum 

It  seemed  they  were  all  and  some ; 

Out  ta'en  the  vaward  anerly,5 

That  right  with  a  great  company, 

Be  them  selwyn,  arrayed  were. 

Who  had  been  by,  might  have  seen  there 

That  folk  ourtake  a  mekill  feild 

On  breadth,  where  many  a  shining  shield, 

And  many  a  burnished  bright  armour, 

And  many  a  man  of  great  valour, 

Might  in  that  great  schiltrum  be  seen  : 

And  many  a  bright  banner  and  sheen." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  vol.  ii.  p.  137. 


was  undoubtedly  of  a  circular  form,  in  order  to  resist  the  at- 
tacks of  the  English  cavalry,  on  whatever  quarter  they  might 
be  charged.  But  it  does  not  appear  how  or  why  the  English, 
advancing  to  the  attack  at  Bannockburn,  should  have  arrayed 
themselves  in  a  circular  form.  It  seems  more  probable  that 
by  schiltrum,  in  the  present  case,  Barbour  means  to  express 
an  irregular  mass  into  which  the  English  army  was  com- 
pressed by  the  unwieldiness  of  its  numbers  and  the  careless- 
ness or  ignorance  of  its  leaders. 
*  Frightening.  B  Alone. 


494 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Note  3  X. 

See  where  yon  barefoot  Abbot  stands, 

Atul  blesses  them  with  lifted  hands. — P.  455. 

"  Maurice,  Abbot  of  Inchaffray,  placing  himself  on  an  emi- 
nence, celebrated  mass  in  sight  of  the  Scottish  army.  He 
then  passed  along  the  front  barefooted,  and  bearing  a  crucifix 
in  bis  hands,  and  exhorting  the  Scots,  in  few  and  forcible 
words,  to  combat  for  their  rights  and  their  liberty.  The  Scots 
kneeled  down.  'They  yield,'  cried  Edward;  'see,  they  im- 
plore mercy.'  'They  do,'  answered  Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 
'  but  not  ours.  On  that  field  they  will  be  victorious,  or  die.'" 
—Annals  of  Scotland,  vol.  ii.  p.  47. 


Note  3  Y. 

Forth,  Marshal,  on  the  peasant  foe  ! 
We'll  lame  the  terrors  of  their  bou; 

And  cut  the  bow-string  loose  ! — P.  456. 

The  English  archers  commenced  the  attack  with  their  usual 
bravery  and  dexterity.  But  against  a  force  whose  importance 
he  had  learned  by  fatal  experience,  Bruce  was  provided.  A 
small  but  select  body  of  cavalry  were  detached  from  the  right, 
under  command  of  Sir  Robert  Keith.  They  rounded,  as  I 
conceive,  the  marsh  called  Milutown  bog,  and,  keeping  the 
firm  ground,  charged  the  left  flank  and  rear  of  the  English 
archers.  As  the  bowmen  had  no  spears  nor  long  weapons  fit 
to  defend  themselves  against  horse,  they  were  instantly 
thrown  into  disorder,  and  spread  through  the  whole  English 
army  a  confusion  from  which  they  never  fairly  recovered. 

"The  Inglis  archeris  schot  sa  fast, 

That  mycht  thair  schot  haff  ony  last, 

It  had  bene  hard  to  Scottis  men. 

Bot  King  Robert,  that  wele  gan  ken* 

That  thair  archeris  war  peralouss, 

And  thair  schot  rycht  hard  and  grewouss 

Ordanyt,  forouth^  the  assemble, 

Hys  marschell  with  a  gret  menye, 

Fyve  hundre  armyt  in  to  stele, 

That  on  lycht  horss  war  horsyt  welle, 

For  to  pryk3  amang  the  archeris; 

And  swa  assaile  thaim  with  thair  speris, 

That  thai  na  layser  haiff  to  schute. 

This  marschell  that  Ik  of  mute,4 

That  Schyr  Robert  of  Keyth  was  cauld, 

As  Ik  befor  her  has  yow  tauld, 

Quhen  he  saw  the  bataillis  sua 

Assembill,  and  to  gidder  ga, 

And  saw  the  archeris  schoyt  stoutly ; 

With  all  thaim  off  his  cumpany, 

In  hy  apon  thaim  gan  he  rid; 

And  our  tuk  thaim  at  a  sid  :6 

And  ruschyt  amang  thaim  sa  rudly, 

Stekand  thaim  sa  dispitoUBly, 

And  in  sic  fusoun6  berand  doun. 

And  slayand  thaim,  for  owtvn  ransoun  ;r 

That  thai  thaim  scalyt8  euirOkane.* 

And  fra  that  tyme  furth  thar  wes  nane 


1  Know.- 
I  speak  of.- 


Disjoined  from  the  main  body. — 3  Spur. — 4  That 
'  Set  upon  their  flank. 


That  assemblyt  schot  to  ma.10 
Quhen  Scottis  archeris  saw  that  thai  sua 
War  rebutyt,11  thai  woux  hardy, 
And  with  all  thair  mycht  schot  egrely 
Amang  the  horss  men,  that  thar  raid  ; 
And  woundis  wid  to  thaim  thai  maid ; 
And  slew  of  thaim  a  full  gret  dele." 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  ix.  v.  228. 

Although  the  success  of  this  manoeuvre  was  evident,  it  is 
very  remarkable  that  the  Scottish  generals  do  not  appear  to 
have  profited  by  the  lesson.  Almost  every  subsequent  battle 
which  they  lost  against  England  was  decided  by  the  archers, 
to  whom  the  close  and  compact  array  of  the  Scottish  phalanx 
afforded  an  exposed  and  unresisting  mark.  The  bloody  battle 
of  Halidon  Hill,  fought  scarce  twenty  years  afterwards,  was 
so  completely  gained  by  the  archers  that  the  English  are  said 
to  have  lost  only  one  knight,  one  esquire,  and  a  few  foot  sol- 
diers. At  the  battle  of  Neville's  Cross,  in  1346,  where  David 
II.  was  defeated  and  made  prisoner,  John  de  Graham,  ob- 
serving the  loss  which  the  Scots  sustained  from  the  English 
bowmen,  offered  to  charge  and  disperse  them  if  a  hundred 
men-at-arms  were  put  under  his  command.  "But,  to  confess 
the  truth,"  says  Fordun,  "  he  could  not  procure  a  single  horse- 
man for  the  service  proposed."  Of  such  little  use  is  experience 
in  war,  where  its  results  are  opposed  by  habit  or  prejudice. 


Note  3  Z. 


Each  braggart  churl  could  boast  before, 
Twelve  Scottish  lives  his  baldric  bore. — P.  456. 

Roger  Ascham  quotes  a  similar  Scottish  proverb.  "  whereby 
they  give  the  whole  praise  of  shooting  honestly  to  English- 
men, saying  thus,  'that  every  English  archer  beareth  under 
his  girdle  twenty-four  Scottes.'  Indeed  Toxophilus  says 
before,  and  truly,  of  the  Scottish  nation,  'The  Scottes  surely 
be  good  men  of  warre  in  theyre  owne  feates  as  can  be ;  but  as 
for  shootinge,  they  can  neither  use  it  to  any  profite,  nor  yet 
challenge  it  for  any  praise.'" — Works  of  Ascham,  edited  bi 
Bennel.    4to,  p.  110. 

It  is  said,  I  trust  incorrectly,  by  an  ancient  English  histo- 
rian, that  the  "  good  Lord  James  of  Douglas  "  dreaded  the 
superiority  of  the  English  archers  so  much  that  when  he 
made  any  of  them  prisoners,  he  gave  him  the  option  of  losing 
the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  or  his  right  eye,  either  species 
of  mutilation  rendering  him  incapable  to  use  the  bow.  I  have 
mislaid  the  reference  to  this  singular  passage. 


Note  4  A. 


Down!  down!  in  headlong  overthrow 
Horsemen  and  horse,  the  foremost  go.— P.  456 

It  is  generally  alleged  by  historians  that  the  English  men- 
at-arms  fell  into  the  hidden  snare  which  Bruce  had  prepared 
for  them.  Barbour  does  not  mention  the  circumstance.  Ac- 
cording to  his  account,  Randolph,  seeing  the  slaughter  made 
by  the  cavalry  on  the  right  wing  among  the  archers,  advanced 
courageously  against  the  main  body  of  the  English,  and  en- 


•  Numbers.  —  '  Ransom.  — «  Dispersed.  —  9  Every  one. 
w  Make. —  u  Driven  back. 


APPENDIX  TO  THE  LORD  OF  THE  ISLES. 


495 


tered  into  close  combat  with  them.  Douglas  and  Stuart,  who 
commanded  the  Scottish  centre,  led  their  division  also  to  the 
charge,  and  the  battle  becoming  general  along  the  whole  line, 
was  obstinately  maintained  on  both  sides  for  a  long  space  of 
time ;  the  Scottish  archers  doing  great  execution  among  the 
English  men-at-arms,  after  the  bowmen  of  England  were  dis- 
persed. 


Note  4  B. 


And  steeds  that  shriek  in  agony. — P.  456. 

I  have  been  told  that  this  line  requires  an  explanatory  note ; 
and,  indeed,  those  who  witness  the  silent  patience  with  which 
horses  submit  to  the  most  cruel  usage  may  be  permitted  to 
doubt  that,  in  moments  of  sudden  and  intolerable  anguish, 
they  utter  a  most  melancholy  cry.  Lord  Erskine,  in  a  speech 
made  in  the  House  of  Lords,  upon  a  bill  for  enforcing  human- 
ity towards  animals,  noticed  this  remarkable  fact,  in  language 
which  I  will  not  mutilate  by  attempting  to  repeat  it.  It  was 
my  fortune,  upon  one  occasion,  to  hear  a  horse,  in  a  moment 
of  agony,  utter  a  thrilling  scream,  which  I  stili  consider  the 
most  melancholy  sound  I  ever  heard. 


Note  4  C. 


Lord  of  the  Isles,  my  trust  in  thee 

Is  firm  as  A  i/sa  Hock ; 
Mush  on  with  Highland  sword  and  targe, 
I,  with  my  Carrick  spearmen,  charge. — P.  457. 

When  the  engagement  between  the  main  bodies  had  lasted 
some  time,  Bruce  made  a  decisive  movement,  by  bringing  up 
the  Scottish  reserve.  It  is  traditionally  said  that  at  this 
crisis  he  addressed  the  Lord  of  the  Isles  in  a  phrase  used  as  a 
motto  by  some  of  his  descendants,  "  My  trust  is  constant  in 
thee."  Barbour  intimates  that  the  reserve  "assembled  on 
one  field,"  that  is,  on  the  same  line  with  the  Scottish  forces 
already  engaged ;  which  leads  Lord  Hailes  to  conjecture  that 
the  Scottish  ranks  must  have  been  much  thinned  by  slaughter, 
since,  in  that  circumscribed  ground,  there  was  room  for  the 
reserve  to  fall  into  the  line.  But  the  advance  of  the  Scottish 
cavalry  must  have  contributed  a  good  deal  to  form  the  vacancy 
occupied  by  the  reserve. 


Note  4  D. 


To  arms  they  flew, — axe,  club,  or  spear, — 
And  mimic  ensigns  high  they  rear. — P.  458. 

The  followers  of  the  Scottish  camp  observed,  from  the  Gil- 
lies' hill  in  the  rear,  the  impression  produced  upon  the  Eng- 
lish army  by  the  bringing  up  of  the  Scottish  reserve,  and, 
prompted  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the  moment,  or  the  desire  of 
plunder,  assumed,  in  a  tumultuary  manner,  such  arms  as  they 
found  nearest,  fastened  sheets  to  tent-poles  and  lances,  and 
showed  themselves  like  a  new  army  advancing  to  battle. 

i  Swains. — 2  Rabble. — 8  Kept  the  provisions. 


"  Yomen,  and  swanys,1  and  pitaill,4 

That  in  the  Park  yemyt  wictaill,3 

War  left ;  quhen  thai  wyst  but  lesing,* 

That  thair  lordis,  with  fell  fechtyng, 

On  thair  fayis  assembly t  wer ; 

Ane  oft'  thaim  selwyn5  that  war  thar 

Capitane  of  thaim  all  thai  maid. 

And  schetis,  that  war  sumedele6  brad, 

Thai  festnyt  in  steid  off  baneris, 

Apon  lang  treys  and  speris : 

And  said  that  thai  wald  se  the  fycht ; 

And  help  thair  lordis  at  thair  mycht. 

Quhen  her  till  all  assentyt  wer, 

In  a  rout  assemblit  er;7 

Fyftene  thowsand  thai  war,  or  ma. 

And  than  in  gret  hy  gan  thai  ga, 

With  thair  baneris,  all  in  a  rout, 

As  thai  had  men  bene  styth8  and  stout. 

Thai  come,  with  all  that  assemble, 

Rycht  quhill  thai  mycht  the  bataill  se; 

Than  all  at  anys  thai  gave  a  cry, 

'Sla!  sla!    Apon  thaim  hastily !' " 

Barbour's  Bruce,  book  ix.  v.  410. 

The  unexpected  apparition  of  what  seemed  a  new  army 
completed  the  confusion  which  already  prevailed  among  the 
English,  who  fled  in  every  direction,  and  were  pursued  with 
immense  slaughter.  The  brook  of  Bannock,  according  to 
Barbour,  was  so  choked  with  the  bodies  of  men  and  horses 
that  it  might  have  been  passed  dry-shod.  The  followers  of 
the  Scottish  camp  fell  upon  the  disheartened  fugitives,  and 
added  to  the  confusion  and  slaughter.  Many  were  driven 
into  the  Forth,  and  perished  there,  which,  by  the  way,  could 
hardly  have  happened  had  the  armies  been  drawn  up  east 
and  west ;  since,  in  that  case,  to  get  at  the  river  the  English 
fugitives  must  have  fled  through  the  victorious  army.  About 
a  short  mile  from  the  field  of  battle  is  a  place  called  the 
Bloody  Folds.  Here  the  Earl  of  Gloucester  is  said  to  have 
made  a  stand,  and  died  gallantly  at  the  head  of  his  own  mili- 
tary tenants  and  vassals.  He  was  much  regretted  by  both 
sides;  and  it  is  said  the  Scottish  would  gladly  have  saved  his 
life,  but,  neglecting  to  wear  his  surcoat  with  armorial  bear- 
ings over  his  armor,  he  fell  unknown,  after  his  horse  had 
been  stabbed  with  spears. 

Sir  Marmaduke  Twenge,  an  English  knight,  contrived  to 
conceal  himself  during  the  fury  of  the  pursuit,  and  when  it 
was  somewhat  slackened,  approached  King  Robert.  "  Whose 
prisoner  are  you,  Sir  Marmaduke?"  said  Bruce,  to  whom  he 
was  personally  known.  "  Yours,  sir,"  answered  the  knight. 
"I  receive  you,"  answered  the  king,  and,  treating  him  with 
the  utmost  courtesy,  loaded  him  with  gifts,  and  dismissed  him 
without  ransom.  The  other  prisoners  were  all  well  treated. 
There  might  be  policy  in  this,  as  Bruce  would  naturally  wish 
to  acquire  the  good  opinion  of  the  English  barons,  who  were 
at  this  time  at  great  variance  with  their  king.  But  it  also 
well  accords  with  his  high  chivalrous  character. 


Note  4  E. 

Oh,  give  their  hapless  Prince  his  due.— P.  458. 

Edward  II.,  according  to  the  best  authorities,  showed,  in 
the  fatal  field  of  Bannockburn,  personal  gallantry  not  un- 
worthy of  his  great  sire  and  greater  son.    He  remained  on  the 

4  Lying. — 6  Selves.—6  Somewhat.—7  Are.—8  Stiff. 


496 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


field  till  forced  away  by  the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  when  all  was 
lost.  He  then  rode  to  the  castle  of  Stirling,  and  demanded 
admittance;  but  the  governor  remonstrating  upon  the  impru- 
dence of  shutting  himself  up  in  that  fortress,  which  must  so 
soon  surrender,  he  assembled  around  his  person  five  hundred 
men-at-arms,  and,  avoiding  the  field  of  battle  and  the  victo- 
riOUS  army,  fiVd  towards  Linlithgow,  pursued  by  Douglas 
With  about  sixty  horse.  They  were  augmented  by  Sir  Law- 
rence  Abernethy  with  twenty  more,  whom  Douglas  met  in 
the  Torwood  upon  tln-ir  way  to  join  the  English  army,  and 
whom  he  easily  persuaded  to  desert  the  defeated  monarch, 
and  toassist  in  the  pursuit.  They  bong  upon  Edward's  flight 
as  far  as  Dunbar,  too  few  in  number  to  assail  him  with  effect, 
but  enough  to  harass  his  retreat  so  constantly  that  whoever 
fell  an  instant  behind  was  instantly  slain  or  made  prisoner. 
Edward's  ignominious  flight  terminated  at  Dunbar,  where  the 
Earl  of  March,  who  still  professed  allegiance  to  him, "  received 
him  full  gently."  From  thence  the  monarch  of  so  great  an 
empire,  and  the  late  commander  of  so  gallant  and  numerous 
an  army,  escaped  to  Bamborough  in  a  fishing  vessel. 

Bruce,  as  will  appear  from  the  following  document,  lost  no 
time  in  directing  the  thunders  of  Parliamentary  censure 
against  such  part  of  his  subjects  as  did  not  return  to  their 
natural  allegiance  after  the  battle  of  Banuockburn: — 

Apud  Monasterium  de  Cambuskenneth, 

VI  DIE  novembris,  m,ccc,xiv. 

Judicium   Redilum   apud  Kambuskinet  contra  omnes  illos  qui 
tunc  fuerunt  contra  fidem  et  pacem  Domini  Regis. 

Anno  gracie  millesimo  tricentisimo  quarto  decimo  sexto 
die  Novembris  tenente  parliamentum  suum  Excellentissimo 
principe  Domino  Roberto  Dei  gracia  Rege  Scottorum  Illustri 
in  monasterio  de  Cambuskyneth  concordatum  fuit  finaliter 
Judicatum  [ac  super]  hoc  statutum  de  Coneilio  et  Assensu 
Episcoporum  et  ceterorum  Prelatorum  Comitum  Baronum  et 
aliorum  nobilium  regni  Scocie  nee  non  et  tocius  commutii- 
tatis  regni  predicti  quod  omnes  qui  contra  fidem  et  pacem 
dicti  domini  regis  in  hello  seu  alibi  mortui  sunt  [vel  qui  die] 
to  die  ad  pacem  ejus  et  fidem  non  venerant  licet  sepius  vocati 
et  legitime  expectati  fuissent  de  terris  et  tenementis  et  omni 
alio  statu  infra  regnum  Scocie  perpetuo  sint  exheredati  et 
habeantur  de  cetero  tanquam  inimici  Regis  et  Regni  abomni 
vendicacione  juris  hereditarii  vel  juris  alteriuscujuscunque  in 
posterum  prose  et  heredibus  snis  in  perpetuum  privati  Ad  per- 
petnam  igitur  rei  memoriam  et  evidentem  probacionem  hujus 
Judicii  et  Statuti  sigilla  Episcoporum  et  aliorum  Prelatorum 
nec  ii"])  et  comitum  Baronum  ac  ceterorum  nobilium  dicti 
R>'gui  present]  ordinacioni  Judicio  et  statuto  sunt  appensa. 

Sigillum  Domini  Regis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Sancti  Andree 
Sigillum  Boberti  Episcopi  Glascuensis 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Episcopi  Dunkeldensis 

.    Episcopi 

.    Episcopi 

.    Episcopi 

Sigillum  Alani  Episcopi  Sodorensis 
Sigillum  Johannis  Episcopi  Hiccbynensis 
Sigillum  Aiidn-e  Episcopi  Ergadicnsis 
Sigillum  Frechardi  Episcopi  Cathanensis 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Scona 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Oalco 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Abirbrothok 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Sancta  Cruce 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Londoi  la 

1  Together. 

8  Red  or  gilded. 

8  TThe  extracts  from  Barbour  in  this  edition  of  Sir  Walter 


Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Newbotill 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Cupro 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Paslet 
Mgillnm  Abbatis  de  Dunfermelyn 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Lincluden 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Insula  Missarum 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Saneto  Columba 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Deer 
Sigillum  Abbatis  de  Dulce  Corde 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Coldinghame 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Rostyimt 
Sigillum  Prioris  Sancte  Andree 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Pittinwem 
Sigillum  Prioris  de  Insula  de  Lochlevin 
Sigillum  Senescalli  Scocie 
Sigillum  Willelmi  Comitis  de  Ros 


Sigillum  Gilberti  de  la  Haya  Constabularii  Scocie 

Sigillum  Roberti  de  Keth  Mariscalli  Scocie 

Sigillum  Hugonis  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Jacobi  de  Duglas 

Sigillum  Johannis  de  Saneto  Claro 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Ros 

Sigillum  Alexandri  de  Settone 

Sigillum  Walteri  Haliburtone 

Sigillum  Davidis  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Duncani  de  Wallays 

Sigillum  Thome  de  Dischingtone 

Sigillum  Andree  de  Moravia 

Sigillum  Archibaldi  de  Betun 

Sigillum  Ranulphi  de  Lyill 

Sigillum  Malcomi  de  Balfour 

Sigillum  Normanni  de  Lesley 

Sigillum  Nigelli  de  Campo  hello 

Sigillum  Morni  de  Musco  Campo 


Note  4  F. 


Nor  for  De  Argentine  alone 

Through  Amnion's  church  these  torches  shone, 

And  rose  the  death-prayer's  awful  tone. — P.  459. 

The  remarkable  circumstances  attending  the  death  of  De 
Argentine  have  been  already  noticed  (Note  L).  Besides  this 
renowned  warrior,  there  fell  many  representatives  of  the 
noblest  houses  in  England,  which  never  sustained  a  more 
bloody  and  disastrous  defeat.  Barbour  says  that  two  hundred 
pairs  of  gilded  spurs  were  taken  from  the  field  of  battle ;  and 
thai  siime  were  left  the  author  can  bear  witness,  who  has  in 
his  possession  a  curious  antique  spur,  dug  up  in  the  morass, 
not  long  since. 

"  It  wes  forsuth  a  gret  ferly, 

To  se  samyn1  sa  fele  dede  lie. 

Twa  hundre  payr  of  spuris  reid,2 

War  tane  of  knichtis  that  war  deid." 

I  am  now  to  take  my  leave  of  Barbour,  not  without  a  sincere 
wi\li  that  the  public  may  encourage  the  undertaking  of  my 
friend  Dr.  Jamieson,  who  has  issued  proposals  for  publishing 
an  accurate  edition  of  his  poem,  and  of  Blind  Harry's  Wal- 
lace.3   The  only  good  edition  of  The  Bruce  was  published  by 

Scott's  poems  have  been  uniformly  corrected  by  the  text  of 
Dr.  Jamieson's  Bruce,  published,  along  with  Blind  Harry's 
Wallace,  Edin,  1820,  2  vols.  4to  — Ed.] 


APPENDIX  TO   THE   LORD   OF   THE  ISLES. 


497 


Mr.  Pinkerton  in  three  vols.,  in  1790;  and,  the  learned  editor 
having  had  no  personal  access  to  consult  the  manuscript,  it  is 
not  without  errors;  and  it  has  besides  become  scarce.  Of 
Wallace  there  is  no  tolerable  edition ;  yet  these  two  poems  do 
no  small  honor  to  the  early  state  of  Scottish  poetry,  and  The 
Bruce  is  justly  regarded  as  containing  authentic  historical 
facts. 

The  following  list  of  the  siain  at  Bannockburn,  extracted 
from  the  continuator  of  Trivet's  Annals,  will  show  the  extent 
of  the  national  calamity : — 

List  of  the  Slain. 


Knights  &  Knights  Bannerets. 
Gilbert  de  Clare,  Earl  of  Glou- 
cester, 
Kobert  de  Clifford, 
Payan  Tybetot, 
William  Le  Mareschal, 
John  Comyn, 
William  de  Vescey, 
John  de  Montfort, 
Nicolas  de  Hasteleigh, 
William  Dayncourt, 
iEgidius  de  Argenteyne, 
Edmond  Comyn, 
John  Lovel  (the  rich), 
Edmund  de  Hastynge, 
Milo  de  Stapleton, 
Simon  Ward, 


Eobert  de  Felton, 
Michael  Poyning, 
Edmund  Maulley. 

Knights. 
Henry  de  Bouu, 
Thomas  de  Ufford, 
John  de  Elsingfelde, 
John  de  Harcourt, 
Walter  de  Hakelut, 
Philip  de  Courtenay, 
Hugo  de  Scales, 
Badulph  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Penbrigge, 
With  33  others  of  the  same 
rank,  not  named. 


Prisoners. 


Barons  and  Baronets. 
Henry  de  Boun,  Earl  of  Here- 
ford, 
Lord  John  Giffard, 
William  de  Latimer, 
Maurice  de  Berkeley, 
Ingelram  de  Umfraville, 


Marmaduke  de  Twenge, 
John  de  Wyletone, 
Bobert  de  Maulee, 
Henry  Fitz-Hugh, 
Thomas  de  Gray, 
Walter  de  Beauchamp, 
Richard  de  Charon, 


Supposed  Clinton. 


John  de  Wevelmton, 
Robert  de  Nevil, 
John  de  Segrave, 
Gilbert  Peeche, 
John  de  Clavering, 
Antony  de  Lucy, 
Radulph  de  Camys, 
John  de  Evere, 
Andrew  de  Abremhyn. 

Knights. 
Thomas  de  Berkeley, 
The  son  of  Roger  Tyrrel, 
Anselm  de  Mareschal, 
Giles  de  Beauchamp, 
John  de  Cyfrewast, 
John  Bluwet, 
Roger  Corbet, 
Gilbert  de  Boun, 
Bartholomew  de  Enefeld, 


Thomas  de  Ferrers, 

Radulph  and  Thomas  Botte- 
tort, 

John  and  Nicholas  de  King- 
stone  (brothers), 

William  Lovel, 

Henry  de  Wileton, 

Baldwin  de  Frevill, 

John  de  Clivedon,1 

Adomar  la  Zouche, 

John  de  Merewode, 

John  Maufe,2 

Thomas  and  Odo  Lele  Erce- 
dekene, 

Robert  Beaupel  (the  son), 

John  Mautravers  (the  son), 

William  and  William  Gif- 
fard, and  34  other  knights 
not  named  by  the  his- 
torian. 


And  in  sum  there  were  slain,  along  with  the  Earl  of  Glouces- 
ter, forty-two  barons  and  bannerets.  The  number  of  earls, 
barons,  and  bannerets  made  captive  was  twenty-two,  and 
sixty-eight  knights,  Many  clerks  and  esquires  were  also 
there  slain  or  taken.  Roger  de  Northburge,  keeper  of  the 
king's  signet  (Custos  Targiaz  Domini  Regis),  was  made  prisoner 
with  his  two  clerks,  Roger  de  Wakenfelde  and  Thomas  de 
Switon,  upon  which  the  king  caused  a  seal  to  be  made,  and 
entitled  it  his  privy  seal,  to  distinguish  the  same  from  the 
signet  so  lost.  The  Earl  of  Hereford  was  exchanged  against 
Brace's  queen,  who  had  been  detained  in  captivity  ever  since 
the  year  1306.  The  Targia,  or  signet,  was  restored  to  Eng- 
land through  the  intercession  of  Ralph  de  Monthermer,  an- 
cestor of  Lord  Moira,  who  is  said  to  have  found  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  Scottish  king.— Continuation  of  Trivet's  Annals, 
Hall's  edit.    Oxford,  1712,  vol.  ii.  p.  14. 

Such  were  the  immediate  consequences  of  the  field  of  Ban- 
nockburn. Its  more  remote  effects,  in  completely  establish- 
ing the  national  independence  of  Scotland,  afford  a  boundless 
field  for  speculation. 


>  Maule. 


d» 


©f)e  dftelfc  of  Sffllatetioo: 

A    POEM.1 


"  Though  Valois  braved  young  Edward's  gentle  hand, 
And  Albert  rush'd  on  Henry's  wayworn  band, 
With  Europe's  chosen  sons,  in  arms'renown'd, 
Yet  not  on  Vere's  bold  archers  long  they  look'd, 
Nor  Audley's  squires  nor  Mowbray's  yeomen  brook'd, — 
They  saw  their  standard  fall,  and  left  their  monarch  bound." 

Akenside. 


HER  GRACE 

THE 

DUCHESS    OF    WELLINGTON, 

PRINCESS   OF   WATERLOO, 

Ac,  &c.,  Ac, 

THE    FOLLOWING    VERSES 

ABE    MOST    RESPECTFULLY    INSCRIBED 

BY 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

It  may  be  some  apology  for  the  imperfections  of  this  poem  that  it  was  composed  hastily,  and  during  a  short 
tour  upon  the  Continent,  when  the  author's  labors  were  liable  to  frequent  interruption ;  but  its  best  apology  it 
that  it  was  written  for  the  purpose  of  assisting  the  Waterloo  Subscription. 

Abbotsford,  1815. 


W$z  dFtcOi  of  Mattrloo. 


Fair  Brussels,  thou  art  far  behind, 
Though,  lingering  on  the  morning  wind, 

We  yet  may  hear  the  hour 
Peal'd  over  orchard  and  canal, 
With  voice  prolong'd  and  measured  fall, 

From  proud  St.  Michael's  tower ; 
Thy  wood,  dark  Soignies,  holds  us  now,2 
Where  the  tall  beeches'  glossy  bough 


i  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.  in  October,  1815.    8vo. 
*  "  The  wood  of  Soignies  is  supposed  to  be  a  remnant  of  the 
forest  of  Ardennes,  famous  in  Boiardo's  Orlando,  and  inrmor- 


For  many  a  league  around, 
With  birch  and  darksome  oak  between, 
Spreads  deep  and  far  a  pathless  screen 

Of  tangled  forest  ground. 
Stems  planted  close  by  stems  defy 
The  adventurous  foot — the  curious  eye 

For  access  seeks  in  vain ; 
And  the  brown  tapestry  of  leaves, 
Strew'd  on  the  blighted  ground,  receives 

Nor  sun,  nor  air,  nor  rain. 
No  opening  glade  dawns  on  our  way, 
No  streamlet,  glancing  to  the  ray, 

tal  in  Shakspeare's  As  You  Like  it.  It  is  also  celebrated  fn 
Tacitus  as  being  the  spot  of  successful  defence  by  the  Ger- 
mans against  the  Roman  encroachments." — Byron. 

(  499  ) 


500 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


Our  woodland  path  has  cross'd ; 
And  the  straight  causeway  which  we  tread 
Prolongs  a  line  of  dull  arcade, 
Unvarying  through  the  unvaried  shade 

Until  in  distance  lost. 

II. 
A  brighter,  livelier  scene  succeeds  j1 
In  groups  the  scattering  wood  recedes, 
Hedge-rows,  and  huts,  and  sunny  meads, 

And  corn-fields,  glance  between ; 
The  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 
Plies  the  hook'd  staff  and  shorten'd  scythe ; — 2 

But  when  these  ears  were  green, 
Placed  close  within  destruction's  scope, 
Full  little  was  that  rustic's  hope 

Their  ripening  to  have  seen ! 
And,  lo,  a  hamlet  and  its  fane : — 
Let  not  the  gazer  with  disdain 

Their  architecture  view ; 
For  yonder  rude  ungraceful  shrine, 
And  disproportion'd  spire,  are  thine,3 

Immortal  Waterloo  !4 

III. 

Fear  not  the  heat,  though  full  and  high 
The  sun  has  scorch'd  the  autumn  sky, 
And  scarce  a  forest  straggler  now 
To  shade  us  spreads  a  greenwood  bough ; 
These  fields  have  seen  a  hotter  day 
Than  e'er  was  fired  by  sunny  ray.5 
Yet  one  mile  on — yon  shatter'd  hedge 
Crests  the  soft  hill  whose  long  smooth  ridge 

1  "  Southward  from  Brussels  lies  the  field  of  blood, 

Some  three  hours'  journey  for  a  well-girt  man ; 
A  horseman,  who  in  haste  pursued  his  road, 

Would  reach  it  as  the  second  hour  began. 
The  way  is  through  a  forest  deep  and  wide, 
Extending  many  a  mile  on  either  side. 

"No  cheerful  woodland  this  of  antic  trees, 
With  thickets  varied  and  with  sunny  glade; 

Look  where  he  will,  the  weary  traveller  sees 
One  gloomy,  thick,  impenetrable  shade 

Of  tall  straight  trunks,  which  move  before  his  sight, 

With  interchange  of  lines  of  long  green  light. 

"  Here,  where  the  woods,  receding  from  the  road, 
Have  left  on  either  hand  an  open  space 

For  fields  and  gardens,  and  for  man's  abode, 
Stands  Waterloo, — a  little  lowly  place, 

Obscure  till  now,  when  it  hath  risen  to  fame, 

And  given  the  victory  its  English  name." 

Southey's  Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

J  MS.:  "Let  not  the  stranger  with  disdain 
Its  Disproportions  view, 
Yon  {  ruddy  form'd,)  ungraceful  shri 

I  awkward  and  J 
And  yonder  humble  spire,  are  thine." 
4  "  What  time  the  second  Carlos  ruled  in  Spain, 
Last  of  the  Austrian  line  by  fate  decreed, 
Here  Castanaza  rear'd  a  votive  Cane, 
Praying  the  patron  saints  to  bless  with  seed 


Looks  on  the  field  below, 
And  sinks  so  gently  on  the  dale 
That  not  the  folds  of  Beauty's  veil 

In  easier  curves  can  flow. 
Brief  space  from  thence,  the  ground,  again 
Ascending  slowly  from  the  plain, 

Forms  an  opposing  screen, 
Which,  with  its  crest  of  upland  ground, 
Shuts  the  horizon  all  around. 

The  soften'd  vale  between 
Slopes  smooth  and  fair  for  courser's  tread ; 
Not  the  most  timid  maid  need  dread 
To  give  her  snow-white  palfrey  head 

On  that  wide  stubble-ground  ;6 
Nor  wood,  nor  tree,  nor  bush,  are  there, 
Her  course  to  intercept  or  scare, 

Nor  fosse  nor  fence  are  found, 
Save  where,  from  out  her  shatter'd  bowers, 
Rise  Hougomont's  dismantled  towers.7 

IV. 

Now,  seest  thou  aught  in  this  lone  scene 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  hath  been  ? — 

A  stranger  might  reply, 
"  The  bare  extent  of  stubble-plain 
Seems  lately  lighten'd  of  its  grain ; 
And  yonder  sable  tracks  remain 
Marks  of  the  peasant's  ponderous  wain, 

When  harvest-home  was  nigh.8 
On  these  broad  spots  of  trampled  ground, 
Perchance  the  rustics  danced  such  round 

As  Teniers  loved  to  draw ; 
And  where  the  earth  seems  scorch'd  by  flame, 

His  childless  sovereign.    Heaven  denied  an  heir, 
And  Europe  mourn'd  in  blood  the  frustrate  prayer." 

Southey. 

To  the  original  chapel  of  the  Marquis  of  Castanaza  has  now 
been  added  a  building  of  considerable  extent,  the  whole  inte- 
rior of  which  is  filled  with  monumental  inscriptions  for  the 
heroes  who  fell  in  the  battle. 

6  The  MS.  has  not  this  couplet. 

6  "As  a  plain,  Waterloo  seems  marked  out  for  the  scene 
of  some  great  action,  though  this  may  be  mere  imagination. 
I  have  viewed  with  attention  those  of  Platea,  Troy,  Manti- 
nea,  Leuctra,  Chseronea,  and  Marathon  ;  and  the  field  around 
Mont  St.  Jean  and  Hougomont  appears  to  want  little  but  a 
better  cause,  and  that  indefinable  but  impressive  halo  which 
the  lapse  of  ages  throws  around  a  consecrated  spot,  to  vie  in 
interest  with  any  or  all  of  these,  except,  perhaps,  the  last 
mentioned."— Byron. 


fits 


MS.:  "Save  where,  \         \  fire-scathed  bowers  among, 
(the  > 

Rise  the  rent  towers  of  Hougomont." 

"Is  the  spot  mark'd  with  no  colossal  bust, 

Nor  column  trophied  for  triumphal  show? 

None:  But  the  moral's  truth  tells  simpler  so, 

As  the  ground  was  before,  thus  let  it  be ; — 

How  that  red  rain  hath  made  the  harvest  grow! 

And  is  this  all  the  world  has  gain'd  by  thee, 

Thou  first  and  last  of  fields  !  king-making  Victory?" 

Bykok. 

"Was  it  a  soothing  or  a  mournful  thought, 
Amid  this  scene  of  slaughter  as  we  stood, 


THE   FIELD   OF   WATEELOO. 


501 


To  dress  the  homely  feast  they  came, 
And  toil'd  the  kerchief  d  village  dame 
Around  her  fire  of  straw." 


So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems, 
Of  that  which  is  from  that  which  seems ; — 

But  other  harvest  here, 
Than  that  which  peasant's  scythe  demands, 
Was  gather'd  in  by  sterner  hands, 

With  bayonet,  blade,  and  spear. 
No  vulgar  crop  was  theirs  to  reap, 
No  stinted  harvest  thin  and  cheap ! 
Heroes  before  each  fatal  sweep 

Fell  thick  as  ripen'd  grain ; 
And  ere  the  darkening  of  the  day, 
Piled  high  as  autumn  shocks,  there  lay 
The  ghastly  harvest  of  the  fray, 

The  corpses  of  the  slain.1 

VI. 

Ay,  look  again — that  line,  so  black 
And  trampled,  marks  the  bivouac, 
Yon  deep-graved  ruts  the  artillery's  track, 

So  often  lost  and  won  ; 
And  close  beside,  the  harden'd  mud 
Still  shows  where,  fetlock-deep  in  blood, 
The  fierce  dragoon,  through  battle's  flood, 

Dash'd  the  hot  war-horse  on. 
These  spots  of  excavation  tell 
The  ravage  of  the  bursting  shell — 
And  feel'st  thou  not  the  tainted  steam, 
That  reeks  against  the  sultry  beam, 

From  yonder  trenched  mound  ? 
The  pestilential  fumes  declare 
That  Carnage  has  replenish'd  there 

Her  garner-house  profound. 

VII. 

Far  other  harvest-home  and  feast, 

Than  claims  the  boor  from  scythe  released, 

On  these  scorch'd  fields  were  known ! 
Death  hover'd  o'er  the  maddening  rout, 
And,  in  the  thrilling  battle-shout, 
Sent  for  the  bloody  banquet  out 

A  summons  of  his  own. 


Where  armies  had  with  recent  fury  fought, 
To  mark  how  gentle  Nature  still  pursued 
Her  quiet  course,  as  if  she  took  no  care 
For  what  her  nohlest  work  had  suffer'd  there? 

"  The  pears  had  ripen'd  on  the  garden  wall ; 

Those  leaves  which  on  the  autumnal  earth  were  spread, 
The  trees,  though  pierced  and  scarr'd  with  many  a  ball, 

Had  only  in  their  natural  season  shed ; 
Flowers  were  in  seed,  whose  buds  to  swell  began 
When  such  wild  havoc  here  was  made  by  man." 

SotTTHEY. 

1  "  Earth  had  received  into  her  silent  womb 

Her  slaughter'd  creatures;  horse  and  man  they  lay, 


Through  rolling  smoke  the  Demon's  eye 
Could  well  each  destined  guest  espy ; 
Well  could  his  ear  in  ecstasy 

Distinguish  every  tone 
That  fill'd  the  chorus  of  the  fray, 
From  cannon-roar  and  trumpet-bray, 
From  charging  squadrons'  wild  hurra, 
From  the  wild  clang  that  mark'd  their  way, 

Down  to  the  dying  groan, 
And  the  last  sob  of  life's  decay, 

When  breath  was  all  but  flown. 

VIII. 

Feast  on,  stern  foe  of  mortal  life. 
Feast  on  ! — but  think  not  that  a  strife, 
With  such  promiscuous  carnage  rife, 

Protracted  space  may  last ; 
The  deadly  tug  of  war  at  length 
Must  limits  find  in  human  strength, 

And  cease  when  these  are  past. 
Vain  hope ! — that  morn's  o'erclouded  sun 
Heard  the  wild  shout  of  fight  begun 

Ere  he  attain'd  his  height, 
And  through  the  war-smoke,  voluined  high, 
Still  peals  that  unremitted  cry, 

Though  now  he  stoops  to  night. 
For  ten  long  hours  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Fresh  succors  from  the  extended  head 
Of  either  hill  the  contest  fed  ; 

Still  down  the  slope  they  drew, 
The  charge  of  columns  paused  not, 
Nor  ceased  the  storm  of  shell  and  shot ; 

For  all  that  war  could  do 
Of  skill  and  force  was  proved  that  day, 
And  turn'd  not  yet  the  doubtful  fray 

On  bloody  Waterloo. 

IX. 

Pale  Brussels !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine,* 
When  ceaseless  from  the  distant  line 

Continued  thunders  came ! 
Each  burgher  held  his  breath,  to  hear 
These  forerunners3  of  havoc  near, 

Of  rapine  and  of  flame. 
What  ghastly  sights  were  thine  to  meet, 
When  rolling4  through  thy  stately  street, 

And  friend  and  foe,  within  the  general  tomb. 

Equal  had  been  their  lot:  one  fatal  day 
For  all,  .  .  one  labor,  .  .  and  one  place  of  rest 
They  found  within  their  common  parent's  breast. 

"  The  passing  seasons  had  not  yet  effaced 
The  stamp  of  numerous  hoofs  impressed  by  force 

Of  cavalry,  whose  path  might  still  be  traced. 
Yet  Nature  everywhere  resumed  her  course ; 

Low  pansies  to  the  sun  their  purple  gave, 

And  the  soft  poppy  blossom'd  on  the  grave." 

SOUTHEY. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

3  MS.:  "harbingers." 

*  MS. :  "  streaming." 


502 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  wounded  show'd  their  mangled  plight,1 
In  token  of  the  unfinished  fight, 
And  from  each  anguish-laden  wain 
The  blood-drops  laid  thy  dust  like  rain!2 
How  often  in  the  distant  drum 
II.  ardst  thou  the  fell  Invader  come, 
While  Ruin,  shouting  to  his  band, 
Shook  high  her  torch  and  gory  brand ! — 
Cheer  thee,  fair  City !     From  yon  stand, 
Impatient,  still  his  outstretch'd  hand 

Points  to  his  prey  in  vain, 
While  maddening  in  his  eager  mood, 
And  all  unwont  to  be  withstood, 

He  fires  the  fight  again. 

X. 

"  On !  on !"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim ; 
"  Confront  the  battery's  jaws  of  flame ! 

Rush  on  the  levell'd  gun  !s 
My  steel-clad  cuirassiers,  advance ! 
Each  Hulan  forward  with  his  lance ! 
My  Guard — my  Chosen — charge  for  France, 

France  and  Napoleon !" 
Loud  answer'd  their  acclaiming  shout, 
Greeting  the  mandate  which  sent  out 
Their  bravest  and  their  best  to  dare 
The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share.4 
But  He,  his  country's  sword  and  shield, 
Still  in  the  battle-front  reveal'd, 
Where  danger  fiercest  swept  the  field, 

Came  like  a  beam  of  light, 
In  action  prompt,  in  sentence  brief— 
"  Soldiers,  stand  firm !"  exclaini'd  the  Chief; 

"  England  shall  tell  the  fight  !"5 

XI. 

On  came  the  whirlwind — like  the  last 
But  fiercest  sweep  of  tempest  blast  ; 
On  came  the  whirlwind — steel-gleams  broke 
Like  lightning  through  the  rolling  smoke ; 

The  war  was  waked  anew, 
Three  hundred  cannon-mouths  roar'd  loud, 
And  from  their  throats,  with  flash  and  cloud, 


i  MS.: 


■ "  bloody  plight." 


"  Within  those  walls  there  linger'd  at  that  hour 
Many  a  brave  soldier  on  the  bed  of  pain, 

Whom  aid  of  human  art  should  ne'er  restore 
To  see  his  country  and  his  friends  again  ; 

And  many  a  victim  of  that  fell  debate 

Whose  life  yet  waver'd  in  the  scales  of  fate. 

"  Others  in  wagons  borne  abroad  I  saw, 
Albeit  recovering,  still  a  mournful  sight; 

Languid  and  helpless,  some  were  stretch'd  on  straw; 
Some,  more  advanced,  sustain'd  themselves  upright, 

And  with  bold  eye  and  careless  front,  methought, 

iSeem'd  to  set  wounds  and  death  again  at  nought. 

"  What  had  it  been,  then,  in  the  recent  days 
Of  that  great  triumph,  when  the  open  wound 

Was  festering,  and  along  the  crowded  ways, 
Hour  after  hour,  was  heard  the  incessant  sound 


Their  showers  of  iron  threw. 
Beneath  their  fire,  in  full  career, 
Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier, 
The  lancer  couch'd  his  ruthless  spear, 
And  hurrying  as  to  havoc  near, 

The  cohorts'  eagles  flew. 
In  one  dark  torrent,  broad  and  strong, 
The  advancing  onset  roll'd  along, 
Forth  harbinger'd  by  fierce  acclaim, 
That,  from  the  shroud  of  smoke  and  flame, 
Peal'd  wildly  the  imperial  name. 

XII. 

But  on  the  British  heart  were  lost 

The  terrors  of  the  charging  host ; 

For  not  an  eye  the  storm  that  view'd 

Changed  its  proud  glance  of  fortitude, 

Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  staid, 

As  dropp'd  the  dying  and  the  dead.6 

Fast  as  their  ranks  the  thunders  tear, 

Fast  they  renew'd  each  serried  square ; 

And  on  the  wounded  and  the  slain 

Closed  their  diminish'd  files  again, 

Till  from  their  line  scarce  spear's  lengths  three, 

Emerging  from  the  smoke  they  see 

Helmet,  and  plume,  and  panoply, — 

Then  waked  their  fire  at  once  I 
Each  musketeer's  revolving  knell 
As  fast,  as  regularly  fell, 
As  when  they  practice  to  display 
Their  discipline  on  festal  day. 

Then  down  went  helm  and  lance, 
Down  were  the  eagle  banners  sent, 
Down  reeling  steeds  and  riders  went, 
Corselets  were  pierced,  and  pennons  rent  ; 

And,  to  augment  the  fray, 
Wheel'd  full  against  their  staggering  flanks, 
The  English  horsemen's  foaming  ranks 

Forced  their  resistless  way. 
Then  to  the  musket-knell  succeeds 
The  clash  of  swords,  the  neigh  of  steeds ; 
As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade,7 
Against  the  cuirass  rang  the  blade  ;8 

Of  wheels,  which  o'er  the  rough  and  stony  road 
Convey'd  their  living  agonizing  load ! 

"  Hearts  little  to  the  melting  mood  inclined 

Grew  sick  to  see  their  sufferings ;  and  the  thought 
Still  comes  with  horror  to  the  shuddering  mind 

Of  those  sad  days,  when  Belgian  ears  were  taught 
The  British  soldier's  cry,  half  groan,  half  prayer, 
Breathed  when  his  pain  is  more  than  he  can  bear." 

Southey. 

3  MS.: "his  stern  exclaim; 

'  Where  fails  the  sword  make  way  by  flame ! 
Recoil  not  from  the  cannons'  aim; 
Confront  them,  and  they're  won.' " 
See  Appendix,  Note  C.       4  Ibid.  Note  D.       &  ibid.  Note  E. 
6  MS. :  "  Nor  was  one  forward  footstep  stopp'd, 

Though  close  beside  a  comrade  dropp'd." 
'  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 
8  "  I  heard  the  broadswords'  deadly  clang, 

As  if  an  hundred  anvils  rang  I"— Lady  of  tte  Lake. 


THE   FIELD  OF   WATEKLOO. 


503 


And  while  amid  their  close  array 
The  well-served  cannon  rent  their  way,1 
And  while  amid  their  scatter'd  band 
Raged  the  fierce  rider's  bloody  brand, 
Recoil'd  in  common  rout  and  fear 
Lancer  and  guard  and  cuirassier, 
Horsemen  and  foot— a  mingled  host, 
Their  leaders  falPn,  their  standards  lost. 

XIII. 

Then,  Wellington  !  thy  piercing  eye 
This  crisis  caught  of  destiny — 

The  British  host  had  stood 
That  morn  'gainst  charge  of  sword  and  lance2 
As  their  own  ocean  rocks  hold  stance, 
But  when  thy  voice  had  said,  "  Advance !" 

They  were  their  ocean's  flood. — 

0  Thou,  whose  inauspicious  aim 
Hath  wrought  thy  host  this  hour  of  shame, 
Think'st  thou  thy  broken  bands  will  bide 
The  terrors  of  yon  rushing  tide  ? 
Or  will  thy  chosen  brook  to  feel 
The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel  ?J 

Or  dost  thou  turn  thine  eye 
Where  coming  squadrons  gleam  afar, 
And  fresher  thunders  wake  the  war> 

And  other  standards  fly  ? — 
Think  not  that  in  yon  columns  file 
Thy  conquering  troops  from  Distant  Dyle — 

1  MS. :  "  Beneath  that  storm,  in  full  career, 

Rush'd  on  the  ponderous  cuirassier ; 

„,     .  f  came  with  levell'd  1  __.„_ 

The  lancer-^  .  \ spear, 

(.  couch'd  his  fatal     > 

Sworn  \     c    >•  to  do  or  die  j 

But  not  an  instant  would  they  bear 

The-!      ,,  \ of  each  serried  square : 

I  volleys     J 

They  halt,  they  turn,  they  fly ! 

Not  even  their  chosen  brook  to  feel 

The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel ; 

Enough  that  through  their  close  array 

The  well-plied  cannon  tore  their  way ; 

Enough  that  'mid  their  broken  band 

The  horsemen  plied  the  bloody  brand. 

Recoil'd,"  Ac. 
'  "The  cuirassiers  continued  their  dreadful  onset,  and 
rode  up  to  the  squares  in  the  full  confidence,  apparently,  of 
sweeping  every  thing  before  the  impetuosity  of  their  charge. 
Their  onset  and  reception  was  like  a  furious  ocean  pouring 
itself  against  a  chain  of  insulated  rocks.  The  British  square 
6tood  unmoved,  and  never  gave  fire  until  the  cavalry  were 
witbin  ten  yards,  when  men  rolled  one  way,  horses  galloped 
another,  and  the  cuirassiers  were  in  every  instance  driven 
back." — Life  of  Bonaparte,  vol.  ix.  p.  12. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  G. 

4  MS. :  "  Or  can  thy  memory  fail  to  quote, 

Heard  to  thy  cost,  the  vengeful  note 
Of  Prussia's  trumpet  tone?" 
6  "  We  observe  a  certain  degree  of  similitude  in  some  pas- 
sages of  Mr.  Scott's  present  work  to  the  compositions  of  Lord 
Byron,  and  particularly  his  lordship's  ode  to  Bonaparte ;  and 
we  think  that  whoever  peruses  the  'Field  of  Waterloo'  with 
that  ode  in  his  recollection  will  be  struck  with  this  new  re- 


Is  Blucher  yet  unknown  ? 
Or  dwells  not  in  thy  memory  still  / 

(Heard  frequent  in  thine  hour  of  ill) 
What  note's  of  hate  and  vengeance  thrill 

In  Prussia's  trumpet  tone  ? — *  i 

What  yet  remains  ? — shall  it  be  thine 
To  head  the  relics  of  thy  line 

■  In  one  dread  effort  more  ? — 
The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,5 
And  thou  canst  tell  what  fortune  proved 

That  Chieftain  who,  of  yore, 
Ambition's  dizzy  paths  essay'd, 
And  with  the  gladiators'  aid 

For  empire  enterprised — 
He  stood  the  cast  his  rashness  play'd, 
Left  not  the  victims  he  had  made,  . 
Dug  his  red  grave  with  his  own  blade, 
And  on  the  field  he  lost  was  laid, 

Abhorr'd— but  not  despised.8 

XIV. 

But  if  revolves  thy  fainter  thought 
On  safety — howsoever  bought — 
Then  turn  thy  fearful  rein  and  ride, 
Though  twice  ten  thousand  men  have  died 

On  this  eventful  day 
To  gild  the  military  fame 
Which  thou,  for  life,  in  traffic  tame 

Wilt  barter  thus  away. 

semblance.    We  allude  principally  to  such  passages  as  that 
which  begins, 

'  The  Roman  lore  thy  leisure  loved,'  &c., 
and  to  such  lines  as 

'  Now,  seest  thou  aught  in  this  loved  scene, 
Can  tell  of  that  which  late  has  been?' 
or, 

'  So  deem'st  thou — so  each  mortal  deems — 
Of  that  which  is,  from  that  which  seems  f 
lines,  by  the  way,  of  which  we  cannot  express  any  very  great 
admiration.  This  sort  of  influence,  however,  over  even  the 
principal  writers  of  the  day  (whether  they  are  conscious  of  the 
influence  or  not),  is  one  of  the  surest  tests  of  genius,  and  <ma 
of  the  proudest  tributes  which  it  receives." — Monthly  Review. 
6  "  When  the  engagement  was  ended,  it  evidently  appeared 
with  what  undaunted  spirit  and  resolution  Catiline's  army 
had  been  fired ;  for  the  body  of  every  one  was  found  on  that 
very  spot  which  during  the  battle  he  had  occupied,  those 
only  excepted  who  were  forced  from  their  posts  by  the  Prae- 
torian cohort;  and  even  they,  though  they  fell  a  little  out  of 
the  ranks,  were  all  wounded  before.  Catiline  himself  was 
found,  far  from  his  own  men,  amidst  the  dead  bodies  of  the 
enemy,  breathing  a  little,  with  an  air  of  that  fierceness  still 
in  his  face  which  he  had  when  alive.  Finally,  in  all  his 
army  there  was  not  so  much  as  one  free  citizen  taken  pris- 
oner, either  in  the  engagement  or  in  flight ;  for  they  spared 
their  own  lives  as  little  as  those  of  the  enemy.  The  army 
of  the  republic  obtained  the  victory,  indeed,  but  it  was 
neither  a  cheap  nor  a  joyful  one,  for  their  bravest  men  were 
either  slain  in  battle  or  dangerously  wounded.  As  there 
were  many,  too,  who  went  to  view  the  field,  either  out  of 
curiosity  or  a  desire  of,  plunder,  in  turning  over  the  dead 
bodies  some  found  a  friend,  some  a  relation,  and  some  a 
guest ;  others  there  were  likewise  who  discovered  their  ene- 
mies ;  so  that  through  the  whole  army  there  appeared  a  mix- 
ture of  gladness  and  sorrow,  joy  and  mourning."— Sallust. 


504 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Shall  future  ages  tell  this  tale 
Of  inconsistence  faint  and  frail  ? 
And  art  thou  He  of  Lodi's  bridge, 
Marengo's  field,  and  Wagram's  ridge  ? 

Or  is  thy  soul  like  mountain  tide, 
That,  swell'd  by  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide ; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure, 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean,  and  poor, 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 

By  which  these  wrecks  were  made  ! 

XV. 

Spur  on  thy  way ! — since  now  thine  ear 
Has  brook 'd  thy  veterans'  wish  to  hear, 

Who,  as  thy  flight  they  eyed, 
Exclaim'd, — while  tears  of  anguish  came, 
Wrung  forth  by  pride,  and  rage,  and 
shame, — 

"Oh,  that  he  had  but  died !»» 
But  yet,  to  sum  this  hour  of  ill, 
Look,  ere  thou  leavest  the  fatal  hill, 

Back  on  yon  broken  ranks — 
Upon  whose  wild  confusion  gleams 
The  moon,  as  on  the  troubled  streams 

When  rivers  break  their  banks, 
And,  to  the  ruin'd  peasant's  eye, 
Objects  half  seen  roll  swiftly  by, 

Down  the  dread  current  hurl'd — 
So  mingle  banner,  wain,  and  gun, 
Where  the  tumultuous  flight  rolls  on 
Of  warriors  who,  when  morn  begun,2 

Defied  a  banded  world. 

XVI. 

List — frequent  to  the  hurrying  rout, 
The  stern  pursuers'  vengeful  shout 
Tells  that  upon  their  broken  rear 
Rages  the  Prussian's  bloody  spear. 

So  fell  a  shriek  was  none 

t 

i  The  MS.  adds : 

"  That  pang  survived,  refuse  not  then 
To  humble  Mice  before  the  men, 
Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 
Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 
Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate, 

And  chaffer  for  thy  crown  ; 
As  usurers  wont,  who  suck  the  all 
Of  the  foolhardy  prodigal, 
When  on  the  giddy  dice's  fall 

His  latest  hope  has  flown. 
But  yet,  to  sum,"  Ac. 

*  MS.:  "Where  in  one  tide  of  terror  run 

The  warriors  that,  when  morn  begun." 

*  MS. :  "  So  ominous  a  shriek  was  none, 

Not  even  when  Reresina's  flood 
Was  thaw'd  by  streams  of  tepid  blood." 
4  For  an  account  of  the  death  of  Poniatowski  at  Leipsic 
■ee  Sir  Walter  Scott's  Life  of  Bonaparte,  vol.  vii.  p.  401. 


When  Beresina's  icy  flood 
Redden'd  and  thaw'd  with  flame  and  blood,3 
And,  pressing  on  thy  desperate  way, 
Raised  oft  and  long  their  wild  hurra 

The  children  of  the  Don. 
Thine  ear  no  yell  of  horror  cleft 
So  ominous  when,  all  bereft 
Of  aid,  the  valiant  Polack  left — 4 
Ay,  left  by  thee — found  soldier's  grave* 
In  Leipsic's  corpse-encumber'd  wave. 
Fate,  in  those  various  perils  past, 
Reserved  thee  still  some  future  cast ; 
On  the  dread  die  thou  now  hast  thrown 
Hangs  not  a  single  field  alone, 
Nor  one  campaign — thy  martial  fame, 
Thy  empire,  dynasty,  and  name, 

Have  felt  the  final  stroke  ; 
And  now,  o'er  thy  devoted  head 
The  last  stern  vial's  wrath  is  shed, 

The  last  dread  seal  is  broke.6 

XVII. 

Since  live  thou  wilt — refuse  not  now 
Before  these  demagogues  to  bow, 
Late  objects  of  thy  scorn  and  hate, 
Who  shall  thy  once  imperial  fate 
Make  wordy  theme  of  vain  debate.— 
Or  shall  we  say,  thou  stoop'st  less  low 
In  seeking  refuge  from  the  foe, 
Against  whose  heart,  in  prosperous  life 
Thine  hand  hath  ever  held  the  knife  ? 

Such  homage  hath  been  paid 
By  Roman  and  by  Grecian  voice, 
And  there  were  honor  in  the  choice, 

If  it  were  freely  made. 
Then  safely  come :  in  one  so  low, 
So  lost,  we  cannot  own  a  foe ; 
Though  dear  experience  bid  us  end, 
In  thee  we  ne'er  can  hail  a  friend. — 
Come,  howsoe'er — but  do  not  hide 
Close  in  thy  heart  that  germ  of  pride 
Erewhile  by  gifted  bard  espied,7 

That  "  yet  imperial  hope  ;"8 


6  MS. :  "  Not  such  were  heard  when,  all  bereft 
Of  aid,  the  valiant  Polack  left — 
Ay,  left  by  thee— found  gallant  grave." 
•  "I,  who  with  faith  unshaken  from  the  first, 

Even  when  the  tyrant  scem'd  to  touch  the  skies, 
Had  look'd  to  see  the  high-blown  bubble  burst, 

And  for  a  fall  conspicuous  as  his  rise, 
Even  in  that  faith  had  look'd  not  for  defeat 
So  swift,  so  overwhelming,  so  complete." — SOUXHEY. 

'  MS. : "  but  do  not  hide 

Once  more  that  secret  germ  of  pride 
Which  erst  yon  gifted  bard  espied." 
8  "  The  Desolator  desolate ! 
The  Victor  overthrown ! 
The  Arbiter  of  others'  fate 
A  Suppliant  for  his  own  I 
Is  it  some  yet  imperial  hope 
That  with  such  change  can  calmly  cope, 
Or  dread  of  death  alone? 


THE   FIELD   OF  WATEKLOO. 


505 


Think  not  that  for  a  fresh  rebound, 
To  raise  ambition  from  the  ground, 

We  yield  thee  means  or  scope. 
In  safety  come— but  ne'er  again 
Hold  type  of  independent  reign ; 

No  islet  calls  thee  lord, 
We  leave  thee  no  confederate  band, 
No  symbol  of  thy  lost  command, 
To  be  a  dagger  in  the  hand 

From  which  we  wrench'd  the  sword. 

XVIII. 

Yet,  even  in  yon  sequester'd  spot 
May  worthier  conquest  be  thy  lot 

Than  yet  thy  life  has  known ; 
Conquest  unbought  by  blood  or  harm, 
That  needs  nor  foreign  aid  nor  arm, 

A  triumph  all  thine  own. 
Such  waits  thee  when  thou  shalt  control 
Those  passions  wild,  that  stubborn  soul, 

That  marr'd  thy  prosperous  scene  :— 
Hear  this — from  no  unmoved  heart, 
Which  sighs,  comparing  what  thou  ART 

With  what  thou  might'st  have  been  I1 

XIX. 

Thou,  too,  whose  deeds  of  fame  renew'd 

Bankrupt  a  nation's  gratitude, 

To  thine  own  noble  heart  must  owe 

More  than  the  meed  she  can  bestow. 

For  not  a  people's  just  acclaim, 

Not  the  full  hail  of  Europe's  fame, 

Thy  Prince's  smiles,  thy  State's  decree, 

The  ducal  rank,  the  garter'd  knee, 

Not  these  such  pure  delight  afford 

As  that,  when  hanging  up  thy  sword, 

Well  may'st  thou  think,  "  This  honest  steel 

Was  ever  drawn  for  public  weal ; 

And,  such  was  rightful  Heaven's  decree, 

Ne'er  sheathed  unless  with  victory !" 

XX. 

Look  forth,  once  more,  with  soften'd  heart, 
Ere  from  the  field  of  fame  we  part  ;2 

To  die  a  prince — or  live  a  slave — 
Thy  choice  is  most  ignobly  brave !" 

Byron's  Ode  to  Napoleon. 

i  "  'Tis  done — but  yesterday  a  king ! 

And  arm'd  with  kings  to  strive — 
And  now  thou  art  a  nameless  thing ; 

So  abject — yet  alive ! 
Is  this  the  man  of  thousand  thrones, 
Who  strew'd  our  earth  with  hostile  bones, 

And  can  he  thus  survive? 
Since  he,  miscall'd  the  Morning  Star, 
Nor  man  nor  fiend  hath  fallen  so  far." 

Byron's  Ode  to  Napoleon. 

2  "  We  left  the  field  of  battle  in  such  mood 

As  human  hearts  from  thence  should  bear  away ; 
And,  musing  thus,  our  purposed  route  pursued, 
Which  still  through  scenes  of  recent  bloodshed  lay, 


Triumph  and  sorrow  border  near, 
And  joy  oft  melts  into  a  tear. 
Alas !  what  links  of  love  that  morn 
Has  War's  rude  hand  asunder  torn ! 
For  ne'er  was  field  so  sternly  fought, 
And  ne'er  was  conquest  dearer  bought. 
Here  piled  in  common  slaughter  sleep 
Those  whom  affection  long  shall  weep : 
Here  rests  the  sire,  that  ne'er  shall  strain 
His  orphans  to  his  heart  again ; 
The  son,  Avhom,  on  his  native  shore, 
The  parent's  voice  shall  bless  no  more  ; 
The  bridegroom,  who  has  hardly  press'd 
His  blushing  consort  to  his  breast ; 
The  husband,  whom  through  many  a  year 
Long  love  and  mutual  faith  endear. 
Thou  canst  not  name  one  tender  tie, 
But  here  dissolved  its  relics  lie ! 
Oh !  when  thou  seest  some  mourner's  veil 
Shroud  her  thin  form  and  visage  pale, 
Or  mark'st  the  matron's  bursting  tears 
Stream  when  the  stricken  drum  she 

hears ; 
Or  seest  how  manlier  grief,  suppress'd, 
Is  laboring  in  a  father's  breast, — 
With  no  inquiry  vain  pursue 
The  cause,  but  think  on  Waterloo ! 

XXI. 

Period  of  honor  as  of  woes, 
What  bright  careers  'twas  thine  to  close ! — 
Mark'd  on  thy  roll  of  blood,  what  names 
To  Britain's  memory,  and  to  Fame's, 
Laid  there  their  last  immortal  claims ! 
Thou  saw'st  in  seas  of  gore  expire 
Redoubted  Picton's  soul  of  fire — 
Saw'st  in  the  mingled  carnage  lie 
All  that  of  PONSONBY  could  die — 
De  Lancey  change  Love's  bridal  wreath 
For  laurels  from  the  hand  of  Death — 3 
Saw'st  gallant  Miller's*  failing  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 
And  Cameron,5  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel ; 

Where  Prussia  late,  with  strong  and  stern  delight, 
Hung  on  her  fated  foes  to  persecute  their  flight.' 

Southey. 

3  The  poet's  friend,  Colonel  Sir  William  de  Ijancey,  married 
the  beautiful  daughter  of  Sir  James  Hall,  Bart.,  in  April,  1815, 
and  received  his  mortal  wound  on  the  18th  of  June.  See 
Captain  B.  Hall's  affecting  narrative  in  the  first  series  of  his 
fragments  of  Voyages  and  Travels,  vol.  ii.  p.  369. 

4  Colonel  Miller,  of  the  Guards,  son  to  Sir  William  Miller, 
Lord  Glenlee.  When  mortally  wounded  in  the  attack  on  the 
Bois  de  Bossu,  he  desired  to  see  the  colors  of  the  regiment 
once  more  ere  he  died.  They  were  waved  over  his  head,  and 
the  expiring  officer  declared  himself  satisfied. 

5  "Colonel  Cameron,  of  Fassiefern,  so  often  "distinguished 
in  Lord  Wellington's  despatches  from  Spain,  fell  in  the  action 
at  Quatre  Bras  (16th  June,  1815),  while  leading  the  92d  or 
Gordon  Highlanders  to  charge  a  body  of  cavalry  supported  by 
infantry." — PauPs  Letters,  p.  91. 


506 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  generous  Gordon,1  'mid  the  strife, 
Fall  while  he  watch'd  his  leader's  life. — 
Ah  !  though  her  guardian  angel's  shield 
Fenced  Britain's  hero  through  the  field, 
Fate  not  the  less  her  power  made  known 
Through  his  friends'  hearts  to  pierce  his  own ! 

XXII. 
Forgive,  brave  Dead,  the  imperfect  lay ! 
Who  may  your  names,  your  numbers,  say  ? 
What  high-strung  harp,  what  lofty  line, 
To  each  the  dear-earn'd  praise  assign, 
From  high-born  chiefs  of  martial  fame 
To  the  poor  soldier's  lowlier  name  ? 
Lightly  ye  rose  that  dawning  day 
From  your  cold  couch  of  swamp  and  clay, 
To  fill,  before  the  sun  was  low, 
The  bed  that  morning  cannot  know. — 
Oft  may  the  tear  the  green  sod  steep, 
And  sacred  be  the  heroes'  sleep, 

Till  time  shall  cease  to  run ; 
And  ne'er  beside  their  noble  grave 
May  Briton  pass  and  fail  to  crave 
A  blessing  on  the  fallen  brave 

Who  fought  with  Wellington ! 

XXIII. 

Farewell,  sad  Field !  whose  blighted  face 
Wears  desolation's  withering  trace ; 
Long  shall  my  memory  retain 
Thy  shatter'd  huts  and  trampled  grain, 
With  every  mark  of  martial  wrong 
That  scathe  thy  towers,  fair  Hougomont  !J 
Yet  though  thy  garden's  green  arcade 
The  marksman's  fatal  post  was  made, 
Though  on  thy  shatter'd  beeches  fell 
The  blended  rage  of  shot  and  shell, 
Though,  from  thy  blacken'd  portals  torn, 
Their  fall  thy  blighted  fruit-trees  mourn, 
Has  not  such  havoc  bought  a  name 
Immortal  in  the  rolls  of  fame  ?  - 
Yes — Agincourt  may  be  forgot, 
And  Cressy  be  an  unknown  spot, 

And  Blenheim's  name  be  new ; 
But  still  in  story  and  in  song, 
For  many  an  age  remember'd  long, 
Shall  live  the  towers  of  Hougomont, 

And  Field  of  Waterloo. 

1  Colonel  the  Honorable  Sir  Alexander  Gordon,  brother  to 
the  Earl  of  Aberdeen,  who  has  erected  a  pillar  on  the  spot 
where  he  fell  by  the  side  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 
*  "  Beyond  these  points  the  fight  extended  not, — 
Small  theatre  for  such  a  tragedy ! 
Its  breadth  scarce  more,  from  eastern  Popelot 
To  where  the  groves  of  Hougomont  on  high 
Bear  in  the  west  their  venerable  head, 
And  cover  with  their  shade  the  countless  dead. 

"  But  wouldst  thou  tread  this  celebrated  ground^ 
And  trace  with  understanding  eyes  a  scene 

Above  all  other  fields  of  war  renown'd, 
Prom  western  Hougomont  thy  way  begin ; 


CONCLUSION. 

Stern  tide  of  human  Time !  that  know'st  not  rest, 
But,  sweeping  from  the  cradle  to  the  tomb, 
Bear'st  ever  downward  on  thy  dusky  breast 
Successive  generations  to  their  doom ; 
While  thy  capacious  stream  has  equal  room 
For  the  gay  bark  where  Pleasure's  streamers  sport, 
And  for  the  prison-ship  of  guilt  and  gloom, 
The  fisher-skiff,  and  barge  that  bears  a  court, 
Still  wafting  onward  all  to  one  dark  silent  port; — 

Stern  tide  of  Time !  through  what  mysterious  change 
Of  hope  and  fear  have  our  frail  barks  been  driven! 
For  ne'er,  before,  vicissitude  so  strange 
Was  to  one  race  of  Adam's  offspring  given. 
And  sure  such  varied  change  of  sea  and  heaven, 
Such  unexpected  bursts  of  joy  and  woe, 
Such  fearful  strife  as  that  where  we  have  striven, 
Succeeding  ages  ne'er  again  shall  know, 
Until  the  awful  term  when  Thou  shalt  cease  to  flow ! 

Well  hast  thou  stood,  my  Country ! — the  brave 

fight 
Hast  well  maintain'd  through  good  report  and  ill  ; 
In  thy  just  cause  and  in  thy  native  might, 
And  in  Heaven's  grace  and  justice,  constant  still ; 
Whether  the  banded  prowess,  strength,  and  skill 
Of  half  the  world  against  thee  stood  array'd, 
Or  when,  with  better  views  and  freer  will, 
Beside  thee  Europe's  noblest  drew  the  blade, 
Each  emulous  in  arms  the  Ocean  Queen  to  aid. 

Well  art  thou  now  repaid — though  slowly  rose, 
And  struggled  long  with  mists,  thy  blaze  of  fame, 
While  like  the  dawn  that  in  the  orient  glows 
On  the  broad  wave  its  earlier  lustre  came  ;3 
Then  eastern  Egypt  saw  the  growing  flame, 
And  Maida's  myrtles  gleam'd  beneath  its  ray, 
Where  first  the  soldier,  stung  with  generous  shame, 
Rivall'd  the  heroes  of  the  wat'ry  way, 
And  wash'd  in  foemen's  gore  unjust  reproach  away. 

Now,  Island  Empress,  wave  thy  crest  on  high, 
And  bid  the  banner  of  thy  Patron  flow, 
Gallant  Saint  George,  the  flower  of  Chivalry, 
For  thou  hast  faced,  like  him,  a  dragon  foe, 
And  rescued  innocence  from  overthrow, 

There  was  our  strength  on  that  side,  and  there  first, 
In  all  its  force,  the  storm  of  battle  burst."— Southey. 

Mr.  Southey  adds,  in  a  note  on  these  verses: — "So  import- 
antVi  battle,  perhaps,  was  never  before  fought  within  so  small 
an  extent  of  ground.  I  computed  the  distance  between  Hou- 
gomont and  Popelot  at  three  miles ;  in  a  straight  line  it  might 
probably  not  exceed  two  and  a  half.  Our  guide  was  very 
much  displeased  at  the  name  which  the  battle  had  obtained 
in  England,  'Why  call  it  the  battle  of  Waterloo?'  he  said. 
'Call  it  Hougomont,  call  it  La  Haye  Sainte,  call  it  Popelot^- 
any  thing  but  Waterloo.'  " — Pilgrimage  to  Waterloo. 

3  MS. :  "  On  the  broad  ocean  first  its  lustre  came." 


THE    FIELD    OF   WATEKLOO. 


507 


And  trampled  down,  like  him,  tyrannic  might, 
And  to  the  gazing  world  may'st  proudly  show 
he  chosen  emblem  of  thy  sainted  Knight, 
Who  quell'd  devouring  pride,  and  vindicated  right. 

Yet  'mid  the  confidence  of  just  renown, — 
Renown  dear-bought,  but  dearest  thus  acquired, — 
Write,  Britain,  write  the  moral  lesson  down : 
'Tis  not  alone  the  heart  with  valor  fired, 


1  In  the  Life  of  Sir  W.  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  99-104,  the  reader 
will  find  a  curious  record  of  minute  alterations  on  this  poem, 
suggested,  while  it  was  proceeding  through  the  press,  by  the 
printer  and  the  bookseller,  with  the  author's  good-natured 
replies,  sometimes  adopting,  sometimes  rejecting,  what  was 
proposed. 

-  '"The  Field  of  Waterloo'  was  published  before  the  end 
of  October,  in  octavo ;  the  profits  of  the  first  edition  being  the 
author's  contribution  to  the  fund  raised  for  the  relief  of  the 
widows  and  children  of  the  soldiers  slain  in  the  battle.  This 
piece  appears  to  have  disappointed  those  most  disposed  to 
sympathize  with  the  author's  views  and  feelings.  The  descent 
is  indeed  heavy  from  his  Bannockburn  to  his  Waterloo;  the 
presence,  or  all  but  visible  reality,  of  what  his  dreams  cher- 
ished, seems  to  have  overawed  his  imagination,  and  tamed  it 
into  a  weak  pomposity  of  movement.  The  burst  of  pure 
native  enthusiasm  upon  the  Scottish  heroes  that  fell  around 
the  Duke  of  Wellington's  person  bears,  however,  the  broadest 
marks  of  '  the  Mighty  Minstrel :' — 

'  Saw'st  gallant  Miller's  fading  eye 
Still  bent  where  Albion's  banners  fly, 
And  Cameron,  in  the  shock  of  steel, 
Die  like  the  offspring  of  Lochiel,'  &c. ; 

and  this  is  far  from  being  the  only  redeeming  passage.  There 


The  discipline  so  dreaded  and  admired, 
In  many  a  field  of  bloody  conquest  known ; 
— Such  may  by  fame  be  lured,  by  gold  be  hired— 
'Tis  constancy  in  the  good  cause  alone, 
Best  justifies  the  meed  thy  valiant  sons  have  won.1 


END  OF  THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.2 


is  one,  indeed,  in  which  he  illustrates  what  he  then  thought 
Bonaparte's  poorness  of  spirit  in  adversity,  which  always 
struck  me  as  pre-eminently  characteristic  of  Scott's  manner 
of  interweaving,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  the  mofal  energies 
with  analogous  natural  description,  and  combining  thought 
with  imagery : — 

'  Or  is  thy  soul  like  mountain  tide, 
That,  swell'd  by  winter  storm  and  shower, 
Rolls  down  in  turbulence  of  power, 

A  torrent  fierce  and  wide ; 
Reft  of  these  aids,  a  rill  obscure, 
Shrinking  unnoticed,  mean,  and  poor, 

Whose  channel  shows  display'd 
The  wrecks  of  its  impetuous  course, 
But  not  one  symptom  of  the  force 
By  which  these  wrecks  were  made !' 
"  The  poem  was  the  first  upon  a  subject  likely  to  be  suffi- 
ciently hackneyed  ;  and,  having  the  advantage  of  coming  out 
in  a  small  cheap  form  (prudently  imitated  from  Murray's  in- 
novation with  the  tales  of  Byron,  which  was  the  deathblow 
to  the  system  of  verse  in  quarto),  it  attained  rapidly  a  mea- 
sure of  circulation  above  what  had  been  reached  either  by 
'  Rokeby '  or  the  '  Lord  of  the  Isles.' "— Lockhabt.    Life  of 
Scott,  voL  v.  pp.  106-7. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

The  peasant,  at  his  labor  blithe, 

Plies  the  hook'd  staff  and  shorteri'd  scythe."- 


-P.  500. 


The  reaper  in  Flanders  carries  in  his  left  hand  a  stick  with 
an  iron  hook,  with  which  he  collects  as  much  grain  as  he  can 
cut  at  one  sweep  with  a  short  scythe,  which  he  holds  in  his 
right  hand.  They  carry  on  this  double  process  with  great 
spirit  and  dexterity. 


Note  B. 

Pale  Brussels  !  then  what  thoughts  were  thine.— P.  501. 

It  was  affirmed  by  the  prisoners  of  war  that  Bonaparte  had 
promised  his  army,  in  case  of  victory,  twenty-four  hours'  plun- 
der of  the  city  of  Brussels. 


Note  C. 


"On!  on!"  was  still  his  stern  exclaim. — P.  502. 

The  characteristic  obstinacy  of  Napoleon  was  never  more 
fully  displayed  than  in  what  we  may  be  permitted  to  hope 
will  prove  the  last  of  his  fields.  He  would  listen  to  no  advice, 
and  allow  of  no  obstacles.  An  eye-witness  has  given  the  fol- 
lowing account  of  his  demeanor  towards  the  end  of  the 
action : — 

"  It  was  near  seven  o'clock ;  Bonaparte,  who  till  then  had 
remained  upon  the  ridge  of  the  hill  whence  he  could  best 
behold  what  passed,  contemplated  with  a  stern  countenance 
the  scene  of  this  horrible  slaughter.  The  more  that  obstacles 
seemed  to  multiply,  the  more  his  obstinacy  seemed  to  in- 
crease. He  became  indignant  ;it  these  unforeseen  difficulties; 
and,  far  from  fearing  to  push  to  extremities  an  army  whose 
confidence  in  him  was  boundless,  he  ceased  not  to  pour  down 
fresh  troops,  and  to  give  orders  to  march  forward — to  charge 
with  the  bayonet — to  carry  by  storm.    He  was  repeatedly  in- 


1  The  mistakes  concerning  this  observatory  have  been  mu- 
tual.   The  English  supposed  it  was  erected  for  the  use  of 
(508) 


formed,  from  different  points,  that  the  day  went  against  him, 
and  that  the  troops  seemed  to  be  disordered ;  to  which  he 
only  replied, — 'JSn-avanl!  en-avantP 

"  One  general  sent  to  inform  the  emperor  that  he  was  in  a 
position  which  he  could  not  maintain,  because  it  was  com- 
manded by  a  battery,  and  requested  to  know,  at  the  same 
time,  in  what  way  he  should  protect  his  division  from  the 
murderous  fire  of  the  English  artillery.  '  Let  him  storm  the 
battery,'  replied  Bonaparte,  and  turned  his  back  on  the  aide- 
de-camp  who  brought  the  message." — Relation  de  la  BataiUe 
de  Mont-Sl.-Jean.  Par  un  Temoin  Oculaire.  Paris,  1815,  8vo, 
p.  51. 


Note  D. 


The  fate  their  leader  shunn'd  to  share. — P.  502. 

It  has  been  reported  that  Bonaparte  charged  at  the  head  of 
his  guards,  at  the  last  period  of  this  dreadful  conflict.  This, 
however,  is  not  accurate.  He  came  down  indeed  to  a  hollow 
part  of  the  high  road,  leading  to  Charleroi,  within  less  than  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  farm  of  La  Haye  Sainte,  one  of  the 
points  most  fiercely  disputed.  Here  he  harangued  the  guards, 
and  informed  them  that  his  preceding  operations  had  de- 
stroyed the  British  infantry  and  cavalry,  and  that  they  had 
only  to  support  the  fire  of  the  artillery,  which  they  were  to 
attack  with  the  bayonet.  This  exhortation  was  received  with 
shouts  of  Vive  V  Empereur,  which  were  heard  over  all  our  line, 
and  led  to  an  idea  that  Napoleon  was  charging  in  person. 
But  the  guards  were  led  on  by  Ney ;  nor  did  Bonaparte  ap- 
proach nearer  the  scene  of  action  than  the  spot  already  men- 
tioned, which  the  rising  banks  on  each  side  rendered  secure 
from  all  such  balls  as  did  not  come  in  a  straight  line.  He 
witnessed  the  earlier  part  of  the  battle  from  places  yet  more 
remote,  particularly  from  an  observatory  which  had  been 
placed  there  by  the  King  of  the  Netherlands,  some  weeks  be- 
fore, for  the  purpose  of  surveying  the  country.1  It  is  not 
meant  to  infer  from  these  particulars  that  Napoleon  showed, 
on  that  memorable  occasion,  the  least  deficiency  in  personal 
courage ;  on  the  contrary,  he  evinced  the  greatest  composure 
and  presence  of  mind  during  the  whole  action.  But  it  is  no 
less  true  that  report  has  erred  in  ascribing  to  him  any  despe- 
rate efforts  of  valor  for  recovery  of  the  battle ;  and  it  is  re- 
markable that  during  the  whole  carnage  none  of  his  suite 


Bonaparte;  and  a  French  writer  affirms  it  was  constructed 
by  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 


APPENDIX   TO   THE   FIELD   OF   WATEKLOO. 


509 


were  either  killed  or  wounded,  whereas  scarcely  one  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington's  personal  attendants  escaped  unhurt. 


Note  E. 

"  England  shall  tell  the  fight  /"—P.  502. 

In  riding  up  to  a  regiment  which  was  hard  pressed,  the 
duke  called  to  the  men,  "  Soldiers,  we  must  never  be  beat, — 
what  will  they  say  in  England  ?"  It  is  needless  to  say  how 
this  appeal  was  answered. 


Note  F. 

As  plies  the  smith  his  clanging  trade. — P.  502. 

A  private  soldier  of  the  95th  regiment  compared  the  sound 
which  took  place  immediately  upon  the  British  cavalry  min- 
gling with  those  of  the  enemy,  to  "  a  thousand  tinkers  at  work 
mending  pots  and  kettles." 


Note  G. 

The  British  shock  of  levell'd  steel.— P.  503. 

No  persuasion  or  authority  could  prevail  upon  the  French 
troops  to  stand  the  shock  of  the  bayonet.  The  Imperial 
Guards,  in  particular,  hardly  stood  till  the  British  were 
within  thirty  yards  of  them,  although  the  French  author 
already  quoted  has  put  into  their  mouths  the  magnanimous 
sentiment,  "  The  Guards  never  yield— they  die."  The  same 
author  has  covered  the  plateau  or  eminence  of  St.  Jean, 
which  formed  the  British  position,  with  redoubts  and  in- 
trenchments  which  never  had  an  existence.  As  the  narra- 
tive, which  is  in  many  respects  curious,  was  written  by  an 
eye-witness,  he  was  probably  deceived  by  the  appearance  of  a 
road  and  ditch  which  run  along  part  of  the  hill.  It  may  be 
also  mentioned,  in  criticising  this  work,  that  the  writer  men- 
tions the  chateau  of  Hougomont  to  have  been  carried  by  the 
French,  although  it  was  resolutely  and  successfully  defended 
during  the  whole  action.  The  enemy,  indeed,  possessed  them- 
selves of  the  wood  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  and  at  length 
set  fire  to  the  house  itself;  but  the  British  (a  detachment  of 
the  Guards,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Macdonnell,  and 
afterwards  of  Colonel  Home)  made  good  the  garden,  and  thus 
preserved,  by  their  desperate  resistance,  the  post  which  cov- 
ered the  return  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington's  right  flank. 


aroifcr  tfje  JSatmtless: 


A  POEM,1  IN  SIX  CANTOS. 


"  Upon  another  occasion,"  says  Sir  Walter,  "  I  sent  up  another  of  these  trifles,  "which,  like  schoolboys'  kites, 
served  to  show  how  the  wind  of  popular  taste  was  setting.  The  manner  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  a  rude  min- 
strel or  Scald,  in  opposition  to  the  ' Bridal  of  Triermain,'  which  was  designed  to  belong  rather  to  the  Italian 
school.  This  new  fugitive  piece  was  called  '  Harold  the  Dauntless ;'  and  I  am  still  astonished  at  my  having  com- 
mitted  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name  which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.  It  encountered  rather 
an  odd  fate.  My  ingenious  friend,  Mr.  James  Hogg,  had  published,  about  the  same  time,  a  work  called  the 
1  Poetic  Mirror,'  containing  imitations  of  the  principal  living  poets.  There  was  in  it  a  very  good  imitation  of 
my  man  style,  which  bore  such  a  resemblance  to  '  Harold  the  Dauntless'  that  there  was  no  discovering  the  original 
from  the  imitation ;  and  I  believe  that  many  who  took  the  trouble  of  thinking  upon  the  subject  were  rather  of 
opinion  that  my  ingenious  friend  was  the  true  and  not  the  fictitious  Simon  Pure." — INTRODUCTION  TO  THE 
Lord  of  the  Isles.    1830.2 


1  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.,  January,  1817,  in  12mo. 

2  "Within  less  than  a  month,  the  'Black  Dwarf  and  'Old 
Mortality '  were  followed  by  ' "  Harold  the  Dauntless,"  by  the 
author  of  the  "  Bridal  of  Triermain." '  This  poem  had  been,  it 
appears,  begun  several  years  back ;  nay,  part  of  it  had  been 
actually  printed  before  the  appearance  of  '  Childe  Harold,' 
though  that  circumstance  had  escaped  the  author's  remem- 
brance when  he  penned,  in  1830,  his  Introduction  to  the  '  Lord 
of  the  Isles ;'  for  he  there  says, '  I  am  still  astonished  at  my 
having  committed  the  gross  error  of  selecting  the  very  name 
which  Lord  Byron  had  made  so  famous.'  The  volume  was 
published  by  Messrs.  Constable,  and  had,  in  those  booksellers' 
phrase,  '  considerable  success.'    It  has  never,  however,  been 


placed  on  a  level  with  '  Triermain  ;'  and,  though  it  contains 
many  vigorous  pictures  and  splendid  verses,  and  here  and 
there  some  happy  humor,  the  confusion  and  harsh  transi- 
tions of  the  fable,  and  the  dim  rudeness  of  character  and 
manners,  seem  sufficient  to  account  for  this  inferiority  in 
public  favor.  It  is  not  surprising  that  the  author  should 
have  redoubled  his  aversion  to  the  notion  of  any  more  serious 
performances  in  verse.  He  had  seized  on  an  instrument  of 
wider  compass,  and  which,  handled  with  whatever  rapidity, 
seemed  to  reveal  at  every  touch  treasures  that  had  hitherto 
slept  unconsciously  within  him.  He  had  thrown  ofF  his  fet- 
ters, and  might  well  go  forth  rejoicing  in  the  native  elasticity 
of  his  strength." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  p.  181. 


(511) 


?$aroltr  tftc  3@auntless. 


INTRODUCTION. 


There  is  a  mood  of  mind,  we  all  have  known 
On  drowsy  eve,  or  dark  and  low'ring  day, 
When  the  tired  spirits  lose  their  sprightly  tone, 
And  nought  can  chase,  the  lingering  hours  away. 
Dull  on  our  soul  falls  Fancy's  dazzling  ray, 
And  Wisdom  holds  his  steadier  torch  in  vain ; 
Obscured  the  painting  seems,  mistuned  the  lay 
Nor  dare  we  of  our  listless  load  complain, 
For  who  for  sympathy  may 'seek  that  cannot  tell  of 
pain? 

The  jolly  sportsman  knows  such  drearihood, 
When  bursts  in  deluge  the  autumnal  rain, 
Clouding  that  morn  which  threats  the  heath-cock's 

brood ; 
Of  such,  in  summer's  drought,  the  anglers  plain, 
Who  hope  the  soft  mild  southern  shower  in  vain ; 
But,  more  than  all,  the  discontented  fair, 
Whom  father  stern,  and  sterner  aunt,  restrain 
From  county  ball,  or  race  occurring  rare, 
While  all  her  friends  around  their  vestments  gay 
prepare. 

Ennui! — or,  as  our  mothers  call'd  thee,  Spleen! — 
To  thee  we  owe  full  many  a  rare  device ; — 
Thine  is  the  sheaf  of  painted  cards,  I  ween, 
The  rolling  billiard-ball,  the  rattling  dice, 
The  turning-lathe  for  framing  gimcrack  nice ; 
The  amateur's  blotch'd  pallet  thou  ruay'st  claim, 
Retort,  and  air-pump,  threatening  frogs  and  mice 
(Murders  disguised  by  philosophic  name), 
And  much  of  trifling  grave,  and  much  of  buxom  game. 


1  "The  dry  humor  and  sort  of  half  Spenserian  cast  of  these, 

as  well  as  all  the  other  introductory  stanzas  in  the  poem,  we 

think  excellent,  and  scarcely  outdone  by  any  thing  of  the 

kind  we  know  of;  and  there  are  few  parts,  taken  separately, 

(512) 


\ 


Then  of  the  books,  to  catch  thy  drowsy  glance 
Compiled,  what  bard  the  catalogue  may  (fuote ! 
Plays,  poems,  novels,  never  read  but  once  ; — 
But  not  of  such  the  tale  fair  Edgeworth  wrote, 
That  bears  thy  name,  and  is  thine  antidote ; 
And  not  of  such  the  strain  my  Thomson  sung, 
Delicious  dreams  inspiring  by  his  note, 
What  time  to  Indolence  his  harp  he  strung ; — 
Oh,  might  my  lay  be  rank'd  that  happier  list 
among  I1 

Each  hath  his  refuge  whom  thy  cares  assail. 
For  me,  I  love  my  study-fire  to  trim, 
And  con  right  vacantly  some  idle  tale, 
Displaying  on  the  couch  each  listless  limb, 
Till  on  the  drowsy  page  the  lights  grow  dim, 
And  doubtful  slumber  half  supplies  the  theme ; 
While  antique  shapes  of  knight  and  giant  grim, 
Damsel  and  dwarf,  in  long  procession  gleam, 
And  the  Romancer's  tale  becomes  the  Reader's 
dream. 


'Tis  thus  my  malady  I  well  may  bear, 
Albeit  outstretch'd,  like  Pope's  own  Paridel, 
Upon  the  rack  of  a  too-easy  chair ; 
And  find,  to  cheat  the  time,  a  powerful  spell 
In  old  romaunts  of  errantry  that  tell, 
Or  later  legends  of  the  Fairy-folk, 
Or  Oriental  tale  of  Afrite  fell, 
Of  Genii,  Talisman,  and  broad-winged  Roc, 
Though  taste  may  blush  and  frown,  and  sober  reason 
mock. 

Oft  at  such  season,  too,  will  rhymes  unsought 
Arrange  themselves  in  some  romantic  lay  ; 
The  which,  as  things  unfitting  graver  thought, 
Are  burnt  or  blotted  on  some  wiser  day.— 


that  have  not  something  attractive  to  the  lover  of  natural 
poetry  ;  while  any  one  page  will  show  how  extremely  like  it  is 
to  the  manner  of  Scott."— Blackwood's  Magazine,  1817. 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


513 


These  few  survive — and,  proudly  let  me  say, 
Court  not  the  critic's  smile,  nor  dread  his  frown ; 
They  well  may  serve  to  while  an  hour  away, 
Nor  does  the  volume  ask  for  more  renown 
Than  Ennui's  yawning  smile,  what  time  she  drops  it 
down. 


^atoiti  tf)t  Dauntless. 


CANTO   FIRST. 


List  to  the  valorous  deeds  that  were  done 

By  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son ! 

Count  Witikind  came  of  a  regal  strain, 

And  roved  with  his  Norsemen  the  land  and  the  main. 

Woe  to  the  realms  which  he  coasted !  for  there 

Was  shedding  of  blood,  and  rending  of  hair, 

Rape  of  maiden,  and  slaughter  of  priest, 

Gathering  of  ravens  and  wolves  to  the  feast : 

When  he  hoisted  his  standard  black, 

Before  him  was  battle,  behind  him  wrack, 

And  he  burn'd  the  churches,  that  heathen  Dane, 

To  light  his  band  to  their  barks  again. 

II. 

On  Erin's  shores  was  his  outrage  known, 

The  winds  of  France  had  his  banners  blown ; 

Little  was  there  to  plunder,  yet  still 

His  pirates  had  foray'd  on  Scottish  hill : 

But  upon  merry  England's  coast 

More  frequent  he  sail'd,  for  he  won  the  most. 

So  wide  and  so  far  his  ravage  they  knew, 

If  a  sail  but  gleam'd  white  'gainst  the  welkin  blue, 

Trumpet  and  bugle  to  arms  did  call, 

Burghers  hasten'd  to  man  the  wall, 

Peasants  fled  inland  his  fury  to  'scape, 

Beacons  were  lighted  on  headland  and  cape, 

Bells  were  toll'd  out,  and  aye  as  they  rung,    . 

Fearful  and  faintly  the  gray  brothers  sung, 

"  Bless  us,  St.  Mary,  from  flood  and  from  fire, 

From  famine  and  pest,  and  Count  Witikind's  ire !" 

III. 

He  liked  the  wealth  of  fair  England  so  well 
That  he  sought  in  her  bosom  as  native  to  dwell. 
He  enter'd  the  Humber  in  fearful  hour, 
And  disembark'd  with  his  Danish  power. 
Three  earls  came  against  him  with  all  their  train, — 
Two  hath  he  taken,  and  one  hath  he  slain. 
Count  Witikind  left  the  Humber's  rich  strand, 
And  he  wasted  and  warr'd  in  Northumberland. 
But  the  Saxon  King  was  a  sire  in  age, 
Weak  in  battle,  in  council  sage; 
33 


Peace  of  that  heathen  leader  he  sought, 

Gifts  he  gave,  and  quiet  he  bought ; 

And  the  Count  took  upon  him  the  peaceable  style 

Of  a  vassal  and  liegeman  of  Britain's  broad  isle. 

IV. 

Time  will  rust  the  sharpest  sword, 

Time  will  consume  the  strongest  cord ; 

That  which  moulders  hemp  and  steel, 

Mortal  arm  and  nerve  must  feel. 

Of  the  Danish  band  whom  Count  Witikind  led, 

Many  wax'd  aged,  and  many  were  dead : 

Himself  found  his  armor  full  weighty  to  bear, 

Wrinkled  his  brows  grew,  and  hoary  his  hair ; 

He  lean'd  on  a  staff  when  his  step  went  abroad, 

And  patient  his  palfrey  when  steed  he  bestrode. 

As  he  grew  feebler,  his  wildness  ceased, 

He  made  himself  peace  with  prelate  and  priest, — 

Made  his  peace,  and,  stooping  his  head, 

Patiently  listed  the  counsel  they  said : 

Saint  Cuthbert's  Bishop  was  holy  and  grave, 

Wise  and  good  was  the  counsel  he  gave. 


"  Thou  hast  murder'd,  robb'd,  and  spoil'd, 
Time  it  is  thy  poor  soul  were  assoil'd ; 
Priests  didst  thou  slay,  and  churches  burn, 
Time  it  is  now  to  repentance  to  turn  ; 
Fiends  hast  thou  worshipp'd,  with  fiendish  rite, 
Leave  now  the  dai-kness,  and  wend  into  light : 
Oh,  while  life  and  space  are  given, 
Turn  thee  yet,  and  think  of  heaven !" 
That  stern  old  heathen  his  head  he  raised, 
And  on  the  good  Prelate  he  steadfastly  gazed ; 
"  Give  me  broad  lands  on  the  Wear  and  the  Tyne, 
My  faith  I  will  leave,  and  I'll  cleave  unto  thine." 

VI. 

Broad  lands  he  gave  him  on  Tyne  and  Wear, 
i   To  be  held  of  the  Church  by  bridle  and  spear ; 
Part  of  Monkwearmouth,  of  Tynedale  part, 
To  better  his  will,  and  to  soften  his  heart : 
Count  Witikind  was  a  joyful  man, 
Less  for  the  faith  than  the  lands  that  he  wan. 
The  high  church  of  Durham  is  dress'd  for  the  day, 
The  clergy  are  rank'd  in  their  solemn  array : 
There  came  the  Count,  in  a  bear-skin  warm, 
Leaning  on  Hilda  his  concubine's  arm. 
He  kneel'd  before  Saint  Cuthbert's  shrine, 
With  patience  unwonted  at  rites  divine ;  > 

He  abjured  the  gods  of  heathen  race, 
And  he  bent  his  head  at  the  font  of  grace. 
But  such  was  the  grisly  old  proselyte's  look 
That  the  priest  who  baptized  him  grew  pale  and  shook, 
And  the  old  monks  mutter'd  beneath  their  hood, 
"  Of  a  stem  so  stubborn  can  never  spring  good !" 

VII. 

Up  then  arose  that  grim  convertite, 
Homeward  he  hied  him  when  ended  the  rite ; 


514 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  Prelate  in  honor  will  with  him  ride, 
And  feast  in  his  Castle  on  Tyne's  fair  side. 
Banners  and  banderols  danced  in  the  wind, 
Monks  rode  before  them,  and  spearmen  behind; 
Onward  they  pass'd,  till  fairly  did  shine 
Pennon  and  cross  on  the  bosom  of  Tyne; 
And  full  in  front  did  that  fortress  lower, 
In  darksome  strength  with  its  buttress  and  tower: 
At  the  Castle  gate  was  young  Harold  there, 
Count  Witikind's  only  offspring  and  heir. 

VIII. 
Young  Harold  was  fear'd  for  his  hardihood, 
His  strength  of  frame,  and  his  fury  of  mood. 
Rude  he  was  and  wild  to  behold, 
Wore  neither  collar  nor  bracelet  of  gold, 
Cap  of  vair  nor  rich  array, 
Such  as  should  grace  that  festal  day : 
His  doublet  of  bull's  hide  was  all  unbraced, 
Uncover'd  his  head,  and  his  sandal  unlaced : 
His  shaggy  black  locks  on  his  brow  hung  low, 
And  his  eyes  glanced  through  them  a  swarthy  glow; 
A  Danish  club  in  his  hand  he  bore, 
The  spikes  were  clotted  with  recent  gore ; 
At  his  back  a  she-wolf,  and  her  wolf-cubs  twain, 
In  the  dangerous  chase  that  morning  slain. 
Rude  was  the  greeting  his  father  he  made, — 
None  to  the  Bishop, — while  thus  he  said : — 

IX. 

"  What  priest-led  hypocrite  art  thou, 

With  thy  humbled  look  and  thy  monkish  brow, 

Like  a  shaveling  who  studies  to  cheat  his  vow? 

Canst  thou  be  Witikind  the  Waster  known, 

Royal  Eric's  fearless  son, 

Haughty  Gunhilda's  haughtier  lord, 

Who  won  his  bride  by  the  axe  and  sword ; 

From  the  shrine  of  St.  Peter  the  chalice  who  tore, 

And  melted  to  bracelets  for  Freya  and  Thor ; 

With  one  blow  of  his  gauntlet  who  burst  the  skull, 

Before  Odin's  stone,  of  the  Mountain  Bull  ? 

Then  ye  worsbipp'd  with  rites  that  to  war-gods  belong, 

With  the  deed  of  the  brave,  and  the  blow  of  the  strong; 

And  now,  in  thine  age  to  dotage  sunk, 

Wilt  thou  patter  thy  crimes  to  a  shaven  monk, — 

Lay  down  thy  mail-shirt  for  clothing  of  hair, — 

Fasting  and  scourge,  like  a  slave,  wilt  thou  bear? 

Or,  at  best,  be  admitted  in  slothful  bower 

To  batten  with  priest  and  with  paramour? 

Oh,  out  upon  thine  endless  shame! 

Each  Scald's  high  harp  shall  blast  thy  fame, 

And  thy  son  will  refuse  thee  a  father's  name !" 


Ireful  wax'd  old  Witikind's  look, 

His  faltering  voice  with  fury  shook: — 

"  Hear  me,  Harold  of  harden'd  heart ! 

Stubborn  and  willful  ever  thou  wert. 

Thine  outrage  insane  I  command  thee  to  cease, 

Fear  my  wrath  and  remain  at  peace : — 


Jnst  is  the  debt  of  repentance  I've  paid, 

Richly  the  Church  has  a  recompense  made, 

And  the  truth  of  her  doctrines  I  prove  with  my  blade. 

But  reckoning  to  none  of  my  actions  I  owe, 

And  least  to  my  son  such  accounting  will  show. 

Why  speak  I  to  thee  of  repentance  or  truth, 

Who  ne'er  from  thy  childhood  knew  reason  or  ruth  ? 

Hence !  to  the  wolf  and  the  bear  in  her  den ; 

These  are  thy  mates,  and  not  rational  men." 

XI. 

Grimly  smiled  Harold,  and  coldly  replied, 

"  We  must  honor  our  sires,  if  we  fear  when  they  chide. 

For  me,  I  am  yet  what  thy  lessons  have  made, 

I  was  rock'd  in  a  buckler  and  fed  from  a  blade ; 

An  infant,  was  taught  to  clasp  hands  and  to  shout, 

From  the  roofs  of  the  tower  when  the  flame  had  broke 

out; 
In  the  blood  of  slain  foemen  my  finger  to  dip, 
And  tinge  with  its  purple  my  cheek  and  my  lip. — 
'Tis  thou  know'st  not  truth,  that  hast  barter'd  in  eld, 
For  a  price,  the  brave  faith  that  thine  ancestors  held. 
When  this  wolf," — and  the  carcass  he  flung  on  the 

plain, — 
"Shall  awake  and  give  food  to  her  nurslings  again, 
The  face  of  his  father  will  Harold  review ; 
Till  then,  aged  Heathen,  young  Christian,  adieu !" 

XII. 

Priest,  Monk,  and  Prelate,  stood  aghast, 

As  through  the  pageant  the  heathen  pass'd. 

A  cross-bearer  out  of  his  saddle  he  flung, 

Laid  his  hand  on  the  pommel,  and  into  it  sprung. 

Loud  was  the  shriek,  and  deep  the  groan, 

When  the  holy  sign  on  the  earth  was  thrown ! 

The  fierce  old  Count  unsheathed  his  brand, 

But  the  calmer  Prelate  stay'd  his  hand. 

"Let  him  pass  free! — Heaven  knows  its  hour, — 

But  he  must  own  repentance's  power, 

Pray  and  weep,  and  penance  bear, 

Ere  he  hold  land  by  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear." 

Thus  in  scorn  and  in  wrath  from  his  father  is  gone 

Young  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son. 

XIII. 

High  was  the  feasting  in  Witikind's  hall, 
Revell'd  priests,  soldiers,  and  pagans,  and  all ; 
And  e'en  the  good  Bishop  was  fain  to  endure 
The  scandal  which  time  and  instruction  might  cure : 
It  were  dangerous,  he  deem'd,  at  the  first  to  restrain, 
In  his  wine  and  his  wassail,  a  half-christen'd  Dane. 
The  mead  flow'd  around,  and  the  ale  was  drain'd 

dry, 
Wild  was  the  laughter,  the  song,  and  the  cry ; 
With  Kyrie  Eleison  came  clamorously  in 
The  war-songs  of  Danesmen,  Norweyan,  and  Finn. 
Till  man  after  man  the  contention  gave  o'er, 
Outstreteh'd  on  the  rushes  that  strew'd  the  hall  floor; 
And  the  tempest  within,  having  ceased  its  wild  rout, 
Gave  place  to  the  tempest  that  thunder'd  without. 


HAROLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


515 


XIV. 

Apart  from  the  wassail,  in  turret  alone, 
Lay  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar,  old  Ermengarde's  son ;  i 
In  the  train  of  Lord  Harold  that  Page  was  the  first, 
For  Harold  in  childhood  had  Ermengarde  nursed ; 
And  grieved  was  young  Guanar  his  master  should 

roam, 
Unhoused  and  unfriended,  an  exile  from  home. 
He  heard  the  deep  thunder,  the  plashing  of  rain, 
He  saw  the  red  lightning  through  shot-hole  and  pane ; 
"  And  oh !"  said  the  Page,  "  on  the  shelterless  wold, 
Lord  Harold  is  wandering  in  darkness  and  cold ! 
What  though  he  was  stuhhorn,  and  wayward,  and  wild, 
He  endured  me  because  I  was  Ermengarde's  child, — 
And  often  from  dawn  till  the  set  of  the  sun, 
In  the  chase,  by  his  stirrup,  unbidden  I  run ; 
I  would  I  were  older,  and  knighthood  could  bear, 
I  would  soon  quit  the  banks  of  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear : 
For  my  mother's  command,  with  her  last  parting 

breath, 
Bade  me  follow  her  nursling  in  life  and  to  death. 

XV. 

"  It  pours  and  it  thunders,  it  lightens  amain, 
As  if  Lok,  the  Destroyer,  had  burst  from  his  chain ! 
Accursed  by  the  Church,  and  expell'd  by  his  sire, 
Nor  Christian  nor  Dane  give  him  shelter  or  fire, 
And  this  tempest  what  mortal  may  houseless  endure? 
Unaided,  unmantled,  he  dies  on  the  moor ! 
Whate'er  comes  of  Gunnar,  he  tarries  not  here." 
He  leapt  from  his  couch  and  he  grasp'd  to  his  spear; 
Sought  the  hall  of  the  feast.    Undisturb'd  by  his  tread, 
The  wassailers  slept  fast  as  the  sleep  of  the  dead : 
"  Ungrateful  and  bestial!"  his  anger  broke  forth, 
"  To  forget  'mid  your  goblets  the  pride  of  the  North ! 
And  you,  ye  cowl'd  priests,  who  have  plenty  in  store, 
Must  give  Gunnar  for  ransom  a  palfrey  and  ore." 

XVI. 

Then,  heeding  full  little  of  ban  or  of  curse, 
He  has  seized  on  the  Prior  of  Jorvaux's  purse : 
Saint  Meneholt's  Abbot  next  morning  has  miss'd 
His  mantle,  deep  furr'd  from  the  cape  to  the  wrist : 
The  Seneschal's  keys  from  his  belt  he  has  ta'en 
(Well  drench'd  on  that  eve  was  old  Hildebrand's 

brain). 
To  the  stable-yard  he  made  his  way, 
And  mounted  the  Bishop's  palfrey  gay, 
Castle  and  hamlet  behind  him  has  cast, 
And  right  on  his  way  to  the  moorland  has  pass'd. 
Sore  snorted  the  palfrey,  unused  to  face 
A  weather  so  wild  at  so  rash  a  pace ; 
So  long  he  snorted,  so  loud  he  neigh'd, 
There  answer'd  a  steed  that  was  bound  beside, 
And  the  red  flash  of  lightning  show'd  there  where  lay 
His  master,  Lord  Harold,  outstretch'd  on  the  clay. 

XVII. 

Up  he  started,  and  thunder'd  out,  "  Stand !" 
And  raised  the  club  in  his  deadly  hand. 


The  flaxen-hair'd  Gunnar  his  purpose  told, 

Show'd  the  palfrey,  and  proffer'd  the  gold. 

"  Back,  back,  and  home,  thou  simple  boy ! 

Thou  canst  not  share  my  grief  or  joy: 

Have  I  not  mark'd  thee  wail  and  cry 

When  thou  hast  seen  a  sparrow  die  ? 

And  canst  thou,  as  my  follower  should, 

Wade  ankle-deep  through  foeman's  blood, 

Dare  mortal  and  immortal  foe, 

The  gods  above,  the  fiends  below, 

And  man  on  earth,  more  hateful  still, 

The  very  fountain-head  of  ill  ? 

Desperate  of  life,  and  careless  of  death, 

Lover  of  bloodshed,  and  slaughter,  and  scathe, 

Such  must  thou  be  with  me  to  roam, 

And  such  thou  canst  not  be — back,  and  home !" 

XVIII. 

Young  Gunnar  shook  like  an  aspen  bough, 

As  he  heard  the  harsh  voice  and  beheld  the  dark 

brow, 
And  half  he  repented  his  purpose  and  vow. 
But  now  to  draw  back  were  bootless  shame, 
And  he  loved  his  master,  so  urged  his  claim : 
"  Alas !  if  my  arm  and  my  courage  be  weak, 
Bear  with  me  a  while  for  old  Ermengarde's  sake : 
Nor  deem  so  lightly  of  Gunnar's  faith, 
As  to  fear  he  would  break  it  for  peril  of  death. 
Have  I  not  risk'd  it  to  fetch  thee  this  gold, 
This  surcoat  and  mantle  to  fence  thee  from  cold? 
And,  did  I  bear  a  baser  mind, 
What  lot  remains  if  I  stay  behind  ? 
The  priests'  revenge,  thy  father's  wrath, 
A  dungeon,  and  a  shameful  death." 

XIX. 

With  gentler  look  Lord  Harold  eyed 

The  Page,  then  turn'd  his  head  aside ; 

And  either  a  tear  did  his  eyelash  stain, 

Or  it  caught  a  drop  of  the  passing  rain. 

"  Art  thou  an  outcast,  then  ?"  quoth  he ; 

"  The  meeter  page  to  follow  me." 

'Twere  bootless  to  tell  what  climes  they  sought, 

Ventures  achieved,  and  battles  fought; 

How  oft  with  few,  how  oft  alone, 

Fierce  Harold's  arm  the  field  hath  won. 

Men  swore  his  eye,  that  flash'd  so  red 

When  each  other  glance  was  quench'd  with 

dread, 
Bore  oft  a  light  of  deadly  flame, 
That  ne'er  from  mortal  courage  came. 
Those  limbs  so  strong,  that  mood  so  stern, 
That  loved  the  couch  of  heath  and  fern, 
Afar  from  hamlet,  tower,  and  town, 
More  than  to  rest  on  driven  down ; 
That  stubborn  frame,  that  sullen  mood, 
Men  deem'd  must  come  of  aught  but  good ; 
And  they  whisper'd,  the  great  Master  Fiend  was  at 

one 
With  Harold  the  Dauntless,  Count  Witikind's  son. 


516 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XX. 

Years  after  years  had  gone  and  fled, 

The  good  old  Prelate  lies  lapp'd  in  lead ; 

In  the  chapel  still  is  shown 

His  sculptured  form  on  a  marble  stone, 

With  staff  and  ring  and  scapulare, 

And  folded  hands  in  the  act  of  prayer. 

Saint  Cuthbert's  mitre  is  resting  now 

On  the  haughty  Saxon,  bold  Aldingar's  brow ; 

The  power  of  his  crosier  he  loved  to  extend 

O'er  whatever  would  break,  or  whatever  would  bend; 

And  now  hath  he  clothed  him  in  cope  and  in  pall, 

And  the  Chapter  of  Durham  has  met  at  his  call. 

"  And  hear  ye  not,  brethren,"  the  proud  Bishop  said, 

"That  our  vassal  the  Danish  Count  Witikind's  dead? 

All  his  gold  and  his  goods  hath  he  given 

To  holy  Church  for  the  love  of  Heaven, 

And  hath  founded  a  chantry  with  stipend  and  dole, 

That  priests  and  that  beadsmen  may  pray  for  his  soul : 

Harold  his  son  is  wandering  abroad, 

Dreaded  by  man  and  abhorr'd  by  God  ; 

Meet  it  is  not  that  such  should  heir 

The  lands  of  the  Church  on  the  Tyne  and  the  Wear, 

And  at  her  pleasure,  her  hallow'd  hands 

May  now  resume  these  wealthy  lands." 

XXI. 

Answer'd  good  Eustace,1  a  canon  old, — 

"  Harold  is  tameless,  and  furious,  and  bold ; 

Ever  Renown  blows  a  note  of  fame, 

And  a  note  of  fear,  when  she  sounds  his  name : 

Much  of  bloodshed  and  much  of  scathe 

Have  been  their  lot  who  have  waked  his  wrath. 

Leave  him  these  lands  and  lordships  still, 

Heaven  in  its  hour  may  change  his  will ; 

But  if  reft  of  gold,  and  of  living  bare, 

An  evil  counsellor  is  despair." 

More  had  he  said,  but  the  Prelate  frown'd, 

Ami  murmur'd  his  brethren  who  sat  around, 

Ami  with  one  consent  have  they  given  their  doom, 

That  the  Church  should  the  lands  of  Saint  Cuthbert 

resume. 
So  will'd  the  Prelate;  and  canon  and  dean 
Gave  to  his  iudgment  their  loud  amen. 


sttjaronj  tJ)e  Dauntless. 


CANTO   SECOND. 


'TlS  merry  in  greenwood, — thus  runs  the  old  lay, — 
In  the  gladsome  month  of  lively  May, 


i  "It  may  be  worthy  of  notice  that  in  'Harold  the  Daunt- 
less '  there  is  a  wise  and  good  Eustace,  as  in  the  '  Monastery,' 
and  a  Prior  of  Jorvaux,  who  is  robbed  (aiUe,  stanza  xvi.),  as 


When  the  wild  birds'  song  on  stem  and  spray 

Invites  to  forest  bower ; 
Then  rears  the  ash  his  airy  crest, 
Then  shines  the  birch  in  silver  vest, 
And  the  beech  in  glistening  leaves  is  drest, 
And  dark  between  shows  the  oak's  proud  breast, 

Like  a  chieftain's  frowning  tower  ; 
Though  a  thousand  branches  join  their  screen, 
Yet  the  broken  sunbeams  glance  between, 
And  tip  the  leaves  with  lighter  green, 

With  brighter  tints  the  flower : 
Dull  is  the  heart  that  loves  not  then 
The  deep  recess  of  the  wildwood  glen, 
Where  roe  and  red-deer  find  sheltering  den, 

When  the  sun  is  in  his  power. 

II. 
Less  merry  perchance  is  the  fading  leaf 
That  follows  so  soon  on  the  gather'd  sheaf, 

When  the  greenwood  loses  the  name ; 
Silent  is  then  the  forest  bound, 
Save  the  redbreast's  note,  and  the  rustling  sound 
Of  frost-nipt  leaves  that  are  dropping  round, 
Or  the  deep-mouth'd  cry  of  the  distant  hound 

That  opens  on  his  game : 
Yet  then,  too,  I  love  the  forest  wide, 
Whether  the  sun  in  splendor  ride, 
And  gild  its  many-color'd  side ; 
Or  whether  the  soft  and  silvery  haze, 
In  vapory  folds,  o'er  the  landscape  strays, 
And  half  involves  the  woodland  maze, 

Like  an  early  widow's  veil, 
Where  wimpling  tissue  from  the  gaze 
The  form  half  hides,  and  half  betrays, 

Of  beauty  wan  and  pale. 

III. 
Fair  Metelill  was  a  woodland  maid, 
Her  father  a  rover  of  greenwood  shade, 
By  forest  statutes  undismay'd, 

Who  lived  by  bow  and  quiver ; 
Well  known  was  Wulfstane's  archery,     \ 
By  merry  Tyne  both  on  moor  and  lea, 
Through  wooded  Weardale's  glens  so  free, 
Well  beside  Stanhope's  wildwood  tree, 

And  well  on  Ganlesse  river. 
Yet  free  though  he  trespass'd  on  woodland  game, 
More  known  and  more  fear'd  was  the  wizard  fame 
Of  Jutta  of  Rookhope,  the  Outlaw's  dame ;         i 
Fear'd  when  she  frown'd  was  her  eye  of  flame,  I 

More  fear'd  when  in  wrath  she  laugh'd ; 
For  then,  'twas  said,  more  fatal  true 
To  its  dread  aim  her  spell-glance  flew 
Than  when  from  Wulfstane's  bended  yew 

Sprung  forth  the  gray -goose  shaft. 


in  '  Ivanhoe.'" — Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 
1822,  p.  281. 


HAROLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


517 


IV. 

Yet  had  this  fierce  and  dreaded  pair, 
So  Heaven  decreed,  a  daughter  fair ; 

None  brighter  crown'd  the  bed, 
In  Britain's  bounds,  of  peer  or  prince, 
Nor  hath,  perchance,  a  lovelier  since 

In  this  fair  isle  been  bred. 
And  nought  of  fraud,  or  ire,  or  ill, 
Was  known  to  gentle  Metelill, — 

A  simple  maiden  she ; 
The  spells  in  dimpled  smile  that  lie, 
And  a  downcast  blush,  and  the  darts  that  fly 
With  the  sidelong  glance  of  a  hazel  eye, 

Were  her  arms  and  witchery. 
So  young,  so  simple  was  she  yet, 
She  scarce  could  childhood's  joys  forget, 
And  still  she  loved,  in  secret  set 

Beneath  the  greenwood  tree, 
To  plait  the  rushy  cordnet, 
And  braid  with  flowers  her  locks  of  jet, 

As  when  in  infancy ; — 
Yet  could  that  heart,  so  simple,  prove 
The  early  dawn  of  stealing  love : 

Ah !  gentle  maid,  beware ! 
The  power  who,  now  so  mild  a  guest, 
Gives  dangerous  yet  delicious  zest 
To  the  calm  pleasures  of  thy  breast, 
Will  soon,  a  tyrant  o'er  the  rest, 

Let  none  his  empire  share. 

V. 

One  morn,  in  kirtle  green  array'd, 
Deep  in  the  wood  the  maiden  stray'd, 

And,  where  a  fountain  sprung, 
She  sat  her  down,  unseen,  to  thread 
The  scarlet  berry's  mimic  braid, 

And  while  the  beads  she  strung, 
Like  the  blithe  lark,  whose  carol  gay 
Gives  a  good-morrow  to  the  day. 

So  lightsomely  she  sung.      • 

VI. 

.Song. 
"  Lord  William  was  bom  in  gilded  bower, 
The  heir  of  Wilton's  lofty  tower ; 
Yet  better  loves  Lord  William  now 
To  roam  beneath  wild  Rookhope's  brow ; 
And  William  has  lived  where  ladies  fair 
With  gawds  and  jewels  deck  their  hair, 
Yet  better  loves  the  dewdrops  still 
That  pearl  the  locks  of  Metelill. 

"  The  pious  Palmer  loves,  I  wis, 
Saint  Cuthbert's  hallow'd  beads  to  kiss ; 
But  I,  though  simple  girl  I  be, 
Might  have  such  homage  paid  to  me ; 
For  did  Lord  William  see  me  suit 
This  necklace  of  the  bramble's  fruit, 
He  fain — but  must  not  have  his  will — 
Would  kiss  the  beads  of  Metelill. 


"  My  nurse  has  told  me  many  a  tale, 
How  vows  of  love  are  weak  and  frail ; 
My  mother  says  that  courtly  youth 
By  rustic  maid  means  seldom  sooth. 
What  should  they  mean  ?  it  cannot  be 
That  such  a  warning's  meant  for  me, 
For  nought — oh !  nought  of  fraud  or  ill 
Can  William  mean  to  Metelill !" 

VII. 

Sudden  she  stops — and  starts  to  feel 
A  weighty  hand,  a  glove  of  steel, 
Upon  her  shrinking  shoulders  laid ; 
Fearful  she  turn'd,  and  saw,  dismay'd, 
A  Knight  in  plate  and  mail  array'd, 
His  crest  and  bearing  worn  and  fray'd, 

His  surcoat  soil'd  and  riven, 
Form'd  like  that  giant  race  of  yore 
Whose  long-continued  crimes  outwore 

The  sufferance  of  Heaven. 
Stern  accents  made  his  pleasure  known, 
Though  then  he  used  his  gentlest  tone : 
"  Maiden,"  he  said,  "  sing  forth  thy  glee. 
Start  not — sing  on — it  pleases  me." 

VIII. 

Secured  within  his  powerful  hold, 
To  bend  her  knee,  her  hands  to  fold, 

Was  all  the  maiden  might ; 
And  "  Oh,  forgive,"  she  faintly  said, 
"  The  terrors  of  a  simple  maid, 

If  thou  art  mortal  wight ! 
But  if— of  such  strange  tales  are  told — 
Unearthly  warrior  of  the  wold, 
Thou  comest  to  chide  mine  accents  bold, 
My  mother,  Jutta,  knows  the  spell, 
At  noon  and  midnight  pleasing  well 

The  disembodied  ear ; 
Oh,  let  her  powerful  charms  atone 
For  aught  my  rashness  may  have  done, 

And  cease  thy  grasp  of  fear." 
Then   laugh'd  the  Knight — his  laughter's 

sound 
Half  in  the  hollow  helmet  drown'd  ; 
His  barred  visor  then  he  raised, 
And  steady  on  the  maiden  gazed. 
He  smooth'd  his  brows,  as  best  he  might, 
To  the  dread  calm  of  autumn  night, 

When  sinks  the  tempest  roar ; 
Yet  still  the  cautious  fishers  eye 
The  clouds,  and  fear  the  gloomy  sky, 

And  haul  their  barks  on  shore. 

IX. 

"  Damsel,"  he  said,  "be  wise,  and  learn 
Matters  of  weight  and  deep  concern : 

From  distant  realms  I  come, 
And,  wanderer  long,  at  length  have  plann'd 
In  this  my  native  Northern  land 

To  seek  myself  a  home. 


518 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Nor  that  alone — a  mate  I  seek ; 

She  must  be  gentle,  soft,  and  meek, — 

No  lordly  dame  for  me ; 
Myself  am  something  rough  of  mood, 
And  feel  the  fire  of  royal  blood, 
And  therefore  do  not  hold  it  good 

To  match  in  my  degree. 
Then,  since  coy  maidens  say  my  face 
Is  harsh,  my  form  devoid  of  grace, 
For  a  fair  lineage  to  provide, 
'Tis  meet  that  my  selected  bride 

In  lineaments  be  fair ; 
I  love  thine  well — till  now  I  ne'er 
Look'd  patient  on  a  face  of  fear, 
But  now  that  tremulous  sob  and  tear 

Become  thy  beauty  rare. 
One  kiss — nay,  damsel,  coy  it  not ! — 
And  now  go  seek  thy  parents'  cot, 
And  say,  a  bridegroom  soon  I  come, 
To  woo  my  love,  and  bear  her  home." 

X. 

Home  sprung  the  maid  without  a  pause, 

As  leveret  'scaped  from  greyhound's  jaws; 

But  still  she  lock'd,  howe'er  distress'd, 

The  secret  in  her  boding  breast ; 

Dreading  her  sire,  who  oft  forbade 

Her  steps  should  stray  to  distant  glade. 

Night  came — to  her  accustom'd  nook 

Her  distaff  aged  Jutta  took, 

And  by  the  lamp's  imperfect  glow, 

Rough  Wulfstane  trimm'd  his  shafts  and  bow. 

Sudden  and  clamorous,  from  the  ground 

Upstarted  slumbering  brach  and  hound ; 

Loud  knocking  next  the  lodge  alarms, 

And  Wulfstane  snatches  at  his  arms, 

When  open  flew  the  yielding  door, 

And  that  grim  Warrior  press'd  the  floor. 

XI. 
"All  peace  be  here — What!  none  replies? 
Dismiss  your  fears  and  your  surprise. 
'Tis  I — that  Maid  hath  told  my  tale, — 
Or,  trembler,  did  thy  courage  fail  ? 
It  recks  not — it  is  I  demand 
Fair  Metelill  in  marriage  band ; 
Harold  the  Dauntless  I,  whose  name 
Is  brave  men's  boast  and  caitiffs'  shame." 
The  parents  sought  each  other's  eyes, 
With  awe,  resentment,  and  surprise : 
Wulfstane,  to  quarrel  prompt,  began 
The  stranger's  size  and  thews  to  scan ; 
But  as  he  scann'd,  his  courage  sunk, 
And  from  unequal  strife  he  shrunk. 
Then  forth,  to  blight  and  blemish,  flies 
The  harmful  curse  from  Jutta's  eyes ; 
Yet,  fatal  howsoe'er,  the  spell 
On  Harold  innocently  fell ! 
And  disappointment  and  amaze 
Were  in  the  witch's  wilder'd  gaze. 


XII. 

But  soon  the  wit  of  woman  woke, 

And  to  the  Warrior  mild  she  spoke : 

"  Her  child  was  all  too  young." — "  A  toy,     ^ 

The  refuge  of  a  maiden  coy." — 

Again,  "  A  powerful  baron's  heir 

Claims  in  her  heart  an  interest  fair." — 

"  A  trifle — whisper  in  his  ear, 

That  Harold  is  a  suitor  here !" — 

Baffled  at  length  she  sought  delay : 

"  Would  not  the  Knight  till  morning  stay? 

Late  was  the  hour — he  there  might  rest 

Till  morn,  their  lodge's  honored  guest." 

Such  were  her  words, — her  craft  might  cast, 

Her  honor'd  guest  should  sleep  his  last. 

"  No,  not  to-night — but  soon,"  he  swore, 

"  He  would  return,  nor  leave  them  more." 

The  threshold  then  his  huge  stride  crost, 

And  soon  he  was  in  darkness  lost. 

XIII. 

Appall'd  a  while  the  parents  stood, 
Then  changed  their  fear  to  angry  mood, 
And  foremost  fell  their  words  of  ill 
On  unresisting  Metelill : 
Was  she  not  caution'd  and  forbid, 
Forewarn'd,  implored,  accused,  and  chid, 
And  must  she  still  to  greenwood  roam, 
To  marshal  such  misfortune  home  ? 
"  Hence,  minion !  to  thy  chamber  hence — 
There  prudence  learn,  and  penitence." 
She  went — her  lonely  couch  to  steep 
In  tears  which  absent  lovers  weep ; 
Or  if  she  gain'd  a  troubled  sleep, 
Fierce  Harold's  suit  was  still  the  theme 
And  terror  of  her  feverish  dream. 

XIV. 

Scarce  was  she  gone,  her  dame  and  sire 

Upon  each  other  bent  their  ire : — 

"  A  woodsman  thou,  and  hast  a  spear, 

And  couldst  thou  such  an  insult  bear?" 

Sullen  he  said,  "  A  man  contends 

With  men,  a  witch  with  sprites  and  fiends ; 

Not  to  mere  mortal  wight  belong 

Yon  gloomy  brow  and  frame  so  strong. 

But  thou — is  this  thy  promise  fair, 

That  your  Lord  William,  wealthy  heir 

To  Ulrick,  Baron  of  Witton-le-Wear, 

Should  Metelill  to  altar  bear  ? 

Do  all  the  spells  thou  boast'st  as  thine 

Serve  but  to  slay  some  peasant's  kine, 

His  grain  in  autumn's  storms  to  steep, 

Or  thorough  fog  and  fen  to  sweep, 

And  hag-ride  some  poor  rustic's  sleep? 

Is  such  mean  mischief  worth  the  fame 

Of  sorceress  and  witch's  name  ? 

Fame,  which  with  all  men's  wish  conspires, 

With  thy  deserts  and  my  desires, 

To  damn  thy  corpse  to  penal  fires? 


HAROLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


519 


Out  on  thee,  witch !  aroint !  aroint ! 
What  now  shall  put  thy  schemes  in  joint? 
What  save  this  trusty  arrow's  point, 
From  the  dark  dingle  when  it  flies, 
And  he  who  meets  it  gasps  and  dies  V 

XV. 

Stern  she  replied,  "  I  will  not  wage 
War  with  thy  folly  or  thy  rage ; 
But  ere  the  morrow's  sun  be  low, 
Wulfstane  of  Rookhope,  thou  shalt  know 
If  I  can  venge  me  on  a  foe. 
Believe  the  while  that  whatsoe'er 
I  spoke,  in  ire,  of  bow  and  spear, 
It  is  not  Harold's  destiny 
The  death  of  pilfer'd  deer  to  die. 
But  he,  and  thou,  and  yon  pale  moon 
(That  shall  be  yet  more  pallid  soon, 
Before  she  sink  behind  the  dell), 
Thou,  she,  and  Harold  too,  shall  tell 
What  Jutta  knows  of  charm  or  spell." 
Thus  muttering,  to  the  door  she  bent 
Her  wayward  steps,  and  forth  she  went, 
And  left  alone  the  moody  sire, 
To  cherish  or  to  slake  his  ire. 

XVI. 

Far  faster  than  belong'd  to  age 

Has  Jutta  made  her  pilgrimage. 

A  priest  has  met  her  as  she  pass'd, 

And  cross'd  himself  and  stood  aghast : 

She  traced  a  hamlet — not  a  cur 

His  throat  would  ope,  his  foot  would  stir ; 

By  crouch,  by  trembling,  and  by  groan, 

They  made  her  hated  presence  known ! 

But  when  she  trod  the  sable  fell, 

Were  wilder  sounds  her  way  to  tell, — 

For  far  was  heard  the  fox's  yell, 

The  black-cock  waked  and  faintly  crew, 

Scream'd  o'er  the  moss  the  scared  curlew ; 

Where  o'er  the  cataract  the  oak 

Lay  slant,  was  heard  the  raven's  croak  ; 

The  mountain  cat,  which  sought  his  prey, 

Glared,  scream'd,  and  started  from  her  way. 

Such  music  cheer'd  her  journey  lone 

To  the  deep  dell  and  rocking  stone : 

There,  with  unhallow'd  hymn  of  praise, 

She  call'd  a  god  of  heathen  days. 

XVII. 

Enboratioit. 
"  From  thy  Pomeranian  throne, 
Hewn  in  rock  of  living  stone, 
Where,  to  thy  godhead  faithful  yet, 
Bend  Esthonian,  Finn,  and  Lett, 
And  their  swords  in  vengeance  whet, 
That  shall  make  thine  altars  wet, 
Wet  and  red  for  ages  more 
With  the  Christians'  hated  gore, — 


Hear  me !  Sovereign  of  the  Rock, 
Hear  me !  mighty  Zemebock ! 

"  Mightiest  of  the  mighty  known, 
Here  thy  wonders  have  been  shown ; 
Hundred  tribes  in  various  tongue 
Oft  have  here  thy  praises  sung ; 
Down  that  stone  with  Runic  seam'd, 
Hundred  victims'  blood  hath  streain'd ! 
Now  one  woman  comes  alone, 
And  but  wets  it  with  her  own, 
The  last,  the  feeblest  of  thy  flock, — 
Hear — and  be  present,  Zernebock ! 

"  Hark !  he  comes !  the  night-blast  cold 
Wilder  sweeps  along  the  wold ; 
The  cloudless  moon  grows  dark  and  dim, 
And  bristling  hair  and  quaking  limb 
Proclaim  the  Master  Demon  nigh, — 
Those  who  view  his  form  shall  die ! 
Lo !  I  stoop  and  veil  my  head ; 
Thou  who  ridest  the  tempest  dread, 
Shaking  hill  and  rending  oak — 
Spare  me !  spare  me  !  Zernebock. 

"  He  comes  not  yet !    Shall  cold  delay 
Thy  votaress  at  her  need  repay  ?    , 
Thou — shall  I  call  thee  god  or  fiend? — 
Let  others  on  thy  mood  attend 
With  prayer  and  ritual — Jutta's  arms 
Are  necromantic  words  and  charms ; 
Mine  is  the  spell  that,  utter'd  once, 
Shall  wake  thy  Master  from  his  trance, 
Shake  his  red  mansion-house  of  pain, 
And  burst  his  seven-times-twisted  chain ! — 
So !  com'st  thou  ere  the  spell  is  spoke? 
I  own  thy  presence,  Zernebock." — 

XVIII. 

"  Daughter  of  dust,"  the  Deep  Voice  said, 

— Shook  while  it  spoke  the  vale  for  dread, 

Rock'd  on  the  base  that  massive  stone, 

The  Evil  Deity  to  own, — 

"  Daughter  of  dust!  not  mine  the  power 

Thou  seek'st  on  Harold's  fatal  hour. 

'Twixt  heaven  and  hell  there  is  a  strife 

Waged  for  his  soul  and  for  his  life, 

And  fain  would  we  the  combat  win, 

And  snatch  him  in  his  hour  of  sin. 

There  is  a  star  now  rising  red, 

That  threats  him  with  an  influence  dread : 

Woman,  thine  arts  of  malice  whet, 

To  use  the  space  before  it  set. 

Involve  him  with  the  Church  in  strife, 

Push  on  adventurous  chance  his  life ; 

Ourself  will  in  the  hour  of  need, 

As  best  we  may,  thy  counsels  speed." 

So  ceased  the  Voice;    for  seven  leagues 

round 
Each  hamlet  started  at  the  sound ; 


520 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  slept  again,  as  slowly  died 

Its  thunders  on  the  hill's  brown  side. 

XIX. 

"  And  is  this  all,"  said  Jutta  stern, 

"  That  thou  canst  teach  and  I  can  learn  ? 

Hence !  to  the  land  of  fog  and  waste, 

There  fittest  is  thine  influence  placed, 

Thou  powerless,  sluggish  Deity ! 

But  ne'er  shall  Briton  bend  the  knee 

Again  before  so  poor  a  god." 

She  struck  the  altar  with  her  rod ; 

Slight  was  the  touch,  as  when  at  need 

A  damsel  stirs  her  tardy  steed ; 

But  to  the  blow  the  stone  gave  place, 

And,  starting  from  its  balanced  base, 

Koll'd  thundering  down  the  moonlight  dell,- 

Re-echo'd  moorland,  rock,  and  fell ; 

Into  the  moonlight  tarn  it  dash'd, 

Their  shores  the  sounding  surges  lash'd, 

And  there  was  ripple,  rage,  and  foam  ; 
But  on  that  lake,  so  dark  and  lone, 
Placid  and  pale  the  moonbeam  shone 

As  Jutta  hied  her  home. 


#}arrjlu  tije  Dauntless. 


CANTO  THIRD. 


I. 

GRAY  towers  of  Durham !  there  was  once  a  time 
I  view'd  your  battlements  with  such  vague  hope 
As  brightens  life  in  its  first  dawning  prime ; 
Not  that  e'en  then  came  within  fancy's  scope 
A  vision  vain  of  mitre,  throne,  or  cope ; 
Yet,  gazing  on  the  venerable  hall, 
Her  flattering  dreams  would  in  perspective  ope 
Some  reverend  room,  some  prebendary's  stall, — 
And  thus  Hope  me  deceived  as  she  deceiveth  all.1 

Well  yet  I  love  thy  mix'd  and  massive  piles, 
Half  church  of  God,  half  castle  'gainst  the  Scot, 
And  long  to  roam  these  venerable  aisles, 
With  records  stored  of  deerls  loner  since  forgot; 
There  might  I  share  my  Surtees'2  happier  lot, 
Who  leaves  at  will  his  patrimonial  field 
To  ransack  every  crypt  and  hallow'd  spot, 
And  from  oblivion  rend  the  spoils  they  yield, 
Restoring  priestly  chant  and  clang  of  knightly  shield. 

1  In  tli is  stanza  occurs  one  of  many  touches  by  which,  in 
the  introductory  passages  of  "Harold  the  Dauntless"  as  of 
" Triermain,"  Sir  Walter  Scott  betrays  bis  half-purpose  of 
identifying  the  author  with  his  Mend  William  Erskine.  That 
gentleman,  the  sun  (if  an  Episcopalian  clergyman,  a  staunch 
churchman,  and  a  man  of  the  gentlest  habits,  if  he  did  not 
in  early  life  design  to  follow  the  paternal  profession,  might 


Vain  is  the  wish — since  other  cares  demand 
Each  vacant  hour,  and  in  another  clime ; 
But  still  that  northern  harp  invites  my  hand, 
Which  tells  the  wonder  of  thine  earlier  time ; 
And  fain  its  numbers  would  I  now  command 
To  paint  the  beauties  of  that  dawning  fair, 
When  Harold,  gazing  from  its  lofty  stand 
Upon  the  western  heights  of  Beaurepaire, 
Saw  Saxon  Eadmer's  towers  begirt  by  winding  Wear. 

II. 

Fair  on  the  half-seen  streams  the  sunbeams  danced, 
Betraying  it  beneath  the  woodland  bank, 
And  fair  between  the  Gothic  turrets  glanced 
Broad  lights,  and  shadows  fell  on  front  and  flank, 
Where  tower  and  buttress  rose  in  martial  rank, 
And  girdled  in  the  massive  donjon  keep, 
And  from  their  circuit  peal'd  o'er  bush  and  bank 
The  matin  bell  with  summons  long  and  deep, 
And  echo  answer'd  still  with  long-resounding  sweep. 

III. 

The  morning  mists  rose  from  the  ground, 
Each  merry  bird  awaken'd  round, 

As  if  in  revelry ; 
Afar  the  bugles'  clanging  sound 
Call'd  to  the  chase  the  lagging  hound ; 

The  gale  breathed  soft  and  free, 
And  seem'd  to  linger  on  its  way 
To  catch  fresh  odors  from  the  spray, 
And  waved  it  in  its  wanton  play 

So  light  and  gamesomely. 
The  scenes  which  morning  beams  reveal, 
Its  sounds  to  hear,  its  gales  to  feel 
In  all  their  fragrance  round  him  steal, 
It  melted  Harold's  heart  of  steel, 

And,  hardly  wotting  why, 
He  doff 'd  his  helmet's  gloomy  pride, 
And  hung  it  on  a  tree  beside, 

Laid  mace  and  falchion  by, 
And  on  the  greensward  sat  him  down, 
And  from  his  dark  habitual  frown 

Relax'd  his  rugged  brow : 
Whoever  hath  the  doubtful  task 
From  that  stern  Dane  a  boon  to  ask, 

Were  wise  to  ask  it  now. 

IV. 

His  place  beside  young  Gunnar  took, 
And  mark'd  his  master's  softening  look, 
And  in  his  eye's  dark  mirror  spied 
The  gloom  of  stormy  thoughts  subside, 
And  cautious  watch'd  the  fittest  tide 

easily  be  supposed  to  have  nourished  such  an  intention — one 
which  no  one  could  ever  have  dreamt  of  ascribing  at  any 
period  of  his  days  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself. 

a  Robert  Surtees  of  Mainsforth,  Esq.,  F.S.A.,  author  of  The 
History  and  Antiquities  of  the  County  Palatine  of  Durham. 
3  vols,  folio,  1816-20-23. 


HAEOLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


521 


To  speak  a  warning  word. 
So  when  the  torrent's  billows  shrink, 
The  timid  pilgrim  on  the  brink 
Waits  long  to  see  them  wave  and  sink, 

Ere  he  dare  brave  the  ford, 
And  often,  after  doubtful  pause, 
His  step  advances  or  withdraws : 
Fearful  to  move  the  slumbering  ire 
Of  his  stern  lord,  thus  stood  the  squire, 

Till  Harold  raised  his  eye, 
That  glanced  as  when  athwart  the  shroud 
Of  the  dispersing  tempest-cloud 

The  bursting  sunbeams  fly. 

V. 

"  Arouse  thee,  son  of  Ermengarde, 
Offspring  of  prophetess  and  bard ! 
Take  harp,  and  greet  this  lovely  prime 
With  some  high  strain  of  Runic  rhyme, 
Strong,  deep,  and  powerful !     Peal  it  round 
Like  that  loud  belVs  sonorous  sound, 
Yet  wild  by  fits,  as  when  the  lay 
Of  bird  and  bugle  hail  the  day. 
Such  was  my  grandsire  Eric's  sport, 
When  dawn  gleam'd  on  his  martial  court. 
Heymar  the  Scald,  with  harp's  high  sound, 
Summon'd  the  chiefs  who  slept  around ; 
Couch'd  on  the  spoils  of  wolf  and  bear, 
They  roused  like  lions  from  their  lair, 
Then  rush'd  in  emulation  forth 
To  enhance  the  glories  of  the  North. — 
Proud  Eric,  mightiest  of  thy  race, 
Where  is  thy  shadowy  resting-place  ? 
In  wild  Valhalla  hast  thou  quaff'd 
From  foeman's  skull  metheglin  draught, 
Or  wanderest  where  thy  cairn  was  piled 
To  frown  o'er  oceans  wide  and  wild  ? 
Or  have  the  milder  Christians  given 
Thy  refuge  in  their  peaceful  heaven  ? 
Where'er  thou  art,  to  thee  are  known 
Our  toils  endured,  our  trophies  won, 
Our  wars,  our  wanderings,  and  our  woes." 
He  ceased,  and  Gunnar's  song  arose. 

VI. 

Song. 
"  Hawk  and  osprey  scream'd  for  joy 
O'er  the  beetling  cliffs  of  Hoy, 
Crimson  foam  the  beach  o'erspread, 
The  heath  was  dyed  with  darker  red, 
When  o'er  Eric,  Inguar's  son, 
Dane  and  Northman  piled  the  stone ; 
Singing  wild  the  war-song  stern, 
1  Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 

"  Where  eddying  currents  foam  and  boil 
By  Bersa's  burgh  and  Grsemsay's  isle, 
The  seaman  sees  a  martial  form 
Half  mingled  with  the  mist  and  storm. 


In  anxious  awe  he  bears  away 
To  moor  his  bark  in  Stromna's  bay, 
And  murmurs  from  the  bounding  stern, 
'Rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn !' 

"  What  cares  disturb  the  mighty  dead  ? 
Each  honor'd  rite  was  duly  paid ; 
No  daring  hand  thy  helm  unlaced, 
Thy  sword,  thy  shield,  were  near  thee  placed,- 
Thy  flinty  couch,  no  tear  profaned, 
Without  with  hostile  blood  was  stain'd; 
Within,  'twas  lined  with  moss  and  fern, — 
Then  rest  thee,  Dweller  of  the  Cairn ! — 

"  He  may  not  rest :  from  realms  afar 
Comes  voice  of  battle  and  of  war, 
Of  conquest  wrought  with  bloody  hand 
On  Carmel's  cliffs  and  Jordan's  strand, 
When  Odin's  warlike  son  could  daunt 
The  turban'd  race  of  Termagaunt." 

VII. 

"Peace!"  said  the  Knight ;  " the  noble  Scald 

Our  warlike  fathers'  deeds  recall'd, 

But  never  strove  to  soothe  the  son 

With  tales  of  what  himself  had  done. 

At  Odin's  board  the  bard  sits  high 

Whose  harp  ne'er  stoop'd  to  flattery ; 

But  highest  he  whose  daring  lay 

Hath  dared  unwelcome  truths  to  say." 

With  doubtful  smile  young  Gunnar  eyed 

His  master's  looks,  and  nought  replied — 

But  well  that  smile  his  master  led 

To  construe  what  he  left  unsaid. 

"  Is  it  to  me,  thou  timid  youth, 

Thou  fear'st  to  speak  unwelcome  truth  ? 

My  soul  no  more  thy  censure  grieves 

Than  frosts  rob  laurels  of  their  leaves. 

Say  on — and  yet — beware  the  rude 

And  wild  distemper  of  my  blood ; 

Loth  were  I  that  mine  ire  should  wrong 

The  youth  that  bore  my  shield  so  long, 

And  who,  in  service  constant  still, 

Though  weak  in  frame,  art  strong  in  will." — 

"Oh,"  quoth  the  Page,  "  even  there  depends 

My  counsel — there  my  warning  tends. 

Oft  seems  as  of  my  master's  breast 

Some  demon  were  the  sudden  guest ; 

Then  at  the  first  misconstrued  word 

His  hand  is  on  the  mace  and  sword, 

From  her  firm  seat  his  wisdom  driven, 

His  life  to  countless  dangers  given. — 

Oh,  would  that  Gunnar  could  suffice 

To  be  the  fiend's  last  sacrifice, 

So  that,  when  glutted  with  my  gore, 

He  fled,  and  tempted  thee  no  more !" 

VIII. 

Then  waved  his  hand  and  shook  his  head 
The  impatient  Dane,  while  thus  he  said : 


522 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"  Profane  not,  youth — it  is  not  thine 

To  judge  the  spirit  of  our  line — 

The  bold  Berserkar's  rage  divine, 

Through  whose  inspiring,  deeds  are  wrought 

Past  human  strength  and  human  thought. 

When  full  upon  his  gloomy  soul 

The  champion  feels  the  influence  roll, 

He  swims  the  lake,  he  leaps  the  wall — 

Heeds  not  the  depth,  nor  plumbs  the  fall — 

Unshielded,  mail-less,  on  he  goes 

Singly  against  a  host  of  foes; 

Their  spears  he  holds  like  wither'd  reeds, 

Their  mail  like  maiden's  silken  weeds ; 

One  'gainst  a  hundred  will  he  strive, 

Take  countless  wounds,  and  yet  survive. 

Then  rush  the  eagles  to  his  cry 

Of  slaughter  and  of  victory, — 

And  blood  he  quaffs  like  Odin's  bowl, 

Deep  drinks  his  sword, — deep  drinks  his  soul ; 

And  all  that  meet  him  in  his  ire 

He  gives  to  ruin,  rout,  and  fire ; 

Then,  like  gorged  lion,  seeks  some  den, 

And  couches  till  he's  man  agen. — 

Thou  know'st  the  signs  of  look  and  limb 

When  'gins  that  rage  to  overbrim — 

Thou  know'st  when  I  am  moved,  and  why ; 

And  when  thou  seest  me  roll  mine  eye, 

Set  my  teeth  thus,  and  stamp  my  foot, 

Regard  thy  safety  and  be  mute ; 

But  else  speak  boldly  out  whate'er 

Is  fitting  that  a  knight  should  hear. 

I  love  thee,  youth.     Thy  lay  has  power 

Upon  my  dark  and  sullen  hour ; — 

So  Christian  monks  are  wont  to  say 

Demons  of  old  were  charm'd  away ; 

Then  fear  not  I  will  rashly  deem 

111  of  thy  speech,  whate'er  the  theme." 

IX. 

As  down  some  strait  in  doubt  and  dread 
The  watchful  pilot  drops  the  lead, 
And,  cautious  in  the  midst  to  steer, 
The  shoaling  channel  sounds  with  fear; 
So,  lest  on  dangerous  ground  he  swerved, 
The  Page  his  master's  brow  observed, 
Pausing  at  intervals  to  fling 
His  hand  o'er  the  melodious  string, 
And  to  his  moody  breast  apply 
The  soothing  charm  of  harmony, 
While  hinted  half,  and  half  exprest, 
This  warning  song  convey'd  the  rest. — 

Song. 
1. 
"  111  fares  the  bark  with  tackle  riven, 
And  ill  when  on  the  breakers  driven, — 
111  when  the  storm-sprite  shrieks  in  air, 
And  the  scared  mermaid  tears  her  hair; 
But  worse  when  on  bar  helm  the  hand 
Of  6ome  false  traitor  holds  command. 


2. 

"Ill  fares  the  fainting  Palmer,  placed 
'Mid  Hebron's  rocks  or  Rana's  waste, — 
111  when  the  scorching  sun  is  high, 
And  the  expected  font  is  dry, — 
Worse  when  his  guide  o'er  sand  and  heath, 
The  barbarous  Copt,  has  plann'd  his  death. 

3. 

"  111  fares  the  Knight  with  buckler  cleft, 
And  ill  when  of  his  helm  bereft, — 
111  when  his  steed  to  earth  is  flung, 
Or  from  his  grasp  his  falchion  wrung ; 
But  worse,  if  instant  ruin  token, 
When  he  lists  rede  by  woman  spoken." — 

X. 

"How  now,  fond  boy? — Canst  thou  think 

ill," 
Said  Harold,  "of  fair  Metelill?"— 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  the  Page  replied, 

As  through  the  strings  he  ranged, — 
"She  may  be  fair;  but  yet,"  he  cried, 

And  then  the  strain  he  changed, 

Song. 
1. 
"  She  may  be  fair,"  he  sang,  "  but  yet 

Far  fairer  have  I  seen 
Than  she,  for  all  her  locks  of  jet, 

And  eyes  so  dark  and  sheen. 
Were  I  a  Danish  knight  in  arms, 

As  one  day  I  may  be, 
My  heart  should  own  no  foreign  charms, — 

A  Danish  maid  for  me. 


"  I  love  my  fathers'  northern  land, 

Where  the  dark  pine-trees  grow, 
And  the  bold  Baltic's  echoing  strand 

Looks  o'er  each  grassy  oe.1 
I  love  to  mark  the  lingering  sun, 

From  Denmark  loth  to  go, 
And  leaving  on  the  billows  bright, 
To  cheer  the  short-lived  summer  night, 

A  path  of  ruddy  glow. 

3. 
"  But  most  the  northern  maid  I  love, 

With  breast  like  Denmark's  snow, 
And  form  as  fair  as  Denmark's  pine, 
Who  loves  with  purple  heath  to  twine 

Her  locks  of  sunny  glow ; 
And  sweetly  blend  that  shade  of  gold 

With  the  cheek's  rosy  hue, 
And  Faith  might  for  her  mirror  hold 

That  eye  of  matchless  of  blue. 


Oe,  island. 


HAEOLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


523 


"  'Tis  hers  the  manly  sports  to  love 

That  southern  maidens  fear, 
To  bend  the  bow  by  stream  and  grove, 

And  lift  the  hunter's  spear. 
She  can  her  chosen  champion's  flight 

With  eye  undazzled  see, 
Clasp  him  victorious  from  the  strife, 
Or  on  his  corpse  yield  up  her  life, — 

A  Danish  maid  for  me !" 

XI. 

Then  smiled  the  Dane — "  Thou  canst  so  well 

The  virtues  of  our  maidens  tell, 

Half  could  I  wish  my  choice  had  been 

Blue  eyes,  and  hair  of  golden  sheen, 

And  lofty  soul ; — yet  what  of  ill 

Hast  thou  to  charge  on  Metelill  ?" — 

"  Nothing  on  her,"1  young  Gunnar  said, 

"  But  her  base  sire's  ignoble  trade. 

Her  mother,  too — the  general  fame 

Hath  given  to  Jutta  evil  name, 

And  in  her  gray  eye  is  a  flame 

Art  cannot  hide,  nor  fear  can  tame. — 

That  sordid  woodman's  peasant  cot 

Twice  have  thine  honor'd  footsteps  sought, 

And  twice  return'd  with  such  ill  rede 

As  sent  thee  on  some  desperate  deed." — 

XII. 

"  Thou  errest;  Jutta  wisely  said, 

He  that  comes  suitor  to  a  maid, 

Ere  link'd  in  marriage,  should  provide 

Lands  and  a  dwelling  for  his  bride — 

My  father's,  by  the  Tyne  and  Wear, 

I  have  reclaim'd." — "  Oh,  all  too  dear 

And  all  too  dangerous  the  prize, 

E'en  were  it  won,"  young  Gunnar  cries ; — 

"  And  then  this  Jutta's  fresh  device, 

That  thou  shouldst  seek,  a  heathen  Dane, 

From  Durham's  priests  a  boon  to  gain, 

When  thou  hast  left  their  vassals  slain 

In  their  own  halls!" — Flash'd  Harold's  eye, 

Thunder'd  his  voice — "  False  Page,  you  lie ! 

The  castle,  hall  and  tower,  is  mine, 

Built  by  old  Witikind  on  Tyne. 

The  wild-cat  will  defend  his  den, 

Fights  for  her  nest  the  timid  wren  ; 

And  think'st  thou  I'll  forego  my  right 

For  dread  of  monk  or  monkish  knight? — 


1  "  Nothing  on  her  "  is  the  reading  of  the  interleaved  copy 
of  1831 ;  "  On  her  nought "  in  all  the  former  editions. 

*  "  All  is  hush'd,  and  still  as  death — 'tis  dreadful ! 
How  reverend  is  the  face  of  this  tall  pile, 
Whose  ancient  pillars  rear  their  marble  heads 
To  bear  aloft  its  arch'd  and  ponderous  roof, 
By  its  own  weight  made  steadfast  and  immovable, 
Looking  tranquillity !    It  strikes  an  awe 
And  terror  on  my  aching  sight.    The  tombs 


Up  and  away,  that  deepening  bell 
Doth  of  the  Bishop's  conclave  tell. 
Thither  will  I,  in  manner  due, 
As  Jutta  bade,  my  claim  to  sue ; 
And,  if  to  right  me  they  are  loth, 
Then  woe  to  church  and  chapter  both !" 
Now  shift  the  scene,  and  let  the  curtain  fall, 
And  our  next  entry  be  Saint  Cuthbert's  hall. 


#?anilt>  tfje  Sauntless. 


CANTO  FOURTH. 


I. 

Full  many  a  bard  hath  sung  the  solemn  gloom 
Of  the  long  Gothic  aisle  and  stone-ribb'd  roof, 
O'er-canopying  shrine  and  gorgeous  tomb, 
Carved  screen,  and  altar  glimmering  far  aloof, 
And  blending  with  the  shade — a  matchless  proof 
Of  high  devotion,  which  hath  now  wax'd  cold  ;2 
Yet  legends  say  that  Luxury's  brute  hoof 
Intruded  oft  within  such  sacred  fold, 
Like  step  of  Bel's  false  priest,  track'd  in  his  fane  of  old.3 

Well  pleased  am  I,  howe'er,  that  when  the  rout 
Of  our  rude  neighbors  whilome  deign'd  to  come, 
Uncall'd,  and  eke  unwelcome,  to  sweep  out 
And  cleanse  our  chancel  from  the  rags  of  Rome, 
They  spoke  not  on  our  ancient  fane  the  doom 
To  which  their  bigot  zeal  gave  o'er  their  own, 
But  spared  the  martyr'd  saint  and  storied  tomb, 
Though  papal  miracles  had  graced  the  stone, 
And  though  the  aisles  still  loved  the  organ's  swelling 
tone. 

And  deem  not,  though  'tis  now  my  part  to  paint 
A  Prelate  sway'd  by  love  of  power  and  gold, 
That  all  who  wore  the  mitre  of  our  Saint 
Like  to  ambitious  Aldingar  I  hold  ; 
Since  both  in  modern  times  and  days  of  old 
It  sat  on  those  whose  virtues  might  atone 
Their  predecessors'  frailties  trebly  told  : 
Matthew  and  Morton  we  as  such  may  own — 
And  such  (if  fame  speak  truth)  the  honor'd  Bar- 
rington.4 


And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  dullness  to  my  trembling  heart." 

Congreve's  Mourning  Bride,  act  ii.  scene  1. 
See  also  Joanna  Baillie's  De  Montforl,  acts  iv.  and  v. 

3  See,  in  the  Apocryphal  Books,  "  The  History  of  Bel  and 
the  Dragon." 

4  See,  for  the  lives  of  Bishop  Matthew  and  Bishop  Morton, 
here  alluded  to,  Mr.  Surtees'  History  of  the  Bishopric  of  Durham. 
The  venerable  Shute  Barrington,  their  honored  successor, 
ever  a  kind  friend  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  died  in  1826. 


524 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


II. 

But  now  to  earlier  and  to  ruder  times, 

As  subject  meet,  I  tune  my  rugged  rhymes, 

Telling  how  fairly  the  chapter  was  met, 

And  rood  and  books  in  seemly  order  set; 

Huge  brass-clasp'd  volumes,  which  the  hand 

Of  studious  priest  but  rarely  scannVl, 

Now  on  fair  carved  desk  display'd, 

'Twas  theirs  the  solemn  scene  to  aid. 

O'erhead  with  many  a  scutcheon  graced, 

And  quaint  devices  interlaced, 

A  labyrinth  of  crossing  rows, 

The  roof  in  lessening  arches  shows  ; 

Beneath  its  shade  placed  proud  and  high, 

"With  footstool  and  with  canopy, 

Sat  Aldingar, — and  prelate  ne'er 

More  haughty  graced  Saint  Cuthbert's  chair; 

Canons  and  deacons  were  placed  below, 

In  due  degree  and  lengthen'd  row. 

Unmoved  and  silent  each  sat  there, 

Like  image  in  his  oaken  chair  ; 

Nor  head,  nor  hand,  nor  foot  they  stirr'd, 

Nor  lock  of  hair,  nor  tress  of  beard ; 

And  of  their  eyes  severe  alone 

The  twinkle  show'd  they  were  not  stone. 

III. 

The  Prelate  was  to  speech  address'd, 

Each  head  sunk  reverent  on  each  breast ; 

But  ere  his  voice  was  heard,  without 

Arose  a  wild  tumultuous  shout, 

Offspring  of  wonder  mix'd  with  fear, 

Such  as  in  crowded  streets  we  hear 

Hailing  the  flames,  that,  bursting  out, 

Attract  yet  scare  the  rabble  rout. 

Ere  it  had  ceased,  a  giant  hand 

Shook  oaken  door  and  iron  band, 

Till  oak  and  iron  both  gave  way, 

Clash'd  the  long  bolts,  the  hinges  bray, 
And,  ere  upon  angel  or  saint  they  can  call, 
Stands  Harold  the  Dauntless  in  midst  of  the  hall. 

IV. 

"  Now  save  ye,  my  masters,  both  rocket  and  rood, 
From  Bishop  with  mitre  to  Deacon  with  hood! 
For  here  stands  Count  Harold,  old  Witikind's  son, 
Come  to  sue  for  the  lands  which  his  ancestors  won." 
The  Prelate  look'd  round  him  with  sore-troubled  eye, 
Unwilling  to  grant,  yet  afraid  to  deny  ; 
While  each  Canon  and  Deacon  who  heard  the  Dane 

speak, 
To  be  safely  at  home  would  have  fasted  a  week. 
Then  Aldingar  roused  him,  and  answer'd  again, 
"  Thou  suest  for  a  boon  which  thou  canst  not  obtain ; 
The  Church  hath  no  fiefs  for  an  unchristen'd  Dane. 
Thy  father  was  wise,  and  his  treasure  hath  given 
That  the  priests  of  a  chantry  might  hymn  him  to 

heaven ; 
And  the  fiefs  which  whilome  he  possess'd  as  his  due 
Have  lapsed  to  the  Church,  and  been  granted  anew 


To  Anthony  Conyers  and  Alberic  Vere, 
For  the  service  Saint  Cuthbert's  bless'd  banner  to  bear, 
When  the  bands  of  the  North  come  to  foray  the  Wear ; 
Then  disturb  not  our  conclave  with  wrangling  or 

blame, 
But  in  peace  and  in  patience  pass  hence  as  ye  came." 


Loud  laugh'd  the  stern  Pagan, — "  They're  free  from 

the  care 
Of  fief  and  of  service,  both  Conyers  and  Vere, — 
Six  feet  of  your  chancel  is  all  they  will  need, 
A  buckler  of  stone  and  a  corselet  of  lead. — 
Ho,  Gunnar! — the  tokens;" — and,  sever'd  anew, 
A  head  and  a  hand  on  the  altar  he  threw. 
Then  shudder'd  with  terror  both  Canon  and  Monk, 
They  knew  the  glazed  eye  and  the  countenance 

shrunk, 
And  of  Anthony  Conyers  the  half-grizzled  hair, 
And  the  scar  on  the  hand  of  Sir  Alberic  Vere. 
There  was  not  a  churchman  or  priest  that  was  there 
But  grew  pale  at  the  sight,  and  betook  him  to  prayer. 

VI. 

Count  Harold  laugh'd  at  their  looks  of  fear : 

"  Was  this  the  hand  should  your  banner  bear  ? 

Was  that  the  head  should  wear  the  casque 

In  battle  at  the  Church's  task  ? 

Was  it  to  such  you  gave  the  place 

Of  Harold  with  the  heavy  mace  ? 

Find  me  between  the  Wear  and  Tyne 

A  knight  will  wield  this  club  of  mine, — 

Give  him  my  fiefs,  and  I  will  say 

There's  wit  beneath  the  cowl  of  gray." 

He  raised  it,  rough  with  many  a  stain, 

Caught  from  crush'd  skull  and  spouting  brain ; 

He  wheel'd  it  that  it  shrilly  sung, 

And  the  aisles  echo'd  as  it  swung, 

Then  dash'd  it  down  with  sheer  descent, 

And  split  King  Osric's  monument. — 

"  How  like  ye  this  music  ?  How  trow  ye  the  hand 

That  can  wield  such  a  mace  may  be  reft  of  its  land  ? 

No  answer  ? — I  spare  ye  a  space  to  agree, 

And  Saint  Cuthbert  inspire  you,  a  saint  if  he  be. 

Ten  strides  through  your  chancel,  ten  strokes  on  your 

bell, 
And  again  I  am  with  you — grave  fathers,  farewell." 

VII. 

He  turn'd  from  their  presence,  he  clash'd  the  oak 

door, 
And  the  clang  of  his  stride  died  away  on  the  floor ; 
And  his  head  from  his  bosom  the  Prelate  uprears 
With  a  ghost-seer's  look  when  the  ghost  disappears. 
"  Ye  Priests  of  Saint  Cuthbert,  now  give  me  your 

rede, 
For  never  of  counsel  had  Bishop  more  need ! 
Were  the  arch-fiend  incarnate  in  flesh  and  in  bone, 
The  language,  the  look,  and  the  laugh  were  his 

own. 


HAEOLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


525 


la  the  bounds  of  Saint  Cuthbert  there  is  not  a  knight 
Dare  confront  in  our  quarrel  yon  goblin  in  fight ; 
Then  rede  me  aright  to  his  claim  to  reply  : 
'Tis  unlawful  to  grant,  and  'tis  death  to  deny." 

VIII. 

On  ven'son  and  malmsey  that  morning  had  fed 

The  Cellarer  Vinsauf— 'twas  thus  that  he  said : 

"  Delay  till  to-morrow  the  chapter's  reply  : 

Let  the  feast  be  spread  fair,  and  the  wine  be  pour'd  high: 

If  he's  mortal  he  drinks, — if  he  drinks,  he  is  ours — 

His  bracelets  of  iron,  his  bed  in  our  towers." 

This  man  had  a  laughing  eye, 

Trust  not,  friends,  when  such  you  spy ; 

A  beaker's  depth  he  well  could  drain, 

Revel,  sport,  and  jest  amain — 

The  haunch  of  the  deer  and  the  grape's  bright  dye, 

Never  bard  loved  them  better  than  I ; 

But  sooner  than  Vinsauf  fill'd  me  my  wine, 

Pass'd  me  his  jest,  and  laugh'd  at  mine, 

Though  the  buck  were  of  Bearpark,  of  Bourdeaux 

the  vine, 
With  the  dullest  hermit  I'd  rather  dine 
On  an  oaken  cake  and  a  draught  of  the  Tyne. 

IX. 

Walwayn  the  leech  spoke  next — he  knew 

Each  plant  that  loves  the  sun  and  dew, 

But  special  those  whose  juice  can  gain 

Dominion  o'er  the  blood  and  brain ; 

The  peasant  who  saw  him  by  pale  moonbeam 

Gathering  such  herbs  by  bank  and  stream, 

Deem'd  his  thin  form  and  soundless  tread 

Were  those  of  wanderer  from  the  dead. — 

"  Vinsauf,  thy  wine,"  he  said,  "  hath  power, 

Our  gyves  are  heavy,  strong  our  tower ; 

Yet  three  drops  from  this  flask  of  mine, 

More  strong  than  dungeons,  gyves,  or  wine, 

Shall  give  him  prison  under  ground 

More  dark,  more  narrow,  more  profound. 

Short  rede,  good  rede,  let  Harold  have — 

A  dog's  death  and  a  heathen's  grave." 

I  have  lain  on  a  sick  man's  bed, 

Watching  for  hours  for  the  leech's  tread, 

As  if  I  deem'd  that  his  presence  alone 

Were  of  power  to  bid  my  pain  begone ; 

I  have  listed  his  words  of  comfort  given, 

As  if  to  oracles  from  heaven ; 

I  have  counted  his  steps  from  my  chamber  door, 

And  bless'd  them  when  they  were  heard  no  more ; — 

But  sooner  than  Walwayn  my  sick  couch  should  nigh, 

My  choice  were,  by  leech-craft  unaided,  to  die. 


"  Such  service  done  in  fervent  zeal 
The  Church  may  pardon  and  conceal," 
The  doubtful  Prelate  said,  "  but  ne'er 
The  counsel  ere  the  act  should  hear. — 
Anselm  of  Jarrow,  advise  us  now, 
The  stamp  of  wisdom  is  on  thy  brow ; 


Thy  days,  thy  nights,  in  cloister  pent, 

Are  still  to  mystic  learning  lent ; — 

Anselm  of  Jarrow,  in  thee  is  my  hope, 

Thou  well  may'st  give  counsel  to  Prelate  or  Pope." 

XI. 

Answer'd  the  Prior — "  'Tis  wisdom's  use 

Still  to  delay  what  we  dare  not  refuse ; 

Ere  granting  the  boon  he  comes  hither  to  ask, 

Shape  for  the  giant  gigantic  task ; 

Let  us  see  how  a  step  so  sounding  can  tread 

In  paths  of  darkness,  danger,  and  dread ; 

He  may  not,  he  will  not,  impugn  our  decree,     j 

That  calls  but  for  proof  of  his  chivalry ; 

And  were  Guy  to  return,  or  Sir  Bevis  the  Strong, 

Our  wilds  have  adventure  might  cumber  them  long — 

The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields" "Kind  Anselm,  no 

more! 
The  step  of  the  Pagan  approaches  the  door." 
The  churchmen  were  hush'd. — In  his  mantle  of  skin, 
With  his  mace  on  his  shoulder,  Count  Harold  strode  in. 
There  was  foam  on  his  lips,  there  was  fire  in  his  eye, 
For,  chafed  by  attendance,  his  fury  was  nigh. 
"Ho!   Bishop,"  he  said,  "dost  thou  grant  me  my 

claim  ? 
Or  must  I  assert  it  by  falchion  and  flame  ?" — 

XII. 

"  On  thy  suit,  gallant  Harold,"  the  Bishop  replied, 
In  accents  which  trembled,  "  we  may  not  decide, 
Until  proof  of  your  strength  and  your  valor  we  saw — 
'Tis  not  that  we  doubt  them,  but  such  is  the  law." — 
"  And  would  you,  Sir  Prelate,  have  Harold  make  sport 
For  the  cowls  and  the  shavelings  that  herd  in  thy 

court  ? 
Say,  what  shall  he  do? — From  the  shrine  shall  he  tear 
The  lead  bier  of  thy  patron,  and  heave  it  in  air, 
And  through  the  long  chancel  make  Cuthbert  take 

wing, 
With  the  speed  of  a  bullet  dismiss'd  from  the  sling?" — 
"  Nay,  spare  such  probation,"  the  Cellarer  said ; 
"  From  the  mouth  of  our  minstrels  thy  task  shall  be 

read. 
While  the  wine  sparkles  high  in  the  goblet  of  gold, 
And  the  revel  is  loudest,  thy  task  shall  be  told  ; 
And  thyself,  gallant  Harold,  shall,  hearing  it,  tell 
That  the  Bishop,  his  cowls,  and  his  shavelings,  meant 

well." 

XIII. 
Loud  revell'd  the  guests,  and  the  goblets  loud  rang, 
But  louder  the  minstrel,  Hugh  Meneville,  sang ; 
And  Harold,  the  hurry  and  pride  of  whose  soul, 
E'en  when  verging  to  fury,  own'd  music's  control, 
Still  bent  on  the  harper  his  broad  sable  eye, 
And  often  untasted  the  goblet  pass'd  by ; 
Than  wine  or  than  wassail,  to  him  was  more  dear 
The  minstrel's  high  tale  of  enchantment  to  hear  ; 
And  the  Bishop  that  day  might  of  Vinsauf  complain 
That  his  art  had  but  wasted  his  wine-casks  in  vain. 


526 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XIV. 

QHie  Gaatlt  of  tfte  Srbm  SSbitllw. 

A   BALLAD. 

The  Druid  Urien  had  daughters  seven, 
Their  skill  could  call  the  moon  from  heaven; 
So  fair  their  forms  and  so  high  their  fame, 
That  seven  proud  kings  for  their  suitors  came. 

King  Mador  and  Rhys  came  from  Powis  and  Wales, 
Unshorn  was  their  hair,  and   unpruned  were  their 

nails ; 
From  Strath-Clwyde  was  Ewain,  and  Ewain  was  lame, 
And  the  red-bearded  Donald  from  Galloway  came. 

Lot,  King  of  Lodon,  was  hunchback'd  from  youth; 
Dunmail  of  Cumbria  had  never  a  tooth ; 
But  Adolf  of  Bambrough,  Northumberland's  heir, 
Was  gay  and  was  gallant,  was  young  and  was  fair. 

There  was  strife  'mongst  the  sisters,  for  each  one  would 

have 
For  husband  King  Adolf,  the  gallant  and  brave ; 
And  envy  bred  hate,  and  hate  urged  them  to  blows, 
When  the  firm  earth  was  cleft,  and  the  arch-fiend 

arose ! 

lie  swore  to  the  maidens  their  wish  to  fulfill — 
They  swore  to  the  foe  they  would  work  by  his  will. 
A  spindle  and  distaff  to  each  hath  he  given : 
"  Now  hearken  my  spell,"  said  the  Outcast  of  heaven. 

"  Ye  shall  ply  these  spindles  at  midnight  hour, 

And  for  every  spindle  shall  rise  a  tower, 

Where  the  right  shall  be  feeble,  the  wrong  shall  have 

power, 
And  there  shall  ye  dwell  with  your  paramour." 

Beneath  the  pale  moonlight  they  sat  on  the  wold, 
And  the  rhymes  which  they  chanted  must  never  be 

told; 
And  as  the  black  wool  from  the  distaff  they  sped, 
With  blood  from  their  bosom  they  moisten'd  the  thread. 

As  light  danced  the  spindles  beneath  the  cold  gleam, 
The  Castle  arose  like  the  birth  of  a  dream — 
The  seven  towers  ascended  like  mist  from  the  ground, 
Seven  portals  defend  them,  seven  ditches  surround. 

Within  that  dread  Castle  seven  monarchs  were  wed, 
But  six  of  the  seven  ere  the  morning  lay  dead ; 


1  "  The  word  '  peril '  is  continually  used  as  a  verb  by  both 
writers  :— 

'  Nor  peril  aught  for  mc  agen.' 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  canto  ii.  stanza  26. 

'I  perill'd  thus  the  helpless  child.' 

Lord  of  the  Isles,  canto  v.  stanza  10. 

'Were  the  blood  of  all  my  ancestors  in  my  veins,  I  would 
have  perilled  it  in  this  quarrel.' —  Waverley. 


With  their  eyes  all  on  fire,  and  their  daggers  all  red, 
Seven  damsels  surround  the  Northumbrian's  bed. 

"  Six  kingly  bridegrooms  to  death  we  bave  done, 

Six  gallant  kingdoms  King  Adolf  hath  won, 

Six  lovely  brides  all  his  pleasure  to  do, 

Or  the  bed  of  the  seventh  shall  be  husbandless  too." 

Well  chanced  it  that  Adolf  the  night  when  he  wed 
Had  confess'd  and  had  sain'd  him  ere  boune  to  bis  bed ; 
He  sprung  from  the  couch  and  his  broadsword  he 

drew, 
And  there  the  seven  daughters  of  Urien  he  slew. 

The  gate  of  the  Castle  he  bolted  and  seal'd, 
And  hung  o'er  each  arch-stone  a  crown  and  a  shield ; 
To  the  cells  of  Saint  Dunstan  then  wended  his  way, 
And  died  in  his  cloister  an  anchorite  gray. 

Seven  monarchs'  wealth  in  that  Castle  lies  stow'd, 
The  foul  fiends  brood  o'er  them  like  raven  and  toad ; 
Whoever  shall  guesten  these  chambers  within, 
From  curfew  till  matins,  that  treasure  shall  win. 

But  manhood  grows  faint  as  the  world  waxes  old ! 
There  lives  not  in  Britain  a  champion  so  bold, 
So  dauntless  of  heart,  and  so  prudent  of  brain, 
As  to  dare  the  adventure  that  treasure  to  gain. 

The  waste  ridge  of  Cheviot  shall  wave  with  the  rye, 
Before  the  rude  Scots  shall  Northumberland  fly, 
And  the  flint  cliffs  of  Bambro'  shall  melt  in  the  sun, 
Before  that  adventure  be  perill'd  and  won.1 

XV. 

"  And  is  this  my  probation?"  wild  Harold  he  said, 
"  Within  a  lone  castle  to  press  a  lone  bed  ? — 
Good  even,  my  Lord  Bishop, — Saint  Cuthbert  to 

borrow, 
The  Castle  of  Seven  Shields  receives  me  to-morrow." 


ftjarottj  tlje  Dauntless, 


CANTO  FIFTH. 


I. 

Denmark's  sage  courtier  to  her  princely  youth, 
Granting  his  cloud  an  ouzel  or  a  whale,2 


'I  were  undeserving  his  grace,  did  I  not  peril  it  for  his 
good .' — Ivanhoe. 
&c.  Ac."—  Adolphus'  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley. 

2  "  Hamlet.    Do  you  see  yonder  cloud,  that's  almost  in  shape 
of  a  camel? 

Polonium.    By  the  mass,  and  'tis  like  a  camel,  indeed ! 

Ham.    Methinks,  it  is  like  a  weasel. 

Pol.    It  is  backed  like  a  weasel. 

Ham.    Or,  like  a  whale? 

Pol.    Very  like  a  whale."  Hamlet. 


HAEOLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


527 


Spoke,  though  unwittingly,  a  partial  truth ; 
For  Fantasy  embroiders  Nature's  veil. 
The  tints  of  ruddy  eve,  or  dawning  pale, 
Of  the  swart  thunder-cloud,  or  silver  haze, 
Are  but  the  ground-work  of  the  rich  detail 
Which  Fantasy  with  pencil  wild  portrays, 
Blending  what  seems  and  is,  in  the  wrapt  muser's 
gaze. 

Nor  are  the  stubborn  forms  of  earth  and  stone 
Less  to  the  Sorceress's  empire  given ; 
For  not  with  unsubstantial  hues  alone, 
Caught  from  the  varying  surge,  or  vacant  heaven, 
From  bursting  sunbeam,  or  from  flashing  levin, 
She  limns  her  pictures :  on  the  earth,  as  air, 
Arise  her  castles,  and  her  car  is  driven ; 
And  never  gazed  the  eye  on  scene  so  fair, 
But  of   its   boasted    charms   gave  Fancy  half  the 
share. 

II. 

Up  a  wild  pass  went  Harold,  bent  to  prove, 
Hugh  Meneville,  the  adventure  of  thy  lay ; 
Gunnar  pursued  his  steps  in  faith  and  love, 
Ever  companion  of  his  master's  way. 
Midward  their  path,  a  rock  of  granite  gray 
From  the  adjoining  cliff  had  made  descent,— 
A  barren  mass — yet  with  her  drooping  spray 
Had  a  young  birch-tree  crown'd  its  battlement, 
Twisting  her  fibrous  roots  through  cranny,  flaw,  and 
rent. 

This  rock  and  tree  could  Gunnar's  thought  en- 
gage 
Till  Fancy  brought  the  teardrop  to  his  eye, 
And  at  his  master  ask'd  the  timid  Page, 
"  What  is  the  emblem  that  a  bard  should  spy 
In  that  rude  rock  and  its  green  canopy  ?" 
And  Harold  said,  "  Like  to  the  helmet  brave 
Of  warrior  slain  in  fight  it  seems  to  lie, 
And  these  same  drooping  boughs  do  o'er  it  wave 
Not  all  unlike  the  plume  his  lady's  favor  gave." — 

"Ah,    no!"    replied   the    Page;    "the    ill-starr'd 

love 
Of  some  poor  maid  is  in  the  emblem  shown, 
Whose  fates  are  with  some  hero's  interwove, 
And  rooted  on  a  heart  to  love  unknown : 
And  as  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven  alone 
Nourish  those  drooping  boughs,  and  as  the  scathe 
Of  the  red  lightning  rends  both  tree  and  stone, 
So  fares  it  with  her  unrequited  faith, — 
Her  sole  relief  is  tears — her  only  refuge  death." — 

III. 

"  Thou  art  a  fond  fantastic  boy," 
Harold  replied,  "  to  females  coy, 

Yet  prating  still  of  love ; 
Even  so  amid  the  clash  of  war 
I  kaow  thou  lovest  to  keep  afar, 


Though  destined  by  thy  evil  star 

With  one  like  me  to  rove, 
Whose  business  and  whose  joys  are  found 
Upon  the  bloody  battle-ground. 
Yet,  foolish  trembler  as  thou  art, 
Thou  hast  a  nook  of  my  rude  heart, 
And  thou  and  I  will  never  part ; — 
Harold  would  wrap  the  world  in  flame 
Ere  injury  on  Gunnar  came !" 

IV. 

The  grateful  Page  made  no  reply, 
But  turn'd  to  heaven  his  gentle  eye, 
And  clasp'd  his  hands,  as  one  who  said, 
"  My  toils,  my  wanderings,  are  o'erpaid !" 
Then  in  a  gayer,  lighter  strain, 
Compell'd  himself  to  speech  again  ; 

And,  as  they  flow'd  along, 
His  words  took  cadence  soft  and  slow, 
And  liquid,  like  dissolving  snow, 

They  melted  into  song. 


"  What  though  through  fields  of  carnage  wide 
I  may  not  follow  Harold's  stride, 
Yet  who  with  faithful  Gunnar's  pride 

Lord  Harold's  feats  can  see  ? 
And  dearer  than  the  couch  of  pride, 
He  loves  the  bed  of  gray  wolf's  hide, 
When  slumbering  by  Lord  Harold's  side 

In  forest,  field,  or  lea." — 

VI. 

"  Break  off!"  said  Harold,  in  a  tone 
Where  hurry  and  surprise  were  shown, 

With  some  slight  touch  of  fear, — 
"  Break  off,  we  are  not  here  alone ; 
A  Palmer  form  comes  slowly  on ! 
By  cowl,  and  staff,  and  mantle  known, 

My  monitor  is  near. 
Now  mark  him,  Gunnar,  heedfully ; 
He  pauses  by  the  blighted  tree — 
Dost  see  him,  youth  ? — Thou  couldst  not  see 
When  in  the  vale  of  Galilee 

I  first  beheld  his  form, 
Nor  when  we  met  that  other  while 
In  Cephalonia's  rocky  isle, 

Before  the  fearful  storm, — 
Dost  see  him  now  ?"— The  Page,  distraught 
With  terror,  answer'd,  "  I  see  nought, 

And  there  is  nought  to  see, 
Save  that  the  oak's  scathed  boughs  fling  down 
Upon  the  path  a  shadow  brown, 
That,  like  a  pilgrim's  dusky  gown, 

Waves  with  the  waving  tree." 

VII. 
Count  Harold  gazed  upon  the  oak 
As  if  his  eyestrings  would  have  broke, 
And  then  resolvedly  said, — 


528 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"Be  what  it  will  yon  phantom  gray — 
Nor  heaven,  nor  hell,  shall  ever  say 
That  for  their  shadows  from  his  way 

Count  Harold  turn'd  dismay'd  : 
I'll  speak,  him,  though  his  accents  fill 
My  heart  with  that  unwonted  thrill 

Which  vulgar  minds  call  fear.1 
I  will  subdue  it !" — Forth  he  strode, 
Paused  where  the  blighted  oak-tree  show'd 
Its  sable  shadow  ou  the  road, 
And,  folding  on  his  bosom  broad 

His  arms,  said,  "  Speak — 1  hear." 

VIII. 

The  Deep  Voice2  said,  "  Oh,  wild  of  will, 
Furious  thy  purpose  to  fulfill — 
Heart-sear'd  and  unrepentant  still, 
How  long,  O  Harold,  shall  thy  tread 
Disturb  the  slumbers  of  the  dead  ? 
Each  step  in  thy  wild  way  thou  makest, 
The  ashes  of  the  dead  thou  wakest ; 
And  shout  in  triumph  o'er  thy  path 
The  fiends  of  bloodshed  and  of  wrath. 
In  this  thine  hour,  yet  turn  and  hear! 
For  life  is  brief  and  judgment  near." 

IX. 

Then  ceased  the  Voice. — The  Dane  replied 

In  tones  where  awe  and  inborn  pride 

For  mastery  strove, — "  In  vain  ye  chide 

The  wolf  for  ravaging  the  flock, 

Or  with  its  hardness  taunt  the  rock, — 

I  am  as  they — my  Danish  strain 

Sends  streams  of  fire  through  ev'ry  vein. 

Amid  thy  realms  of  goule  and  ghost, 

Say,  is  the  fame  of  Eric  lost, 

Or  Witikind's  the  Waster,  known 

Where  fame  or  spoil  was  to  be  won ; 

Whose  galleys  ne'er  bore  off  a  shore 
They  left  not  black  with  flame? — 

He  was  my  sire, — and,  sprung  of  him, 

That  rover  merciless  and  grim, 
Can  I  be  soft  and  tame? 
Part  hence,  and  with  my  crimes  no  more  upbraid  me ; 
I  am  that  Waster's  son,  and  am  but  what  he  made  me." 


The  Phantom  groan'd ; — the  mountain  shook  around, 
The  fawn  and  wild-doe  started  at  the  sound, 
The  gorse  and  fern  did  wildly  round  them  wave, 
As  if  some  sudden  storm  the  impulse  gave. 
"  All  thou  hast  said  is  truth — Yet  on  the  head 
Of  that  bad  sire  let  not  the  charge  be  laid, 
That  he,  like  thee,  with  unrelenting  pace, 
From  grave  to  cradle  ran  the  evil  race : — 

1  "I'll  speak  to  it,  though  hell  itself  should  gape." 

Hamlet. 


"  Why  sitt'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hull, 


Relentless  in  his  avarice  and  ire, 
Churches  and  towns  he  gave  to  sword  and  fire ; 
Shed  blood  like  water,  wasted  every  laud, 
Like  the  destroying  angel's  burning  brand ; 
Fulfill'd  whate'er  of  ill  might  be  invented, 
Yes — all  these  things  he  did — he  did,  but  he 

repented! 
Perchance  it  is  part  of  his  punishment  still, 
That  his  offspring  pursues  his  example  of  ill. 
But  thou,  when  thy  tempest  of  wrath  shall  next  shake 

thee, 
Gird  thy  loins  for  resistance,  my  son,  and  awake 

thee; 
If  thou  yieldst  to  thy  fury,  how  tempted  soever, 
The  gate  of  repentance  shall  ope  for  thee  never!" — 

XI. 

"He  is  gone,"  said  Lord  Harold,  and  gazed  as  he 

spoke ; 
"  There  is  nought  on  the  path  but  the  shade  of  the 

oak. 
He  is  gone,  whose  strange  presence  my  feeling  op- 

press'd, 
Like  the  night-hag  that  sits  on  the  slumberer's  breast. 
My  heart  beats  as  thick  as  a  fugitive's  tread, 
And  cold  dews  drop  from  my  brow  and  my  head. — 
Ho !  Gunnar,  the  flasket  yon  almoner  gave ; 
He  said  that  three  drops  would    recall    from    the 

grave. 
For  the  first  time  Count  Harold  owns  leech-craft  has 

power, 
Or,  his  courage  to  aid,  lacks  the  juice  of  a  flower !" 
The  Page  gave  the  flasket,  which  Walwayn  had  fill'd 
With   the   juice    of  wild    roots   that   his   art   had 

distill'd— 
So  baneful  their  influence  on  all  that  had  breath, 
One  drop  had  been  frenzy,  and  two  had  been  death. 
Harold  took  it,  but  drank  not;  for  jubilee  shrill, 
And  music  and  clamor,  were  heard  on  the  hill, 
And  down  the  steep  pathway,  o'er  stock  and  o'er 

stone, 
The  train  of  a  bridal  came  blithesomely  on  ; 
There  was  song,  there  was  pipe,  there  was  timbrel, 

and  still 
The  burden  was,  "  Joy  to  the  fair  Metelill !" 

XII. 

Harold  might  see  from  his  high  stance, 
Himself  unseen,  that  train  advance 

With  mirth  and  melody; — 
On  horse  and  foot  a  mingled  throng, 
Measuring  their  steps  to  bridal  song 

And  bridal  minstrelsy ; 
And  ever  when  the  blithesome  rout 
Lent  to  the  song  their  choral  shout, 

Thou  aged  carle,  so  stern  and  gray? 

'  Kuow'st  thou  not  me?'  the  Deep  Voice  cried." 

Waverley  Novels — "Antiquary,"  vol.  v.  p.  145. 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


529 


Redoubling  echoes  roll'd  about, 
While  echoing  cave  and  cliff  sent  out 

The  answering  symphony 
Of  all  those  mimic  notes  which  dwell 
In  hollow  rock  and  sounding  dell. 

XIII. 

Joy  shook  his  torch  above  the  band, 

By  many  a  various  passion  fann'd ; — 

As  elemental  sparks  can  feed 

On  essence  pure  and  coarsest  weed, 

Gentle,  or  stormy,  or  refined, 

Joy  takes  the  colors  of  the  mind. 

Lightsome  and  pure,  but  unrepress'd, 

He  fired  the  bridegroom's  gallant  breast ; 

More  feebly  strove  with  maiden  fear, 

Yet  still  joy  glimmer'd  through  the  tear 

On  the  bride's  blushing  cheek,  that  shows 

Like  dewdrop  on  the  budding  rose  ; 

While  Wulfstane's  gloomy  smile  declared 

The  glee  that  selfish  avarice  shared, 

And  pleased  revenge  and  malice  high 

Joy's  semblance  took  in  Jutta's  eye. 

On  dangerous  adventure  sped, 

The  witch  deem'd  Harold  with  the  dead,- 

For  thus  that  morn  her  Demon  said : — 

"  If,  ere  the  set  of  sun,  be  tied 

The  knot  'twixt  bridegroom  and  his  bride, 

The  Dane  shall  have  no  power  of  ill 

O'er  William  and  o'er  Metelill." 

And  the  pleased  witch  made  answer,  "  Then 

Must  Harold  have  pass'd  from  the  paths  of  men ! 

Evil  repose  may  his  spirit  have, —  ' 

May  hemlock  and  mandrake  find  root  in  his 
grave, — 

May  his  death-sleep  be  dogged  by  dreams  of  dis- 
may, 

And  his  waking  be  worse  at  the  answering  day!" 

XIV. 

Such  was  their  various  mood  of  glee 
Blent  in  one  shout  of  ecstasy. 
But  still  when  Joy  is  brimming  highest, 
Of  Sorrow  and  Misfortune  nighest, 
Of  Terror  with  her  ague  cheek, 
And  lurking  Danger,  sages  speak : — 
These  haunt  each  path,  but  chief  they  lay 
Their  snares  beside  the  primrose  way. — 
Thus  found  that  bridal  band  their  path 
Beset  by  Harold  in  his  wrath. 
Trembling  beneath  his  maddening  mood, 
High  on  a  rock  the  giant  stood ; 
His  shout  was  like  the  doom  of  death 
Spoke  o'er  their  heads  that  pass'd  beneath. 
His  destined  victims  might  not  spy 
The  reddening  terrors  of  his  eye, — 
The  frown  of  rage  that  writhed  his  face,— 
The  lip  that  foam'd  like  boar's  in  chase ; — 
But  all  could  see — and,  seeing,  all 
Bore  back  to  shun  the  threaten'd  fall— 
34 


The  fragment  which  their  giant  foe 
Rent  from  the  cliff  and  heaved  to  throw. 

XV. 

Backward  they  bore ; — yet  are  there  two 

For  battle  who  prepare : 
No  pause  of  dread  Lord  William  knew 

Ere  his  good  blade  was  bare ; 
And  Wulfstane  bent  his  fatal  yew, 
But  ere  the  silken  cord  he  drew, 
As  hurl'd  from  Hecla's  thunder,  flew 

That  ruin  through  the  air '. 
Full  on  the  Outlaw's  front  it  came, 
And  all  that  late  had  human  name, 
And  human  face,  and  human  frame, 
That  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  free  will 
To  choose  the  path  of  good  or  ill, 

Is  to  its  reckoning  gone  ; 
And  nought  of  Wulfstane  rests  behind, 

Save  that  beneath  that  stone, 
Half-buried  in  the  dinted  clay, 
A  red  and  shapeless  mass  there  lay 

Of  mingled  flesh  and  bone  ! 

XVI. 

As  from  the  bosom  of  the  sky 

The  eagle  darts  amain, 
Three  bounds  from  yonder  summit  high 

Placed  Harold  on  the  plain. 
As  the  scared  wild-fowl  scream  and  fly, 

So  fled  the  bridal  train ; 
As  'gainst  the  eagle's  peerless  might 
The  noble  falcon  dares  the  fight, 

But  dares  the  fight  in  vain, 
So  fought  the  bridegroom  ;  from  his  hand 
The  Dane's  rude  mace  has  struck  his  brand, 
Its  glittering  fragments  strew  the  sand, 

Its  lord  lies  on  the  plain. 
Now,  Heaven !  take  noble  William's  part, 
And  melt  that  yet  unmelted  heart, 
Or,  ere  his  bridal  hour  depart, 

The  hapless  bridegroom's  slain ! 

XVII. 
Count  Harold's  frenzied  rage  is  high, 
There  is  a  death-fire  in  his  eye, 
Deep  furrows  on  his  brow  are  trench'd, 
His  teeth  are  set,  his  hand  is  clench'd, 
The  foam  upon  his  lip  is  white, 
His  deadly  arm  is  up  to  smite ! 
But,  as  the  mace  aloft  he  swung, 
To  stop  the  blow  young  Gunnar  sprung, 
Around  his  master's  knees  he  clung, 

And  cried,  "  In  mercy  spare ! 
Oh,  think  upon  the  words  of  fear 
Spoke  by  that  visionary  Seer ; 
The  crisis  he  foretold  is  here, — 

Grant  mercy, — or  despair !" 
This  word  suspended  Harold's  mood, 
Yet  still  with  arm  upraised  he  stood, 


530 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  visage  like  the  headsman's  rude 

Th^t  pauses  for  the  sign. 
"  Oh  mark  thee  with  the  blessed  rood," 
The  Page  implored ;  "  speak  word  of  good, 
Resist  the  fiend,  or  be  subdued  !" 

He  sign'd  the  cross  divine — 
Instant  his  eye  hath  human  light, 
Less  red,  less  keen,  less  fiercely  bright ; 
His  brow  relax'd  the  obdurate  frown, 
The  fatal  mace  sinks  gently  down, 

He  turns  and  strides  away  ; 
Yet  oft,  like  revellers  who  leave 
Unfinish'd  feast,  looks  back  to  grieve, 
As  if  repenting  the  reprieve 

He  granted  to  his  prey. 
Yet  still  of  forbearance  one  sign  hath  he  given, 
And  fierce  Witikiud's  son  made  one  step  towards 
heaven. 

XVIII. 

But  though  his  dreaded  footsteps  part, 
Death  is  behind  and  shakes  his  dart ; 
Lord  William  on  the  plain  is  lying, 
Beside  him  Metelill  seems  dying ! — 
Bring  odors — essences  in  haste — 
And  lo !  a  flasket  richly  chased, — 
But  Jutta  the  elixir  proves 
Ere  pouring  it  for  those  she  loves — 
Then  Walwayn's  potion  was  not  wasted, 
For  when  three  drops  the  hag  had  tasted, 

So  dismal  was  her  yell, 
Each  bird  of  evil  omen  woke, 
The  raven  gave  his  fatal  croak, 
And  shriek' d  the  night-crow  from  the  oak, 
The  screech-owl  from  the  thicket  broke, 

•And  flutter'd  down  the  dell ! 
So  fearful  was  the  sound  and  stern, 
The  slumbers  of  the  full-gorged  erne 
Were  startled,  and  from  furze  and  fern 

Of  forest  and  of  fell, 
The  fox  and  famish'd  wolf  replied 
(For  wolves  then  prowl'd  the  Cheviot  side). 
From  mountain  head  to  mountain  head 
The  unhallow'd  sounds  around  were  sped;1 
But  when  their  latest  echo  fled, 
The  sorceress  on  the  ground  lay  dead. 

XIX. 

Such  was  the  scene  of  blood  and  woes 
With  which  the  bridal  mom  arose 

Of  William  and  of  Metelill ; 
But  oft,  when  dawning  'gins  to  spread, 
The  summer  morn  peeps  dim  and  red 

Above  the  eastern  hill, 
Ere,  bright  and  fair,  upon  his  road 
The  King  of  Splendor  walks  abroad  ; 
So,  when  this  cloud  had  pass'd  away, 

1  See  a  note  on  the  "  Lord  of  the  Isles,"  canto  v.  stanza  81, 
p.  449,  ante. 


Bright  was  the  noontide  of  their  day, 
And  all  serene  its  setting  ray. 


^arottj  X\)t  Bounties*. 


CANTO  SIXTH. 


I. 

Well  do  I  hope  that  this  my  minstrel  tale 
Will  tempt  no  traveller  from  southern  fields. 
Whether  in  tilbury,  barouche,  or  mail, 
To  view  the  Castle  of  these  Seven  Proud  Shields. 
Small  confirmation  its  condition  yields 
To  Meneville's  high  lay. — No  towers  are  seen 
On  the  wild  heath,  but  those  that  Fancy  builds, 
And,  save  a  fosse  that  tracks  the  moor  with  green, 
Is  nought  remains  to  tell  of  what  may  there  have  been. 

And  yet  grave  authors,  with  the  no  small  waste 
Of  their  grave  time,  have  dignified  the  spot 
By  theories,  to  prove  the  fortress  placed 
By  Roman  bands  to  curbjthe  invading  Scot. 
Hutchinson,  Horsley,  Camden,  I  might  quote, 
But  rather  choose  the  theory  less  civil 
Of  boors,  who,  origin  of  things  forgot, 
Refer  still  to  the  origin  of  evil, 
And  for  their  master-mason  choose  that  master-fiend 
the  Devil. 

II. 

\  Therefore,  I  say,  it  was  on  fiend-built  towers 
|  That  stout  Count  Harold  bent  his  wondering  gaze, 
When  evening  dew  was  on  the  heather  flowers, 
And  the  last  sunbeams  made  the  mountain  blaze, 
And  tinged  the  battlements  of  other  days 
With  the  bright  level  light  ere  sinking  down. — 
Illumined  thus,  the  dauntless  Dane  surveys 
The  Seven  Proud  Shields  that  o'er  the  portal  frown, 
And  on  their  blazons  traced  high  marks  of  old  renown. 

A  wolf  North  Wales  had  on  his  armor-coat, 
And  Rhys  of  Powis-land  a  couchant  stag  ; 
Strath-Clwyde's  strange  emblem  was  a  stranded  boat, 
Donald  of  Galloway's  a  trotting  nag; 
A  corn-sheaf  gilt  was  fertile  Lodon's  brag; 
A  dudgeon-dagger  was  by  Dunmail  worn  ; 
Northumbrian  Adolf  gave  a  sea-beat  crag 
Surmounted  by  a  cross— such  signs  were  borne 
Upon  these  antique  shields,  all  wasted  now  and  worn. 

III. 

These  scann'd,  Count  Harold  sought  the  Castle  door, 
Whose  ponderous  bolts  were  rusted  to  decay; 
Yet  till  that  hour  adventurous  knight  forbore 
The  unobstructed  passage  to  essay. 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


531 


More  strong  than  armed  warders  in  array, 
And  obstacle  more  sure  than  bolt  or  bar, 
Sat  in  the  portal  Terror  and  Dismay, 
While  Superstition,  who  forbade  to  war 
With  foes  of  other  mould  than  mortal  clay, 
Cast  spells  across  the  gate,  and  barr'd  the  onward 
way. 

Vain  now  those  spells ;  for  soon  with  heavy  clank 
The  feebly-fasten'd  gate  was  inward  push'd, 
And,  as  it  oped,  through  that  emblazon'd  rank 
Of  antique  shields  the  wind  of  evening  rush'd 
With  sound  most  like  a  groan,  and  then  was  hush'd. 
Is  none  who  on  such  spot  such  sounds  could  hear 
But  to  his  heart  the  blood  had  faster  rush'd ; 
Yet  to  bold  Harold's  breast  that  throb  was  dear- 
It  spoke  of  danger  nigh,  but  had  no  touch  of  fear. 

IV. 
Yet  Harold  and  his  Page  no  signs  have  traced 
Within  the  Castle  that  of  danger  show'd ; 
For  still  the  halls  and  courts  were  wild  and  waste, 
As  through  their  precincts  the  adventurers  trode. 
The  seven  huge  towers  rose  stately,  tall,  and  broad, 
Each  tower  presenting  to  their  scrutiny 
A  hall  in  which  a  king  might  make  abode, 
And  fast  beside,  garnish'd  both  proud  and  high, 
Was  placed  a  bower  for  rest  in  which  a  king  might  lie. 

As  if  a  bridal  there  of  late  had  been, 
Deck'd  stood  the  table  in  each  gorgeous  hall ; 
And  yet  it  was  two  hundred  years,  I  ween, 
Since  date  of  that  unhallow'd  festival. 
Flagons,  and  ewers,  and  standing  cups,  were  all 
Of  tarnish'd  gold,  or  silver  nothing  clear, 
With  throne  begilt,  and  canopy  of  pall, 
And  tapestry  clothed  the  walls  with  fragments  sear — 
Frail  as  the  spider's  mesh  did  that  rich  woof  appear. 


In  every  bower,  as  round  a  hearse,  was  hung 

A  dusky  crimson  curtain  o'er  the  bed, 

And  on  each  couch  in  ghastly  wise  were  flung 

The  wasted  relics  of  a  monarch  dead ; 

Barbaric  ornaments  around  were  spread, 

Vests  twined  with  gold,  and   chains  of  precious 

stone, 
And  golden  circlets,  meet  for  monarch's  head ; 
While  grinn'd,  as  if  in  scorn  amongst  them  thrown, 
The  wearer's  fleshless  skull,  alike  with  dust  bestrown. 

For  these  were  they  who,  drunken  with  delight, 
On  pleasure's  opiate  pillow  laid  their  head, 

1  "  In  an  invention  like  this  we  are  hardly  to  look  for  pro- 
babilities, but  all  these  preparations  and  ornaments  are  not 
quite  consistent  with  the  state  of  society  two  hundred  years 
before  the  Danish  Invasion,  as  far  as  we  know  any  thing  of  it. 
In  these  matters,  however,  the  author  is  never  very  scrupu- 
lous, and  has  too  little  regarded  propriety  in  the  minor  cir- 
cumstances :  thus  Harold  is  clad  in  a  kind  of  armor  not  worn 


For  whom  the  bride's  shy  footstep,  slow  and  light, 
Was  changed  ere  morning  to  the  murderer's  tread. 
For  human  bliss  and  woe  in  the  frail  thread 
Of  human  life  are  all  so  closely  twined, 
That  till  the  shears  of  Fate  the  texture  shred, 
The  close  succession  cannot  be  disjoin'd, 
Nor  dare  we,  from  one  hour,  judge  that  which  comes 
behind. 

VI. 

But  where  the  work  of  vengeance  had  been  done, 
In  that  seventh  chamber,  was  a  sterner  sight; 
There  of  the  witch-brides  lay  each  skeleton, 
Still  in  the  posture  as  to  death  when  dight. 
For  this  lay  prone,  by  one  blow  slain  outright ; 
And  that,  as  one  who  struggled  long  in  dying ; 
One  bony  hand  held  knife,  as  if  to  smite ; 
One  bent  on  fleshless  knees,  as  mercy  crying ; 
One  lay  across  the  door,  as  kill'd  in  act  of  flying.1 

The  stern  Dane  smiled  this  charnel-house  to 

see, — 
For  his  chafed  thought  return'd  to  Metelill ; — 
And  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  hath  woman's  perfidy, 
Empty  as  air,  as  water  volatile, 
Been  here  avenged — The  origin  of  ill 
Through  woman  rose,  the  Christian  doctrine 

saith : 
Nor  deem  I,  Gunnar,  that  thy  minstrel  skill 
Can  show  example  where  a  woman's  breath 
Hath  made  a  true-love  vow,  and,  tempted,  kept  her 

faith." 

VII. 
The  minstrel-boy  half  smiled,  half  sigh'd, 
And  his  half-filling  eyes  he  dried, 
And  said,  "  The  theme  I  should  but  wrong, 
Unless  it  were  my  dying  song 
(Our  Scalds  have  said,  in  dying  hour 
The  Northern  harp  has  treble  power), 
Else  could  I  tell  of  woman's  faith. 
Defying  danger,  scorn,  and  death. 
Firm  was  that  faith, — as  diamond  stone 
Pure  and  unflaw'd, — her  love  unknown 
And  unrequited  ; — firm  and  pure, 
Her  stainless  faith  could  all  endure ; 
From  clime  to  clime, — from  place  to  place, — 
Through  want,  and  danger,  and  disgrace, 
A  wanderer's  wayward  steps  could  trace. — 
All  this  she  did,  and  guerdon  none 
Required,  save  that  her  burial-stone 
Should  make  at  length  the  secret  known, 
'  Thus  hath  a  faithful  woman  done.'— 

until  some  hundred  years  after  the  era  of  the  poem,  and  many 
of  the  scenes  described,  like  that  last  quoted  (stanzas  iv.  v. 
vi.),  belong  even  to  a  still  later  period.  At  least  this  defect  is 
not  an  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott,  who,  being  a  skillful  antiquary, 
is  extremely  careful  as  to  niceties  of  this  sort."—  Critical 
Review. 


532 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL    WOKKS. 


Not  in  each  breast  such  truth  is  laid, 
But  Eivir  was  a  Danish  maid." — 

I  VIII. 

"  Thou  art  a.  wild  enthusiast,"  said 
Count  Harold,  "  for  thy  Danish  maid ; 
And  yet,  young  Gunnar,  I  will  own 
Hers  were  a  faith  to  rest  upon. 
But  Eivir  sleeps  beneath  her  stone, 
And  all  resembling  her  are  gone. 
What  maid  e'er  show'd  such  constancy 
In  plighted  faith,  like  thine  to  me? 
But  couch  thee,  boy ;  the  darksome  shade 
Falls  thickly  round,  nor  be  dismay'd 

Because  the  dead  are  by. 
They  were  as  we  ;  our  little  day 
O'erspent,  and  we  shall  be  as  they. 
Yet  near  me,  Gunnar,  be  thou  laid, 
Thy  couch  upon  my  mantle  made, 
That  thou  may'st  think,  should  fear  invade, 

Thy  master  slumbers  nigh." 
Thus  couch'd  they  in  that  dread  abode, 
Until  the  beams  of  dawning  gT&w'd. 

IX. 
An  alter'd  man  Lord  Harold  rose, 
When  he  beheld  that  dawn  unclose — 

There's  trouble  in  his  eyes, 
And  traces  on  his  brow  and  cheek 
Of  mingled  awe  and  wonder  speak ; 

"  My  Page,"  he  said,  "  arise ; — 
Leave  we  this  place,  my  Page." — No  more 
He  utter'd  till  the  Castle  door 
They  cross'd — but  there  he  paused  and  said, 
"  My  wildness  hath  awaked  the  dead — 

Disturb'd  the  sacred  tomb ! 
Methought  this  night  I  stood  on  high, 
Where  Hecla  roars  in  middle  sky, 
And  in  her  cavern'd  gulfs  could  spy 

The  central  place  of  doom ; 
And  there  before  my  mortal  eye 
Souls  of  the  dead  came  flitting  by, 
Whom  fiends,  with  many  a  fiendish  cry, 

Bore  to  that  evil  den ! 
My  eyes  grew  dizzy,  and  my  brain 
Was  wilder'd,  as  the  elvish  train, 
With  shriek  and  howl,  dragg'd  on  amain 

Those  who  had  late  been  men. 


"  With  haggard  eyes  and  streaming  hair, 

Jutta  the  Sorceress  was  there, 

And  there  pass'd  Wulfstane,  lately  slain, 

All  frush'd  and  foul  with  bloody  stain. — 

More  had  I  seen,  but  that  uprose 

A  whirlwind  wild,  and  swept  the  snows; 

And  with  such  sound  as  when  at  need 

A  champion  spurs  his  horse  to  speed, 

Three  arm'd  knights  rush  on,  who  lead 

Caparison'd  a  sable  steed. 


Sable  their  harness,  and  there  came 
Through  their  closed  visors  sparks  of  flame. 
The  first  proclaim'd,  in  sounds  of  fear, 
'  Harold  the  Dauntless,  welcome  here  !' 
The  next  cried,  '  Jubilee !  we've  won 
Count  Witikind  the  Waster's  son !'     ( -, 
And  the  third  rider  sternly  spoke, 
1  Mount,  in  the  name  of  Zernebock  ! — 
From  us,  O  Harold,  were  thy  powers, — 
Thy  strength,  thy  dauutlessness,  are  ours; 
Nor  think,  a  vassal  thou  of  hell, 
With  hell  can  strive.'     The  fiend  spoke  true  I 
My  inmost  soul  the  summons  knew, 

As  captives  know  the  knell 
That  says  the  headsman's  sword  is  bare, 
And,  with  an  accent  of  despair, 

Commands  them  quit  their  cell. 
I  felt  resistance  was  in  vain, 
My  foot  had  that  fell  stirrup  ta'en, 
My  hand  was  on  the  fatal  mane, 

-When  to  my  rescue  sped 
That  Palmer's  visionary  form, 
And — like  the  passing  of  a  storm — 

The  demons  yell'd  and  fled ! 

XL 

"  His  sable  cowl,  flung  back,  reveal'd 
The  features  it  before  conceal'd ; 

And,  Gunnar,  I  could  find 
In  him  whose  counsels  strove  to  stay 
So  oft  my  course  on  willful  way, 

My  father  Witikind ! 
Doom'd  for  his  sins,  and  doom'd  for  mine, 
A  wanderer  upon  earth  to  pine 
Until  his  son  shall  turn  to  grace, 
And  smooth  for  him  a  resting-place. — 
Gunnar,  he  must  not  haunt  in  vain 
This  world  of  wretchedness  and  pain: 
I'll  tame  my  willful  heart  to  live 
In  peace — to  pity  and  forgive ; — 
And  thou,  for  so  the  Vision  said, 
Must  in  thy  Lord's  repentance  aid. 
Thy  mother  was  a  prophetess, 
He  said,  who  by  her  skill  could  guess 
How  close  the  fatal  textures  join 
Which  knit  thy  thread  of  life  with  mine  j 
Then,  dark,  he  hinted  of  disguise 
She  framed  to  cheat  too  curious  eyes, 
That  not  a  moment  might  divide 
Thy  fated  footsteps  from  my  side. 
Methought  while  thus  my  sire  did  teach, 
I  caught  the  meaning  of  his  speech, 
Yet  seems  its  purport  doubtful  now." 
His  hand  then  sought  his  thoughtful  brow; 
Then  first  he  mark'd  that  in  the  tower 
His  glove  was  left  at  waking  hour. 

XII. 

Trembling  at  first,  and  deadly  pale, 
Had  Gunnar  heard  the  visiou'd  tale ; 


HAROLD   THE   DAUNTLESS. 


533 


But  when  he  learn'd  the  dubious  close, 
He  blush'd  like  any  opening  rose, 
And,  glad  to  hide  his  tell-tale  cheek, 
Hied  back  that  glove  of  mail  to  seek ; 
When  soon  a  shriek  of  deadly  dread 
Summon'd  his  master  to  his  aid. 

XIII. 
What  sees  Count  Harold  in  that  bower, 

So  late  his  resting-place  ? — 
The  semblance  of  the  Evil  Power, 

Adored  by  all  his  race ! 
Odin  in  living  form  stood  there, 
His  cloak  the  spoils  of  Polar  bear ; 
For  plumy  crest  a  meteor  shed 
Its  gloomy  radiance  o'er  his  head, 
Yet  veil'd  its  haggard  majesty 
To  the  wild  lightnings  of  his  eye. 
Such  height  was  his,  as  when  in  stone 
O'er  Upsal's  giant  altar  shown : 

So  flow'd  his  hoary  beard ; 
Such  was  his  lance  of  mountain  pine, 
So  did  his  sevenfold  buckler  shine ; — 

But  when  his  voice  he  rear'd, 
Deep  without  harshness,  slow  and  strong, 
The  powerful  accents  roll'd  along, 
And,  while  he  spoke,  his  hand  was  laid 
On  captive  Gunnar's  shrinking  head. 

XIV. 

"Harold,"  he  said,  "  what  rage  is  thine, 
To  quit  the  worship  of  thy  line, 

To  leave  thy  Warrior-God  ? — 
With  me  is  glory  or  disgrace, 
Mine  is  the  onset  and  the  chase, 
Embattled  hosts  before  my  face 

Are  wither'd  by  a  nod. 
Wilt  thou  then  forfeit  that  high  seat 
Deserved  by  many  a  dauntless  feat, 
Among  the  heroes  of  thy  line, 
Eric  and  fiery  Thorarine  ? — 
Thou  wilt  not.    Only  I  can  give 
The  joys  for  which  the  valiant  live, 
Victory  and  vengeance — only  I 
Can  give  the  joys  for  which  they  die, 
The  immortal  tilt,  the  banquet  full, 
The  brimming  draught  from  foeman's  skull. 
Mine  art  thou,  witness  this  thy  glove, 
The  faithful  pledge  of  vassal's  love." — 

XV. 

"Tempter,"  said  Harold,  firm  of  heart, 
"  I  charge  thee,  hence  !  whate'er  thou  art, 
I  do  defy  thee — and  resist 
The  kindling  frenzy  of  my  breast, 
Waked  by  thy  words ;  and  of  my  mail, 


1  Mr.  Adolphus,  in  his  Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 
p.  230,  remarks  on  the  coincidence  between  "  the  catastrophe 
of  the  '  Black  Dwarf,'  the  recognition  of  Morthani's  lost  son  in 


Nor  glove,  nor  buckler,  splent,  nor  nail, 

Shall  rest  with  thee — that  youth  release, 

And  God,  or  Demon,  part  in  peace." — 

"  Eivir,"  the  Shape  replied,  "  is  mine, 

Mark'd  in  the  birth-hour  with  my  sign. 

Think'st  thou  that  priest  with  drops  of^spray 

Could  wash  that  blood-red  mark  away? 

Or  that  a  borrow'd  sex  and  name 

Can  abrogate  a  Godhead's  claim  ?" 

Thrill'd  this  strange  speech  through'  Harold's 

brain ; 
He  clench'd  his  teeth  in  high  disdain, 
For  not  his  new-born  faith  subdued 
Some  tokens  of  his  ancient  mood. — 
"  Now,  by  the  hope  so  lately  given 
Of  better  trust  and  purer  heaven, 
I  will  assail  thee,  fiend!" — Then  rose 
His  mace,  and  with  a  storm  of  blows 
The  mortal  and  the  Demon  close. 

XVI. 

Smoke  roll'd  above,  fire  flash'd  around, 
Darken'd  the  sky  and  shook  the  ground ; 

But  not  the  artillery  of  hell, 
The  bickering  lightning,  nor  the  rock 
Of  turrets  to  the  earthquake's  shock, 

Could  Harold's  courage  quell. 
Sternly  the  Dane  his  purpose  kept, 
And  blows  on  blows  resistless  heap'd, 

Till  quail'd  that  Demon  Form, 
And — for  his  power  to  hurt  or  kill 
Was  bounded  by  a  higher  will — 

Evanish'd  in  the  storm. 
Nor  paused  the  Champion  of  the  North, 
But  raised  and  bore  his  Eivir  forth, 
From  that  wild  scene  of  fiendish  strife, 
To  light,  to  liberty,  and  life ! 

XVII. 

He  placed  lrer  on  a  bank  of  moss, 

A  silver  runnel  bubbled  by, 
And  new-born  thoughts  his  soul  engross, 
And  tremors  yet  unknown  across 

His  stubborn  sinews  fly, 
The  while  with  timid  hand  the  dew 
Upon  her  brow  and  neck  he  threw, 
And  mark'd  how  life  with  rosy  hue 
On  her  pale  cheek  revived  anew, 

And  glimmer'd  in  her  eye. 
Inly  he  said,  "  That  silken  tress, — 
What  blindness  mine  that  could  not  guess  ! 
Or  how  could  page's  rugged  dress 

That  bosom's  pride  belie  ? 
Oh,  dull  of  heart,  through  wild  and  wave 
In  search  of  blood  and  death  to  rave, 

With  such  a  partner  nigh  I"1 


the  Irish  orphan  of '  Rokeby,'  and  the  conversion  of  Harold's 
page  into  a  female," — all  which  he  calls  "  specimens  of  unsuc- 
cessful contrivance,  at  a  great  expense  of  probability." 


534 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XVIII. 

Then  in  the  mirror'd  pool  he  peer'd, 
Blamed  his  rough  locks  and  shaggy  beard, 
The  stains  of  recent  conflict  clear'd, — 

And  thus  the  Champion  proved 
That  he  fears  now  who  never  fear'd, 

And  loves  who  never  loved. 
And  Eivir — life  is  on  her  cheek, 
And  yet  she  will  not  move  or  speak, 

Nor  will  her  eyelid  fully  ope; 
Perchance  it  loves,  that  half-shut  eye, 
Through  its  long  fringe,  reserved  and  shy, 
Affection's  opening  dawn  to  spy; 
And  the  deep  blush,  which  bids  its  dye 
O'er  cheek,  and  brow,  and  bosom  fly, 

Speaks  shame-faceduess  and  hope. 

XIX. 

But  vainly  seems  the  Dane  to  seek 
For  terms  his  new-born  love  to  speak, — 
For  words,  save  those  of  wrath  and  wrong, 
Till  now  were  strangers  to  his  tongue ; 
So,  when  he  raised  the  blushing  maid, 
In  blunt  and  honest  terms  he  said 
('Twere  well  that  maids,  when  lovers  woo, 
Heard  none  more  soft,  were  all  as  true), 


1  '"Harold  the  Dauntless,'  like  the  'Bridal  of  Trierniain,' 
is  a  tolerably  successful  imitation  of  some  parts  of  the  style 
of  Mr.  Walter  Scott;  but,  like  all  imitations,  it  is  clearly 
distinguishable  from  the  prototype ;  it  wants  the  life  and  sea- 
soning of  originality.  To  illustrate  this  familiarly  from  the 
stage : — We  have  all  witnessed  a  hundred  imitations  of  popu- 
lar actors — of  Kemble,  for  instance — in  which  the  voice,  the 
gesture,  and  somewhat  even  of  the  look,  were  copied.  In 
externals  the  resemblance  might  be  sufficiently  correct ;  but 
where  was  the  informing  soul,  the  mind  that  dictated  the  ac- 
tion and  expression  ?  Who  could  endure  the  tedium  of  seeing 
the  imitator  go  through  a  whole  character?  In  'Harold  the 
Dauntless,'  the  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott  is  pretty  obvious,  but 
we  are  weary  of  it  before  we  arrive  near  the  end.  The  author 
has  talent,  and  considerable  facility  in  versification,  and  on 
this  account  it  is  somewhat  lamentable,  not  only  that  he 
should  not  have  selected  a  better  model,  but  that  he  should 
copy  the  parts  of  that  model  which  are  least  worthy  of  study. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  easy  to  equal  the  energy  of  Mr.  Scott's  line, 
or  his  picturesque  descriptions.  His  peculiarities  and  defects 
were  more  attainable,  and  with  these  the  writer  of  this  novel 
in  verse  has  generally  contented  himself;  he  will  also  content 
a  certain  number  of  readers,  who  merely  look  for  a  few  amus- 
ing or  surprising  incidents.  In  these,  however,  '  Harold  the 
Dauntless'  does  not  abound  so  much  as  the  'Bridal  of  Trier- 
main.'  They  are,  indeed,  romantic  enough  to  satisfy  all  the 
parlor-boarders  of  ladies'  schools  in  England;  but  they  want 
that  appearance  of  probability  which  should  give  them  in- 
terest."— Critical  Review,  April,  1817. 


"  We  had  formerly  occasion  to  notice,  with  considerable 
praise,  the  'Bridal  of  Tricrmain.'  We  remarked  it  as  a  pretty 
close  imitation  of  Mr.  Scott's  poetry  ;  and  as  that  great  master 
s  ■  ins,  for  the  present,  to  have  left  his  lyre  unstrung,  a  substi- 
tute, even  of  inferior  value,  may  be  welcomed  by  the  public. 
It  appeared  to  us,  however,  and  still  does,  that  the  merit  of 
the  present  author  consists  rather  in  the  soft  and  wildly  tender 


"  Eivir !  since  thou  for  many  a  day 

Hast  follow'd  Harold's  wayward  way, 

It  is  but  meet  that  in  the  line 

Of  after-life  I  follow  thine. 

To-morrow  is  Saint  Cuthbert's  tide, 

And  we  will  grace  his  altar's  side, 

A  Christian  knight  and  Christian  bride ; 
And  of  Witikind's  son  shall  the  marvel  be  said, 
That  on  the  same  morn  he  was  christeu'd  and  wed.' 


CONCLUSION. 

And  now,  Ennui,  what  ails  thee,  weary  maid  ? 
Aud  why  these  listless  looks  of  yawning  sorrow  ? 
No  need  to  turn  the  page,  as  if  'twere  lead, 
Or  fling  aside  the  volume  till  to-morrow. — 
Be  cheer'd — 'tis  ended — and  I  will  not  borrow, 
To  try  thy  patience  more,  one  anecdote 
From  Bartholine,  or  Perinskiold,  or  Snorro. 
Then  pardon  thou  thy  minstrel,  who  hath  wrote 
A  Tale  six  cantos  long,  yet  scoru'd  to  add  a  note.1 


passages  than  in  those  rougher  scenes  of  feud  and  fray  through 
which  the  poet  of  early  times  conducts  his  reader.  His  war- 
horse  follows  with  somewhat  of  a  hobbling  pace  the  proud  and 
impetuous  courser  whom  he  seeks  to  rival.  Unfortunately,  as 
it  appears  to  us,  the  last  style  of  poetical  excellence  is  rather 
more  aimed  at  here  than  in  the  former  poem ;  and  as  we  do  not 
discover  any  improvement  in  the  mode  of  treating  it, '  Harold 
the  Dauntless '  scarcely  appears  to  us  to  equal  the  '  Bridal  of 
Triermain.'  It  contains,  indeed,  passages  of  similar  merit, 
but  not  quite  so  numerous ;  and  such,  we  suspect,  will  ever 
be  the  case  while  the  author  continues  to  follow  after  this  line 
of  poetry."— Scots  Mag.,  Feb.,  1817. 


"This  is  an  elegant,  sprightly,  and  delightful  little  poem, 
written  apparently  by  a  person  of  taste  and  genius,  but  who 
either  possesses  not  the  art  of  forming  and  combining  a  plot, 
or  regards  it  only  as  a  secondary  and  subordinate  object.  In 
this  we  do  not  widely  differ  from  him,  but  are  sensible,  mean- 
time, that  many  others  will ;  and  that  the  rambling  and  un- 
certain nature  of  the  story  will  be  the  principal  objection 
urged  against  the  poem  before  us,  as  well  as  the  greatest  bar 
to  its  extensive  popularity.  The  character  of  Mr.  Scott's 
romances  has  effected  a  material  change  in  our  mode  of  esti- 
mating poetical  compositions.  In  all  the  estimable  works  of 
our  former  poets,  from  Spenser  down  to  Thomson  and  Cowper, 
the  plot  seems  to  have  been  regarded  as  good  or  bad  only  in 
proportion  to  the  advantages  which  it  furnished  for  poetical 
description ;  but,  of  late  years,  one  half,  at  least,  of  the  merit 
of  a  poem  is  supposed  to  rest  on  the  interest  aud  management 
of  the  tale. 

"  We  speak  not  exclusively  of  that  numerous  class  of  readers 
who  peruse  and  estimate  a  new  poem,  or  any  poem,  with  the 
same  feelings,  and  precisely  on  the  same  principles,  as  they 
do  a  novel.  It  is  natural  for  such  persons  to  judge  only  by  the 
effect  produced  by  the  incidents;  but  we  have  often  been 
surprised  that  some  of  our  literary  critics,  even  those  to  whose 
judgment  we  were  most  disposed  to  bow,  should  lay  so  much 


HAROLD   THE    DAUNTLESS. 


535 


stress  on  the  probability  and  fitness  of  every  incident  which 
the  fancy  of  the  poet  may  lead  him  to  embellish  in  the  course 
•f  a  narrative  poem,  a  great  proportion  of  which  must  neces- 
sarily be  descriptive.  The  author  of  '  Harold  the  Dauntless ' 
seems  to  have  judged  differently  from  these  critics;  and  in 
the  lightsome  rapid  strain  of  poetry  which  he  has  chosen,  we 
feel  no  disposition  to  quarrel  with  him  on  account  of  the  easy 
and  careless  manner  in  which  he  has  arranged  his  story.  In 
many  instances  he  undoubtedly  shows  the  hand  of  a  master , 
and  has  truly  studied  and  seized  the  essential  character  of  the 
antique — his  attitudes  and  draperies  are  unconfined,  and  va- 
ried with  demi-tints,  possessing  much  of  the  lustre,  freshness, 
and  spirit  of  Rembrandt.  The  airs  of  his  heads  have  grace, 
and  his  distances  something  of  the  lightness  and  keeping  of 
Salvator  Rosa.  The  want  of  harmony  and  union  in  the  car- 
nations of  his  females  is  a  slight  objection,  and  there  is  like- 
wise a  meagre  sheetiness  in  his  contrasts  of  chiaroscuro;  but 
these  are  all  redeemed  by  the  felicity,  execution,  and  master 
traits  distinguishable  in  his  grouping,  as  in  a  Murillo  or 
Caravaggio. 

"  But  the  work  has  another  quality,  and  though  its  leading 
one,  we  do  not  know  whether  to  censure  or  approve  it.  It  is 
an  avowed  imitation,  and  therefore  loses  part  of  its  value  if 
viewed  as  an  original  production.  On  the  other  hand,  regarded 
solely  as  an  imitation,  it  is  one  of  the  closest  and  most  success- 
ful, without  being  either  a  caricature  or  a  parody,  that  perhaps 


ever  appeared  in  any  language.  Not  only  is  the  general  man- 
ner of  Scott  ably  maintained  throughout,  but  the  very  struct- 
ure of  the  language,  the  associations,  and  the  train  of  thinking, 
appear  to  be  precisely  the  same.  It  was  once  alleged  by  some 
writers  that  it  was  impossible  to  imitate  Mr.  Scott's  style ; 
but  it  is  now  fully  proved  to  the  world  that  there  is  no  style 
more  accessible  to  imitation ;  for  it  will  be  remarked  (laying 
parodies  aside,  which  any  one  may  execute)  that  Mr.  David- 
son and  Miss  Halford,  as  well  as  Lord  Byron  and  Wordsworth, 
each  in  one  instance,  have  all,  without  we  believe  intending 
it,  imitated  him  with  considerable  closeness.  The  author 
of  the  '  Poetic  Mirror '  has  given  us  one  specimen  of  his  most 
polished  and  tender  style,  and  another,  still  more  close,  of  his 
rapid  and  careless  manner ;  but  all  of  them  fall  greatly  short  of 
the  '  Bridal  of  Triermain,'  and  the  poem  nmv  before  us.  We  are 
sure  the  author  will  laugh  heartily  in  his  sleeve  at  our  silli- 
ness and  want  of  perception,  when  we  confess  to  him  that  we 
never  could  open  either  of  these  works,  and  peruse  his  pages 
for  two  minutes  with  attention,  and  at  the  same  time  divest 
our  minds  of  the  idea  that  we  were  engaged  in  an  early  or 
experimental  work  of  that  great  master.  That  they  are  gene- 
rally inferior  to  the  works  of  Mr.  Scott  in  vigor  and  interest 
admits  not  of  dispute ;  still  they  have  many  of  his  wild  and 
softer  beauties ;  and  if  they  fail  to  be  read  and  admired,  we 
shall  not  on  that  account  think  the  better  of  the  taste  of  the 
age." — Blackwood's  Magazine,  April,  1817. 


INTRODUCTORY    REMARKS1 


popular  IPoetrg, 

AND  ON  THE 

VARIOUS   COLLECTIONS  OF   BALLADS   OF   BRITAIN,   PARTICULARLY 

THOSE   OF   SCOTLAND. 


The  Introduction  originally  prefixed  to  the  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border  was  rather  of  a  historical 
than  a  literary  nature ;  and  the  remarks  which  fol- 
low have  been  added  to  afford  the  general  reader 
some  information  upon  the  character  of  Ballad 
Poetry. 

It  would  be  throwing  away  words  to  prove,  what 
all  must  admit,  the  general  taste  and  propensity  of 
nations  in  their  early  state  to  cultivate  some  species 
of  rude  poetry.  When  the  organs  and  faculties  of  a 
primitive  race  have  developed  themselves,  each  for  its 
proper  and  necessary  use,  there  is  a  natural  tendency 
to  employ  them  in  a  more  refined  and  regulated  man- 
ner for  purposes  of  amusement.  The  savage,  after 
proving  the  activity  of  his  limbs  in  the  chase  or  the 
battle,  trains  them  to  more  measured  movements,  to 
dance  at  the  festivals  of  his  tribe,  or  to  perform  obeis- 
ance before  the  altar  of  his  deity.  From  the  same 
impulse,  he  is  disposed  to  refine  the  ordinary  speech 
which  forms  the  vehicle  of  social  communication  be- 
twixt him  and  his  brethren,  until,  by  a  more  ornate 
diction,  modulated  by  certain  rules  of  rhythm,  cadence, 
assonance  of  termination,  or  recurrence  of  sound  or 
letter,  he  obtains  a  .dialect  more  solemn  in  expression, 
to  record  the  laws  or  exploits  of  his  tribe,  or  more 
sweet  in  sound,  in  which  to  plead  his  own  cause  to 
his  mistress. 

This  primeval  poetry  must  have  one  general  cha- 
racter in  all  nations,  both  as  to  its  merits  and  its  im- 
perfections. The  earlier  poets  have  the  advantage, 
and  it  is  not  a  small  one,  of  having  the  first  choice  out 
of  the  stock  of  materials  which  are  proper  to  the  art; 
and  thus  they  compel  later  authors,  if  they  would 
avoid  slavishly  imitating  the  fathers  of  verse,  into 


1  These  remarks  were  first  appended  to  the  edition  of  the 
Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  1830.— Ed. 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott,  as  this  paragraph  intimates,  never 


various  devices,  often  more  ingenious  than  elegant, 
that  they  may  establish,  if  not  an  absolute  claim  to 
originality,  at  least  a  visible  distinction  betwixt  them- 
selves and  their  predecessors.  Thus  it  happens  that 
early  poets  almost  uniformly  display  a  bold,  rude, 
original  cast  of  genius  and  expression.  They  have 
walked  at  free  will,  and  with  unconstrained  steps, 
along  the  wilds  of  Parnassus,  while  their  followers 
move  with  constrained  gestures  and  forced  attitudes, 
in  order  to  avoid  placing  their  feet  where  their  prede- 
cessors have  stepped  before  them.  The  first  bard  who 
compared  his  hero  to  a  lion  struck  a  bold  and  con- 
genial note,  though  the  simile,  in  a  nation  of  hunters, 
be  a  very  obvious  one ;  but  every  subsequent  poet  who 
shall  use  it  must  either  struggle  hard  to  give  his  lion, 
as  heralds  say,  with  a  difference,  or  lie  under  the  im- 
putation of  being  a  servile  imitator. 

It  is  not  probable  that,  by  any  researches  of  modern 
times,  we  shall  ever  reach  back  to  an  earlier  model  of 
poetry  than  Homer;  but  as  there  lived  heroes  before 
Agamemnon,  so,  unquestionably,  poets  existed  before 
the  immortal  Bard  who  gave  the  King  of  kings  his 
fame ;  and  he  whom  all  civilized  nations  now  acknow- 
ledge as  the  Father  of  Poetry  must  have  himself 
looked  back  to  an  ancestry  of  poetical  predecessors, 
and  is  only  held  original  because  we  know  not  from 
whom  he  copied.  Indeed,  though  much  must  be  as- 
cribed to  the  riches  of  his  own  individual  genius,  the 
poetry  of  Homer  argues  a  degree  of  perfection  in 
art  which  practice  had  already  rendered  regular,  and 
concerning  which  his  frequent  mention  of  the  bards, 
or  chanters  of  poetry,  indicates  plainly  that  it  was 
studied  by  many,  and  known  and  admired  by  all.2 

It  is  indeed  easily  discovered   that  the  qualities 


doubted  that  the  "  Iliad  "  and  "  Odyssey  "  were  substantially 
the  works  of  one  and  the  same  individual.  He  said  of  the 
Wolfian  hypothesis  that  it  was  the  most  irreligious  one  he  had 
heard  of,  and  could  never  be  believed  in  by  any  poet. — Ed. 

(537) 


538 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


necessary  for  composing  such  poems  are  not  the  por- 
tion of  every  man  in  the  tribe  ;  that  the  bard,  to  reach 
excellence  in  his  art,  must  possess  something  more 
than  a  full  command  of  words  and  phrases,  and  the 
knack  of  arranging  them  in  such  form  as  ancient 
examples  have  fixed  upon  as  the  recognized  structure 
of  national  verse.  The  tribe  speedily  become  sensible 
that  besides  this  degree  of  mechanical  facility,  which 
(like  making  what  are  called  at  school  nonsense 
verses)  may  be  attained  by  dint  of  memory  and  prac- 
tice, much  higher  qualifications  are  demanded.  A 
keen  and  active  power  of  observation,  capable  of  per- 
ceiving at  a  glance  the  leading  circumstances  from 
which  the  incident  described  derives  its  character; 
quick  and  powerful  feelings,  to  enable  the  bard  to 
comprehend  and  delineate  those  of  the  actors  in  his 
piece ;  and  a  command  of  language,  alternately  soft 
and  elevated,  and  suited  to  express  the  conceptions 
which  he  had  formed  in  his  mind,  are  all  necessary 
to  eminence  in  the  poetical  art. 

Above  all,  to  attain  the  highest  point  of  his  pro- 
fession, the  poet  must  have  that  original  power  of 
embodying  and  detailing  circumstances  which  can 
place  before  the  eyes  of  others  a  scene  which  only 
exists  in  his  own  imagination.  This  last  high  and 
creative  faculty,  namely,  that  of  impressing  the  mind 
of  the  hearers  with  scenes  and  sentiments  having  no 
existence  save  through  their  art,  has  procured  for  the 
bards  of  Greece  the  term  of  IIoitjtt)?,  which,  as  it  sin- 
gularly happens,  is  literally  translated  by  the  Scottish 
epithet  for  the  same  class  of  persons,  whom  they  termed 
the  Makers.  The  French  phrase  of  Trouveurs  or 
Troubadours,  namely,  the  Finders  or  Inventors,  has 
the  same  reference  to  the  quality  of  original  concep- 
tion and  invention  proper  to  the  poetical  art,  and 
without  which  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist  to  any 
pleasing  or  useful  purpose. 

The  mere  arrangement  of  words  into  poetical  rhythm, 
or  combining  them  according  to  a  technical  rule  or 
measure,  is  so  closely  connected  with  the  art  of  music 
that  an  alliance  between  these  two  fine  arts  is  very 
soon  closely  formed.  It  is  fruitless  to  inquire  which 
of  them  has  been  first  invented,  since  doubtless  the 
precedence  is  accidental ;  and  it  signifies  little  whether 
the  musician  adapts  verses  to  a  rude  tune,  or  whether 
the  primitive  poet,  in  reciting  his  productions,  falls 
naturally  into  a  chant  or  song.  With  this  additional 
accomplishment,  the  poet  becomes  ioiSos,  or  the  man 
of  song,  and  his  character  is  complete  when  the  addi- 
tional accompaniment  of  a  lute  or  harp  is  added  to 
his  vocal  performance. 

Here,  therefore,  we  have  the  history  of  early  poetry 
in  all  nations.  But  it  is  evident  that,  though  poetry 
seems  a  plant  proper  to  almost  all  soils,  yet  not  only 
is  it  of  various  kinds,  according  to  the  climate  and 
country  in  which  it  has  its  origin,  but  the  poetry  of 

1  The  "  Pocma  del  Cid  "  (of  which  Mr.  Frere  has  translated 
some  specimens)  is,  however,  considered  by  every  historian 
of  Spanish  literature  as  the  work  of  one  hand ;  and  is  ovi- 


different  nations  differs  still  more  widely  in  the  degree 
of  excellence  which  it  attains.  This  must  depend  in 
some  measure,  no  doubt,  on  the  temper  and  manners 
of  the  people,  or  their  proximity  to  those  spirit-stirring 
events  which  are  naturally  selected  as  the  subject  of 
poetry,  and  on  the  more  comprehensive  or  energetic 
character  of  the  language  spoken  by  the  tribe.  But 
the  progress  of  the  art  is  far  more  dependent  upon 
the  rise  of  some  highly-gifted  individual,  possessing 
in  a  pre-eminent  and  uncommon  degree  the  powers 
demanded,  whose  talents  influence  the  taste  of  a  whole 
nation,  and  entail  on  their  posterity  and  language  a 
character  almost  indelibly  sacred.  In  this  respect 
Homer  stands  alone  and  unrivalled,  as  a  light  from 
whose  lamp  the  genius  of  successive  ages  and  of  dis- 
tant nations  has  caught  fire  and  illumination ;  and 
who,  though  the  early  poet  of  a  rude  age,  has  pur- 
chased for  the  era  he  has  celebrated  so  much  rever- 
ence that,  not  daring  to  bestow  on  it  the  term  of 
barbarous,  we  distinguish  it  as  the  heroic  period. 

No  other  poet  (sacred  and  inspired  authors  excepted) 
ever  did  or  ever  will  possess  the  same  influence  over 
posterity,  in  so  many  distant  lands,  as  has  been  ac- 
quired by  the  blind  old  man  of  Chios ;  yet  we  are  as- 
sured that  his  works,  collected  by  the  pious  care  of 
Pisistratus,  who  caused  to  be  united  into  their  present 
form  those  divine  poems,  would  otherwise,  if  preserved 
at  all,  have  appeared  to  succeeding  generations  in  the 
humble  state  of  a  collection  of  detached  ballads,  con- 
nected only  as  referring  to  the  same  age,  the  same 
general  subjects,  and  the  same  cycle  of  heroes,  like 
the  metrical  poems  of  the  Cid  in  Spain1  or  of  Robin 
Hood  in  England. 

In  other  countries,  less  favored  either  in  language 
or  in  picturesque  incident,  it  cannot  be  supposed  that 
even  the  genius  of  Homer  could  have  soared  to  such 
exclusive  eminence,  since  he  must  at  once  have  been 
deprived  of  the  subjects  and  themes  so  well  adapted 
for  his  muse,  and  of  the  lofty,  melodious,  and  flexible 
language  in  which  he  recorded  them.  Other  nations, 
during  the  formation  of  their  ancient  poetry,  wanted 
the  genius  of  Homer,  as  well  as  his  picturesque  scenery 
and  lofty  language.  Yet  the  investigation  of  the  early 
poetry  of  every  nation,  even  the  rudest,  carries  with 
it  an  object  of  curiosity  and  interest.  It  is  a  chapter 
in  the  history  of  the  childhood  of  society,  and  its  re- 
semblance to,  or  dissimilarity  from,  the  popular  rhymes 
of  other  nations  in  the  same  stage,  must  needs  illus- 
trate the  ancient  history  of  states;  their  slower  or 
swifter  progress  towards  civilization ;  their  gradual  or 
more  rapid  adoption  of  manners,  sentiments,  and 
religion.  The  study,  therefore,  of  lays  rescued  from 
the  gulf  of  oblivion  must  in  every  case  possess  con- 
siderable interest  for  the  moral  philosopher  and 
general  historian. 

The  historian  of  an  individual  nation  is  equally  or 

dentlymore  ancient  than  the  detached  ballads  on  the  Adven- 
tures of  the  Campeador,  which  are  included  in  the  Cancion- 
eros. — Ed. 


INTRODUCTORY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


539 


more  deeply  interested  in  the  researches  into  popular 
poetry,  since  he  must  not  disdain  to  gather  from  the 
tradition  conveyed  in  ancient  ditties  and  ballads  the 
information  necessary  to  confirm  or  correct  intelli- 
gence collected  from  more  certain  sources.  And 
although  the  poets  were  a  fabling  race  from  the  very 
beginning  of  time,  and  so  much  addicted  to  exagge- 
ration that  their  accounts  are  seldom  to  be  relied  on 
without  corroborative  evidence,  yet  instances  fre- 
quently occur  where  the  statements  of  poetical  tra- 
dition are  unexpectedly  confirmed. 

To  the  lovers  and  admirers  of  poetry  as  an  art,  it 
cannot  be  uninteresting  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the 
National  Muse  in  her  cradle,  or  to  hear  her  babbling 
the  earliest  attempts  at  the  formation  of  the  tuneful 
sounds  with  which  she  was  afterwards  to  charm  pos- 
terity. And  I  may  venture  to  add  that  among  po- 
etry, which,  however  rude,  was  a  gift  of  Nature's 
first  fruits,  even  a  reader  of  refined  taste  will  find  his 
patience  'rewarded  by  passages  in  which  the  rude 
minstrel  rises  into  sublimity  or  melts  into  pathos. 
These  were  the  merits  which  induced  the  classical 
Addison1  to  write  an  elaborate  commentary  upon 
the  ballad  of  "  Chevy  Chase,"  and  which  roused,  like 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet,  the  heroic  blood  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney.2 

It  is  true  that  passages  of  this  high  character  sel- 
dom occur ;  for,  during  the  infancy  of  the  art  of 
poetry,  the  bards  have  been  generally  satisfied  with  a 
rude  and  careless  expression  of  their  sentiments ;  and 
even  when  a  more  felicitous  expression,  or  loftier 
numbers,  have  been  dictated  by  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
composition,  the  advantage  came  unsought  for,  and 
perhaps  unnoticed,  either  by  the  minstrel  or  the 
audience. 

Another  cause  contributed  to  the  tenuity  of  thought 
and  poverty  of  expression  by  which  old  ballads  are 
too  often  distinguished.  The  apparent  simplicity  of 
the  ballad  stanza  carried  with  it  a  strong  temptation 
to  loose  and  trivial  composition.  The  collection  of 
rhymes  accumulated  by  the  earliest  of  the  craft  ap- 
pear to  have  been  considered  as  forming  a  joint  stock 
for  the  common  use  of  the  profession ;  and  not  mere 
rhymes  only,  but  verses  and  stanzas,  have  been  used 
as  common  property,  so  as  to  give  an  appearance  of 
sameness  and  crudity  to  the  whole  series  of  popular 
poetry.  Such,  for  instance,  is  the  salutation  so  often 
repeated,— 

"Now  Heaven  thee  save,  thou  brave  young  knight, 
Now  Heaven  thee  save  and  see." 

And  such  the  usual  expression  for  taking  counsel 
with, — 

"  Rede  me,  rede  me,  brother  dear, 

My  rede  shall  rise  at  thee." 

1  See  the  Spectator,  Nos.  70  and  74. 

2  "  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percie  and  Douglas,  that 
I  found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than  with  the  sound  of  a 
trumpet ;  and  yet  it  is  sung  but  by  some  blind  crowder,  with 
no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style." — Sidney. 


Such  also  is  the  unvaried  account  of  the  rose  and 
the  brier,  which  are  said  to  spring  out  of  the  grave  of 
the  hero  and  heroine  of  these  metrical  legends,  with 
little  effort  at  a  variation  of  the  expressions  in  which 
the  incident  is  prescriptively  told.  The  least  acquain- 
tance with  the  subject  will  recall  a  great  number  of 
commonplace  verses,  which  each  ballad-maker  has 
unceremoniously  appropriated  to  himself;  thereby 
greatly  facilitating  his  own  task,  and  at  the  same 
time  degrading  his  art  by  his  slovenly  use  of  over- 
scutched  phrases.  From  the  same  indolence,  the 
ballad-mongers  of  most  nations  have  availed  them- 
selves of  every  opportunity  of  prolonging  their  pieces, 
of  the  same  kind,  without  the  labor  of  actual  com- 
position. If  a  message  is  to  be  delivered,  the  poet 
saves  himself  a  little  trouble  by  using  exactly  the 
same  words  in  which  it  was  originally  couched,  to 
secure  its  being  transmitted  to  the  person  for  whose 
ear  it  was  intended.  The  bards  of  ruder  climes  and 
less  favored  languages  may  indeed  claim  the  coun- 
tenance of  Homer  for  such  repetitions ;  but  whilst,  in 
the  Father  of  Poetry,  they  give  the  reader  an  oppor- 
tunity to  pause  and  look  back  upon  the  enchanted 
ground  over  which  they  have  travelled,  they  afford 
nothing  to  the  modern  bard,  save  facilitating  the 
power  of  stupefying  the  audience  with  stanzas  of  dull 
and  tedious  iteration. 

Another  cause  of  the  flatness  and  insipidity  which 
is  the  great  imperfection  of  ballad  poetry  is  to  be 
ascribed  less  to  the  compositions  in  their  original 
state,  when  rehearsed  by  their  authors,  than  to  the 
ignorance  and  errors  of  the  reciters  or  transcribers 
by  whom  they  have  been  transmitted  to  us.  The 
more  popular  the  composition  of  an  ancient  poet  or 
Maker  became,  the  greater  chance  there  was  of  its 
being  corrupted;  for  a  poem  transmitted  through  a 
number  of  reciters,  like  a  book  reprinted  in  a  multi- 
tude of  editions,  incurs  the  risk  of  impertinent  inter- 
polations from  the  conceit  of  one  rehearser,  unintel- 
ligible blunders  from  the  stupidity  of  another,  and 
omissions  equally  to  be  regretted  from  the  want  of 
memory  in  a  third.  This  sort  of  injury  is  felt  very 
early,  and  the  reader  will  find  a  curious  instance  in 
the  Introduction  to  the  romance  of  "  Sir  Tristrem." 
Robert  de  Brunne  there  complains  that  though  the 
romance  of  "Sir  Tristrem"  was  the  best  which  had 
ever  been  made,  if  it  could  be  recited  as  composed  by 
the  author,  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  yet  that  it  was 
written  in  such  an  ornate  style  of  language,  and  such 
a  difficult  strain  of  versification,  as  to  lose  all  value 
in  the  mouths  of  ordinary  minstrels,  who  could 
scarcely  repeat  one  stanza  without  omitting  some 
part  of  it,  and  marring,  consequently,  both  the  sense 
and  the  rhythm  of  the  passage.3    This  deterioration 

3  "  That  thou  may  hear  in  Sir  Tristrem : 
Over  gestes  it  has  the  steem, 
Over  all  that  is  or  was, 
If  men  it  sayd  as  made  Thomas ; 
But  I  hear  it  no  man  so  say — 
But  of  some  copple  some  is  away,"  &c. 


540 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


could  not  be  limited  to  one  author  alone ;  others  must 
have  suffered  from  the  same  cause,  in  the  same  or  a 
greater  degree.  Nay,  we  are  authorized  to  conclude 
that  in  proportion  to  the  care  bestowed  by  the  author 
upon  any  poem,  to  attain  what  his  age  might  suppose 
to  be  the  highest  graces  of  poetry,  the  greater  was 
the  damage  which  it  sustained  by  the  inaccuracy  of 
reciters,  or  their  desire  to  humble  both  the  sense  and 
diction  of  the  poem  to  their  powers  of  recollection 
and  the  comprehension  of  a  vulgar  audience.  It  can- 
not be  expected  that  compositions  subjected  in  this 
way  to  mutilation  and  corruption  should  continue  to 
present  their  original  sense  or  diction ;  and  the  accu- 
racy of  our  editions  of  popular  poetry,  unless  in  the 
rare  event  of  recovering  original  or  early  copies,  is 
lessened  in  proportion. 

But  the  chance  of  these  corruptions  is  incalculably 
increased  when  we  consider  that  the  ballads  have 
been,  not  in  one  but  innumerable  instances  of 
transmission,  liable  to  similar  alterations  through  a 
long  course  of  centuries,  during  which  they  have 
been  handed  from  one  ignorant  reciter  to  another, 
each  discarding  whatever  original  words  or  phrases 
time  or  fashion  had,  in  his  opinion,  rendered  obsolete, 
and  substituting  anachronisms  by  expressions  taken 
from  the  customs  of  his  own  day.  And  here  it  may 
be  remarked  that  the  desire  of  the  reciter  to  be  in- 
telligible, however  natural  and  laudable,  has  been 
one  of  the  greatest  causes  of  the  deterioration  of  an- 
cient poetry.  The  minstrel  who  endeavored  to  recite 
with  fidelity  the  words  of  the  author  might  indeed 
fall  into  errors  of  sound  and  sense,  and  substitute  cor- 
ruptions for  words  he  did  not  understand.  But  the 
ingenuity  of  a  skillful  critic  could  often,  in  that  case, 
revive  and  restore  the  original  meaning ;  while  the 
corrupted  words  became,  in  such  cases,  a  warrant  for 
the  authenticity  of  the  whole  poem.1 

In  general,  however,  the  later  reciters  appear  to 
have  been  far  less  desirous  to  speak  the  author's  words 
than  to  introduce  amendments  and  new  readings  of 
their  own,  which  have  always  produced  the  effect  of 
modernizing,  and  usually  that  of  degrading  and  vul- 
garizing, the  rugged  sense  and  spirit  of  the  antique 
minstrel.  Thus  undergoing  from  age  to  age  a  gradual 
process  of  alteration  and  recomposition,  our  popular 
and  oral  minstrelsy  has  lost,  in  a  great  measure,  its 
original  appearance ;  and  the  strong  touches  by  which 
it  had  been  formerly  characterized  have  been  generally 
smoothed  down  and  destroyed  by  a  process  similar  to 
that  by  which  a  coin,  passing  from  hand  to  hand,  loses 
in  circulation  all  the  finer  marks  of  the  impress. 

The  very  fine  ballad  of  "  Chevy  Chase"  is  an  example 

1  An  instance  occurs  in  the  valuable  old  ballad  called  "  Auld 
Maitland."  The  reciter  repeated  a  verse,  descriptive  of  the 
defence  of  a  castle,  thus : 

"  With  spring-wall,  stanes  and  goads  of  aim 
Among  them  fast  he  threw." 

Spring-wall  is  a  corruption  of  springald,  a  military  engine 


of  this  degrading  species  of  alchemy,  by  which  the  ore 
of  antiquity  is  deteriorated  and  adulterated.  While 
Addison,  in  an  age  which  had  never  attended  to  popu- 
lar poetry,  wrote  his  classical  criticism  on  that  ballad, 
he  naturally  took  for  his  text  the  ordinary  stall-copy, 
although  he  might  and  ought  to  have  suspected  that 
a  ditty  couched  in  the  language  nearly  of  his  own 
time  could  not  be  the  same  with  that  which  Sir  Phil- 
ip Sidney,  more  than  one  hundred  years  before,  had 
spoken  of  as  being  "  evil  apparelled  in  the  dust  and 
cobwebs  of  an  uncivilized  age."  The  venerable  Bishop 
Percy  was  the  first  to  correct  this  mistake,  by  produ- 
cing a  copy  of  the  song,  as  old  at  least  as  the  reign  of 
Henry  VII.,  bearing  the  name  of  the  author  or  tran- 
scriber, Richard  Sheale.2  But  even  the  reverend  ed- 
itor himself  fell  under  the  mistake  of  supposing  the 
modern  "  Chevy  Chase"  to  be  a  new  copy  of  the  origi- 
nal ballad,  expressly  modernized  by  some  one  later 
bard.  On  the  contrary,  the  current  version  is  now 
universally  allowed  to  have  been  produced  by  the 
gradual  alterations  of  numerous  reciters,  during  two 
centuries,  in  the  course  of  which  the  ballad  has  been 
gradually  moulded  into  a  composition  bearing  only  a 
general  resemblance  to  the  original — expressing  the 
same  events  and  sentiments  in  much  smoother  lan- 
guage, and  more  flowing  and  easy  versification ;  but 
losing  in  poetical  fire  and  energy,  and  in  the  vigor  and 
pithiness  of  the  expression,  a  great  deal  more  than  it 
has  gained  in  suavity  of  diction.    Thus — 

"  The  Percy  owt  of  Northumberland, 

And  a  vowe  to  God  mayd  he, 
That  he  wolde  hunte  in  the  mountayns 

Off  Cheviot  within  dayes  thre, 
In  the  mauger  of  doughty  Dougles, 

And  all  that  ever  with  him  be," 

becomes 

"  The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make, 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods 

Three  summer  days  to  take,"  &c. 

From  this  and  other  examples  of  the  same  kind, 
of  which  many  might  be  quoted,  we  must  often  ex- 
pect to  find  the  remains  of  minstrel  poetry,  composed 
originally  for  the  courts  of  princes  and  halls  of  nobles, 
disguised  in  the  more  modern  and  vulgar  dialect  in 
which  they  have  been  of  late  sung  to  the  frequenters 
of  the  rustic  ale-bench.  It  is  unnecessary  to  mention 
more  than  one  other  remarkable  and  humbling  in- 
stance, printed  in  the  curious  collection  entitled  a 
Ballad-Book,  where  we  find,  in  the  words  of  the  in- 
genious editor,3  a  stupid  ballad,  printed  as  it  was  sung 

for  casting  darts  or  stones ;  the  restoration  of  which  reading 
gives  a  precise  and  clear  sense  to  the  lines. 

2  See  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  i.  p.  2. 

»  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  Esq.  The  Ballad-Book  was 
printed  in  1823,  and  inscribed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott;  the  im. 
pression  consisting  of  only  thirty  copies. 


INTRODUCTORY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


541 


in  Annaudale,  founded  on  the  well-known  story  of  the 
Prince  of  Salerno's  daughter,  but  with  the  uncouth 
change  of  Dysmal  for  Ghismonda,  and  Guiscard  trans- 
formed into  a  greasy  kitchen-hoy. 

"  To  what  base  uses  may  we  not  return  I" 

Sometimes  a  still  more  material  and  systematic  differ- 
ence appears  between  the  poems  of  antiquity  as  they 
were  originally  composed  and  as  they  now  exist.  This 
occurs  in  cases  where  the  longer  metrical  romances, 
which  were  in  fashion  during  the  middle  ages,  were 
reduced  to  shorter  compositions,  in  order  that  they 
might  be  chanted  before  an  inferior  audience.  A 
ballad,  for  example,  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  and 
his  intrigues  with  the  Queen  of  Faery-land,  is,  or  has 
been,  long  current  in  Teviotdale  and  other  parts  of 
Scotland.  Two  ancient  copies  of  a  poem  or  romance 
on  the  same  subject,  and  containing  very  often  the 
same  words  and  turns  of  expression,  are  preserved  in 
the  libraries  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln  and  Peter- 
borough. We  are  left  to  conjecture  whether  the 
originals  of  such  ballads  have  been  gradually  con- 
tracted into  their  modern  shape  by  the  impatience  of 
later  audiences,  combined  with  the  lack  of  memory 
displayed  by  more  modern  reciters,  or  whether,  in 
particular  cases,  some  ballad-maker  may  have  actually 
set  himself  to  work  to  retrench  the  old  details  of  the 
minstrels,  and  regularly  and  systematically  to  mod- 
ernize, and,  if  the  phrase  be  permitted,  to  balladize, 
a  metrical  romance.  We  are  assured,  however,  that 
"Roswal  and  Lilian"  was  sung  through  the  streets 
of  Edinburgh  two  generations  since ;  and  we  know 
that  the  romance  of  "  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir 
Greysteil"1  had  also  its  own  particular  chant  or  tune. 
The  stall-copies  of  both  these  romances,  as  they  now 
exist,  are  very  much  abbreviated,  and  probably  ex- 
hibit them  when  they  were  undergoing,  or  had  nearly 
undergone,  the  process  of  being  cut  down  into  bal- 
lads. 

Taking  into  consideration  the  various  indirect  chan- 
nels by  which  the  popular  poetry  of  our  ancestors  has 
been  transmitted  to  their  posterity,  it  is  nothing  sur- 
prising that  it  should  reach  us  in  a  mutilated  and  de- 
graded state,  and  that  it  should  little  correspond  with 
the  ideas  we  are  apt  to  form  of  the  first  productions 
of  national  genius ;  nay,  it  is  more  to  be  wondered  at 
that  we  possess  so  many  ballads  of  considerable  merit, 
than  that  the  much  greater  number  of  them  which 
must  have  once  existed  should  have  perished  before 
our  time. 

Having  given  this  brief  account  of  ballad  poetry  in 
general,  the  purpose  of  the  present  prefatory  remarks 


1  These  two  ancient  romances  are  reprinted  in  a  volume 
of  Early  Metrical  Tales,  edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  Edin- 
burgh, 1826,  small  8vo.    Only  175  copies  printed. 

*  The  author  seems  .to  have  latterly  modified  his  original 
opinion  on  some  parts  of  this  subject.  In  his  reviewal  of 
Mr.  P.  F.  Tytler's  History  of  Scotland  (Quart.  Rev.  vol.  xli.  p. 
328),  he  says,  speaking  of  the  period  of  the  final  subjugation 


will  be  accomplished  by  shortly  noticing  the  popular 
poetry  of  Scotland,  and  some  of  the  efforts  which  have 
been  made  to  collect  and  illustrate  it. 

It  is  now  generally  admitted  that  the  Scots  and  Picts, 
however  differing  otherwise,  were  each  by  descent  a 
Celtic  race  ;  that  they  advanced  in  a  course  of  victory 
somewhat  farther  than  the  present  frontier  between 
England  and  Scotland,  and  about  the  end  of  the 
eleventh  century  subdued  and  rendered  tributary  the 
Britons  of  Strathcluyd,  who  were  also  a  Celtic  race 
like  themselves.  Excepting,  therefore,  the  provinces 
of  Berwickshire  and  the  Lothians,  which  were  chiefly 
inhabited  by  an  Anglo-Saxon  population,  the  whole 
of  Scotland  was  peopled  by  different  tribes  of  the 
same  aboriginal  race,2 — a  race  passionately  addicted 
to  music,  as  appears  from  the  kindred  Celtic  nations 
of  Irish,  Welsh,  and  Scottish,  preserving  each  to  this 
day  a  style  and  character  of  music  peculiar  to  their 
own  country,  though  all  three  bear  marks  of  general 
resemblance  to  each  other.  That  of  Scotland,  in  par- 
ticular, is  early  noticed  and  extolled  by  ancient  au- 
thors, and  its  remains,  to  which  the  natives  are  pas- 
sionately attached,  are  still  found  to  afford  pleasure 
even  to  those  who  cultivate  the  art  upon  a  more  re- 
fined and  varied  system. 

This  skill  in  music  did  not,  of  course,  exist  without 
a  corresponding  degree  of  talent  for  a  species  of  poetry 
adapted  to  the  habits  of  the  country,  celebrating  the 
victories  of  triumphant  clans,  pouring  forth  lamenta- 
tions over  fallen  heroes,  and  recording  such  marvel- 
lous adventures  as  were  calculated  to  amuse  indi- 
vidual families  around  their  household  fires,  or  the 
whole  tribe  when  regaling  in  the  hall  of  the  chief.  It 
happened,  however,  singularly  enough,  that  while  the 
music  continued  to  be  Celtic  in  its  general  measure, 
the  language  of  Scotland,  most  commonly  spoken,  be- 
gan to  be  that  of  their  neighbors  the  English,  intro- 
duced by  the  multitude  of  Saxons  who  thronged  to 
the  court  of  Malcolm  Canmore  and  his  successors ; 
by  the  crowds  of  prisoners  of  war  whom  the  repeated 
ravages  of  the  Scots  in  Northumberland  carried  off  as 
slaves  to  their  country;  by  the  influence  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  richest  and  most  populous  provinces  in 
Scotland — Berwickshire,  namely,  and  the  Lothians — 
over  the  more  mountainous ;  lastly,  by  the  superiority 
which  a  language  like  the  Anglo-Saxon,  considerably 
refined,  long  since  reduced  to  writing,  and  capable  of 
expressing  the  wants,  wishes,  and  sentiments  of  the 
speakers,  must  have  possessed  over  the  jargon  of  va- 
rious tribes  of  Irish  and  British  origin,  limited  and 
contracted  in  every  varying  dialect,  and  differing,  at 
the  same  time,  from  each  other.    This  suf>eriority  being 


of  the  Picts,  "  It  would  appear  the  Scandinavians  had  colonies 
along  the  fertile  shores  of  Moray,  and  among  the  mountains 
of  Sutherland,  whose  name  speaks  for  itself  that  it  was  given 
by  the  Norwegians ;  and  probably  they  had  also  settlements 
in  Caithness  and  the  Orcades."  In  this  essay,  however,  he 
adheres  in  the  main  to  his  anti-Pinkertonian  doctrine,  and 
treats  the  Picts  as  Celts.— Ed. 


542 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


considered,  and  a  fair  length  of  time  being  allowed, 
it  is  no  wonder  that,  while  the  Scottish  people  retained 
theii  Celtic  music  and  many  of  their  Celtic  customs, 
together  with  their  Celtic  dynasty,  they  should  never- 
theless have  adopted,  throughout  the  Lowlands,  the 
Saxon  language,  while  in  the  Highlands  they  retained 
the  Celtic  dialect,  along  with  the  dress,  arms,  man- 
ners, and  government  of  their  fathers. 

There  was,  for  a  time,  a  solemn  national  recogni- 
zance that  the  Saxon  language  and  poetry  had  not 
originally  been  that  of  the  royal  family.  For,  at  the 
coronations  of  the  kings  of  Scotland,  previous  to  Alex- 
ander III.,  it  was  a  part  of  the  solemnity  that  a  Celtic 
bard  stepped  forth,  so  soon  as  the  king  assumed  his 
seat  upon  the  fated  stone,  and  recited  the  genealogy 
of  the  monarch  in  Celtic  verse,  setting  forth  his  de- 
scent, and  the  right  which  he  hail  by  birth  to  occupy 
the  place  of  sovereignty.  For  a  time,  no  doubt,  the 
Celtic  songs  and  poems  remained  current  in  the  Low- 
lands, while  any  remnant  of  the  language  yet  lasted. 
The  Gaelic  or  Irish  bards,  we  are  also  aware,  occa- 
sionally strolled  into  the  Lowlands,  where  their  music 
might  be  received  with  favor,  even  after  their  recita- 
tion was  no  longer  understood.  But  though  these 
aboriginal  poets  showed  themselves  at  festivals  and 
other  places  of  public  resort,  it  does  not  appear  that, 
as  in  Homer's  time,  they  were  honored  with  high 
places  at  the  board  and  savory  morsels  of  the  chine ; 
but  they  seem  rather  to  have  been  accounted  fit  com- 
pany for  the  feigned  fools  and  sturdy  beggars  with 
whom  they  were  ranked  by  a  Scottish  statute.1 

Time  was  necessary  wholly  to  eradicate  one  lan- 
guage and  introduce  another;  but  it  is  remarkably 
that  at  the  death  of  Alexander  III.,  the  last  Scottish 
king  of  the  pure  Celtic  race,  the  popular  lament 
for  his  death  was  composed  in  Scoto-English,  and, 
though  closely  resembling  the  modern  dialect,  is  the 
earliest  example  we  have  of  that  language,  whether 
in  prose  or  poetry.2  About  the  same  time  flourished 
the  celebrated  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  whose  poem, 
written  in  English  or  Lowland  Scottish,  with  the 
most  anxious  attention  both  to  versification  and  allit- 
eration, forms,  even  as  it  now  exists,  a  very  curious 
specimen  of  the  early  romance.  Such  complicated 
construction  was  greatly  too  concise  for  the  public 
ear,  which  is  best  amused  by  a  looser  diction,  in  which 
numerous  repetitions  and  prolonged  descriptions  en- 
able  the  comprehension  of  the  audience  to  keep  up 
with  the  voice  of  the  singer  or  reciter,  and  supply 
the  gaps  which  in  general  must  have  taken  place, 
either  through  a  failure  of  attention  in  the  hearers 
or  of  voice  and  distinct  enunciation  on  the  part  of 
the  minstrel. 

1  A  curious  account  of  the  reception  of  an  Irish  or  Celtic 
bard  at  a  festival  is  given  in  Sir  John  Holland's  Buke  of  the 
HoiUat,  Bannatyne  edition,  p.  liii. 

2  "  Whan  Alexander  our  king  was  ded, 

Wha  Scotland  led  in  love  and  lee, 
Away  was  sons  of  ale  and  bred, 
Of  wine  and  wax  of  game  and  glee,"  Ac. 


The  usual  stanza  which  was  selected  as  the  most 
natural  to  the  language  and  the  sweetest  to  the  ear, 
alter  the  complex  system  of  the  more  courtly  meas- 
ures, used  by  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  was  laid  aside, 
was  that  which,  when  originally  introduced,  we  very 
often  find  arranged  in  two  lines,  thus : — 

"Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed,  most  like  a  baron 

bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company,  whose  armor  shone  like 

gold;" 

but  which,  after  being  divided  into  four,  constitutes 
what  is  now  generally  called  the  ballad  stanza, — 

Earl  Douglas  on  his  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold, 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company, 

Whose  armor  shone  like  gold." 

The  breaking  of  the  lines  contains  a  plainer  inti- 
mation how  the  stanza  ought  to  be  read  than  every 
one  could  gather  from  the  original  mode  of  writing 
out  the  poem,  where  the  position  of  the  caesura,  or  in- 
flection of  voice,  is  left  to  the  individual's  own  taste. 
This  was  sometimes  exchanged  for  a  stanza  of  six 
lines,  the  third  and  sixth  rhyming  together.  For 
works  of  more  importance  and  pretension,  a  more 
complicated  versification  was  still  retained,  and  may 
be  found  in  the  tale  of  "  Ralph  Coilzear,"3  the 
"Adventures  of  Arthur  at  the  Tarn-Wathelyn,"  "Sir 
Gawain  and  Sir  Gologras,"  and  other  scarce  romances. 
A  specimen  of  this  structure  of  verse  has  been  handed 
down  to  our  times  in  the  stanza  of  "  Christ  Kirk  on 
the  Green,"  transmitted  by  King  James  I.  to  Allan 
Ramsay  and  to  Burns.  The  excessive  passion  for 
alliteration  which  formed  a  rule  of  the  Saxon  poetry 
was  also  retained  in  the  Scottish  poems  of  a  more 
elevated  character,  though  the  more  ordinary  min- 
strels and  ballad-makers  threw  off  the  restraint. 

The  varieties  of  stanza  thus  adopted  for  popular 
poetry  were  not,  we  may  easily  suppose,  left  long  un- 
employed. In  frontier  regions,  where  men  are  con- 
tinually engaged  in  active  enterprise,  betwixt  the  task 
of  defending  themselves  and  annoying  their  neigh- 
bors, they  may  be  said  to  live  in  an  atmosphere  of 
danger,  the  excitation  of  which  is  peculiarly  favor- 
able to  the  encouragement  of  poetry.  Hence  the  ex- 
pressions of  Lesley  the  historian,  quoted  in  the  follow- 
ing Introduction,4  in  which  he  paints  the  delight  taken 
by  the  Borderers  in  their  peculiar  species  of  music, 
and  the  rhyming  ballads  in  which  they  celebrated  the 
feats  of  their  ancestors,  or  recorded  their  own  ingeni- 
ous stratagems  in  predatory  warfare.  In  the  same 
Introduction  the  reader  will  find  the  reasons  alleged 
why  the  taste  for  song  was  and  must  have  been  longer 

3  This  and  most  of  the  other  romances  here  referred  to 
may  be  found  reprinted  in  a  volume  entitled  Select  Remains 
of  the  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scotland  (Edin.  1822.  Small 
4to).  Edited  by  Mr.  David  Laing,  and  inscribed  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott. 

4  See  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  vol.  i.  p.  213. 


INTRODUCTOEY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


543 


preserved  on  the  Border  than  in  the  interior  of  the 
country. 

Having  thus  made  some  remarks  on  early  poetry 
in  general,  and  on  that  of  Scotland  in  particular,  the 
editor's  purpose  is  to  mention  the  fate  of  some  pre- 
vious attempts  to  collect  ballad  poetry,  and  the  prin- 
ciples of  selection  and  publication  which  have  been 
adopted  by  various  editors  of  learning  and  informa- 
tion ;  and  although  the  present  work  chiefly  regards 
the  ballads  of  Scotland,  yet  the  investigation  must 
necessarily  include  some  of  the  principal  collections 
among  the  English  also. 

Of  manuscript  records  of  ancient  ballads,  very  few 
have  been  yet  discovered.  It  is  probable  that  the 
minstrels,  seldom  knowing  either  how  to  read  or 
write,  trusted  to  their  well-exercised  memories.  Nor 
was  it  a  difficult  task  to  acquire  a  sufficient  stock  in 
trade  for  their  purpose,  since  the  editor  has  not  only 
known  many  persons  capable  of  retaining  a  very  large 
collection  of  legendary  lore  of  this  kind,  but  there  was 
a  period  in  his  own  life  when  a  memory  that  ought  to 
have  been  charged  with  more  valuable  matter  en- 
abled him  to  recollect  as  many  of  these  old  songs  as 
would  have  occupied  several  days  in  the  recitation. 

The  press,  however,  at  length  superseded  the  ne- 
cessity of  such  exertions  of  recollection,  and  sheafs  of 
ballads  issued  from  it  weekly,  for  the  amusement  of 
the  sojourners  at  the  alehouse,  and  the  lovers  of  po- 
etry in  grange  and  hall,  where  such  of  the  audience 
as  could  not  read  had  at  least  read  unto  them.  These 
fugitive  leaves,  generally  printed  upon  broadsides,  or 
in  small  miscellanies  called  Garlands,  and  circulating 
amongst  persons  of  loose  or  careless  habits — so  far 
as  books  were  concerned — were  subject  to  destruction 
from  many  causes ;  and  as  the  editions  in  the  early 
age  of  printing  were  probably  much  limited,  even 
those  published  as  chap-books  in  the  early  part  of  the 
eighteenth  century  are  rarely  met  with. 

Some  persons,  however,  seem  to  have  had  what 
their  contemporaries  probably  thought  the  bizarre 
taste  of  gathering  and  preserving  collections  of  this 
fugitive  poetry.  Hence  the  great  body  of  ballads  in 
the  Pepysian  collection  at  Cambridge,  made  by  that 
Secretary  Pepys  whose  Diary  is  so  very  amusing; 
and  hence  the  still  more  valuable  deposit,  in  three 
volumes  folio,  in  which  the  late  Duke  John  of  Rox- 
burghe  took  so  much  pleasure  that  he  was  often 
found  enlarging  it  with  fresh  acquisitions,  which  he 
pasted  in  and  registered  with  his  own  hand. 

The  first  attempt,  however,  to  reprint  a  collection 
of  ballads  for  a  class  of  readers  distinct  from  those 
for  whose  use  the  stall-copies  were  intended  was  that 


1  A  Collection  of  Old  Ballads,  collected  from  (lie  best  and  most 
ancient  Copies  extant,  with  Introductions,  Historical  and  Critical, 
illustrated  with  copperplates.  This  anonymous  collection,  first 
published  in  1723,  was  so  well  received  that  it  soon  passed  to 
a  second  edition,  and  two  more  volumes  were  added  in  1723 
and  1725.  The  third  edition  of  the  first  volume  is  dated 
1727.— Ed. 


of  an  anonymous  editor  of  three  duodecimo  volumes 
which  appeared  in  London,  with  engravings.  These 
volumes  came  out  in  various  years,  in  the  beginning 
of  the  eighteenth  century.1  The  editor  writes  with 
some  flippancy,  but  with  the  air  of  a  person  superior 
to  the  ordinary  drudgery  of  a  mere  collector.  His  work 
appears  to  have  been  got  up  at  considerable  expense, 
and  the  general  introductions  and  historical  illustra- 
tions which  are  prefixed  to  the  various  ballads  are 
written  with  an  accuracy  of  which  such  a  subject  had 
not  till  then  been  deemed  worthy.  The  principal  part 
of  the  collection  consists  of  stall-ballads,  neither  pos- 
sessing much  poetical  merit  nor  any  particular  rarity 
or  curiosity.  Still  this  original  Miscellany  holds  a 
considerable  value  amongst  collectors ;  and  as  the  three 
volumes— being  published  at  different  times— are  sel- 
dom found  together,  they  sell  for  a  high  price  when 
complete. 

We  may  now  turn  our  eyes  to  Scotland,  where  the 
facility  of  the  dialect,  which  cuts  off  the  consonants 
in  the  termination  of  the  words,  so  as  greatly  to  sim- 
plify the  task  of  rhyming,  and  the  habits,  dispositions 
and  manners  of  the  people,  were  of  old  so  favorable 
to  the  composition  of  ballad  poetry  that,  had  the  Scot- 
tish songs  been  preserved,  there  is  no  doubt  a  very 
curious  history  might  have  been  composed  by  means 
of  minstrelsy  only,  from  the  reign  of  Alexander  III. 
in  1285  down  to  the  close  of  the  Civil  Wars  in  1745. 
That  materials  for  such  a  collection  existed  cannot  be 
disputed,  since  the  Scottish  historians  often  refer  to  old 
ballads  as  authorities  for  general  tradition.  But  their 
regular  preservation  was  not  to  be  hoped  for  or  expect- 
ed. Successive  garlands  of  song  sprung,  flourished, 
faded,  and  were  forgotten,  in  their  turn ;  and  the  names 
of  a  few  specimens  are  only  preserved  to  show  us  how 
abundant  the  display  of  these  wild  flowers  had  been. 

Like  the  natural  free  gifts  of  Flora,  these  poetical 
garlands  can  only  be  successfully  sought  for  where 
the  land  is  uncultivated  ;  and  civilization  and  increase 
of  learning  are  sure  to  banish  them,  as  the  plough  of 
the  agriculturist  bears  down  the  mountain  daisy.  Yet 
it  is  to  be  recorded  with  some  interest  that  the  ear- 
liest surviving  specimen  of  the  Scottish  press  is  a 
Miscellany  of  Myllar  and  Chepman,2  which  preserves 
a  considerable  fund  of  Scottish  popular  poetiy,  and 
among  other  things,  no  bad  specimen  of  the  gests  of 
Robin  Hood,  "  the  English  ballad-maker's  joy,"  and 
whose  renown  seems  to  have  been  as  freshly  preserved 
in  the  north  as  on  the  southern  shores  of  the  Tweed. 
There  were  probably  several  collections  of  Scottish 
ballads  and  metrical  pieces  during  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury.    A  very  fine  one,  belonging  to  Lord  Montagu, 


2  A  facsimile  reprint,  in  black  letter,  of  the  Original  Tracts 
which  issued  from  the  press  of  Walter  Chepman  and  Andro 
Myllar  at  Edinburgh,  in  the  year  1508,  was  published  under 
the  title  of  The  Knightly  Tale  of  Golagrvs  and  Qaivane,  and 
other  Ancient,  Poems,  in  1827,  4to.  The  "litil  geste"  of  Robin 
Hood,  referred  to  in  the  text,  is  a  fragment  of  a  piece  con- 
tained in  Ritson's  Collection— 'Ed. 


544 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


perished  in  the  fire  which  consumed  Ditton  House, 
about  twenty  years  ago. 

James  Watson,  in  1706,  published  at  Edinburgh  a 
miscellaneous  collection  in  three  parts,  containing 
some  ancient  poetiy.  But  the  first  editor  who  seems 
to  have  made  a  determined  effort  to  preserve  our  an- 
cient popular  poetry  was  the  well-known  Allan  Ram- 
say, in  his  Evergreen,  containing  chiefly  extracts  from 
the  ancient  Scottish  Makers,  whose  poems  have  been 
preserved  in  the  Bannatyne  Manuscript,  but  exhibit- 
ing amongst  them  some  popular  ballads.  Amongst 
these  is  the  "  Battle  of  Harlaw,"  apparently  from  a 
modernized  copy,  being  probably  the  most  ancient 
Scottish  historical  ballad  of  any  length  now  in  exist- 
ence.1 He  also  inserted  in  the  same  collection  the 
genuine  Scottish  Border  ballad  of  "Johnnie  Arm- 
strong," copied  from  the  recitation  of  a  descendant  of 
the  unfortunate  hero,  in  the  sixth  generation.  This 
poet  also  included  in  the  Evergreen  "  Hardyknute," 
which,  though  evidently  modern,  is  a  most  spirited  and 
beautiful  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad.  In  a  subse- 
quent collection  of  lyrical  pieces,  called  the  Tea- Table 
Miscellany,  Allan  Rainsay  inserted  several  old  ballads, 
such  as  "  Cruel  Barbara  Allan,"  the  "  Bonnie  Earl  of 
Murray,"  "  There  came  a  Ghost  to  Margaret's  door," 
and  two  or  three  others.  But  his  unhappy  plan  of 
writing  new  words  to  old  tunes,  without  at  the  same 
time  preserving  the  ancient  verses,  led  him,  with  the 
assistance  of  "  some  ingenious  young  gentlemen,"  to 
throw  aside  many  originals  the  preservation  of  which 
would  have  been  much  more  interesting  than 'any 
thing  which  has  been  substituted  in  their  stead.2 

In  fine,  the  task  of  collecting  and  illustrating  an- 
cient popular  poetry,  whether  in  England  or  Scot- 
land, was  never  executed  by  a  competent  person,  pos- 
sessing the  necessary  powers  of  selection  and  annota- 
tion, till  it  was  undertaken  by  Dr.  Percy,  afterwards 
Bishop  of  Dromore  in  Ireland.  This  reverend  gen- 
tleman, himself  a  poet,  and  ranking  high  among  the 
literati  of  the  day,  commanding  access  to  the  individ- 
uals and  institutions  which  could  best  afford  him 
materials,  gave  the  public  the  result  of  his  researches 
in  a  work  entitled  Reliques  of  Ancient  English  Poetry, 
in  three  volumes,  published  in  London  1765,  which 
has  since  gone  through  four  editions.3  The  taste 
with  which  the  materials  were  chosen,  the  extreme 
felicity  with  which  they  were  illustrated,  the  display 
at  once  of  antiquarian  knowledge  and  classical  read- 
ing which  the  collection  indicated,  render  it  difficult 
to  imitate,  and  impossible  to  excel,  a  work  which 
must  always  be  held  among  the  first  of  its  class  in 
point  of  merit,  though  not  actually  the  foremost  in 
point  of  time.  But  neither  the  high  character  of  the 
work  nor  the  rank  and  respectability  of  the  author 
could  protect  him  or  his  labors  from  the  invidious 
attacks  of  criticism. 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

8  Sir  Walter  Scott  corresponded  frequently  with  the  Bishop 


The  most  formidable  of  these  were  directed  by 
Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  acute  observation,  profound 
research,  and  great  labor.  These  valuable  attributes 
were  unhappily  combined  with  an  eager  irritability 
of  temper  which  induced  him  to  treat  antiquarian 
trifles  with  the  same  seriousness  which  men  of  the 
world  reserve  for  matters  of  importance,  and  disposed 
him  to  drive  controversies  into  personal  quarrels,  by 
neglecting,  in  literary  debate,  the  courtesies  of  or- 
dinary society.4  It  ought  to  be  said,  however,  by 
one  who  knew  him  well,  that  this  irritability  of  dis- 
position was  a  constitutional  and  physical  infirmity  ; 
and  that  Ritson's  extreme  attachment  to  the  severity 
of  truth  corresponded  to  the  rigor  of  his  criticisms 
upon  the  labors  of  others.  He  seems  to  have  attacked 
Bishop  Percy  with  the  greater  animosity,  as  bearing 
no  good  will  to  the  hierarchy  in  which  that  prelate 
held  a  distinguished  place. 

Ritson's  criticism,  in  which  there  was  too  much 
horse-play,  was  grounded  on  two  points  of  accusation. 
The  first  point  regarded  Dr.  Percy's  definition  of  the 
order  and  office  of  minstrels,  which  Ritson  considered 
as  designedly  overcharged,  for  the  sake  of  giving  an 
undue  importance  to  his  subject.  The  second  objec- 
tion respected  the  liberties  which  Dr.  Percy  had  taken 
with  his  materials,  in  adding  to,  retrenching,  and  im- 
proving them,  so  as  to  bring  them  nearer  to  the  taste 
of  his  own  period.  We  will  take  some  brief  notice  of 
both  topics. 

First,  Dr.  Percy,  in  the  first  edition  of  his  work, 
certainly  laid  himself  open  to  the  charge  of  having 
given  an  inaccurate  and  somewhat  exaggerated  ac- 
count of  the  English  minstrels,  whom  he  defined  to  be 
an  "  order  of  men  in  the  middle  ages,  who  subsisted 
by  the  arts  of  poetry  and  music,  and  sung  to  the  harp 
the  verses  which  they  themselves  composed."  The 
reverend  editor  of  the  Reliques  produced  in  support 
of  this  definition  many  curious  quotations,  to  show 
that  in  many  instances  the  persons  of  these  minstrels 
had  been  honored  and  respected,  their  performances 
applauded  and  rewarded  by  the  great  and  the  courtly, 
and  their  craft  imitated  by  princes  themselves. 

Against  both  these  propositions  Ritson  made  a  de- 
termined opposition.  He  contended,  and  probably 
with  justice,  that  the  minstrels  were  not  necessarily 
poets,  or  in  the  regular  habit  of  composing  the  verses 
which  they  sung  to  the  harp;  and,  indeed,  that  the 
word  minstrel,  in  its  ordinary  acceptation,  meant  no 
more  than  musician. 

Dr.  Percy  from  an  amended  edition  of  his  "  Essay 
on  Minstrelsy,"  prefixed  to  the  fourth  edition  of  the 
Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  seems  to  have  been,  to  a 
certain  point,  convinced  by  the  critic's  reasoning; 
for  he  has  extended  the  definition  impugned  by  Rit- 
son, and  the  minstrels  are  thus  described  as  singing 
verses  "  composed  by  themselves  or  others."    This  we 


of  Dromore,  at  the  time  when  he  was  collecting  the  materiali 
of  tho  Border  Minstrelsy. — Ed. 
4  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


INTRODUCTORY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


545 


apprehend  to  be  a  tenable  position;  for,  as  on  the 
one  hand  it  seems  too  broad  an  averment  to  say  that 
all  minstrels  were  by  profession  poets,  so,  on  the  other, 
it  is  extravagant  to  affirm  that  men  who  were  con- 
stantly in  the  habit  of  reciting  verse  should  not  fre- 
quently have  acquired  that  of  composing  it,  especially 
when  their  bread  depended  on  giving  pleasure ;  and 
to  have  the  power  of  producing  novelty  is  a  great 
step  towards  that  desirable  end.  No  unprejudiced 
reader,  therefore,  can  have  any  hesitation  in  adopting 
Bishop  Percy's  definition  of  the  minstrels  and  their 
occupation,  as  qualified  in  the  fourth  edition  of  his 
Essay,  implying  that  they  were  sometimes  poets, 
sometimes  the  mere  reciters  of  the  poetry  of  others. 

On  the  critic's  second  proposition,  Dr.  Percy  suc- 
cessfully showed  that  at  no  period  of  history  was  the 
word  minstrel  applied  to  instrumental  music  exclu- 
sively ;  and  he  has  produced  sufficient  evidence  that 
the  talents  of  the  profession  were  as  frequently  em- 
ployed in  chanting  or  reciting  poetry  as  in  playing 
the  mere  tunes.  There  is  appearance  of  distinction 
being  sometimes  made  between  minstrel  recitations 
and  minstrelsy  of  music  alone ;  and  we  may  add  a 
curious  instance  to  those  quoted  by  the  Bishop.  It  is 
from  the  singular  ballad  respecting  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune,1  which  announces  the  proposition  that  tongue 
is  chief  of  minstrelsy. 

We  may  also  notice  that  the  word  minstrel,  being 
in  fact  derived  from  the  Minne-singer  of  the  Ger- 
mans, means,  in  its  primary  sense,  one  who  sim/s  of 
love,  a  sense  totally  inapplicable  to  a  mere  instru- 
mental musician. 

A  second  general  point  on  which  Dr.  Percy  was 
fiercely  attacked  by  Mr.  Ritson  was  also  one  on  which 
both  the  parties  might  claim  a  right  to  sing  Te  Deum. 
It  respected  the  rank  or  status  which  was  held  by  the 
minstrels  in  society  during  the  middle  ages.  On  this 
point  the  editor  of  the  Reliqiies  of  Ancient  Poetry 
had  produced  the  most  satisfactory  evidence  that,  at 
the  courts  of  the  Anglo-Norman  princes,  the  profes- 
sors of  the  gay  science  were  the  favorite  solacers  of 
the  leisure  hours  of  princes,  who  did  not  themselves 
disdain  to  share  their  tuneful  labors  and  imitate 
their  compositions.  Mr.  Ritson  replied  to  this  with 
great  ingenuity,  arguing  that  such  instances  of  respect 
paid  to  French  minstrels  reciting  in  their  native  lan- 
guage in  the  court  of  Norman  monarchs,  though  held 
in  Britain,  argued  nothing  in  favor  of  English  artists 
professing  the  same  trade,  and  of  whose  compositions, 
and  not  of  those  existing  in  the  French  language,  Dr. 
Percy  professed  to  form  his  collection.    The  reason  of 

1  Select  Remains  of  Popular  Pieces  of  Poetry.  Edinburgh, 
1822. 

2  That  monarch  first  used  the  vernacular  English  dialect 
in  a  motto  which  he  displayed  on  his  shield  at  a  celebrated 
tournament.  The  legend  which  graced  the  representation  of 
a  white  swan  on  the  king's  buckler  ran  thus  :— 

"Ha!  ha!  the  whyte  swan ! 
By  Goddis  soule  I  am  thy  man." 
35 


the  distinction  betwixt  the  respectability  of  the  French 
minstrels  and  the  degradation  of  the  same  class  of 
men  in  England  Mr.  Ritson  plausibly  alleged  to  be 
that  the  English  language,  a  mixed  speech  betwixt 
Anglo-Saxon  and  Norman-French,  was  not  known 
at  the  court  of  the  Anglo-Norman  kings  until  the 
reign  of  Edward  III.  ;2  and  that  therefore,  until 
a  very  late  period,  and  when  the  lays  of  minstrelsy 
were  going  out  of  fashion,  English  performers  in  that 
capacity  must  have  confined  the  exercise  of  their 
talents  to  the  amusement  of  the  vulgar.  Now,  as  it 
must  be  conceded  to  Mr.  Ritson  that  almost  all  the 
English  metrical  romances  which  have  been  preserved 
till  the  present  day  are  translated  from  the  French, 
it  may  also  be  allowed  that  a  class  of  men  employed 
chiefly  in  rendering  into  English  the  works  of  others 
could  not  hold  so  high  a  station  as  those  who  aspired 
to  original  composition ;  and  so  far  the  critic  has  the 
best  of  the  dispute.  But  Mr.  Ritson  has  over-driven 
his  argument,  since  there  was  assuredly  a  period  in 
English  history  when  the  national  minstrels,  writing 
in  the  national  dialect,  were,  in  proportion  to  their 
merit  in  their  calling,  held  in  honor  and  respect. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  for  example,  a  minstrel  who 
flourished  in  the  end  of  the  twelfth  century,  was  not 
only  a  man  of  talent  in  his  art,  but  of  some  rank  in 
society ;  the  companion  of  nobles,  and  himself  a  man 
of  landed  property.  He  and  his  contemporary  Ken- 
dal wrote,  as  we  are  assured  by  Robert  de  Brunne 
in  a  passage  already  alluded  to,  a  kind  of  English 
which  was  designed  for  "pride  and  nobleye,"3  and 
not  for  such  inferior  persons  as  Robert  himself  ad- 
dressed, and  to  whose  comprehension  he  avowedly 
lowered  his  language  and  structure  of  versification. 
There  existed,  therefore,  during  the  time  of  this  his- 
torian, a  more  refined  dialect  of  the  English  Imguage, 
used  by  such  composers  of  popular  poetry  as  moved 
in  a  higher  circle ;  and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that, 
while  their  productions  were  held  in  such  high  esteem, 
the  authors  must  have  been  honored  in  proportion. 

The  education  bestowed  upon  James  I.  of  Scotland, 
when  brought  up  under  the  charge  of  Henry  IV., 
comprehended  both  music  and  the  art  of  vernacular 
poetry ;  in  other  words,  minstrelsy  in  both  branches. 
That  poetry,  of  which  the  king  left  several  specimens, 
was,  as  is  well  known,  English ;  nor  is  it  to  be  sup- 
posed that  a  prince  upon  whose  education  such  sedu- 
lous care  was  bestowed  would  have  been  instructed 
in  an  art  which,  if  we  are  to  believe  Mr.  Ritson,  was 
degraded  to  the  last  degree,  and  discreditable  to  its 
professors.    The  same  argument  is  strengthened  by 

3  The  learned  editor  of  Warton's  History  of  English  Poetry 
is  of  opinion  that  Sir  Walter  Scott  misinterpreted  the  pas- 
sage referred  to.    De  Brunne,  according  to  this  author's  text, 
says  of  the  elder  reciters  of  the  metrical  romance, 
"  They  said  it  for  pride  and  nobleye, 
That  non  were  sonlk  as  they;" 
i.  e.,  they  recited  it  in  a  style  so  lofty  and  noble  that  none 
have  since  equalled  them.— Warton,  edit.  1824,  vol.  i.  p. 
183.— Ed. 


546 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


the  poetical  exercises  of  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  in  Eng- 
lish, written  during  his  captivity  after  the  battle  of 
Agincourt.1  It  could  not  be  supposed  that  the  noble 
prisoner  was  to  solace  his  hours  of  imprisonment  with 
a  degrading  and  vulgar  species  of  composition. 

We  could  produce  other  instances  to  show  that  this 
acute  critic  has  carried  his  argument  considerably  too 
far.  But  we  prefer  taking  a  general  view  of  the  sub- 
ject, which  seems  to  explain  clearly  how  contradict- 
ory evidence  should  exist  on  it,  and  why  instances  of 
great  personal  respect  to  individual  minstrels,  and  a 
high  esteem  of  the  art,  are  quite  reconcilable  with 
much  contempt  thrown  on  the  order  at  large. 

All  professors  of  the  fine  arts — all  those  who  con- 
tribute, not  to  the  necessities  of  life,  but  to  the  enjoy- 
ments of  society — hold  their  professional  respectability 
by  the  severe  tenure  of  exhibiting  excellence  in  their 
department.  We  are  well  enough  satisfied  with  the 
tradesman  who  goes  through  his  task  in  a  workman- 
like manner,  nor  are  we  disposed  to  look  down  upon 
the  divine,  the  lawyer,  or  the  physician,  unless  they 
display  gross  ignorance  of  their  profession :  we  hold 
it  enough  that  if  they  do  not  possess  the  highest 
knowledge  of  their  respective  sciences,  they  can  at 
least  instruct  us  on  the  points  we  desire  to  know. 
But 

"  mediocribus  esse  poetis 


Non  di,  non  homines,  non  concessere  columnae." 

The  same  is  true  respecting  the  professors  of  paint- 
ing, of  sculpture,  of  music,  and  the  fine  arts  in  general. 
If  they  exhibit  paramount  excellence,  no  situation  in 
society  is  too  high  for  them  which  their  manners  en- 
able them  to  fill ;  if  they  fall  short  of  the  highest  point 
of  aim,  they  degenerate  into  sign-painters,  stone- 
cutters, common  crowders,  doggerel  rhymers,  and  so 
forth,  the  most  contemptible  of  mankind.  The  reason 
of  this  is  evident.  Men  must  be  satisfied  with  such 
a  supply  of  their  actual  wants  as  can  be  obtained  in 
the  circumstances,  and  should  an  individual  want  a 
■coat,  he  must  employ  the  village  tailor,  if  Stultze  is 
not  to  be  had.  But  if  he  seeks  for  delight,  the  case 
is  quite  different;  and  he  that  cannot  hear  Pasta  or 
Hontag  would  be  little  solaced  for  the  absence  of  these 
sirens  by  the  strains  of  a  crack-voiced  ballad-singer. 
Nay,  on  the  contrary,  the  offer  of  such  inadequate 
compensation  would  only  be  regarded  as  an  insult, 
and  resented  accordingly. 

The  theatre  affords  t lie  most  appropriate  example 
of  what  we  mean.  The  first  circles  in  society  are 
open  to  persons  eminently  distinguished  in  the  drama  ; 
and  their  rewards  are,  in  proportion  to  those  who 
profess  the  useful  arts,  incalculably  higher.  But  those 
who  lag  in  the  rear  of  (he  dramatic  art  arc  propor- 
tionally poorer  and  more  degraded  than  those  who 
are  the  lowest  of  a  useful  trade  or  profession.  These 
instances  will  enable  us  readily  to  explain  why  the 


1  See  the  edition  printed  by  Mr.  Watson  Taylor  for  the 
Roxburghe  Club. 


greater  part  of  the  minstrels,  practicing  their  profes- 
sion in  scenes  of  vulgar  mirth  and  debauchery,  hum- 
bling their  art  to  please  the  ears  of  drunken  clowns, 
and  living  with  the  dissipation  natural  to  men  whose 
precarious  subsistence  is,  according  to  the  ordinary 
phrase,  from  hand  to  mouth  only,  should  fall  under 
general  contempt,  while  the  stars  of  the  profession,  to 
use  a  modern  phrase,  looked  down  on  them  from  the 
distant  empyrean,  as  the  planets  do  upon  those  shoot- 
ing exhalations  arising  from  gross  vapors  in  the 
nether  atmosphere. 

The  debate,  therefore,  resembles  the  apologue  of  the 
gold  and  silver  shield.  Dr.  Percy  looked  on  the  min- 
strel in  the  palmy  and  exalted  state  to  which,  no 
doubt,  many  were  elevated  by  their  talents,  like  those 
who  possess  excellence  in  the  fine  arts  in  the  present 
day;  and  Ritson  considered  the  reverse  of  the  medal, 
when  the  poor  and  wandering  glee-man  was  glad  to 
purchase  his  bread  by  singing  his  ballads  at  the  ale- 
house, wearing  a  fantastic  habit,  and  latterly  sinking 
into  a  mere  crowder  upon  an  untuned  fiddle,  accom- 
panying his  rude  strains  with  a  ruder  ditty,  the  help- 
less associate  of  drunken  revellers,  and  marvellously 
afraid  of  the  constable  and  parish  beadle.2  The  dif- 
ference betwixt  those  holding  the  extreme  positions 
of  highest  and  lowest  in  such  a  profession  cannot 
surely  be  more  marked  than  that  which  separated 
David  Garrick  or  John  Kemble  from  the  outcasts  of 
a  strolling  company,  exposed  to  penury,  indigence, 
and  persecution  according  to  law.3 

There  was  still  another  and  more  important  subject 
of  debate  between  Dr.  Percy  and  his  hostile  critic. 
The  former,  as  a  poet  and  a  man  of  taste,  was  tempted 
to  take  such  freedoms  with  his  original  ballads  as 
might  enable  him  to  please  a  more  critical  age  than 
that  in  which  they  were  composed.  Words  were 
thus  altered,  phrases  improved,  and  whole  verses 
were  inserted  or  omitted  at  pleasure.  Such  freedoms 
were  especially  taken  with  the  poems  published  from 
a  folio  manuscript  in  Dr.  Percy's  own  possession,  very 
curious  from  the  miscellaneous  nature  of  its  contents, 
but  unfortunately  having  many  of  the  leaves  mutilated 
and  injured  in  other  respects  by  the  gross  careless- 
ness and  ignorance  of  the  transcriber.  Anxious  to 
avail  himself  of  the  treasures  which  this  manuscript 
contained,  the  editor  of  the  Eeliques  did  not  htjritate 
to  repair  and  renovate  the  songs  which  he  drew  from 
this  corrupted  yet  curious  source,  and  to  accommodate 
them  with  such  emendations  as  might  recommend 
them  to  the  modern  taste. 

For  these  liberties  with  his  subject  Ritson  censured 
Dr.  Percy  in  the  most  uncompromising  terms,  accused 
him,  in  violent  language,  of  interpolation  and  forgery, 
and  insinuated  that  there  existed  no  such  thing  in 
rerum  natura  as  that  folio  manuscript,  so  often  referred 
to  as  the  authority  of  originals  inserted  in  the  Eeliques. 
In  this  charge  the  eagerness  of  Ritson  again  betrayed 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  E. 


INTRODUCTORY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


547 


him  farther  than  judgment  and  discretion,  as  well  as 
courtesy,  warranted.  It  is  no  doubt  highly  desirable 
that  the  text  of  ancient  poetry  should  be  given  un- 
touched and  uncorrupted.  But  this  is  a  point  which 
did  not  occur  to  the  editor  of  the  Reliques  in  1765, 
whose  object  it  was  to  win  the  favor  of  the  public,  at 
a  period  when  the  great  difficulty  was  not  how  to  se- 
cure the  very  words  of  old  ballads,  but  how  to  arrest 
attention  upon  the  subject  at  all.  That  great  and  im- 
portant service  to  national  literature  would  probably 
never  have  been  attained  without  the  work  of  Dr. 
Percy ;  a  work  which  first  fixed  the  consideration  of 
general  readers  on  ancient  poetry,  and  made  it  worth 
while  to  inquire  how  far  its  graces  were  really  antique, 
or  how  far  derived  from  the  taste  with  which  the 
publication  had  been  superintended  and  revised.  The 
object  of  Dr.  Percy  was  certainly  intimated  in  several 
parts  of  his  work,  where  he  ingenuously  acknowledges 
that  certain  ballads  have  received  emendations,  and 
that  others  are  not  of  pure  and  unmixed  antiquity ; 
that  the  beginning  of  some  and  end  of  others  have 
been  supplied ;  and  upon  the  whole,  that  he  has,  in 
many  instances,  decorated  the  ancient  ballads  with 
the  graces  of  a  more  refined  period. 

This  system  is  so  distinctly  intimated  that  if  there 
be  any  critic  still  of  opinion,  like  poor  Ritson,  whose 
morbid  temperament  led  him  to  such  a  conclusion, 
that  the  crime  of  literary  imitation  is  equal  to  that  of 
commercial  forgery,  he  ought  to  recollect  that  guilt, 
in  the  latter  case,  does  not  exist  without  a  correspond- 
ing charge  of  uttering  the  forged  document,  or  causing 
it  to  be  uttered,  as  genuine,  without  which  the  mere 
imitation  is  not  culpable,  at  least  not  criminally  so. 
This  quality  is  totally  awanting  in  the  accusation  so 
roughly  brought  against  Dr.  Percy,  who  avowedly  in- 
dulged in  such  alterations  and  improvements  upon  his 
materials  as  might  adapt  them  to  the  taste  of  an  age 
not  otherwise  disposed  to  bestow  its  attention  on  them. 

We  have  to  add  that,  in  the  fourth  edition  of  the 
Reliques,  Mr.  Thomas  Percy  of  St.  John's  College, 
Oxford,  pleading  the  cause  of  his  uncle  with  the  most 
gentlemanlike  moderation,  and  with  every  respect  to 
Mr.  Ritson's  science  and  talents,  has  combated  the 
critic's  opinion,  without  any  attempt  to  retort  his 
injurious  language. 

It  would  be  now,  no  doubt,  desirable  to  have  had 
some  more  distinct  account  of  Dr.  Percy's  folio  man- 
uscript and  its  contents ;  and  Mr.  Thomas  Percy,  ac- 
cordingly, gives  the  original  of  the  "  Marriage  of  Sir 
Gawain,"  and  collates  it  with  the  copy  published  in  a 
complete  state  by  his  uncle,  who  has  on  this  occasion 
given  entire  rein  to  his  own  fancy,  though  the  rude 
origin  of  most  of  his  ideas  is  to  be  found  in  the  old 
ballad.  There  is  also  given  a  copy  of  that  elegant 
metrical  tale,  the  "  Child  of  Elle,"  as  it  exists  in  the 
folio  manuscript,  which  goes  far  to  show  it  has  de- 
rived all  its  beauties  from  Dr.  Percy's  poetical  powers. 


1  Introduction  to  Evans's  Ballads,  1810.     New  edition,  en- 
larged, <&c. 


Judging  from  these  two  specimens,  we  can  easily  con- 
ceive why  the  reverend  editor  of  the  Reliques  should 
have  declined,  by  the  production  of  the  folio  manu- 
script, to  furnish  his  severe  Aristarch  with  weapons 
against  him  which  he  was  sure  would  be  unspar- 
ingly used.  Yet  it  is  certain  the  manuscript  con- 
tains much  that  is  really  excellent,  though  mutilated 
and  sophisticated.  A  copy  of  the  fine  ballad  of  "  Sir 
Caulin  "  is  found  in  a  Scottish  shape,  under  the  name 
of  "  King  Malcolm  and  Sir  Colvin,"  in  Buchan's 
North  Country  Ballads,  to  be  presently  mentioned. 
It  is,  therefore,  unquestionably  ancient,  though  pos- 
sibly retouched,  and  perhaps  with  the  addition  of 
a  second  part,  of  which  the  Scottish  copy  has  no  ves- 
tiges. It  would  be  desirable  to  know  exactly  to  what 
extent  Dr.  Percy  had  used  the  license  of  an  editor,  in 
these  and  other  cases;  and  certainly,  at  this  period, 
would  be  only  a  degree  of  justice  due  to  his  memory. 

On  the  whole,  we  may  dismiss  the  Reliques  of  An- 
cient Poetry  with  the  praise  and  censure  conferred 
on  it  by  a  gentleman,  himself  a  valuable  laborer  in 
the  vineyard  of  antiquities : — "  It  is  the  most  elegant 
compilation  of  the  early  poetry  that  has  ever  appeared 
in  any  age  or  country.  But  it  must  be  frankly  added 
that  so  numerous  are  the  alterations  and  corrections 
that  the  severe  antiquary,  who  desires  to  see  the  old 
English  ballads  in  a  genuine  state,  must  consult  a 
more  accurate  edition  than  this  celebrated  work."1 

Of  Ritson's  own  talents  as  an  editor  of  ancient 
poetry  we  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  hereafter.  The 
first  collector  who  followed  the  example  of  Dr.  Percy 
was  Mr.  T.  Evans,  bookseller,  father  of  the  gentle- 
man we  have  just  quoted.  His  Old  Ballads,  Histo- 
rical  and  Narrative,  with  some  of  Modern  Date,  ap- 
peared in  two  volumes,  in  1777,  and  were  eminently 
successful.  In  1784  a  second  edition  appeared,  ex- 
tending the  work  to  four  volumes.  In  this  collection 
many  ballads  found  acceptance  which  Bishop  Percy 
had  not  considered  as  possessing  sufficient  merit  to 
claim  admittance  into  the  Reliques.  The  octavo  mis- 
cellany of  1723  yielded  a  great  part  of  the  materials. 
The  collection  of  Evans  contained  several  modern 
pieces  of  great  merit,  which  are  not  to  be  found  else- 
where, and  which  are  understood  to  be  the  produc- 
tions of  William  Julius  Mickle,  translator  of  the 
Lusiad,  though  they  were  never  claimed  by  him,  nor 
received  among  his  works.  Amongst  them  is  the 
elegiac  poem  of  "  Cumnor  Hall,"  which  suggested  the 
fictitious  narrative  entitled  "  Kenilworth."  The  "  Red- 
Cross  Knight,"  also  by  Mickle,  which  has  furnished 
words  for  a  beautiful  glee,  first  occurred  in  the  same 
collection.  As  Mickle,  with  a  vein  of  great  facility, 
united  a  power  of  verbal  melody  which  might  have 
been  envied  by  bards  of  much  greater  renown,2  he 
must  be  considered  as  very  successful  in  these  efforts, 
if  the  ballads  be  regarded  as  avowedly  modern.  If 
they  are  to  be  judged  of  as  accurate  imitations  of  an- 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  F. 


548 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


cient  poetry,  they  have  less  merit ;  the  deception  being 
only  maintained  by  a  huge  store  of  double  consonants, 
strewed  at  random  into  ordinary  words,  resembling  the 
reaj  fashion  of  antiquity  as  little  as  the  niches,  turrets, 
and  tracery  of  plaster  stuck  upon  a  modern  front. 
In  the  year  1810,  the  four  volumes  of  1784  were  re- 
puhlished  by  Mr.  11.  II.  Evans,  the  son  of  the  original 
editor,  with  very  considerable  alterations  and  addi- 
tions. In  this  last  edition  the  more  ordinary  mod- 
ern ballads  were  judiciously  retrenched  in  number, 
and  large  and  valuable  additions  made  to  the  ancient 
part  of  the  collection.  Being  in  some  measure  a  sup- 
plement to  the  liclirjucs  of  Ancient  Poetry,  this  mis- 
cellany cannot  be  dispensed  with  on  the  shelves  of 
any  bibliomaniac  who  may  choose  to  emulate  Captain 
Cox  of  Coventry,  the  prototype  of  all  collectors  of 
popular  poetry. 

While  Dr.  Percy  was  setting  the  example  of  a  clas- 
sical publication  of  ancient  English  poetry,  the  late 
David  Herd  was,  in  modest  retirement,  compiling  a 
collection  of  Scottish  Songs,  which  he  has  happily  de- 
scribed as  "  the  poetry  and  music  of  the  heart."  The 
first  part  of  his  miscellany  contains  heroic  and  his- 
torical ballads,  of  which  there  Is  a  respectable  and 
well-chosen  selection.  Mr.  Herd,1  an  accountant,  as 
the  profession  is  called  in  Edinburgh,  was  known  and 
generally  esteemed  for  his  shrewd,  manly  common 
sense  and  antiquarian  science,  mixed  with  much  good 
nature  and  great  modesty.  His  hardy  and  antique 
mould  of  countenance,  and  his  venerable  grizzled 
locks,  procured  him,  amongst  his  acquaintance,  the 
name  of  Greysteil.  His  original  collection  of  songs, 
in  one  volume,  appeared  in  1769 ;  an  enlarged  one,  in 
two  volumes,  came  out  in  1776.  A  publication  of  the 
same  kind,  being  Herd's  book  still  more  enlarged, 
was  printed  for  Lawrie  &  Symington  in  1791.  Some 
modern  additions  occur  in  this  latter  work,  of  which 
by  far  the  most  valuable  were  two  fine  imitations  of  the 
Scottish  ballad  by  the  gifted  author  of  the  "Man  of 
Peeling"  (now,  alas !  no  more),  called  "  Duncan  "  and 
"  Kenneth." 

John  Pinkerton,  a  man  of  considerable  learning, 
and  some  severity  as  well  as  acuteness  of  disposition, 
was  now  endeavoring  to  force  himself  into  public 
attention ;  and  his  collection  of  Select  Ballads,  Lon- 
don, 17S3,  contains  sufficient  evidence  that  he  under- 
stood, in  an  extensive  sense,  Horace's  maxim,  quidlibet 
audcndi.  As  he  was  possessed  of  considerable  powers 
of  poetry,  though  not  equal  to  what  he  was  willing  to 
take  credit  for,  he  was  resolved  to  enrich  his  collection 
with  all  the  novelty  and  interest  which  it  could  derive 
from  a  liberal  insertion  of  pieces  dressed  in  the  garb 
of  antiquity,  but  equipped  from  the  wardrobe  of  the 
editor's  imagination.    With  a  boldness  suggested  per- 

1  David  Herd  was  a  native  of  St.  Cyrus,  in  Kincardine- 
shire, and  though  often  termed  a  writer,  he  was  oaly  a  clerk 
in  the  office  of  Mr.  David  Russell,  accountant  in  Edinburgh. 
He  died,  aged  seventy-eight,  in  1810,  and  left  a  very  curious 
library,  which  was  dispersed  by  auction.    Herd  by  no  means 


haps  by  the  success  of  Mr.  Macpherson,  he  included, 
within  a  collection  amounting  to  only  twenty-one 
tragic  ballads,  no  less  than  five  of  which  he  after- 
wards owned  himself  to  have  been  altogether,  or  in 
great  part,  the  author.  The  most  remarkable  article 
in  this  miscellany  was  a  second  part  to  the  noble 
ballad  of  "  Hardyknute,"  which  has  some  good  verses. 
It  labors,  however,  under  this  great  defect,  that,  iu 
order  to  append  his  own  conclusion  to  the  original 
tale,  Mr.  Pinkerton  found  himself  under  the  necessity 
of  altering  a  leading  circumstance  in  the  old  ballad, 
which  would  have  rendered  his  catastrophe  inappli- 
cable. With  such  license,  to  write  continuations  and 
conclusions  would  be  no  difficult  task.  In  the  second 
volume  of  the  Select  Ballads,  consisting  of  comic 
pieces,  a  list  of  fifty-two  articles  contained  nine  writ- 
ten entirely  by  the  editor  himself.  Of  the  manner  in 
which  these  supposititious  compositions  are  executed, 
it  may  be  briefly  stated  that  they  are  the  work  of  a 
scholar  much  better  acquainted  with  ancient  books 
and  manuscripts  than  with  oral  tradition  and  pop- 
ular legends.  The  poetry  smells  of  the  lamp ;  and  it 
may  be  truly  said  that  if  ever  a  ballad  had  existed  in 
such  quaint  language  as  the  author  employs,  it  could 
never  have  been  so  popular  as  to  be  preserved  by 
oral  tradition.  The  glossary  displays  a  much  greater 
acquaintance  with  learned  lexicons  than  with  the 
familiar  dialect  still  spoken  by  the  Lowland  Scottish, 
and  it  is,  of  course,  full  of  errors.2  Neither  was  Mr. 
Pinkerton  more  happy  in  the  way  of  conjectural  illus- 
tration. He  chose  to  fix  on  Sir  John  Bruce  of  Kin- 
ross the  paternity  of  the  ballad  of  "  Hardyknute," 
and  of  the  fine  poem  called  the  "  Vision."  The  first  is 
due  to  Mrs.  Halket  of  Wardlaw,  the  second  to  Allan 
Ramsay,  although,  it  must  be  owned,  it  is  of  a  charac- 
ter superior  to  his  ordinary  poetry.  Sir  John  Bruce 
was  a  brave,  blunt  soldier,  who  made  no  pretence 
whatever  to  literature,  though  his  daughter,  Mrs. 
Bruce  of  Arnot,  had  much  talent,  a  circumstance 
which  may  perhaps  have  misled  the  antiquary. 

Mr.  Pinkerton  read  a  sort  of  recantation,  in  a  List 
of  Scottish  Poets,  prefixed  to  a  Selection  of  Poems 
from  the  Maitland  Manuscript,  vol.  i.,  1786,  in  which 
he  acknowledges  as  his  own  composition  the  pieces 
of  spurious  antiquity  included  in  his  Select  Ballads 
Avith  a  coolness  which,  when  his  subsequent  invective 
against  others  who  had  taken  similar  liberties  is  con- 
sidered, infers  as  much  audacity  as  the  studied  and 
labored  defence  of  obscenity  with  which  he  disgraced 
the  same  pages. 

In  the  meantime,  Joseph  Ritson,  a  man  of  diligence 
and  acumen  equal  to  those  of  Pinkerton,  but  of  the 
most  laudable  accuracy  and  fidelity  as  an  editor,  was 
engaged  in  various  publications  respecting  poetical 

merited  the  character,  given  him  by  Pinkerton,  of  "  an  illit- 
erate and  injudicious  compiler." — Ed. 

2  Bansters,  for  example,  a  word  generally  applied  to  the 
men  on  a  harvest  field  who  bind  the  sheaves,  is  derived  from 
ban,  to  curse,  and  explained  to  mean  "  blustering,  swearing 
fellows." 


INTRODUCTORY   REMARKS   ON   POPULAR   POETRY. 


549 


antiqutites,  in  which  he  employed  profound  research. 
A  select  collection  of  English  songs  was  compiled  by 
him,  with  great  care  and  considerable  taste,  and  pub- 
lished at  London,  1783.  A  new  edition  of  this  has 
appeared  since  Ritson's  death,  sanctioned  by  the  name 
of  the  learned  and  indefatigable  antiquary,  Thomas 
Park,  and  augmented  with  many  original  pieces,  and 
some  which  Ritson  had  prepared  for  publication. 

Ritson's  collection  of  songs  was  followed  by  a  cu- 
rious volume,  entitled  Ancient  Songs  from  the  time 
of  Henry  III.  to  the  Revolution,  1790 ;  Pieces  of  An- 
cient Popular  Poetry,  1792 ;  and  A  Collection  of  Scot- 
tish Songs,  with  the  genuine  music,  London,  1794. 
This  last  is  a  genuine  but  rather  meagre  collection 
of  Caledonian  popular  songs.  Next  year  Mr.  Ritson 
published  Robin  Hood,  2  vols.,  1795,  being  "  A  Col- 
lection of  all  the  Ancient  Poems,  Songs,  and  Ballads 
now  extant,  relative  to  that  celebrated  Outlaw."  This 
work  is  a  notable  illustration  of  the  excellencies  and 
defects  of  Mr.  Ritson's  system.  It  is  almost  impos- 
sible to  conceive  so  much  zeal,  research,  and  industry 
bestowed  on  a  subject  of  antiquity.  There  scarcely 
occurs  a  phrase  or  word  relating  to  Robin  Hood, 
whether  in  history  or  poetry,  in  law  books,  in  ancient 
proverbs,  or  common  parlance,  but  it  is  here  collected 
and  explained.  At  the  same  time,  the  extreme  fidel- 
ity of  the  editor  seems  driven  to  excess,  when  we  fiud 
him  pertinaciously  retaining  all  the  numerous  and 
gross  errors  which  repeated  recitations  have  intro- 
duced into  the  text,  and  regarding  it  as  a  sacred 
duty  to  prefer  the  worst  to  the  better  readings,  as 
if  their  inferiority  was  a  security  for  their  being 
genuine.  In  short,  when  Ritson  copied  from  rare 
books  or  ancient  manuscripts,  there  could  not  be 
a  more  accurate  editor;  when  taking  his  authority 
from  oral  tradition,  and  judging  between  two  recited 
copies,  he  was  apt  to  consider  the  worst  as  most  gen- 
uine, as  if  a  poem  was  not  more  likely  to  be  deterio- 
rated than  improved  by  passing  through  the  mouths 
of  many  reciters.  In  the  ballads  of  Robin  Hood,  this 
superstitious  scrupulosity  was  especially  to  be  regret- 
ted, as  it  tended  to  enlarge  the  collection  with  a  great 
number  of  doggerel  compositions,  which  are  all  copies 
of  each  other,  turning  on  the  same  idea  of  Bold  Robin 
meeting  with  a  shepherd,  a  tinker,  a  mendicant,  a 
tanner,  &c.  &c,  by  each  and  all  of  whom  he  is  sound- 
ly thrashed,  and  all  of  whom  he  receives  into  his 
band.  The  tradition,  which  avers  that  it  was  the 
brave  outlaw's  custom  to  try  a  bout  at  quarter-staff 
with  his  young  recruits,  might  indeed  have  author- 
ized one  or  two  such  tales,  but  the  greater  part  ought 
to  have  been  rejected  as  modern  imitations  of  the 
most  paltry  kind,  composed  probably  about  the  age 
of  James  I.  of  England.  By  adopting  this  spurions 
trash  as  part  of  Robin  Hood's  history,  he  is  repre- 

1  The  first  opening  of  the  ballad  has  much  of  the  martial 
strain  with  which  a  pibroch  commences.  Properal  in  niedias 
res— according  to  the  classical  admonition. 

"  MacCallanmore  came  from  the  west 
With  many  a  bow  and  brand ; 


sented  as  the  best  cudgelled  hero,  Don  Quixote  except- 
ed, that  ever  was  celebrated  in  prose  or  rhyme.  Rit- 
son also  published  several  garlands  of  North  Country 
songs. 

Looking  on  this  eminent  antiquary's  labors  in  a 
general  point  of  view,  we  may  deprecate  the  eager- 
ness and  severity  of  his  jjrejudices,  and  feel  surprise 
that  he  should  have  shown  so  much  irritability  of  dis- 
position on  such  a  topic  as  a  collection  of  old  ballads, 
which  certainly  have  little  in  them  to  affect  the  pas- 
sions ;  and  we  may  be  sometimes  provoked  at  the  per- 
tinacity with  which  he  has  preferred  bad  readings  to 
good.  But  while  industry,  research,  and  antiquarian 
learning,  are  recommendations  to  works  of  this  na- 
ture, few  editors  will  ever  be  found  so  competent  to 
the  task  as  Joseph  Ritson.  It  must  also  be  added  to 
his  praise  that,  although  not  willing  to  yield  his  opin- 
ion rashly,  yet  if  he  saw  reason  to  believe  that  he 
had  been  mistaken  in  any  fact  or  argument,  he  re- 
signed his  own  opinion  with  a  candor  equal  to  the 
warmth  with  which  he  defended  himself  while  confi- 
dent he  was  in  the  right.  Many  of  his  works  are  now 
almost  out  of  print,  and  an  edition  of  them  in  com- 
mon orthography,  and  altering  the  bizarre  spelling  and 
character  which  his  prejudices  induced  the  author  to 
adopt,  would  be,  to  antiquaries,  an  acceptable  present. 
We  have  now  given  a  hasty  account  of  various  col- 
lections of  popular  poetry  during  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury ;  we  have  only  further  to  observe  that,  in  the 
present  century,  this  species  of  lore  has  been  sedu- 
lously cultivated.  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish 
Border  first  appeared  in  1802,  in  two  volumes;  and 
what  may  appear  a  singular  coincidence,  it  was  the 
first  work  printed  by  Mr.  James  Ballantyne  (then 
residing  at  Kelso),  as  it  was  the  first  serious  demand 
which  the  present  author  made  on  the  patience  of  the 
public.  The  Border  Minstrelsy,  augmented  by  a  third 
volume,  came  to  a  second  edition  in  1803.  In  1803, 
Mr.,  now  Sir  John  Grahame  Dalzell,  to  whom  his 
country  is  obliged  for  his  antiquarian  labors,  pub- 
lished Scottish  Poems  of  the  Sixteenth  Century,  which, 
among  other  subjects  of  interest,  contains  a  curious 
contemporary  ballad  of  Belrinnes,  which  has  some 
stanzas  of  considerable  merit.1 

The  year  1806  was  distinguished  by  the  appearance 
of  Popular  Ballads  and  Songs,  from  Traditions,  Man- 
uscripts, and  Scarce  Editions,  with  Translations  of  Sim- 
ilar Pieces  from  the  Ancient  Danish  Language,  and  a 
few  Originals  by  the  Editor,  Robert  Jamieson,  A.  M. 
and  F.  A.  S.2  This  work,  which  was  not  greeted  by 
the  public  with  the  attention  it  deserved,  opened  a 
new  discovery  respecting  the  original  source  of  the 
Scottish  ballads.  Mr.  Jamieson's  extensive  acquaint- 
ance with  the  Scandinavian  literature  enabled  him  to 
detect  not  only  a  general  similarity  betwixt  these  and 

To  waste  the  Rinnes  he  thought  it  best, 
The  Earl  of  Huntly's  land." 
2  After  the  completion  of  the  Border  Minstrelsy,  and  nearly 
three  years  previous  to  the  publication  of  his  own  collection, 
Mr.  Jamieson  printed  in  the  Scots  Magazine  (October,  1803) 


550 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  Danish  ballads  preserved  in  the  Kcempe  Viser, 
an  early  collection  of  heroic  ballads  in  that  lan- 
guage, but  to  demonstrate  that,  in  many  cases,  the 
stories  and  songs  were  distinctly  the  same,  a  circum- 
stance which  no  antiquary  had  hitherto  so  much  as 
BUSpectecL  Mr.  Jamieson's  annotations  are  also  very 
valuable,  and  preserve  some  curious  illustrations  of 
the  old  poets.  His  imitations,  though  he  is  not  en- 
tirely free  from  the  affectation  of  using  rather  too 
many  obsolete  words,  are  generally  highly  interesting. 
The  work  fills  an  important  place  in  the  collection  of 
those  who  are  addicted  to  this  branch  of  antiquarian 
study. 

Mr.  John  Finlay,  a  poet  whose  career  was  cut  short 
by  a  premature  death,1  published  a  short  catalogue  of 
Smttish  Historical  and  Romantic  Ballads  in  1808. 
The  beauty  of  some  imitations  of  the  old  Scottish 
ballad,  with  the  good  sense,  learning,  and  modesty  of 
the  preliminary  dissertations,  must  make  all  admirers 
of  ancient  lore  regret  the  early  loss  of  this  accom- 
plished young  man. 

Various  valuable  collections  of  ancient  ballad-poet- 
ry have  appeared  of  late  years,  some  of  which  are  il- 
lustrated with  learning  and  acuteness,  as  those  of  Mr. 
Motherwell2  and  of  Mr.  Kinloch3  intimate  much  taste 
and  feeling  for  this  species  of  literature.  Nor  is  there 
any  want  of  editions  of  ballads,  less  designed  for  pub- 
lic sale  than  to  preserve  floating  pieces  of  minstrelsy 
which  are  in  immediate  danger  of  perishing.  Several 
of  those,  edited,  as  we  have  occasion  to  know,  by  men 
of  distinguished  talent,  have  appeared  in  a  smaller 
form  and  more  limited  edition,  and  must  soon  be  among 
the  introuvables  of  Scottish  typography.  We  would 
particularize  a  duodecimo,  under  the  modest  title 
of  a  Ballad  Book,  without  place  or  date  annexed, 
which  indicates,  by  a  few  notes  only,  the  capacity 
which  the  editor  possesses  for  supplying  the  most  ex- 
tensive and  ingenious  illustrations  upon  antiquarian 
subjects.  Most  of  the  ballads  are  of  a  comic  charac- 
ter, and  some  of  them  admirable  specimens  of  Scottish 
dry  humor.4  Another  collection,  which  calls  for  par- 
ticular distinction,  is  in  the  same  size,  or  nearly  so, 
and  bears  the  same  title  with  the  preceding  one,  the 
date  being  Edinburgh,  1827.  But  the  contents  are 
announced  as  containing  the  budget,  or  stock-in-trade, 


a  list  of  desiderata  in  Scottish  Song.  His  communication  to 
the  editor  of  that  work  contains  the  following  paragraph: — 
"I  am  now  writing  out  for  tfie  press  a  Collection  of  Popular 
Ballads  ami  Sung.s  from  tradition,  MSS.,  and  scarce  publica- 
tions, with  a  few  of  modern  date  which  have  been  written 
for  and  are  exclusively  dedicated  to  my  collection.  As  many 
of  the  pieces  were  common  property,  I  have  heretofore  waited 
for  the  completion  of  Mr.  Walter  Scott's  work,  with  more 
anxiety  for  the  cause  in  general  than  for  any  particular  and 
selfish  interest  of  my  own ;  as  I  was  sure  of  having  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  such  pieces  as  that  gentleman  might  choose 
to  adopt  appear  with  every  advantage  which  I,  partial  as  I 
was,  could  wish  them.  The  most  sanguine  expectations  of 
the  public  have  now  been  amply  gratified  ;  and  much  curious 
and  valuable  matter  is  still  left  for  me  by  Mr.  Scott,  to  whom 
I  am  much  indebted  for  many  acts  of  friendship,  and  much 


of  an  old  Aberdeenshire  minstrel,  the  very  last,  prob- 
ably, of  the  race,  who,  according  to  Percy's  definition 
of  the  profession,  sung  his  own  compositions,  and 
those  of  others,  through  the  capital  of  the  countv, 
and  other  towns  in  that  country  of  gentlemen.  This 
man's  name  was  Charles  Leslie,  but  he  was  known 
more  generally  by  the  nickname  of  Mussel-mou'd 
Charlie,  from  a  singular  projection  of  his  upper  lip. 
His  death  was  thus  announced  in  the  newspapers  f< it- 
October,  1792 :— "  Died  at  Old  Rain,  in  Aberdeen- 
shire, aged  one  hundred  and  four  years,  diaries  Les- 
lie, a  hawker  or  ballad-singer,  well  known  in  that 
country  by  the  name  of  Mussel-mou'd  Charlie.  He 
followed  his  occupation  until  within  a  few  weeks  of 
his  death."  Charlie  was  a  devoted  Jacobite,  and  so 
popular  in  Aberdeen  that  he  enjoyed  in  that  city  a 
sort  of  monopoly  of  the  minstrel  calling,  no  other 
person  being  allowed,  under  any  pretence,  to  chant 
ballads  on  the  causeway,  or  plain-stanes,  of"  the  brave 
burgh."  Like  the  former  collection,  most  of  Mussel- 
mou'd  Charlie's  songs  were  of  a  jocose  character. 

But  the  most  extensive  and  valuable  .  additions 
which  have  been  of  late  made  to  this  branch  of  an- 
cient literature  are  the  collections  of  Mr.  Peter  Bu- 
chan  of  Peterhead,  a  person  of  indefatigable  research 
in  that  department,  and  whose  industry  has  been 
crowned  with  the  most  successful  results.  This  is 
partly  owing  to  the  country  where  Mr.  Buchan  re- 
sides, which,  full  as  it  is  of  minstrel  relics,  has  been 
but  little  ransacked  by  any  former  collectors ;  so  that, 
while  it  is  a  very  rare  event  south  of  the  Tay  to  recover 
any  ballad  having  a  claim  to  antiquity  which  has  not 
been  examined  and  republished  in  some  one  or  other 
of  our  collections  of  ancient  poetry,  those  of  Aber- 
deenshire have  been  comparatively  little  attended  to. 
The  present  editor  was  the  first  to  solicit  attention  to 
these  northern  songs,  in  consequence  of  a  collection 
of  ballads  communicated  to  him  by  his  late  respected 
friend,  Lord  Woodhouselee.  Mr.  Jamieson,  in  his  col- 
lections of  Songs  and  Ballads,  being  himself  a  native 
of  Morayshire,  was  able  to  push  this  inquiry  much 
farther,  and  at  the  same  time,  by  doing  so,  to  illus- 
trate his  theory  of  the  connection  between  the  an- 
cient Scottish  and  Danish  ballads,  upon  which  the 
publication  of  Mr.  Buchan  throws  much  light.    It  is, 


liberality  and  good  will  shown  towards  me  and  my  under- 
taking."— Ed. 

1  Mr.  Finlay,  best  known  by  his  Wallace,  or  the  Vale  of  El- 
terslie,  died  in  1810,  in  his  twenty-eighth  year.  An  affec- 
tionate and  elegant  tribute  to  his  memory,  from  the  pen  of 
Professor  Wilson,  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Magazine,  Novem- 
ber, 1817— Ed. 

2  Minstrelsy,  Ancient  and  Modern,  with  an  Historical  Intro- 
duction and  Notes.    By  William  Motherwell.    4to,  Glasg.  1827. 

8  Ancient  Scottish  Ballads,  recovered  from  Tradition,  and  never 
before  published;  with  Notes,  Historical  and  Explanatory,  and 
an  Appendix,  containing  the  Airs  of  several  of  the  Ballads.  8vo, 
Edin.  1827. 

4  This  is  Mr.  C.  K.  Sharpe's  work,  already  alluded  to.— Ed. 


INTEODUCTOKY    REMARKS   ON    POPULAR    POETRY. 


551 


indeed,  the  most  complete  collection  of  the  kind  which 
has  yet  appeared.1 

Of  the  originality  of  the  ballads  in  Mr.  Buchan's 
collection  we  do  not  entertain  the  slightest  doubt. 
Several  (we  may  instance  the  curious  tale  of  the 
"  Two  Magicians")  are  translated  from  the  Norse,  and 
Mr.  Buchan  is  probably  unacquainted  with  the  origi- 
nals. Others  refer  to  points  of  history  with  which 
the  editor  does  not  seem  to  be  familiar.  It  is  out  of 
no  disrespect  to  this  laborious  and  useful  antiquary 
that  we  observe  his  prose  composition  is  rather  florid, 
and  forms,  in  this  respect,  a  strong  contrast  to  the 
extreme  simplicity  of  the  ballads,  which  gives  us  the 
most  distinct  assurance  that  he  has  delivered  the  lat- 
ter to  the  public  in  the  shape  in  which  he  found  them. 
Accordingly,  we  have  never  seen  any  collection  of 
Scottish  poetry  appearing,  from  internal  evidence,  so 
decidedly  and  indubitably  original.  It  is  perhaps  a 
pity  that  Mr.  Buchan  did  not  remove  some  obvious 
errors  and  corruptions;  but,  in  truth,  though  their 
remaining  on  record  is  an  injury  to  the  effect  of  the 
ballads,  in  point  of  composition  it  is,  in  some  degree, 
a  proof  of  their  authenticity.  Besides,  although  the 
exertion  of  this  editorial  privilege  of  selecting  read- 
ings is  an  advantage  to  the  ballads  themselves,  we 
are  contented  rather  to  take  the  whole  in  their  pres- 
ent though  imperfect  state  than  that  the  least  doubt 
should  be  thrown  upon  them  by  amendments  or 
alterations  which  might  render  their  authenticity 
doubtful.  The  historical  poems,  we  observe,  are  few 
and  of  no  remote  date.  That  of  the  "  Bridge  of  Dee  " 
is  among  the  oldest,  and  there  are  others  referring  to 
the  times  of  the  Covenanters.  Some,  indeed,  are  com- 
posed on  still  more  recent  events ;  as  the  marriage 
of  the  mother  of  the  late  illustrious  Byron,2  and  a 
catastrophe  of  still  later  occurrence,  the  "  Death  of 
Leith  Hall." 

As  we  wish  to  interest  the  admirers  of  ancient  min- 
strel lore  in  this  curious  collection,  we  shall  only  add 
that,  on  occasion  of  a  new  edition,  we  would  recom- 
mend to  Mr.  Buchan  to  leave  out  a  number  of  songs 


1  Ancient  Ballads  and  Songs  of  the  North  of  Scotland,  hitherto 
unpublished;  with  Explanatory  Notes.  By  P.  B.  2  vols.  8vo. 
Edin.  1828. 


which  he  has  only  inserted  because  they  are  varied, 
sometimes  for  the  worse,  from  sets  which  have  ap- 
peared in  other  publications.  This  restriction  would 
make  considerable  room  for  such  as,  old  though  they 
be,  possess  to  this  age  all  the  grace  of  novelty. 

To  these  notices  of  late  collections  of  Scottish  bal- 
lads, we  ought  to  add  some  remarks  on  the  very 
curious  Ancient  Legendary  Tales,  printed  chiefly  from, 
Original  Sources,  edited  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Henry 
Hartehorne,  M.  A.,  1829.  The  editor  of  this  unosten- 
tatious work  has  done  his  duty  to  the  public  with 
much  labor  and  care,  and  made  the  admirers  of  this 
species  of  poetry  acquainted  with  very  many  ancient 
legendary  poems,  which  were  hitherto  unpublished 
and  very  little  known.  It  increases  the  value  of  the 
collection,  that  many  of  them  are  of  a  comic  turn,  a 
species  of  composition  more  rare,  and,  from  its  neces- 
sary allusion  to  domestic  manners,  more  curious  and 
interesting,  than  the  serious  class  of  romances. 


We  have  thus,  in  a  cursory  manner,  gone  through 
the  history  of  English  and  Scottish  popular  poetry, 
and  noticed  the  principal  collections  which  have  been 
formed  from  time  to  time  of  such  compositions,  and 
the  principles  on  which  the  editors  have  proceeded. 
It  is  manifest  that,  of  late,  the  public  attention  has 
been  so  much  turned  to  the  subject  by  men  of  research 
and  talent  that  we  may  well  hope  to  retrieve  from 
oblivion  as  much  of  our  ancient  poetry  as  there  is 
now  any  possibility  of  recovering. 

Another  important  part  of  our  task  consists  in  giving 
some  account  of  the  modern  imitation  of  the  English 
ballad,  a  species  of  literary  labor  which  the  author 
has  himself  pursued  with  some  success. 

Abbotsford,  1st  March,  1830. 


8  This  song  is  quoted  in  Moore's  Life  of  Byron,  vol.  i.- 
Ed. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

The  Battle  of  Harlaw.— P.  544. 

That  there  was  such  an  ancient  ballad  is  certain,  and  the 
tone,  adapted  to  the  bagpipes,  was  long  extremely  popular, 
and,  within  the  remembrance  of  man,  the  first  which  was 
played  at  kirns  and  other  rustic  festivals.  But  there  is  a  sus- 
picious phrase  in  the  ballad  as  it  is  published  by  Allan  Ram- 
eay.    When  describing  the  national  confusion,  the  bard  says, 

"  Sen  the  days  of  auld  King  Harie, 
Such  slauchter  was  not  heard  or  seen." 

Query,  Who  was  the  "auld  King  Harie"  here  meant?  If 
Henry  VIII.  be  intended,  as  is  most  likely,  it  must  bring  the 
date  of  the  poem,  at  least  of  that  verse,  as  low  as  Queen 
Mary's  time.  The  ballad  is  said  to  have  been  printed  in  1668. 
A  copy  of  that  edition  would  be  a  great  curiosity. 

See  the  preface  to  the  reprint  of  this  ballad,  in  the  volume 
of  Early  Metrical  Tales,  ante  referred  to. 


Note  B. 


Allan  Ramsay's  "  Evergreen."— P.  544. 

Green  be  the  pillow  of  honest  Allan,  at  whose  lamp  Burns 
lighted  his  brilliant  torch !  It  is  without  enmity  to  his  mem- 
ory that  we  record  his  mistake  in  this  matter ;  but  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  regret  that  such  an  affecting  tale  as  that  of 
Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  should  have  fallen  into  his  hands. 
The  southern  reader  must  learn  (for  what  northern  reader  is 
ignorant?)  that  these  two  beautiful  women  were  kinsfolk,  and 
80  strictly  united  in  friendship  that  even  personal  jealousy 
could  not  interrupt  their  union.  They  were  visited  by  a  hand- 
some and  agreeable  young  man,  who  was  acceptable  to  them 
both,  but  so  captivated  with  their  charms,  that,  while  confi- 
dent of  a  preference  on  the  part  of  both,  he  was  unable  to 
make  a  choice  between  them.  While  this  singular  situation 
of  the  three  persons  of  the  tale  continued,  the  breaking  out 
of  the  plague  forced  the  two  ladies  to  take  refuge  in  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  Lynedoch,  where  they  built  themselves  a  bower, 
in  order  to  avoid  human  intercourse  and  the  danger  of  infec- 
tion. The  lover  was  not  included  in  their  renunciation  of 
society.  He  visited  their  retirement,  brought  with  him  the 
fatal  disease,  and  unable  to  return  to  Perth,  which  was  his 
usual  residence,  was  nursed  by  the  fair  friends  with  all  the 
tenderness  of  affection.  He  died,  however,  having  first  com- 
municated the  infection  to  his  lovely  attendants.  They  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  grave,  lovely  in  their  lives,  and  undivided 
(552) 


in  their  death.  Their  burial-place,  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
bower  which  they  built,  is  still  visible,  in  the  romantic  vicin- 
ity of  Lord  Lyndoch's  mansion,  and  prolongs  the  memory 
of  female  friendship  which  even  rivalry  could  not  dissolve. 
Two  stanzas  of  the  original  ballad  alone  survive : — 

"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  were  twa  bonnie  lasses; 
They  bigged  a  bower  on  yon  burn  brae, 

And  theekit  it  ower  wi'  rashes. 

"  They  wadna  rest  in  Methvin  kirk, 

Among  their  gentle  kin ; 
But  they  wad  lie  in  Lednoch  braes, 

To  beek  against  the  sun." 

There  is,  to  a  Scottish  ear,  so  much  tenderness  and  simplicity 
in  these  verses  as  must  induce  us  to  regret  that  the  rest  should 
have  been  superseded  by  a  pedantic  modern  song,  turning 
upon  the  most  unpoetic  part  of  the  legend,  the  hesitation, 
namely,  of  the  lover  which  of  the  ladies  to  prefer.  One  of 
the  most  touching  expressions  in  the  song  is  the  following 
exclamation  :— 

"  Oh,  Jove !  she's  like  thy  Pallas." 

Another  song,  of  which  Ramsay  chose  a  few  words  for  the 
theme  of  a  rifacimenlo,  seems  to  have  been  a  curious  specimen 
of  minstrel  recitation.  It  was  partly  verse,  partly  narrative, 
and  was  alternately  sung  and  repeated.  The  story  was  the 
escape  of  a  young  gentleman,  pursued  by  a  cruel  uncle,  de- 
sirous of  his  estate ;  or  a  bloody  rival,  greedy  of  his  life ;  or 
the  relentless  father  of  his  lady-love,  or  some  such  remorse- 
less character,  having  sinister  intentions  on  the  person  of  the 
fugitive.  The  object  of  his  rapacity  or  vengeance  being  nearly 
overtaken,  a  shepherd  undertakes  to  mislead  the  pursuer, 
who  comes  in  sight  just  as  the  object  of  his  pursuit  disappears, 
and  greets  the  shepherd  thus : — 

" PURSUER. 

Good  morrow,  shepherd,  and  my  friend, 
Saw  you  a  young  man  this  way  riding; 

With  long  black  hair,  on  a  bob-tail'd  mare, 
And  I  know  that  I  cannot  be  far  behind  him? 

THE  SHEPHERD. 

Yes,  I  did  see  him  this  way  riding, 
And  what  did  much  surprise  my  wit, 

The  man  and  the  mare  flew  up  in  the  air, 
And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 

Behind  yon  white  cloud  I  see  her  tail  wave, 
And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet." 

The  tune  of  these  verses  is  an  extremely  good  one,  and 
Allan  Kamsay  has  adapted  a  bacchanalian  song  to  it  with 
some  success;  but  we  should  have  thanked  him  much  had  he 
taken  the  trouble  to  preserve  the  original  legend  of  the  old 


APPENDIX  TO  INTRODUCTORY  REMARKS  ON  POPULAR  POETRY.   553 


minstrel.  The  valuable  and  learned  friend  i  to  whom  we 
owe  this  mutilated  account  of  it  has  often  heard  it  sung 
among  the  High  Jinks  of  Scottish  lawyers  of  the  last  gen- 
eration. 


Note  C. 
Joseph  Ritson. 

"neglecting,  in  literary  debate,  the  courtesies  of  ordinary 

society." — P.  544. 

For  example,  in  quoting  a  popular  song,  well  known  by  the 
name  of  "  Maggie  Lauder,"  the  editor  of  the  Reliqucs  had  given 
a  line  of  the  Dame's  address  to  the  merry  minstrel,  thus  :— 

"  Gin  ye  be  Rob,  I've  heard  of  you, 
You  dwell  upon  the  Border." 

Ritson  insisted  the  genuine  reading  was, 

"  Come  ye  frae  the  Border  ?" 

and  he  expatiates  with  great  keenness  on  the  crime  of  the 
Bishop's  having  sophisticated  the  text  (of  which  he  produces 
no  evidence)  to  favor  his  opinion  that  the  Borders  were  a 
favorite  abode  of  the  minstrels  of  both  kingdoms.  The  fact, 
it  is  believed,  is  undoubted,  and  the  one  reading  seems  to 
support  it  as  well  as  the  other.— [Joseph  Ritson  died  in  1803.] 


Note  D. 


"A  MERE    CROWDER   UPON  AN  UNTUNED    FIDDLE."—  P.  546. 

In  Fletcher's  comedy  of  Monsieur  Thomas,  such  a  fiddler  is 
questioned  as  to  the  ballads  he  is  best  versed  in,  and  replies, 

"  Under  your  mastership's  correction  I  can  sing 

'  The  Duke  of  Norfolk,'  or  the  merry  ballad 

Of  '  Divius  and  Lazarus ;'  '  The  Rose  of  England ;' 

'  In  Crete,  where  Dedimus  first  began  ;' 

•Jonas  his  crying  out  against  Coventry.' 

Thomas.    Excellent ! 
Rare  matters  all. 

Fiddler.    '  Mawdlin  the  Merchant's  Daughter ;' 
'  The  Devil  and  ye  Dainty  Dames.' 

Thomas.    Rare  still. 

Fiddler.    '  The  Landing  of  the  Spaniards  at  Bow, 
With  the  bloody  battle  at  Mile-end.' " 

The  poor  minstrel  is  described  as  accompanying  the  young 
rake  in  his  revels.    Launcelot  describes 

"  The  gentleman  himself,  young  Monsieur  Thomas, 
Errant  with  his  furious  myrmidons; 
The  fiery  fiddler  and  myself— now  singing, 
Now  beating  at  the  doors,"  &c. 


Note  E. 

Minstrels.— P.  546. 

The  "  Song  of  the  Traveller,"  an  ancient  piece  lately  dis- 
covered in  the  Cathedral  Library  of  Exeter,  and  published  by 

1  The  late  Right  Honorable  William  Adam,  Lord  Chief 
Commissioner  of  the  Scotch  Jury  Court. — Ed. 


the  Rev.  Mr.  Conybeare,  in  his  Illustrations  of  Anglo-Saxon 
Poetry  (1826),  furnishes  a  most  curious  picture  of  the  life  of 
the  Northern  Scald  or  minstrel,  in  the  high  and  palmy  state 
of  the  profession.  The  reverend  editor  thus  translates  the 
closing  lines : — 

"  Ille  est  carissimus  Terra?  incolis 

Cui  Deus  addidit  Hominum  imperium  gerendum, 

Quum  ille  eos  [bardos]  habeat  caros. 

Ita  comeantes  cum  cantilenis  feruntur 

Bardi  hominum  per  terras  multas ; 

Simul  eos  remuneratur  ob  cantilenas  pulchras, 

Muneribus  immensis,  ille  qui  ante  nobiles 

Vult  judicium  suum  extollere,  dignitatem  sustinere. 

Habet  ille  sub  ccelo  stabilem  famam."— P.  22. 

Mr.  Conybeare  contrasts  this  "  flattering  picture "  with  the 
following  "  melancholy  specimen  "  of  the  minstrel  life  of  later 
times,  contained  in  some  verses  by  Richard  Sheale  (the  al- 
leged author  of  the  old  "Chevy  Chase")  which  are  preserved 
in  one  of  the  Ashmolean  MSS. : — 

"  Now  for  the  good  cheere  that  I  have  had  here, 

I  give  you  hearty  thanks  with  bowing  of  my  sbankes, 

Desiring  you  by  petition  to  grant  me  such  commission— 

Because  my  name  is  Sheale,  that  both  for  meat  and  meale, 

To  you  I  may  resort  sum  tyme  for  my  comforte. 

For  I  perceive  here  at  all  tymes  is  good  cheere, 

Both  ale,  wyne,  and  beere,  as  hyt  doth  now  appere, 

I  perceive  without  fable  ye  keepe  a  good  table. 

I  can  be  contente,  if  hyt  be  out  of  Lent, 

A  piece  of  beefe  to  take  my  honger  to  aslake, 

Both  mutton  and  veale  is  goode  for  Rycharde  Sheale ; 

Though  I  looke  so  grave,  I  were  a  veri  knave, 

If  I  wold  thinke  skorne  ether  evenynge  or  morne, 

Beyng  in  honger,  of  fresshe  samon  or  kongar, 

I  can  fynde  in  my  hearte,  with  my  frendis  to  take  a  parte 

Of  such  as  Godde  shal  sonde,  and  thus  I  make  an  ende. 

Now  farewel,  good  myn  Hoste,  I  thank  youe  for  youre  coste 

Untyl  another  tyme,  and  thus  do  I  ende  my  ryme."— P.  28. 


Note  F. 


William  Julius  Mickle.—  P.  547. 

In  evidence  of  what  is  stated  in  the  text,  the  author  would 
quote  the  introductory  stanza  to  a  forgotten  poem  of  Mickle, 
originally  published  under  the  injudicious  and  equivocal  title 
of  "  The  Concubine,"  but  in  subsequent  editions  called  "  Sir 
Martyn,  or  the  Progress  of  Dissipation :" — 

"  Awake,  ye  west  winds,  through  the  lonely  dale, 

And,  Fancy,  to  thy  faery  bower  betake ; 
Even  now  with  balmy  sweetness  breathes  the  gale, 

Dimpling  with  downy  wing  the  stilly  lake ; 
Through  the  pale  willows  faltering  whispers  wake, 

And  evening  comes  with  locks  bedropp'd  with  dew; 
On  Desmond's  mouldering  turrets  slowly  shake 

The  wither'd  ryegrass,  and  the  hairbell  blue, 
And  ever  and  anon  sweet  Mulla's  plaints  renew." 

Mickle's  facility  of  versification  was  so  great  that,  being  a 
printer  by  profession,  he  frequently  put  his  lines  into  types 
without  taking  the  trouble  previously  to  put  them  into  writ- 
ing ;  thus  uniting  the  composition  of  the  author  with  the  me- 
chanical operation  which  typographers  call  by  the  same  name. 


ES  SAY 


imitations  of  the  Slncient  JSallao.1 


The  invention  of  printing  necessarily  occasioned  the 
downfall  of  the  Order  of  Minstrels,  already  reduced  to 
contempt  by  their  own  bad  habits,  by  the  disrepute 
attached  to  their  profession,  and  by  the  laws  calcu- 
lated to  repress  tbeir  license.  When  the  Metrical 
Romances  were  very  many  of  them  in  the  hands  of 
every  one,  the  occupation  of  those  who  made  their 
living  by  reciting  them  was  in  some  degree  abolished, 
and  the  minstrels  either  disappeared  altogether,  or 
sunk  into  mere  musicians,  whose  utmost  acquaintance 
with  poetry  was  being  able  to  sing  a  ballad.  Perhaps 
old  Anthony,  who  acquired,  from  the  song  which  he 
accounted  his  masterpiece,  the  name  of  Anthony  Now 
Now,  was  one  of  the  last  of  this  class  in  the  capital ; 
nor  does  the  tenor  of  his  poetry  evince  whether  it  was 
his  own  composition  or  that  of  some  other.2 

But  the  taste  for  popular  poetry  did  not  decay  with 
the  class  of  men  by  whom  it  had  been  for  some  genera- 
tions practiced  and  preserved.  Not  only  did  the  simple 
old  ballads  retain  their  ground,  though  circulated  by 
the  new  art  of  printing,  instead  of  being  preserved  by 
recitation ;  but  in  the  Garlands,  and  similar  collec- 
tions for  general  sale,  the  authors  aimed  at  a  more 
ornamental  and  regular  style  of  poetry  than  had  been 
attempted  by  the  old  minstrels,  whose  composition,  if 
not  extemporaneous,  was  seldom  committed  to  writing, 
and  was  not,  therefore,  susceptible  of  accurate  revision. 
This  was  the  more  necessary,  as  even  the  popular 
poetry  was  now  feeling  the  effects  arising  from  the 
advance  of  knowledge,  and  the  revival  of  the  study 
of  the  learned  languages,  with  all  the  elegance  and 
refinement  which  it  induced. 

In  short,  the  general  progress  of  the  country  led  to 
an  improvement  in  the  department  of  popular  poetry, 
tending  both  to  soften  and  melodize  the  language 
employed,  and  to  ornament  the  diction  beyond  that  of 
the  rude  minstrels,  to  whom  such  topics  of  composi- 

1  This  essay  was  written  in  April,  1830,  and  forms  a  contin- 
uation of  the  "  Remarks  on  Popular  Poetry."— Ed. 

8  He  might  he  supposed  a  contemporary  of  Henry  VIII.,  if 
the  greeting  which  he  pretends  to  have  given  to  that  monarch 
is  of  his  own  composition,  and  spoken  in  his  own  person : — 
(554  ) 


tion  had  been  originally  abandoned.  The  monotony 
of  the  ancient  recitals  was,  for  the  same  causes,  altered 
and  improved  upon.  The  eternal  description  of  bat- 
tles and  of  love  dilemmas  which,  to  satiety,  filled  the 
old  romances  with  trivial  repetition,  was  retrenched. 
If  any  one  wishes  to  compare  the  two  eras  of  lyrical 
poetry,  a  few  verses  taken  from  one  of  the  latest  min- 
strel ballads,  and  one  of  the  earliest  that  were  written 
for  the  press,  will  afford  him,  in  some  degree,  the 
power  of  doing  so. 

The  rude  lines  from  Anthony  Now  Now,  which  we 
have  just  quoted,  may,  for  example,  be  compared,  as 
Ritson  requests,  with  the  ornamented  commencement 
of  the  ballad  of  "  Fair  Rosamond :" — 

"  When  as  King  Henry  ruled  this  land, 

The  second  of  that  name, 
Besides  his  queen  he  dearly  loved 

A  fair  and  comely  dame. 

"Most  peerless  was  her  beauty  found, 

Her  favor,  and  her  face ; 
A  sweeter  creature  in  the  world 

Could  never  prince  embrace. 

"  Her  crisped  locks  like  threads  of  gold 

Appear'd  to  each  man's  sight ; 
Her  sparkling  eyes,  like  orient  pearls, 

Did  cast  a  heavenly  light. 

"The  blood  within  her  crystal  cheeks 

Did  such  a  color  drive, 
As  though  the  lily  and  the  rose 

For  mastership  did  strive."3 

It  may  be  rash  to  affirm  that  those  who  lived  by 
singing  this  more  refined  poetry  were  a  class  of  men 
different  from  the  ancient  minstrels ;  but  it  appears 
that  both  the  name  of  the  professors  and  the  character 
of  the  minstrel  poetry  had  sunk  in  reputation. 

The  facility  of  versification  and  of  poetical  diction 

"  Good  morrow  to  our  noble  king,  quoth  I ; 

Good  morrow,  quoth  he,  to  thou : 
And  then  he  said  to  Anthony, 

0  Anthony  now  now  now." 
3  Percy's  Reliques,  vol.  ii.  p.  147. 


ESSAY   ON   IMITATIONS   OF   THE   ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


555 


is  decidedly  in  favor  of  the  moderns,  as  might  rea- 
sonably be  expected  from  the  improved  taste  and  en- 
larged knowledge  of  an  age  which  abounded  to  such 
a  degree  in  poetry,  and  of  a  character  so  imaginative 
as  was  the  Elizabethan  era.  The  poetry  addressed  to 
the  populace,  and  enjoyed  by  them  alone,  was  animated 
by  the  spirit  that  was  breathed  around.  We  may 
cite  Shakspeare's  unquestionable  and  decisive  evi- 
dence in  this  respect.  In  Twelfth  Night  he  describes 
a  popular  ballad,  with  a  beauty  and  precision  which 
no  one  but  himself  could  have  affixed  to  its  character ; 
and  the  whole  constitutes  the  strongest  appeal  in 
favor  of  that  species  of  poetry  which  is  written  to  suit 
the  taste  of  the  public  in  general,  and  is  most  natu- 
rally preserved  by  oral  tradition.  But  the  remarkable 
part  of  the  circumstance  is  that  when  the  song  is 
actually  sung  by  Feste  the  clown,  it  differs  in  almost 
all  particulars  from  what  we  might  have  been  justified 
in  considering  as  attributes  of  a  popular  ballad  of  that 
early  period.  It  is  simple,  doubtless,  both  in  structure 
and  phraseology,  but  is  rather  a  love  song  than  a 
minstrel  ballad — a  love  song,  also,  which,  though  its 
imaginative  figures  of  speech  are  of  a  very  simple  and 
intelligible  character,  may  nevertheless  be  compared 
to  any  thing  rather  than  the  boldness  of  the  preceding 
age,  and  resembles  nothing  less  than  the  ordinary 
minstrel  ballad.  The  original,  though  so  well  known, 
may  be  here  quoted  for  the  purpose  of  showing  what 
was,  in  Shakspeare's  time,  regarded  as  the  poetry  of 
"  the  old  age."  Almost  every  one  has  the  passage  by 
heart,  yet  I  must  quote  it,  because  there  seems  a 
marked  difference  between  the  species  of  poem  which 
is  described  and  that  which  is  sung : — 

"  Mark  it,  Csesario ;  it  is  old  and  plain : 

The  spinsters  and  the  knitters  in  the  sun, 

And  the  free  maids,  that  weave  their  thread  with  bones, 

Do  use  to  chant  it ;  it  is  silly  sooth, 

And  dallies  with  the  innocence  of  love, 

Like  the  old  age." 

The  song  thus  beautifully  prefaced  is  as  follows : — 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  death, 
And  in  sad  cypress  let  me  be  laid ; 

Fly  away,  fly  away,  breath ; 
I  am  slain  by  a  fair  cruel  maid. 
My  shroud  of  white,  stuck  all  with  yew, 

O,  prepare  it ; 
My  part  of  death  no  one  so  true 
Did  share  it. 

"  Not  a  flower,  not  a  flower  sweet, 
On  my  black  coffin  let  there  be  strown; 

Not  a  friend,  not  a  friend  greet 
My  poor  corpse,  where  my  bones  shall  be  thrown : 
A  thousand,  thousand  sighs  to  save, 

Lay  me,  O,  where 
Sad  true  lover  never  find  my  grave, 
To  weep  there."1 

On  comparing  this  love  elegy,  or  whatever  it  may 

1  Twelfth  Night,  act  ii.  scene  4. 

2  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Defence  of  Poesy. 


be  entitled,  with  the  ordinary  and  especially  the  ear- 
lier popular  poetry,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  a 
great  difference  will  be  observed  in  the  structure  of 
the  verse,  the  character  of  the  sentiments,  the  orna- 
ments and  refinement  of  the  language.  Neither 
indeed,  as  might  be  expected  from  the  progress  of 
human  affairs,  was  the  change  in  the  popular  style 
of  poetry  achieved  without  some  disadvantages,  which 
counterbalanced,  in  a  certain  degree,  the  superior  art 
and  exercise  of  fancy  which  had  been  introduced  of 
late  times. 

The  expressions  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  an  unques- 
tionable judge  of  poetry,  flourishing  in  Elizabeth's 
golden  reign,  and  drawing  around  him,  like  a  mag- 
net, the  most  distinguished  poets  of  the  age,  amongst 
whom  we  need  only  name  Shakspeare  and  Spenser, 
still  show  something  to  regret  when  he  compared  the 
highly  wrought  and  richly  ornamented  poetry  of  his 
own  time  with  the  ruder  but  more  energetic  diction 
of  "Chevy  Chase."  His  words,  often  quoted,  cannot  yet 
be  dispensed  with  on  the  present  occasion.  They  are 
a  chapter  in  the  history  of  ancient  poetry.  "  Certain- 
ly," says  the  brave  knight,  "  I  must  confess  my  own 
barbarousness ;  I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy 
and  Douglas  that  I  found  not  my  heart  more  moved 
than  with  a  trumpet.  And  yet  it  is  sung  by  some 
blind  crowder,  with  no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style, 
which  being  so  evil  apparelled  in  the  dust  and  cob- 
webs of  that  uncivil  age,  what  would  it  work,  trimmed 
in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pindar?"2 

If  we  inquire  more  particularly  what  were  the 
peculiar  charms  by  which  the  old  minstrel  ballad 
produced  an  effect  like  a  trumpet-sound  upon  the 
bosom  of  a  real  son  of  chivalry,  we  may  not  be  wrong 
in  ascribing  it  to  the  extreme  simplicity  with  which 
the  narrative  moves  forward,  neglecting  all  the  more 
minute  ornaments  of  speech  and  diction,  to  the  grand 
object  of  enforcing  on  the  hearer  a  striking  and  affect- 
ing catastrophe.  The  author  seems  too  serious  in 
his  wish  to  affect  the  audience,  to  allow  himself  to 
be  drawn  aside  by  any  thing  which  can,  either  by  its 
tenor  or  the  manner  in  which  it  is  spoken,  have  the 
perverse  effect  of  distracting  attention  from  the  catas- 
trophe. 

Such  grand  and  serious  beauties,  however,  occurred 
but  rarely  to  the  old  minstrels ;  and  in  order  to  find 
them,  it  became  necessary  to  struggle  through  long 
passages  of  monotony,  languor,  and  inanity.  Unfor- 
tunately it  also  happened  that  those  who,  like  Sidney, 
could  ascertain,  feel,  and  do  full  justice  to  the  beau- 
ties of  the  heroic  ballad,  were  few  compared  to  the 
numbers  who  could  be  sensible  of  the  trite  verbiage  of 
a  bald  passage,  or  the  ludicrous  effect  of  an  absurd 
rhyme.  In  England,  accordingly,  the  popular  ballad 
fell  into  contempt  during  the  seventeenth  century; 
and  although  in  remote  counties3  its  inspiration  was 
occasionally  the  source  of  a  few  verses,  it  seems  to 

3  A  curious  and  spirited  specimen  occurs  in  Cornwall,  as 
late  as  the  trial  of  the  Bishops  before  the  Revolution.    The 


556 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


have  become  almost  entirely  obsolete  in  the  capital. 
Even  the  Civil  Wars,  which  gave  so  much  occasion 
for  poetry,  produced  rather  song  and  satire  than  the 
ballad  or  popular  epic.  The  curious  reader  may 
satisfy  himself  on  this  point,  should  he  wish  to  ascer- 
tain the  truth  of  the  allegation,  by  looking  through 
DTrfey's  large  and  curious  collection,1  whe*U  he  will 
be  aware  that  the  few  ballads  which  it  contains  are 
the  most  ancient  productions  in  the  book,  and  very 
seldom  take  their  date  after  the  commencement  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

In  Scotland,  on  the  contrary,  the  old  minstrel  bal- 
lad long  continued  to  preserve  its  popularity.  Even 
the  last  contests  of  Jacobitism  were  recited  with  great 
vigor  in  ballads  of  the  time,  the  authors  of  some  of 
which  are  known  and  remembered ;  nor  is  there  a  more 
(Spirited  ballad  preserved  than  that  of  Mr.  Skirving2 
(father  of  Skirving  the  artist)  upon  the  battle  of 
Prestonpans,  so  late  as  1745.  But  this  was  owing  to 
circumstances  connected  with  the  habits  of  the  people 
in  a  remote  and  rude  country  which  could  not  exist 
in  the  richer  and  wealthier  provinces  of  England. 

On  the  whole,  however,  the  ancient  Heroic  ballad, 
as  it  was  called,  seemed  to  be  fast  declining  among 
the  more  enlightened  and  literary  part  of  both  coun- 
tries ;  and  if  retained  by  the  lower  classes  in  Scotland, 
it  had  in  England  ceased  to  exist,  or  degenerated  into 
doggerel  of  the  last  degree  of  vileness. 

Subjects  the  most  interesting  were  abandoned  to 
the  poorest  rhymers,  and  one  would  have  thought 
that,  as  in  an  ass-race,  the  prize  had  been  destined  to 
the  slowest  of  those  who  competed  for  the  prize.  The 
melancholy  fate  of  Miss  Ray,3  who  fell  by  the  hands 
of  a  frantic  lover,  could  only  inspire  the  Grub  Street 
muse  with  such  verses  as  these, — that  is,  if  I  remember 
them  correctly : — 

"  A  Sandwich  favourite  was  this  fair, 

And  her  he  dearly  loved ; 
By  whom  six  children  had,  we  hear; 

This  story  fatal  proved. 

"A  clergyman,  O  wicked  one, 

In  Covent  Garden  shot  her ; 
No  time  to  cry  upon  her  God, 

It's  hoped  He's  not  forgot  her." 

If  it  be  true,  as  in  other  cases,  that  when  things  are 
at  the  worst  they  must  mend,  it  was  certainly  time  to 
expect  an  amelioration  in  the  department  in  which 
such  doggerel  passed  current. 

Accordingly,  previous  to  this  time,  a  new  species  of 
poetry  seems  to  have  arisen,  which,  in  some  cases, 
endeavored  to  pass  its  If  as  the  production  of  genu- 
ine antiquity,  and,  in  others,  honestly  avowed  an  at- 


President  of  the  Royal  Society  of  London  (Mr.  Davies  (Al- 
bert) has  not  disdained  the  trouble  of  preserving  it  from 
oblivion. 

1  Pills  to  Purge  Melancholy. 

s  See  Hogg's  Jacobite  Relics,  vol.  i. — Ed. 

8  Miss  Kay,  the  beautiful  mistress  of  the  Earl  of  Sandwich, 


tempt  to  emulate  the  merits  and  avoid  the  errors 
witli  which  the  old  ballad  was  encumbered;  and  in 
the  effort  to  accomplish  this,  a  species  of  composition 
was  discovered  which  is  capable  of  being  subjected 
to  peculiar  rules  of  criticism,  and  of  exhibiting  excel- 
lences of  its  own. 

In  writing  for  the  use  of  the  general  reader,  rather 
than  the  poetical  antiquary,  I  shall  be  readily  excused 
from  entering  into  any  inquiry  respecting  the  authors 
who  first  showed  the  way  in  this  peculiar  department 
of  modern  poetry,  which  I  may  term  the  imitation  of 
the  old  ballad,  especially  that  of  the  latter  or  Eliza- 
bethan era.  One  of  the  oldest,  according  to  my 
recollection,  which  pretends  to  engraft  modern  refine- 
ment upon  ancient  simplicity,  is  extremely  beautiful, 
both  from  the  words  and  the  simple  and  affecting 
melody  to  which  they  are  usually  sung.  The  title  is 
"  Lord  Henry  and  Fair  Catherine."   It  begins  thus : — 

"  In  ancient  days,  in  Britain's  isle, 

Lord  Henry  well  was  known ; 
No  knight  in  all  the  land  more  famed, 

Or  more  deserved  renown. 

"  His  thoughts  were  all  on  honor  bent, 

He  ne'er  would  stoop  to  love : 
No  lady  in  the  land  had  power 

His  frozen  heart  to  move." 

Early  in  the  eighteenth  century,  this  peculiar  species 
of  composition  became  popular.  We  find  Tickell,  the 
friend  of  Addison,  who  produced  the  beautiful  ballad, 
"Of  Leinster  famed  for  maidens  fair,"  Mallet,  Gold- 
smith, Shenstone,  Percy,  and  many  others,  followed 
an  example  which  had  much  to  recommend  it,  espe- 
cially as  it  presented  considerable  facilities  to  those 
who  wished,  at  as  little  exertion  of  trouble  as  possible, 
to  attain  for  themselves  a  certain  degree  of  literary 
reputation. 

Before,  however,  treating  of  the  professed  imitators 
of  Ancient  Ballad  Poetry,  I  ought  to  say  a  word  upon 
those  who  have  written  their  imitations  with  the  pre- 
conceived purpose  of  passing  them  for  ancient. 

There  is  no  small  degree  of  cant  in  the  violent  in- 
vectives with  which  impostors  of  this  nature  have 
been  assailed.  In  fact,  the  case  of  each  is  special, 
and  ought  to  be  separately  considered,  according  to 
its  own  circumstances.  If  a  young,  perhaps  a  female, 
author  chooses  to  circulate  a  beautiful  poem,  we  will 
suppose  that  of  "  Hardyknute,"  under  the  disguise  of 
antiquity,  the  public  is  surely  more  enriched  by  the 
contribution  than  injured  by  the  deception.4  It  is 
hardly  possible,  indeed,  without  a  power  of  poetical 
genius  and  acquaintance  with  ancient  language  and 


then  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  was  assassinated  by  Mr. 
Hackman,  "in  a  fit  of  frantic  jealous  love,"  as  Boswell  ex- 
presses it,  in  1779.    See  Croker's  Boswell,  vol.  iv.  p.  254. — Ed. 

4  "  '  Hardyknute'  was  the  first  poem  that  I  ever  learnt — the 
last  that  I  shall  forget."— MS.  note  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  on  a 
leaf  of  Allan  Ramsay's  Tea-Table  Miscellany. 


ESSAY   ON   IMITATIONS   OF   THE   ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


557 


manners  possessed  by  very  few,  to  succeed  in  deceiv- 
ing those  who  have  made  this  branch  of  literature 
their  study.  The  very  desire  to  unite  modern  refine- 
ment with  the  verve  of  the  ancient  minstrels  will 
itself  betray  the  masquerade.  A  minute  acquaintance 
with  ancient  customs  and  with  ancient  history  is  also 
demanded  to  sustain  a  part  which,  as  it  must  rest  on 
deception,  cannot  be  altogether  an  honorable  one. 

Two  of  the  most  distinguished  authors  of  this  class 
have  in  this  manner  been  detected,  being  deficient 
in  the  knowledge  requisite  to  support  their  genius  in 
the  disguise  they  meditated.  "  Hardyknute,"  for  in- 
stance, already  mentioned,  is  irreconcilable  with  all 
chronology,  and  a  chief  with  a  Norwegian  name  is 
strangely  introduced  as  the  first  of  the  nobles  brought 
to  resist  a  Norse  invasion,  at  the  battle  of  Largs :  the 
"  needlework  so  rare,"  introduced  by  the  fair  author- 
ess, must  have  been  certainly  long  posterior  to  the 
reign  of  Alexander  III.  In  Chatterton's  ballad  of 
"  Sir  Charles  Baudwin,"  we  find  an  anxious  attempt 
to  represent  the  composition  as  ancient,  and  some  en- 
tries in  the  public  accounts  of  Bristol  were  appealed 
to  in  corroboration.  But  neither  was  this  ingenious 
but  most  unhappy  young  man,  with  all  his  powers  of 
poetry,  and  with  the  antiquarian  knowledge  which 
he  had  collected  with  indiscriminating  but  astonish- 
ing research,  able  to  impose  on  that  part  of  the  public 
qualified  to  judge  of  the  compositions,  which  it  had 
occurred  to  him  to  pass  off  as  those  of  a  monk  of  the 
fourteenth  century.  It  was  in  vain  that  he  in  each 
word  doubled  the  consonants,  like  the  sentinels  of  an 
endangered  army.  The  art  used  to  disguise  and  mis- 
spell the  words  only  overdid  what  was  intended,  and 
afforded  sure  evidence  that  the  poems  published  as 
antiques  had  been,  in  fact,  tampered  with  by  a  modern 
artist,  as  the  newly-forged  medals  of  modern  days 
stand  convicted  of  imposture  from  the  very  touches 
of  the  file,  by  which  there  is  an  attempt  to  imitate 
the  cracks  and  fissures  produced  by  the  hammer  upon 
the  original.1 

I  have  only  met,  in  my  researches  into  these  mat- 
ters, with  one  poem  which,  if  it  had  been  produced 
as  ancient,  could  not  have  been  detected  on  internal 
evidence.  It  is  the  "  War  Song  upon  the  victory  at 
Brunnanburg,  translated  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  into 
Anglo-Norman,"  by  the  Right  Honorable  John  Hook- 
ham  Frere.  See  Ellis'  Specimens  of  Ancient  Eng- 
lish Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  32.  The  accomplished  editor 
tells  us  that  this  very  singular  poem  was  intended 
as  an  imitation  of  the  style  and  language  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  and  was  written  during  the  con- 
troversy occasioned  by  the  poems  attributed  to  Row- 
ley. Mr.  Ellis  adds,  "  the  reader  will  probably  hear 
with  some  surprise  that  this  singular  instance  of 
critical  ingenuity  was  the  composition  of  an  Eton 
schoolboy." 

The  author  may  be  permitted  to  speak  as  an  artist 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


on  this  occasion  (disowning,  at  the  same  time,  all 
purpose  of  imposition),  as  having  written,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  late  Mr.  Ritson,  one  or  two  things  of  this 
kind ;  among  others,  a  continuation  of  the  romance 
of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  the  only  one  which  chances 
to  be  preserved.2  And  he  thinks  himself  entitled  to 
state  that  a  modern  poet  engaged  in  such  a  task  is 
much  in  the  situation  of  an  architect  of  the  present 
day,  who,  if  acquainted  with  his  profession,  finds  no 
difficulty  in  copying  the  external  forms  of  a  Gothic 
castle  or  abbey,  but  when  it  is  completed,  can  hardly, 
by  any  artificial  tints  or  cement,  supply  the  spots, 
weather-stains,  and  hues  of  different  kinds,  with 
which  time  alone  had  invested  the  venerable  fabric 
which  he  desires  to  imitate. 

Leaving  this  branch  of  the  subject,  in  which  the 
difficulty  of  passing  ofl*  what  is  modern  for  what  is 
ancient  cannot  be  matter  of  regret,  we  may  bestow 
with  advantage  some  brief  consideration  on  the  fair 
trade  of  manufacturing  modern  antiques,  not  for  the 
purpose  of  passing  them  as  contraband  goods  on  the 
skillful  antiquary,  but  in  order  to  obtain  the  credit 
due  to  authors  as  successful  imitators  of  the  ancient 
simplicity,  while  their  system  admits  of  a  considerable 
infusion  of  modern  refinement.  Two  classes  of  imita- 
tion may  be  referred  to  as  belonging  to  this  species  of 
composition.  When  they  approach  each  other,  there 
may  be  some  difficulty  in  assigning  to  individual  poems 
their  peculiar  character,  but  in  general  the  difference 
is  distinctly  marked.  The  distinction  lies  betwixt  the 
authors  of  ballads  or  legendary  poems  who  have  at- 
tempted to  imitate  the  language,  the  manners,  and 
the  sentiments  of  the  ancient  poems  which  were  their 
prototypes  and  those,  on  the  contrary,  who,  without 
endeavoring  to  do  so,  have  struck  out  a  particular 
path  for  themselves,  which  cannot,  with  strict  pro- 
priety, be  termed  either  ancient  or  modern. 

In  the  actual  imitation  of  the  ancient  ballad,  Dr. 
Percy,  whose  researches  made  him  well  acquainted 
with  that  department  of  poetry,  was  peculiarly  suc- 
cessful. The  "  Hermit  of  Warkworth,"  the  "  Child 
of  Elle,"  and  other  minstrel  tales  of  his  composition, 
must  always  be  remembered  with  fondness  by  those 
who  have  perused  them  in  that  period  of  life  when 
the  feelings  are  strong,  and  the  taste  for  poetry,  espe- 
cially of  this  simple  nature,  is  keen  and  poignant. 
This  learned  and  amiable  prelate  was  also  remark- 
able for  his  power  of  restoring  the  ancient  ballad  by 
throwing  in  touches  of  poetry  so  adapted  to  its  tone 
and  tenor  as  to  assimilate  with  its  original  structure, 
and  impress  every  one  who  considered  the  subject  as 
being  coeval  with  the  rest  of  the  piece.  It  must  be 
owned  that  such  freedoms,  when  assumed  by  a  pro- 
fessed antiquary,  addressing  himself  to  antiquaries, 
and  for  the  sake  of  illustrating  literary  antiquities, 
are  subject  to  great  and  licentious  abuse ;  and  herein 
the  severity  of  Ritson  was  to  a  certain  extent  justified. 

2  See  "  Sir  Tristreiu,"  Scott's  Poetical  Works,  vol.  v.,  edition 


558 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  when  the  license  is  avowed,  and  practiced  with- 
out the  intention  to  deceive,  it  cannot  be  objected  to 
but  by  scrupulous  pedantry. 

The  poet,  perhaps,  most  capable,  by  verses,  lines, 
even  single  words,  to  relieve  and  heighten  the  charac- 
ter of  ancient  poetry,  was  the  Scottish  bard  Robert 
Burns.  We  are  not  here  speaking  of  the  avowed 
lyrical  poems  of  his  own  composition,  which  he  com- 
municated to  Mr.  George  Thomson,  but  of  the  manner 
in  which  he  recomposed  and  repaired  the  old  songs 
and  fragments  for  the  collection  of  Johnson1  and 
others,  when,  if  his  memory  supplied  the  theme  or 
general  subject  of  the  song,  such  as  it  existed  in  Scot- 
tish lore,  his  genius  contributed  that  part  which  was 
to  give  life  and  immortality  to  the  whole.  If  this 
praise  should  be  thought  extravagant,  the  reader  may 
compare  his  splendid  lyric,  "  My  heart's  in  the  High- 
lands," with  the  tame  and  scarcely  half-intelligible  re- 
mains of  that  song  as  preserved  by  Mr.  Peter  Buchan. 
Or,  what  is  perhaps  a  still  more  magnificent  example 
of  what  we  mean,  "  Macpherson's  Farewell,"  with  all 
its  spirit  and  grandeur,  as  repaired  by  Burns,  may  be 
collated  with  the  original  poem  called  "  Macpherson's 
Lament,"  or  sometimes  the  "  Ruffian's  Rant."  In 
Burns'  brilliant  rifacimento,  the  same  strain  of  wild 
ideas  is  expressed  as  we  find  in  the  original,  but  with 
an  infusion  of  the  savage  and  impassioned  spirit  of 
Highland  chivalry,  which  gives  a  splendor  to  the 
composition  of  which  we  find  not  a  trace  in  the  rude- 
ness of  the  ancient  ditty.  I  can  bear  witness  to  the 
older  verses  having  been  current  while  I  was  a  child, 
but  I  never  knew  a  line  of  the  inspired  edition  of  the 
Ayrshire  bard  until  the  appearance  of  Johnson's  Mu- 
seum. 

Besides  Percy,  Burns,  and  others,  we  must  not  omit 
to  mention  Mr.  Finlay,  whose  beautiful  song, 

"  There  came  a  knight  from  the  field  of  the  slain," 

is  so  happily  descriptive  of  antique  manners;  or 
Mickle,  whose  accurate  and  interesting  imitations  of 
the  ancient  ballad  we  have  already  mentioned  with 
approbation  in  the  former  Essay  on  Ballad  Composi- 
tion. These,  with  others  of  modern  date,  at  the  head 
of  whom  we  must  place  Thomas  Moore,  have  aimed 
at  striking  the  ancient  harp  with  the  same  bold  and 
rough  note  to  which  it  was  awakened  by  the  ancient 
minstrels.  Southey,  Wordsworth,  and  other  distin- 
guished names  of  the  present  century,  have,  in  re- 
peated instances,  dignified  this  branch  of  literature; 
but  no  one  more  than  Coleridge,  in  the  wild  and  im- 
aginative tale  of  the  "  Ancient  Mariner,"  which  dis- 
plays so  much  beauty  with  such  eccentricity.  We 
should  act  most  unjustly  in  this  department  of  Scot- 
tish ballad  poetry  not  to  mention  the  names  of  Ley- 
den,  Hogg,  and  Allan  Cunningham.  They  have  all 
three  honored  their  country  by  arriving  at  distinction 
from  an  humble  origin,  and  there  is  none  of  them 

1  Johnson's  Musical  Museum,  in  six  vols.,  was  lately  reprints 
ed  at  Edinburgh. 


under  whose  hand  the  ancient  Scottish  harp  lias  not 
sounded  a  bold  and  distinguished  tone.  Miss  Anne 
Bannerman  likewise  should  not  be  forgotten,  whose 
Tales  of  Superstition  and  Chivalry  appeared  about 
1802.  They  were  perhaps  too  mystical  and  too  abrupt ; 
yet  if  it  be  the  purpose  of  this  kind  of  ballad  poetry 
powerfully  to  excite  the  imagination,  without  pretend- 
ing to  satisfy  it,  few  persons  have  succeeded  better 
than  this  gifted  lady,  whose  volume  is  peculiarly  fit 
to  be  read  in  a  lonely  house  by  a  decaying  lamp. 

As  we  have  already  hinted,  a  numerous  class  of  the 
authors  (some  of  them  of  the  very  first  class)  who 
condescended  to  imitate  the  simplicity  of  ancient 
poetry  gave  themselves  no  trouble  to  observe  the  cos- 
tume, style,  or  manner,  either  of  the  old  minstrel  or 
ballad-singer,  but  assumed  a  structure  of  a  separate 
and  peculiar  kind,  which  could  not  be  correctly  termed 
either  ancient  or  modern,  although  made  the  vehicle 
of  beauties  which  were  common  to  both.  The  discrep- 
ancy between  the  mark  which  they  avowed  their  pur- 
pose of  shooting  at  and  that  at  which  they  really  took 
aim  is  best  illustrated  by  a  production  of  one  of  the 
most  distinguished  of  their  number.  Goldsmith  de- 
scribes the  young  family  of  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield  as 
amusing  themselves  with  conversing  about  poetry. 
Mr.  Burchell  observes  that  the  British  poets,  who 
imitated  the  classics,  have  especially  contributed  to 
introduce  a  false  taste,  by  loading  their  lines  with 
epithets,  so  as  to  present  a  combination  of  luxuriant 
images,  without  plot  or  connection, — a  string  of  epi- 
thets that  improve  the  sound,  without  carrying  on  the 
sense.  But  when  an  exanqile  of  popular  poetry  is  pro- 
duced as  free  from  the  fault  which  the  critic  has  just 
censured,  it  is  the  well-known  and  beautiful  poem  of 
"  Edwin  and  Angelina" !  which,  in  felicitous  attention 
to  the  language,  and  in  fanciful  ornament  of  imagery, 
is  as  unlike  to  a  minstrel  ballad  as  a  lady  assuming 
the  dress  of  a  shepherdess  for  a  masquerade  is  differ- 
ent from  the  actual  Sisly  of  Salisbury  Plain.  Tickell's 
beautiful  ballad  is  equally  formed  upon  a  pastoral, 
sentimental,  and  ideal  model,  not,  however,  less  beau- 
tifully executed ;  and  the  attention  of  Addison's  friend 
had  been  probably  directed  to  the  ballad  stanza  (for 
the  stanza  is  all  which  is  imitated)  by  the  praise  be- 
stowed on  "  Chevy  Chase"  in  the  Spectator. 

Upon  a  later  occasion,  the  subject  of  Mallet's  fine 
poem,  "  Edwin  and  Emma,"  being  absolutely  rural  in 
itself,  and  occurring  at  the  hamlet  of  Bowes,  in  York- 
shire, might  have  seduced  the  poet  from  the  beau  ideal 
which  he  had  pictured  to  himself,  into  something 
more  immediately  allied  to  common  life.  But  Mallet 
was  not  a  man  to  neglect  what  was  esteemed  fashion- 
able, and  poor  Hannah  Railton  and  her  lover  Wright- 
son  were  enveloped  in  the  elegant  but  tinsel  frippery 
appertaining  to  Edwin  and  Emma  ;  for  the  similes,  re- 
flections, and  suggestions  of  the  poet  are,  in  fact,  too 
intrusive  and  too  well  said  to  suffer  the  reader  to  feel 
the  full  taste  of  the  tragic  tale.  The  verses  are  doubt- 
less beautiful,  but  I  must  own  the  simple  prose  of  the 
Curate's  letter,  who  gives  the  narrative  of  the  tale  as 


ESSAY    ON    IMITATIONS    OF   THE   ANCIENT    BALLAD. 


559 


it  really  happened,  has  to  me  a  tone  of  serious  veracity 
more  affecting  than  the  ornaments  of  Mallet's  fiction. 
The  same  author's  ballad,  "  William  and  Margaret," 
has,  in  some  degree,  the  same  fault.  A  disembodied 
spirit  is  not  a  person  before  whom  the  living  spectator 
takes  leisure  to  make  remarks  of  a  moral  kind,  as, 

"  So  will  the  fairest  face  appear 

When  youth  and  years  are  flown, 
And  such  the  robe  that  kings  must  wear 

When  death  has  reft  their  crown." 

Upon  the  whole,  the  ballad,  though  the  best  of  Mal- 
let's writing,  is  certainly  inferior  to  its  original,  which 
I  presume  to  be  the  very  fine  and  even  terrific  old 
Scottish  tale  beginning, 

"  There  came  a  ghost  to  Margaret's  door." 

It  may  be  found  in  Allan  Ramsay's  Tea- Table  Miscel- 
lany. 

We  need  only  stop  to  mention  another  very  beauti- 
ful piece  of  this  fanciful  kind,  by  Dr.  Cartwright, 
called  "  Armin  and  Elvira,"  containing  some  excel- 
lent poetry,  expressed  with  unusual  felicity.  I  have 
a  vision  of  having  met  this  accomplished  gentleman 
in  my  very  early  youth,  and  am  the  less  likely  to  be 
mistaken,  as  he  was  the  first  living  poet  I  recollect 
to  have  seen.1  His  poem  had  the  distinguished  honor 
to  be  much  admired  by  our  celebrated  philosopher, 
Dugald  Stewart,  who  was  wont  to  quote  with  much 
pathos  the  picture  of  resignation  in  the  following 
stanza : — 

"  And  while  his  eye  to  heaven  he  raised, 
Its  silent  waters  stole  away."8 

After  enumerating  so  many  persons  of  undoubted 
genius  who  have  cultivated  the  Arcadian  style  of 
poetry  (for  to  such  it  may  be  compared),  it  would  be 
endless  to  enumerate  the  various  Sir  Eldreds  of  the 
hills  and  downs  whose  stories  were  woven  into  legend- 
ary tales — which  came  at  length  to  be  the  name  as- 
signed to  this  half-ancient,  half-modern  style  of  com- 
position. 

In  general  I  may  observe  that  the  supposed  facility 
of  this  species  of  composition,  the  alluring  simplicity 
of  which  was  held  sufficient  to  support  it,  afforded 
great  attractions  for  those  whose  ambition  led  them 
to  exercise  their  untried  talents  in  verse,  but  who 
were  desirous  to  do  so  with  the  least  possible  expense 
of  thought.  The  task  seems  to  present,  at  least  to  the 
inexperienced  acolyte  of  the  Muses,  the  same  advan- 
tages which  an  instrument  of  sweet  sound  and  small 
compass  offers  to  those  who  begin  their  studies  in 

1  If  I  am  right  in  what  must  be  a  very  early  recollection,  I 
saw  Mr.  Cartwright  (then  a  student  of  medicine  at  the  Edin- 
burgh University)  at  the  house  of  my  maternal  grandfather, 
John  Rutherford,  M.  D. 

2  Happily  altered  by  an  admiring  foreigner,  who  read 

"  The  silent  waters  stole  away." 


music.  Iu  either  case,  however,  it  frequently  hap- 
pens that  the  scholar,  getting  tired  of  the  palling 
and  monotonous  character  of  the  poetry  or  music 
which  he  jjroduces,  becomes  desirous  to  strike  a  more 
independent  note,  even  at  the  risk  of  its  being  a  more 
difficult  one. 

The  same  simplicity  involves  an  inconvenience  fatal 
to  the  continued  popularity  of  any  species  of  poetry, 
by  exposing  it  in  a  peculiar  degree  to  ridicule  and  to 
parody.  Dr.  Johnson,  whose  style  of  poetry  was  of  a 
very  different  and  more  stately  description,  could  rid- 
icule the  ballads  of  Percy  in  such  stanzas  as  these, — 

"  The  tender  infant,  meek  and  mild, 

Fell  down  upon  a  stone ; 
The  nurse  took  up  the  squalling  child, 

But  still  the  child  squall'd  on ;" 

with  various  slipshod  imitations  of  the  same  quality.3 
It  did  not  require  his  talents  to  pursue  this  vein  of 
raillery,  for  it  was  such  as  most  men  could  imitate, 
and  all  could  enjoy.  It  is,  therefore,  little  wonderful 
that  this  sort  of  composition  should  be  repeatedly  laid 
aside  for  considerable  periods  of  time,  and  certainly 
as  little  so  that  it  should  have  been  repeatedly  revived, 
like  some  forgotten  melody,  and  have  again  obtained 
some  degree  of  popularity,  until  it  sunk  once  more 
under  satire,  as  wety  as  parody,  but,  above  all,  the 
effects  of  satiety. 

During  the  thirty  years  that  I  have  paid  some  at- 
tention to  literary  matters,  the  taste  for  the  ancient 
ballad  melody,  and  for  the  closer  or  more  distant  imi- 
tation of  that  strain  of  poetry,  has  more  than  once 
arisen,  and  more  than  once  subsided,  in  consequence, 
perhaps,  of  too  unlimited  indulgence.  That  this  has 
been  the  case  in  other  countries  we  know;  for  the 
Spanish  poet,  when  he  found  that  the  beautiful  Mo- 
risco  romances  were  excluding  all  other  topics,  confers 
upon  them  a  hearty  malediction.* 

A  period  when  this  particular  taste  for  the  popular 
ballad  was  in  the  most  extravagant  degree  of  fashion 
became  the  occasion,  unexpectedly  indeed,  of  my  de- 
serting the  profession  to  which  I  was  educated,  and 
in  which  I  had  sufficiently  advantageous  prospects  for 
a  person  of  limited  ambition.  I  have,  in  a  former 
publication,  undertaken  to  mention  this  circumstance ; 
and  I  will  endeavor  to  do  so  with  becoming  brevity, 
and  without  more  egotism  than  is  jiositively  exacted 
by  the  nature  of  the  story.  ^ 

I  may,  in  the  first  place,  remark  that  although  the 
assertion  has  been  made,  and  that  by  persons  who 
seemed  satisfied  with  their  authority,  it  is  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  my  situation  in  life  or  place  in  society 


3  Percy  was  especially  annoyed,  according  to  Boswell,  with 
"I  put  my  hat  upon  my  head, 
And  walked  into  the  Strand, 
And  there  I  met  another  man 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand." — Ed. 
*  See  the  introduction  to  Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads,  1823, 
p.  xxii. 


560 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


was  materially  altered  by  such  success  as  I  attained 
in  literary  attempts.  My  birth,  without  giving  the 
least  pretensions  to  distinction,  was  that  of  a  gentle- 
man, and  connected  me  with  several  respectable  fam- 
ilies and  accomplished  persons.  My  education  had 
been  a  good  one,  although  I  was  deprived  of  its  full 
benefit  by  indifferent  health,  just  at  the  period  when 
I  ought  to  have  been  most  sedulous  in  improving  it. 
The  young  men  with  whom  I  was  brought  up  and 
lived  most  familiarly  were  those  who,  from  opportu- 
nities, birth,  and  talents,  might  be  expected  to  make 
the  greatest  advances  in  the  career  for  which  we  were 
all  destined ;  and  I  have  the  pleasure  still  to  preserve 
my  youthful  intimacy  with  no  inconsiderable  number 
of  them,  whom  their  merit  has  carried  forward  to  the 
highest  honors  of  their  profession.  Neither  was  I  in 
a  situation  to  be  embarrassed  by  the  res  angusta  domi, 
which  might  have  otherwise  brought  painful  addi- 
tional obstructions  to  a  path  in  which  progress  is  pro- 
verbially slow.  I  enjoyed  a  moderate  degree  of  busi- 
ness for  my  standing,  and  the  friendship  of  more  than 
one  person  of  consideration  and  influence  efficiently 
disposed  to  aid  my  views  in  life.  The  private  fortune, 
also,  which  I  might  expect,  and  finally  inherited,  from 
my  family,  did  not,  indeed,  amount  to  affluence,  but 
placed  me  considerably  beyond  all  apprehension  of 
want.  I  mention  these  particulars  merely  because 
they  are  true.  Many  better  men  than  myself  have 
owed  their  rise  from  indigence  and  obscurity  to  their 
own  talents,  which  were,  doubtless,  much  more  ade- 
quate to  the  task  of  raising  them  than  any  which  I 
possess.  But  although  it  would  be  absurd  and  un- 
gracious in  me  to  deny  that  I  owe  to  literature  many 
marks  of  distinction  to  which  I  could  not  otherwise 
have  aspired,  and  particularly  that  of  securing  the 
acquaintance,  and  even  the  friendship,  of  many  re- 
markable persons  of  the  age,  to  whom  I  could  not 
otherwise  have  made  my  way;  it  would,  on  the  other 
hand,  be  ridiculous  to  affect  gratitude  to  the  public 
favor,  either  for  my  general  position  in  society  or  the 
means  of  supporting  it  with  decency,  matters  which 
had  been  otherwise  secured  under  the  usual  chances 
of  human  affairs.  Thus  much  I  have  thought  it  neces- 
sary to  say  upon  a  subject  which  is,  after  all,  of  very 
little  consequence  to  any  one  but  myself.  I  proceed 
to  detail  the  circumstances  which  engaged  me  in  lit- 
erary pursuits. 

During  the  last  ten  years  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
the  art  of  poetry  was  at  a  remarkably  low  ebb  in  Brit- 
ain. Hayley,  to  whom  fashion  had  some  years  before 
ascribed  a  higher  degree  of  reputation  than  posterity 
has  confirmed,  had  now  lost  his  reputation  for  talent, 
though  he  still  lived  beloved  and  respected  as  an 
amiable  and  accomplished  man.  The  Bard  of  Mem- 
ory slumbered  on  his  laurels,  and  He  of  Hope  had 
scarce  begun  to  attract  his  share  of  public  attention. 
Cowper,  a  poet  of  deep  feeling  and  bright  genius, 
was  still  alive,  indeed ;  but  the  hypochondria  which 
was  his  mental  malady  impeded  his  popularity. 
Burns,  whose  genius  our  southern  neighbors  could 


hardly  yet  comprehend,  had  long  confined  himself 
to  song-writing.  Names  which  are  now  known  and 
distinguished  wherever  the  English  language  is  spok- 
en were  then  only  beginning  to  be  mentioned ;  and, 
unless  among  the  small  number  of  persons  who  hab- 
itually devote  a  part  of  their  leisure  to  literature 
even  those  of  Southey,  Wordsworth,  and  Coleridge, 
were  still  but  little  known.  The  realms  of  Parnassus, 
like  many  a  kingdom  at  the  period,  seemed  to  lie 
open  to  the  first  bold  invader,  whether  he  should  be 
a  daring  usurper  or  could  show  a  legitimate  title  of 
sovereignty. 

As  far  back  as  1788,  a  new  species  of  literature  be- 
gan to  be  introduced  into  this  country.  Germany,  long 
known  as  a  powerful  branch  of  the  European  confeder- 
acy, was  then,  for  the  first  time,  heard  of  as  the  cradle 
of  a  style  of  poetry  and  literature  of  a  kind  much 
more  analogous  to  that  of  Britain  than  either  the 
French,  Spanish,  or  Italian  schools,  though  all  three 
had  been  at  various  times  cultivated  and  imitated 
among  us.  The  names  of  Lessing,  Klopstock,  Schil- 
ler, and  other  German  poets  of  eminence,  were  only 
known  in  Britain  very  imperfectly.  The  Sorroics  of 
Werter  was  the  only  composition  that  had  attained 
any  degree  of  popularity,  and  the  success  of  that 
remarkable  novel,  notwithstanding  the  distinguished 
genius  of  the  author,  was  retarded  by  the  nature  of 
its  incidents.  To  the  other  compositions  of  Goethe, 
whose  talents  were  destined  to  illuminate  the  age  in 
which  he  flourished,  the  English  remained  strangers, 
and  much  more  so  to  Schiller,  Biirger,  and  a  whole 
cycle  of  foreigners  of  distinguished  merit.  The  ob- 
scurity to  which  German  literature  seemed  to  be  con- 
demned did  not  arise  from  want  of  brilliancy  in  the 
lights  by  which  it  was  illuminated,  but  from  the 
palpable  thickness  of  the  darkness  by  which  they 
were  surrounded.  Frederick  II.  of  Prussia  had  given 
a  partial  and  ungracious  testimony  against  his  native 
language  and  native  literature,  and  impolitically  and 
unwisely,  as  well  as  unjustly,  had  yielded  to  the 
French  that  superiority  in  letters  which,  after  his 
death,  paved  the  way  for  their  obtaining,  for  a  time, 
an  equal  superiority  in  arms.  That  great  Prince,  by 
setting  the  example  of  undervaluing  his  country  in 
one  respect,  raised  a  belief  in  its  general  inferiority, 
and  destroyed  the  manly  pride  with  which  a  nation 
is  naturally  disposed  to  regard  its  own  peculiar  man- 
ners and  peculiar  literature. 

Unmoved  by  the  scornful  neglect  of  its  sovereigns 
and  nobles,  and  encouraged  by  the  tide  of  native 
genius  which  flowed  in  upon  the  nation,  German 
literature  began  to  assume  a  new,  interesting,  and 
highly  impressive  character,  to  which  it  became  im- 
possible for  strangers  to  shut  their  eyes.  That  it 
exhibited  the  faults  of  exaggeration  and  false  taste, 
almost  inseparable  from  the  first  attempts  at  the 
heroic  and  at  the  pathetic,  cannot  be  denied.  It  was, 
in  a  word,  the  first  crop  of  a  rich  soil,  which  throws 
out  weeds  as  well  as  flowers  with  a  prolific  abun« 
dance. 


ESSAY  ON  IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


561 


It  was  so  late  as  the  21st  clay  of  April,  1788,  that 
the  literary  persons  of  Edinburgh,  of  whom,  at  that 
period,  I  arn  better  qualified  to  speak  than  of  those  of 
Britain  generally,  or  especially  those  of  London,  were 
first  made  aware  of  the  existence  of  works  of  genius 
in  a  language  cognate  with  the  English,  and  pos- 
sessed of  the  same  manly  force  of  expression.  They 
learned,  at  the  same  time,  that  the  taste  which  dic- 
tated the  German  compositions  was  of  a  kind  as  nearly 
allied  to  the  English  as  their  language.  Those  who 
were  accustomed  from  their  youth  to  admire  Milton 
and  Shakspeare  became  acquainted,  I  may  say  for 
the  first  time,  with  the  existence  of  a  race  of  poets 
who  had  the  same  lofty  ambition  to  spurn  the  flaming 
boundaries  of  the  universe,1  and  investigate  the 
realms  of  chaos  and  old  night;  and  of  dramatists 
who,  disclaiming  the  pedantry  of  the  unities,  sought, 
at  the  expense  of  occasional  improbabilities  and  ex- 
travagances, to  present  life  in  its  scenes  of  wildest 
contrast,  and  in  all  its  boundless  variety  of  character, 
mingling,  without  hesitation,  livelier  with  more  seri- 
ous incidents,  and  exchanging  scenes  of  tragic  dis- 
tress, as  they  occur  in  common  life,  with  those  of 
a  comic  tendency.  This  emancipation  from  the  rules 
so  servilely  adhered  to  by  the  French  school,  and 
particularly  by  their  dramatic  poets,  although  it  was 
attended  with  some  disadvantages,  especially  the  risk 
of  extravagance  and  bombast,  was  the  means  of  giving 
free  scope  to  the  genius  of  Goethe,  Schiller,  and 
others,  which,  thus  relieved  from  shackles,  was  not 
long  in  soaring  to  the  highest  pitch  of  poetic  sublim- 
ity. The  late  venerable  Henry  Mackenzie,  author 
of  The  Man  of  Feeling,  in  an  Essay  upon  the  Ger- 
man Theatre,  introduced  his  countrymen  to  this  new 
species  of  national  literature,  the  peculiarities  of 
which  he  traced  with  equal  truth  and  spirit,  although 
they  were  at  that  time  known  to  him  only  through 
the  imperfect  and  uncongenial  medium  of  a  French 
translation.  Upon  the  clay  already  mentioned  (21st 
April,  1788)  he  read  to  the  Royal  Society  an  Essay 
on  German  Literature,  which  made  mucli  noise  and 
produced  a  powerful  effect.  "  Germany,"  he  ob- 
served, "  in  her  literary  aspect,  presents  herself  to 
observation  in  a  singular  point  of  view :  that  of  a 
country  arrived  at  maturity,  along  with  the  neigh- 
boring nations,  in  the  arts  and  sciences,  in  the  plea- 
sures and  refinements  of  manners,  and  yet  only  in  its 
infancy  with  regard  to  writings  of  taste  and  imagina- 
tion. This  last  path,  however,  from  these  very  cir- 
cumstances, she  pursues  with  an  enthusiasm  which 
no  other  situation  could  perhaps  have  produced— the 
enthusiasm  which  novelty  inspires,  and  which  the 
servility  incident  to  a  more  cultivated  and  critical 
state  of  literature  does  not  restrain."  At  the  same 
time,  the  accomplished  critic  showed  himself  equally 
familiar  with  the  classical  rules  of  the  French  stage, 
and  failed  not  to  touch  upon  the  acknowledged  advan- 
tages which  these  produced,  by  the  encouragement 

1  "  Flammantia  mcenia  mundi." — Lucretius. 
36 


and  regulation  of  taste,  though  at  the  risk  of  repress- 
ing genius. 

But  it  was  not  the  dramatic  literature  alone  of  the 
Germans  which  was  hitherto  unknown  to  their  neigh- 
bors; their  fictitious  narratives,  their  ballad  poetry, 
and  other  branches  of  their  literature,  which  are  par- 
ticularly apt  to  bear  the  stamp  of  the  extravagant 
and  the  supernatural,  began  to  occupy  the  attention 
of  the  British  literati. 

In  Edinburgh,  where  the  remarkable  coincidence 
between  the  German  language  and  that  of  the  Low- 
land Scottish  encouraged  young  men  to  approach 
this  newly-discovered  spring  of  literature,  a  class  was 
formed,  of  six  or  seven  intimate  friends,  who  pro- 
posed to  make  themselves  acquainted  with  the  Ger- 
man language.  They  were  in  the  habit  of  living 
much  together,  and  the  time  they  spent  in  this  new 
study  was  felt  as  a  period  of  great  amusement.  One 
source  of  this  diversion  was  the  laziness  of  one  of 
their  number,  the  present  author,  who,  averse  to  the 
necessary  toil  of  grammar  and  its  rules,  was  in  the 
practice  of  fighting  his  way  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
German  by  his  acquaintance  with  the  Scottish  and 
Anglo-Saxon  dialects,  and,  of  course,  frequently  com- 
mitted blunders  which  were  not  lost  on  his  more 
accurate  and  more  studious  companions.  A  more 
general  source  of  amusement  was  the  despair  of  the 
teacher  on  finding  it  impossible  to  extract  from  his 
Scottish  students  the  degree  of  sensibility  necessary, 
as  he  thought,  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  the  author  to 
whom  he  considered  it  proper  first  to  introduce  them. 
We  were  desirous  to  penetrate  at  once  into  the  re- 
cesses of  the  Teutonic  literature,  and  therefore  were 
ambitious  of  perusing  Goethe  and  Schiller,  and  others 
whose  fame  had  been  sounded  by  Mackenzie.  Dr. 
Willich  (a  medical  gentleman),  who  was  our  teacher, 
was  judiciously  disposed  to  commence  our  studies 
with  the  more  simple  diction  of  Gesner,  and  pre- 
scribed to  us  the  "  Death  of  Abel,"  as  the  produc- 
tion from  which  our  German  tasks  were  to  be  drawn. 
The  pietistic  style  of  this  author  was  ill  adapted  to 
attract  young  persons  of  our  age  and  disposition.  We 
could  no  more  sympathize  with  the  overstrained  sen- 
timentality of  Adam  and  his  family  than  we  could 
have  had  a  fellow-feeling  with  the  jolly  Faun  of  the 
same  author,  who  broke  his  beautiful  jug,  and  then 
made  a  song  on  it  which  might  have  affected  all 
Staffordshire.  To  sum  up  the  distresses  of  Dr.  Wil- 
lich, we,  with  one  consent,  voted  Abel  an  insufferable 
bore,  and  gave  the  pre-eminence,  in  point  of  mascu- 
line character,  to  his  brother  Cain,  or  even  to  Lucifer 
himself.  When  these  jests,  which  arose  out  of  the 
sickly  monotony  and  affected  ecstasies  of  the  poet, 
failed  to  amuse  us,  we  had  for  our  entertainment  the 
unutterable  sounds  manufactured  by  a  Frenchman, 
our  fellow-student,  who,  with  the  economical  purpose 
of  learning  two  languages  at  once,  was  endeavoring 
to  acquire  German,  of  which  he  knew  nothing,  by 
means  of  English,  concerning  which  he  was  nearly 
as  ignorant.    Heaven  only  knows  the  notes  which  he 


562 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


uttered  in  attempting,  with  unpracticed  organs,  to 
imitate  the  gutturals  of  these  two  intractable  lan- 
guages. At  length,  in  the  midst  of  much  laughing 
and  little  study,  most  of  us  acquired  some  knowledge, 
more  or  less  extensive,  of  the  German  language,  and 
selected  for  ourselves,  some  in  the  philosophy  of 
Kant,  some  in  the  more  animated  works  of  the  Ger- 
man dramatists,  specimens  more  to  our  taste  than 
the  "  Death  of  Abel." 

About  this  period,  or  a  year  or  two  sooner,  the 
accomplished  and  excellent  Lord  Woodhouselee,1 
one  of  the  friends  of  my  youth,  made  a  spirited  ver- 
sion of  The  Robbers  of  Schiller,  which  I  believe 
was  the  first  published,  though  an  English  version 
appeared  soon  afterwards  in  London,  as  the  metrop- 
olis then  took  the  lead  in  every  thing  like  literary 
adventure.  The  enthusiasm  with  which  this  work 
was  received  greatly  increased  the  general  taste  for 
German  compositions. 

While  universal  curiosity  was  thus  distinguishing 
the  advancing  taste  for  the  German  language  and 
literature,  the  success  of  a  very  young  student,  in  a 
juvenile  publication,  seemed  to  show  that  the  prevail- 
ing taste  in  that  country  might  be  easily  employed  as 
a  formidable  auxiliary  to  renewing  the  spirit  of  our 
own,  upon  the  same  system  as  when  medical  persons 
attempt,  by  the  transfusion  of  blood,  to  pass  into  the 
veins  of  an  aged  and  exhausted  patient  the  vivacity 
of  the  circulation  and  liveliness  of  sensation  which 
distinguish  a  young  subject.  The  person  who  first 
attempted  to  introduce  something  like  the  German 
taste  into  English  fictitious  dramatic  and  poetical 
composition,  although  his  works,  when  first  published, 
engaged  general  attention,  is  now  comparatively  for- 
gotten. I  mean  Matthew  Gregory  Lewis,  whose  char- 
acter and  literary  history  are  so  immediately  con- 
nected with  the  subject  of  which  I  am  treating  that 
a  few  authentic  particulars  may  be  here  inserted  by 
one  to  whom  he  was  well  known.2 

Lewis'  rank  in  society  was  determined  by  his  birth, 
which,  at  the  same  time,  assured  his  fortune.  His 
father  was  Under-Secretary  at  War,  at  that  time  a 
very  lucrative  appointment,  and  the  young  poet  was 
provided  with  a  seat  in  Parliament  as  soon  as  his  age 
permitted  him  to  fill  it.  But  his  mind  did  not  incline 
him  to  politics,  or,  if  it  did,  they  were  not  of  the  com- 
plexion whicli  his  father,  attached  to  Mr.  Pitt's  admin- 
istration, would  have  approved.  lie  was,  moreover, 
indolent,  and  though  possessed  of  abilities  sufficient 
to  conquer  any  difficulty  which  might  stand  in  the 
way  of  classical  attainments,  be  preferred  applying 
his  exertions  in  a  path  where  they  were  rewarded  with 
more  immediate  applause.  As  he  completed  his  edu- 
cation abroad,  he  had  an  opportunity  of  indulging  his 
inclination  for  the  extraordinary  and  BUpernatural  by 
wandering  through  the  whole  enchanted  land  of  Ger- 

1  Alexander  Fraser  Tytlcr,  a  Judge  of  the  Court  of  Session 
hy  the  title  of  Lord  Woodhouselee,  author  of  the  well-known 
Elements  of  General  History,  and  long  i  mini  at  as  Professor 


man  faery  and  diablerie,  not  forgetting  the  paths  of 
her  enthusiastic  tragedy  and  romantic  poetry. 

We  are  easily  induced  to  imitate  what  we  admire, 
and  Lewis  early  distinguished  himself  by  a  romance 
in  the  German  taste,  called  The  Monk.  In  this 
work,  written  in  his  twentieth  year,  and  founded  on 
the  Eastern  apologue  of  the  Santon  Barsisa,  the 
author  introduced  supernatural  machinery  with  a 
courageous  consciousness  of  his  own  power  to  manage 
its  ponderous  strength  which  commanded  the  respect 
of  his  reader.  The  Monk  was  published  in  1795, 
and,  though  liable  to  the  objections  common  to  the 
school  to  which  it  belonged,  and  to  others  peculiar  to 
itself,  placed  its  author  at  once  high  in  the  scale  of 
men  of  letters.  Nor  can  that  be  regarded  as  an  ordi- 
nary exertion  of  genius,  to  which  Charles  Fox  paid  the 
unusual  compliment  of  crossing  the  House  of  Com- 
mons that  he  might  congratulate  the  young  author, 
whose  work  obtained  high  praise  from  many  other 
able  men  of  that  able  time.  The  party  which  ap- 
proved The  Monk  was  at  first  superior  in  the  lists,  and 
it  was  some  time  before  the  anonymous  author  of  the 
Pursuits  of  Literature  denounced  as  puerile  and 
absurd  the  supernatural  machinery  which  Lewis  had 
introduced — 

"  I  bear  an  English  heart, 


Enused  at  ghosts  or  rattling  bones  to  stun." 

Yet  the  acute  and  learned  critic  betrays  some  incon- 
sistency in  praising  the  magic  of  the  Italian  poets, 
and  complimenting  Mrs.  Radcliffe  for  her  success  in 
supernatural  imagery,  for  which  at  the  same  moment 
he  thus  sternly  censures  her  brother  novelist. 

A  more  legitimate  topic  of  condemnation  was  the 
indelicacy  of  particular  passages.  The  present  author 
will  hardly  be  deemed  a  willing  or  at  least  an  inter- 
ested apologist  for  an  offence  equally  repugnant  to 
decency  and  good  breeding,  But  as  Lewis  at  once, 
and  with  a  good  grace,  submitted  to  the  voice  of  cen- 
sure, and  expunged  the  objectionable  passages,  we 
cannot  help  considering  the  manner  in  which  the 
fault  was  insisted  on,  after  all  the  amends  had  been 
offered  of  which  the  case  could  admit,  as  in  the  last 
degree  ungenerous  and  uncandid.  The  pertinacity 
with  which  the  passages  so  much  found  fault  with 
were  dwelt  upon  seemed  to  warrant  a  belief  that 
something  more  was  desiri id  than  the  correction  of  the 
author's  errors;  and  that,  where  the  apologies  of  ex- 
treme youth,  foreign  education,  and  instant  submis- 
sion, were  unable  to  satisfy  the  critics'  fury,  they  must 
have  been  determined  to  act  on  the  severity  of  the 
old  proverb,  "Confess  and  be  hanged."  Cert;: in  it 
is  that  other  persons,  offenders  in  the  same  degree, 
have  been  permitted  to  sue  out  their  pardon  without 
either  retraction  or  palinode.3 

Another  peccadillo  of  the  author  of    The  Monk 

of  History  in  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  He  died  in  1810. 
—En. 

2  See  more  of  Lewis  in  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  li  pp.  8-14. 

8  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


ESSAY   ON   IMITATIONS   OF   THE    ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


563 


was  his  having  borrowed  from  Musseus,  and  from  the 
popular  tales  of  the  Germans,  the  singular  and  strik- 
ing adventures  of  the  "  Bleeding  Nun."  But  the  bold 
and  free  hand  with  which  he  traced  some  scenes,  as 
well  of  natural  terror  as  of  that  which  arises  from 
supernatural  causes,  shows  distinctly  that  the  plagi- 
arism could  not  have  been  occasioned  by  any  deficiency 
of  invention  on  his  part,  though  it  might  take  place 
from  wantonness  or  willfulness. 

In  spite  of  the  objections  we  have  stated,  The 
3Ionk  was  so  highly  popular  that  it  seems  to  create 
an  epoch  in  our  literature.  But  the  public  were 
chiefly  captivated  by  the  poetry  with  which  Mr.  Lewis 
had  interspersed  his  prose  narrative.  It  has  now 
passed  from  recollection  among  the  changes  of  literary 
taste ;  but  many  may  remember,  as  well  as  I  do,  the 
effect  produced  by  the  beautiful  ballad  of  "  Duran- 
darte,"  which  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  adapted  to 
an  air  of  great  sweetness  and  pathos ;  by  the  ghost 
tale  of  "  Alonzo  and  Imogine ;"  and  by  several  other 
pieces  of  legendary  poetry,  which  addressed  them- 
selves in  all  the  charms  of  novelty  and  of  simplicity  to 
a  public  who  had  for  a  long  time  been  unused  to  any 
regale  of  the  kind.  In  his  poetry  as  well  as  his  prose 
Mr.  Lewis  had  been  a  successful  imitator  of  the  Ger- 
mans, both  in  his  attachment  to  the  ancient  ballad 
and  in  the  tone  of  superstition  which  they  willingly 
mingle  with  it.  New  arrangements  of  the  stanza, 
and  a  varied  construction  of  verses,  were  also  adopted, 
and  welcomed  as  an  addition  of  a  new  string  to  the 
British  harp.  In  this  respect,  the  stanza  in  which 
"Alonzo  the  Brave"  is  written  was  greatly  admired, 
and  received  as  an  improvement  worthy  of  adojjtion 
into  English  poetry. 

In  short,  Lewis'  works  were  admired,  and  the 
author  became  famous,  not  merely  through  his  own 
merit,  though  that  was  of  no  mean  quality,  but  be- 
cause he  had  in  some  measure  taken  the  public  by 
surprise,  by  using  a  style  of  composition  which,  like 
national  melodies,  is  so  congenial  to  the  general  taste 
that,  though  it  palls  by  being  much  hackneyed,  it  has 
only  to  be  for  a  short  time  forgotten  in  order  to  re- 
cover its  original  popularity. 

It  chanced  that,  while  his  fame  was  at  the  highest, 
Mr.  Lewis  became  almost  a  yearly  visitor  to  Scotland, 
chiefly  from  attachment  to  the  illustrious  family  of 
Argyle.  The  writer  of  these  remarks  had  the  advan- 
tage of  being  made  known  to  the  most  distinguished 
author  of  the  day,  by  a  lady  who  belongs  by  birth  to 
that  family,  and  is  equally  distinguished  by  her  beauty 
and  accomplishments.1  Out  of  this  accidental  ac- 
quaintance, which  increased  into  a  sort  of  intimacy, 
consequences  arose  which  altered  almost  all  the  Scot- 
tish ballad-maker's  future  prospects  in  life. 

In  early  youth  I  had  been  an  eager  student  of  Bal- 

1  The  Lady  Charlotte  Bury.— Ed. 

2  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  53. 

8  This  tree  grew  in  a  large  garden  attached  to  a  cottage  at  Kel- 
so, the  residence  of  my  father's  sister,  where  I  spent  many  of  the 
happiest  days  of  my  youth.  1831.  [See  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  156.— Ed.] 


lad  Poetry,  and  the  tree  is  still  in  my  recollection 
beneath  which  I  lay  and  first  entered  ujDon  the  en- 
chanting perusal  of  Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient 
Poetry,2  although  it  has  long  perished  in  the  general 
blight  which  affected  the  whole  race  of  Oriental 
platanus  to  which  it  belonged.3  The  taste  of  another 
person  had  strongly  encouraged  my  own  researches 
into  this  species  of  legendary  lore.  But  I  had  never 
dreamed  of  an  attempt  to  imitate  what  gave  me  so 
much  pleasure. 

I  had,  indeed,  tried  the  metrical  translations  which 
were  occasionally  recommended  to  us  at  the  High 
School.  I  got  credit  for  attempting  to  do  what  was 
enjoined,  but  very  little  for  the  mode  in  which  the  task 
was  performed,  and  I  used  to  feel  not  a  little  mortified 
when  my  versions  were  placed  in  contrast  with  others 
of  admitted  merit.  At  one  period  of  my  school-boy 
days  I  was  so  far  left  to  my  own  desires  as  to  become 
guilty  of  "  Verses  on  a  Thunder-storm,"*  which  were 
much  approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung 
up,  in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined 
wife,  who  affirmed  that  my  most  sweet  poetry  was 
stolen  from  an  old  magazine.  I  never  forgave  the 
imputation,  and  even  now  I  acknowledge  some  re- 
sentment against  the  poor  woman's  memory.  She 
indeed  accused  me  unjustly  when  she  said  I  had 
stolen  my  brooms  ready  made ;  but  as  I  had,  like  most 
premature  poets,  copied  all  the  words  and  ideas  of 
which  my  verses  consisted,  she  was  so  far  right.  I 
made  one  or  two  faint  attempts  at  verse,  after  I  had 
undergone  this  sort  of  daw-plucking  at  the  hands  of 
the  apothecary's  wife;  but  some  friend  or  other 
always  advised  me  to  put  my  verses  in  the  fire,  and, 
like  Dorax  in  the  play,  I  submitted,  though  "  with  a 
swelling  heart."  In  short,  excepting  the  usual  tribute 
to  a  mistress's  eyebrow,  which  is  the  language  of 
passion  rather  than  poetry,  I  had  not  for  ten  years 
indulged  the  wish  to  couple  so  much  as  love  and  clove, 
when,  finding  Lewis  in  possession  of  so  much  reputa- 
tion, and  conceiving  that,  if  I  fell  behind  him  in 
poetical  powers,  I  considerably  exceeded  him  in  gen- 
eral information,  I  suddenly  took  it  into  my  head  to 
attempt  the  style  of  poetry  by  which  he  had  raised 
himself  to  fame. 

Tins  idea  was  hurried  into  execution  in  conse- 
quence of  a  temptation  which  others  as  well  as  the 
author  found  it  difficult  to  resist.  The  celebrated 
ballad  of  "  Lenore,"  by  Burger,  was  about  this  time 
introduced  into  England ;  and  it  is  remarkable  that, 
written  as  far  back  as  1775,  it  was  upwards  of  twenty 
years  before  it  was  known  in  Britain,  though  calcti- 
lated  to  make  so  strong  an  impression.  The  wild 
character  of  the  tale  was  such  as  struck  the  imagi- 
nation of  all  who  read  it,  although  the  idea  of  the 
lady's  ride  behind   the  spectre  horseman  had  been 

*  See  these  verses  among  the  "Miscellanies"  which  follow 
this  "Essay,"  where  also  many  other  pieces  from  the  pen  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  are  now  for  the  first  time  included  in  an 
edition  of  his  poetical  works.     1841. 


564 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


long  before  hit  upon  by  an  English  ballad-maker. 
But  this  pretend*!  English  original,  if  in  reality  it 
be  such,  is  so  dull,  fiat,  and  prosaic,  as  to  leave  the 
distinguished  German  author  all  that  is  valuable  in 
his  story,  by  clothing  it  with  a  fanciful  wildness  of 
expression,  which  serves  to  set  forth  the  marvellous 
tale  in  its  native  terror.  The  ballad  of  "  Lenore " 
accordingly  possessed  general  attractions  for  such  of 
the  English  as  understood  the  language  in  which  it 
is  written;  and,  as  if  there  had  been  a  charm  in  the 
ballad,  no  one  seemed  to  cast  his  eyes  upon  it  without 
a  desire  to  make  it  known  by  translation  to  his  own 
countrymen,  and  six  or  seven  versions  were  accord- 
ingly presented  to  the  public.  Although  the  present 
author  was  one  of  those  who  intruded  his  translation 
on  the  world  at  this  time,  he  may  fairly  exculpate 
himself  from  the  rashness  of  entering  the  lists  against 
so  many  rivals.  The  circumstances  which  threw  him 
into  this  competition  were  quite  accidental,  and  of  a 
nature  tending  to  show  how  much  the  destiny  of 
human  life  depends  upon  unimportant  occurrences,  to 
which  little  consequence  is  attached  at  the  moment. 

About  the  summer  of  1793  or  1794,  the  celebrated 
Miss  Lsetitia  Aikin,  better  known  as  Mrs.  Barbauld, 
paid  a  visit  to  Edinburgh,  and  was  received  by  such 
literary  society  as  the  place  then  boasted  with  the 
hospitality  to  which  her  talents  and  her  worth  entitled 
her.  Among  others,  she  was  kindly  welcomed  by  the 
late  excellent  and  admired  Professor  Dugald  Stewart, 
his  lady,  and  family.  It  was  in  their  evening  society 
that  Miss  Aikin  drew  from  her  pocket-book  a  version 
of  "  Lenore,"  executed  by  William  Taylor,  Esq.,  of 
Norwich,  with  as  much  freedom  as  was  consistent 
with  great  spirit  and  scrupulous  fidelity.  She  read 
this  composition  to  the  company,  who  were  electrified 
by  the  tale.  It  was  the  more  successful,  that  Mr. 
Taylor  had  boldly  copied  the  imitative  harmony  of 
the  German,  and  described  the  spectral  journey  in 
language  resembling  that  of  the  original.  Burger 
had  thus  painted  the  ghostly  career : — 

"  Und  hurre,  hurre,  hop,  hop,  hop, 
Gings  fort  in  sausendem  Galopp, 
Dass  Ross  und  Reiter  schnoben, 
Und  Kies  und  Funken  stoben." 

The  words  were  rendered  by  the  kindred  sounds  in 
English : — 

"Tramp,  tramp,  across  the  land  they  speed, 

Splash,  splash,  across  the  sea; 
Ilurrah !  the  dead  can  ride  apace! 
Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me?" 

When  Miss  Aikin  had  finished  her  recitation,  she 
replaced  in  her  pocket-book  the  paper  from  which  she 
had  read  it,  and  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  having 
made  a  strong  impression  on  the  hearers,  whose 
bosoms  thrilled  yet  the  deeper,  as  the  ballad  was  not 
to  be  more  closely  introduced  to  them. 

The  author  was  not  present  upon  this  occasion, 

1  Born  Countess  Harriet  Bruhl  of  Martinskirchen,  and 
married  to  Hugh  Scott,  Esq.,  of  Harden,  now  Lord  Polwarth, 


although  he  had  then  the  distinguished  advantage  of 
being  a  familiar  friend  and  frequent  visitor  of  Profes- 
sor Stewart  and  his  family.  But  he  was  absent  from 
town  while  Miss  Aikin  was  in  Edinburgh,  and  it  was 
not  until  his  return  that  he  found  all  his  friends  in 
rapture  with  the  intelligence  and  good  sense  of  their 
visitor,  but  in  particular  with  the  wonderful  transla- 
tion from  the  German,  by  means  of  which  she  had 
delighted  and  astonished  them.  The  enthusiastic 
description  given  of  Burger's  ballad,  and  the  broken 
account  of  the  story,  of  which  only  two  lines  were 
recollected,  inspired  the  author,  who  had  some  ac- 
quaintance, as  has  been  said,  with  the  German  lan- 
guage, and  a  strong  taste  for  popular  poetry,  with  a 
desire  to  see  the  original. 

This  was  not  a  wish  easily  gratified ;  German  works 
were  at  that  time  seldom  found  in  London  for  sale — 
in  Edinburgh  never.  A  lady  of  noble  German  de- 
scent,1 whose  friendship  I  have  enjoyed  for  many 
years,  found  means,  however,  to  procure  me  a  copy 
of  Burger's  works  from  Hamburgh.  The  perusal  of 
the  original  rather  exceeded  than  disappointed  the 
expectations  which  the  report  of  Mr.  Stewart's  family 
had  induced  me  to  form.  At  length,  when  the  book 
had  been  a  few  hours  in  my  possession,  I  found  myself 
giving  an  animated  account  of  the  poem  to  a  friend, 
and  rashly  added  a  promise  to  furnish  a  copy  in  Eng- 
lish ballad  verse. 

I  well  recollect  that  I  began  my  task  after  supper, 
and  finished  it  about  daybreak  the  next  morning,  by 
which  time  the  ideas  which  the  task  had  a  tendency 
to  summon  up  were  rather  of  an  uncomfortable  char- 
acter. As  my  object  was  much  more  to  make  a  good 
translation  of  the  poem  for  those  whom  I  wished  to 
please  than  to  acquire  any  poetical  fame  for  my- 
self, I  retained  in  my  translation  the  two  lines  which 
Mr.  Taylor  had  rendered  with  equal  boldness  and 
felicity. 

My  attempt  succeeded  far  beyond  my  expectations; 
and  it  may  readily  be  believed  that  I  was  induced  to 
persevere  in  a  pursuit  which  gratified  my  own  vanity, 
while  it  seemed  to  amuse  others.  I  accomplished  a 
translation  of  "  Der  Wilde  Jager  " — a  romantic  ballad 
founded  on  a  superstition  universally  current  in  Ger- 
many, and  known  also  in  Scotland  and  France.  In 
this  I  took  rather  more  license  than  in  versifying 
"  Lenore ;"  and  I  balladized  one  or  two  other  poems 
of  Burger  with  more  or  less  success.  In  the  course 
of  a  few  weeks,  my  own  vanity,  and  the  favorable 
opinion  of  friends,  interested  by  the  temporary  revival 
of  a  species  of  poetry  containing  a  germ  of  popularity 
of  which  perhaps  they  were  not  themselves  aware, 
urged  me  to  the  decisive  step  of  sending  a  selection, 
at  least,  of  my  translations  to  the  press,  to  save  the 
numerous  applications  which  were  made  for  copies. 
When  was  there  an  author  deaf  to  such  a  recommen- 
dation?   In  1796,  the  present  author  was  prevailed 

the  author's  relative,  and  much-valued  friend  almost  from 
infancy. 


ESSAY   ON   IMITATIONS   OF   THE   ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


565 


on,  "by  request  of  friends,"  to  indulge  bis  own  vanity 
by  publishing  the  translation  of  "Lenore,"1  with 
that  of  the  "  Wild  Huntsman,"  in  a  thin  quarto.2 

The  fate  of  this,  my  first  publication,  was  by  no 
means  flattering.  I  distributed  so  many  copies  among 
my  friends  as,  according  to  the  booksellers,  materially 
to  interfere  with  the  sale ;  and  the  number  of  trans- 
lations which  appeared  in  England  about  the  same 
time,  including  that  of  Mr.  Taylor,  to  which  I  had 
been  so  much  indebted,  and  which  was  published  in 
the  Monthly  Magazine,  were  sufficient  to  exclude  a 
provincial  writer  from  competition.  However  differ- 
ent my  success  might  have  been  had  I  been  fortunate 
enough  to  have  led  the  way  in  the  general  scramble 
for  precedence,  my  efforts  sunk  unnoticed  when 
launched  at  the  same  time  with  those  of  Mr.  Taylor 
(upon  whose  property  I  had  committed  the  kind  of 
piracy  already  noticed,  and  who  generously  forgave 
me  the  invasion  on  his  rights) ;  of  my  ingenious  and 
amiable  friend  of  many  years,  William  Robert  Spen- 
ser; of  Mr.  Pye,  the  laureate  of  the  day,  and  many 
others  besides.  In  a  word,  my  adventure,  where  so 
many  pushed  off  to  sea,  proved  a  dead  ioss,  and  a 
great  part  of  the  edition  was  condemned  to  the  service 
of  the  trunk-maker.  Nay,  so  complete  was  the  failure 
of  the  unfortunate  ballads  that  the  very  existence  of 
them  was  soon  forgotten ;  and  in  a  newspaper,  in 
which  I  very  lately  read,  to  my  no  small  horror,  a 
most  appalling  list  of  my  own  various  publications, 
I  saw  this,  my  first  offence,  had  escaped  the  industri- 
ous collector,  for  whose  indefatigable  research  I  may 
in  gratitude  wish  a  better  object.3 

The  failure  of  my  first  publication  did  not  operate, 
in  any  unpleasant  degree,  either  on  my  feelings  or 
spirits.  I  was  coldly  received  by  strangers,  but  my 
reputation  began  rather  to  increase  among  my  own 
friends,  and,  on  the  whole,  I  was  more  bent  to  show 
the  world  that  it  had  neglected  something  worth 
notice  than  to  be  affronted  by  its  indifference.  Or 
rather,  to  speak  candidly,  I  found  pleasure  in  the 
literary  labor  in  which  I  had,  almost  by  accident, 
become  engaged,  and  labored  less  in  the  hope  of 
pleasing  others,  though  certainly  without  despair  of 
doing  so,  than  in  the  pursuit  of  a  new  and  agreeable 
amusement  to  myself.  I  pursued  the  German  language 
keenly,  and,  though  far  from  being  a  correct  scholar, 
became  a  bold  and  daring  reader,  nay,  even  translator, 
of  various  dramatic  pieces  from  that  tongue.4 

The  want  of  books  at  that  time  (about  1796)  was  a 
great  interruption  to  the  rapidity  of  my  movements ; 
for  the  young  do  not  know,  and  perhaps  my  own 
contemporaries    may   have    forgotten,  the  difficulty 


1  Under  the  title  of  "William  and  Helen."— Ed. 

2  This  thin  quarto  was  published  by  Messrs.  Manners  & 
Miller,  of  Edinburgh.— Ed. 

3  The  list  here  referred  to  was  drawn  up  and  inserted  in 
the  Caledonian  Mercury,  by  Mr.  James  Shaw,  for  nearly  forty 
years  past  in  the  house  of  Sir  Walter  Scott's  publishers, 
Messrs.  Constable  &  Cadell,  of  Edinburgh.— Ed.  (See  it  in 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  x.  pp.  260-276.) 


with  which  publications  were  then  procured  from  the 
continent.  The  worthy  and  excellent  friend  of  whom 
I  gave  a  sketch  many  years  afterwards  in  the  person 
of  Jonathan  Oldbuck5  procured  me  Adelung's  Dic- 
tionary, through  the  mediation  of  Father  Pepper,  a 
monk  of  the  Scotch  College  of  Ratisbon.  Other  wants 
of  the  same  nature  were  supplied  by  Mrs.  Scott  of 
Harden,  whose  kindness  in  a  similar  instance  I  have 
had  already  occasion  to  acknowledge.  Through  this 
lady's  connections  on  the  continent,  I  obtained  copies 
of  Burger,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  other  standard  Ger- 
man works ;  and  though  the  obligation  be  of  a  distant 
date,  it  still  remains  impressed  on  my  memory,  after  a 
life  spent  in  a  constant  interchange  of  friendship  and 
kindness  with  that  family,  which  is,  according  to  Scot- 
tish ideas,  the  head  of  my  house. 

Being  thus  furnished  with  the  necessary  originals, 
I  began  to  translate  on  all  sides,  certainly  without 
any  thing  like  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  lan- 
guage ;  and  although  the  dramas  of  Goethe,  Schiller, 
and  others,  powerfully  attracted  one  whose  early 
attention  to  the  German  had  been  arrested  by  Mac- 
kenzie's Dissertation  and  the  play  of  The  Robbers, 
yet  the  ballad  poetry,  in  which  I  had  made  a  bold 
essay,  was  still  my  favorite.  I  was  yet  more  delighted 
on  finding  that  the  old  English  and  especially  the 
Scottish  language  were  so  nearly  similar  to  the  Ger- 
man, not  in  sound  merely,  but  in  the  turn  of  phrase, 
that  they  were  capable  of  being  rendered  line  for  line, 
with  very  little  variation.6 

By  degrees  I  acquired  sufficient  confidence  to  at- 
tempt the  imitation  of  what  I  admired.  The  ballad 
called  "  Glenfinlas "  was,  I  think,  the  first  original 
poem  which  I  ventured  to  compose.  As  it  is  supposed 
to  be  a  translation  from  the  Gaelic,  I  considered  my- 
self as  liberated  from  imitating  the  antiquated  lan- 
guage and  rude  rhythm  of  the  minstrel  ballad.  A 
versification  of  an  Ossianic  fragment  came  nearer  to 
the  idea  I  had  formed  of  my  task ;  for  although  con- 
fcroversy  may  have  arisen  concerning  the  authenticity 
of  these  poems,  yet  I  never  heard  it  disputed,  by  those 
whom  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Gaelic  rendered 
competent  judges,  that  in  their  spirit  and  diction  they 
nearly  resemble  fragments  of  poetry  extant  in  that 
language,  to  the  genuine  antiquity  of  which  no  doubt 
can  attach.  Indeed  the  celebrated  dispute  on  that 
subject  is  something  like  the  more  bloody,  though 
scarce  fiercer,  controversy  about  the  Popish  Plot  in 
Charles  II. 's  time,  concerning  which  Dryden  has 
said — 

"Succeeding  times  will  equal  folly  call 
Believing  nothing,  or  believing  all." 

*  Sir  Walter  Scott's  second  publication  was  a  translation  of 
Goethe's  drama  of  Goetz  of  Berlichingen  with  the  Iron  Hand, 
which  appeared  in  1799.  He  about  the  same  time  trans- 
lated several  other  German  plays,  which  yet  remain  in  MS. 
—Ed. 

5  The  late  George  Constable,  Esq.  See  introduction  to  the 
"Antiquary,"  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  v.  p.  iv. — Ed. 

6  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


566 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  Celtic  people  of  Erin  and  Albyn  had,  in  short, 
a  style  of  poetry  properly  called  national,  though  Mue- 
pherson  was  rather  an  excellent  poet  than  a  faithful 
editor  and  translator.  This  style  and  fashion  of  poetry, 
existing  in  a  different  language,  was  supposed  to  give 
the  original  of  " Glenfinlas,"  and  the  author  was  to 
pass  for  one  who  had  used  his  best  command  of  Eng- 
lish to  do  the  Gaelic  model  justice.  In  one  point,  the 
incidents  of  the  poem  were  irreconcilable  with  the 
costume  of  the  times  in  which  they  were  laid.  The 
ancient  Highland  chieftains,  when  they  had  a  mind 
to  "hunt  the  dun  deer  down,"  did  not  retreat  into 
solitary  bothies,  or  trust  the  success  of  the  chase  to 
their  own  unassisted  exertions,  without  a  single  gillie 
to  help  them ;  they  assembled  their  clan,  and  all  par- 
took of  the  sport,  forming  a  ring  or  enclosure,  called 
the  Tinchel,  and  driving  the  prey  towards  the  most 
distinguished  persons  of  the  hunt.  This  course  would 
not  have  suited  me,  so  Ronald  and  Moy  were  cooped 
up  in  their  solitary  wigwam,  like  two  nioorfowl-shoot- 
ers  of  the  present  day. 

After  "  Glenfinlas,"  I  undertook  another  ballad 
called  "  The  Eve  of  St.  John."  The  incidents,  except 
the  hints  alluded  to  in  the  marginal  notes,  are  en- 
tirely imaginary,  but  the  scene  was  that  of  my  early 
childhood.  Some  idle  persons  had  of  late  years,  dur- 
ing the  proprietor's  absence,  torn  the  iron-grated 
door  of  Smailholm  Tower  from  its  hinges,  and  thrown 
it  down  the  rock.  I  was  an  earnest  suitor  to  my 
friend  and  kinsman,  Mr.  Scott  of  Harden,  already 
mentioned,  that  the  dilapidation  might  be  put  a  stop 
to,  and  the  mischief  repaired.  This  was  readily  prom- 
ised, on  condition  that  I  should  make  a  ballad,  of 
which  the  scene  should  lie  at  Smailholm  Tower,  and 
among  the  crags  where  it  is  situated.1  The  ballad  was 
approved  of,  as  well  as  its  companion  "  Glenfinlas ;" 
and  I  remember  that  they  procured  me  many  marks 
of  attention  and  kindness  from  Duke  John  of  Rox- 
burghe,  who  gave  me  the  unlimited  use  of  that  cel- 
ebrated collection  of  volumes  from  which  the  Rox- 
burghe  Club  derives  its  name. 

Thus  I  was  set  up  for  a  poet,  like  a  peddler  who  has 
got  two  ballads  to  begin  the  world  upon,  and  I  has- 
tened to  make  the  round  of  all  my  acquaintances, 
showing  my  precious  wares,  and  requesting  criticism 
— a  boon  which  no  author  asks  in  vain.  For  it  may 
be  observed  that,  in  the  fine  arts,  those  who  are  in 
no  respect  able  to  produce  any  specimens  themselves 
hold  themselves  not  the  less  entitled  to  decide  upon 
the  works  of  others;  and,  no  doubt,  with  justice  to 
a  certain  degree ;  for  the  merits  of  composition  pro- 
duced for  the  express  purpose  of  pleasing  the  world 
at  large  can  only  be  judged  of  by  the  opinion  of  indi- 
viduals, and  perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of  Moliere's  old 
woman,  the  less  sophisticated  the  person  consulted  so 
much  the  better.2    But  I  was  ignorant,  at  the  time  I 

1  'I'll  is  is  of  little  consequence,  except  in  as  far  as  it  contra- 
dicts a  stury  which  T  have  seen  in  print,  averring  thai  Mr. 
Scott  of  Harden  was  himself  about  to  destroy  this  ancient 
building;  than  which  nothing  can  be  more  inaccurate. 


speak  of,  that  though  the  applause  of  the  many  may 
justly  appreciate  the  general  merits  of  a  piece,  it  is 
not  so  safe  to  submit  such  a  performance  to  the  more 
minute  criticism  of  the  same  individuals,  when  each, 
in  turn,  having  seated  himself  in  the  censor's  chair, 
has  placed  his  mind  in  a  critical  attitude,  and  delivers 
his  opinion  sententiously  and  ex  cathedrd.  General 
applause  was  in  almost  every  case  freely  tendered,  but 
the  abatements  in  the  way  of  proposed  alterations  and 
corrections  were  cruelly  puzzling.  It  was  in  vain  the 
young  author,  listening  with  becoming  modesty,  and 
with  a  natural  wish  to  please,  cut  and  carved,  tink- 
ered and  coopered,  upon  his  unfortunate  ballads ;  it 
was  in  vain  that  he  placed,  displaced,  replaced,  and 
misplaced ;  every  one  of  his  advisers  was  displeased 
with  the  concessions  made  to  his  co-assessors,  and  the 
author  was  blamed  by  some  one,  in  almost  every  ease, 
for  having  made  two  holes  in  attempting  to  patch  up 
one. 

At  last,  after  thinking  seriously  on  the  subject,  I 
wrote  out  a  fair  copy  (of  "  Glenfinlas,"  I  think),  and 
marked  all  the  various  corrections  which  had  been 
proposed.  On  the  whole,  I  found  that  I  had  been  re- 
quired to  alter  every  verse,  almost  every  line,  and  the 
only  stanzas  of  the  whole  ballad  which  escaped  criti- 
cism were  two  which  could  neither  be  termed  good 
nor  bad,  speaking  of  them  as  poetry,  but  were  of  a 
mere  commonplace  character,  absolutely  necessary 
for  conducting  the  business  of  the  tale.  This  unex- 
pected result,  after  about  a  fortnight's  anxiety,  led  me 
to  adopt  a  rule  from  which  I  have  seldom  departed 
during  more  than  thirty  years  of  literary  life.  When 
a  friend,  whose  judgment  I  respect,  has  decided,  and 
upon  good  advisement  told  me,  that  a  manuscript  was 
worth  nothing,  or  at  least  possessed  no  redeeming 
qualities  sufficient  to  atone  for  its  defects,  I  have 
generally  cast  it  aside  ;  but  I  am  little  in  the  custom 
of  paying  attention  to  minute  criticisms,  or  of  offering 
such  to  any  friend  who  may  do  me  the  honor  to  con- 
sult me.  I  am  convinced  that,  in  general,  in  remov- 
ing ei^n  errors  of  a  trivial  or  venial  kind,  the  charac- 
ter of  originality  is  lost,  which,  upon  the  whole,  may 
be  that  which  is  most  valuable  in  the  production. 

About  the  time  that  I  shook  hands  with  criticism, 
and  reduced  my  ballads  back  to  the  original  form, 
stripping  them  without  remorse  of  those  "  lendings" 
which  I  had  adopted  at  the  suggestion  of  others,  an 
opportunity  unexpectedly  offered  of  introducing  to  the 
world  what  had  hitherto  been  confined  to  a  circle  of 
friends.  Lewis  had  announced  a  collection,  first  in- 
tended to  bear  the  title  of  Tales  of  Terror,  and  after- 
wards published  under  that  of  Talcs  of  Wonder.  As 
this  was  to  be  a  collection  of  tales  turning  on  the 
preternatural,  there  were  risks  in  the  plan  of  which 
the  ingenious  editor  was  not  aware.  The  supernat- 
ural, though  appealing  to  certain  powerful  emotions 

2  See  the  account  of  a  conversation  between  Sir  Walter 
Scott  and  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  in  Cunningham's  Lives  qf 
British  Painters,  &c,  vol.  vi.  p.  236.— Ed. 


ESSAY    ON    IMITATIONS   OF   THE   ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


567 


very  widely  and  deeply  sown  amongst  the  human  race, 
is,  nevertheless,  a  spring  which  is  peculiarly  apt  to 
lose  its  elasticity  hy  being  too  much  pressed  on,  and 
a  collection  of  ghost  stories  is  not  more  likely  to  be 
terrible  than  a  collection  of  jests  to  be  merry  or  enter- 
taining. But  although  the  very  title  of  the  proposed 
work  carried  in  it  an  obstruction  to  its  effect,  this  was 
far  from  being  suspected  at  the  time,  for  the  popu- 
larity of  the  editor  and  of  his  compositions  seemed  a 
warrant  for  his  success.  The  distinguished  favor 
with  which  the  Castle  Spectre  was  received  upon  the 
stage  seemed  an  additional  pledge  for  the  safety  of 
his  new  attempt.  I  readily  agreed  to  contribute  the 
ballads  of  "Glenfinlas"  and  of  the  "Eve  of  St. 
John,"  with  one  or  two  others  of  less  merit;  and  my 
friend  Dr.  Leyden  became  also  a  contributor.  Mr. 
Southey,  a  tower  of  strength,  added  the  "Old  Woman 
of  Berkeley,"  "  Lord  William,"  and  several  other  in- 
teresting ballads  of  the  same  class,  to  the  proposed 
collection. 

In  the  meantime,  my  friend  Lewis  found  it  no  easy 
matter  to  discipline  his  northern  recruits.  He  was  a 
martinet,  if  I  may  so  term  him,  in  the  accuracy  of 
rhymes  and  of  numbers ;  I  may  add,  he  had  a  right 
to  be  so,  for  few  persons  have  exhibited  more  mastery 
of  rhyme  or  greater  command  over  the  melody  of 
verse.  He  was,  therefore,  rigid  in  exacting  similar 
accuracy  from  others;  and  as  I  was  quite  unaccus- 
tomed to  the  mechanical  part  of  poetry,  and  used 
rhymes  which  were  merely  permissible  as  readily  as 
those  which  were  legitimate,  contests  often  arose 
amongst  us,  which  were  exasperated  by  the  pertina- 
city of  my  Mentor,  who,  as  all  who  knew  him  can  tes- 
tify, was  no  granter  of  propositions.  As  an  instance 
of  the  obstinacy  with  which  I  had  so  lately  adopted  a 
tone  of  defiance  to  criticism,  the  reader  will  find  in 
the  Appendix1  a  few  specimens  of  the  lectures  which 
I  underwent  from  my  friend  Lewis,  and  which  did  not 
at  the  time  produce  any  effect  on  my  inflexibility, 
though  I  did  not  forget  them  at  a  future  period. 

The  proposed  publication  of  the  Tales  of  Wonder 
was,  from  one  reason  or  another,  postponed  till  the 
year  1801,  a  circumstance  by  which,  of  itself,  the  suc- 
cess of  the  work  was  considerably  impeded ;  for  pro- 
tracted expectation  always  leads  to  disappointment. 
But  besides,  there  were  circumstances  of  various  kinds 
which  contributed  to  its  depreciation,  some  of  which 
were  imputable  to  the  editor  or  author,  and  some  to 
the  bookseller. 

The  former  remained  insensible  of  the  passion  for 
ballads  and  ballad-mongers  having  been  for  some  time 
on  the  wane,  and  that,  with  such  alteration  in  the 
public  taste,  the  chance  of  success  in  that  line  was  di- 
minished. What  had  been  at  first  received  as  simple 
and  natural  was  now  sneered  at  as  puerile  and  extra- 
vagant. Another  objection  was  that  my  friend  Lewis 
had  a  high  but  mistaken  opinion  of  his  own  powers  of 
humor.    The  truth  was  that  though  he  could  throw 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


some  gayety  into  his  lighter  pieces,  after  the  manner 
of  the  French  writers,  his  attempts  at  what  is  called 
pleasantry  in  English  wholly  wanted  the  quality  of 
humor,  and  were  generally  failures.  But  this  he 
would  not  allow;  and  the  Tales  of  Wonder  were  filled, 
in  a  sense,  with  attempts  at  comedy  which  might  be 
generally  accounted  abortive. 

Another  objection,  which  might  have  been  more 
easily  foreseen,  subjected  the  editor  to  a  charge  of 
which  Mat  Lewis  was  entirely  incapable, — that  of  col- 
lusion with  his  publisher  in  an  undue  attack  on  the 
pockets  of  the  public.  The  Tales  of  Wonder  formed 
a  work  in  royal  octavo,  and  were,  by  large  printing, 
driven  out,  as  it  is  technically  termed,  to  two  volumes, 
which  were  sold  at  a  high  price.  Purchasers  mur- 
mured at  finding  that  this  size  had  been  attained  by 
the  insertion  of  some  of  the  best-known  pieces  of  the 
English  language,  such  as  Dryden's  "  Theodore  and  * 
Honoria,"  Parnell's  "  Hermit,"  Lisle's  "  Porsenna 
King  of  Russia,"  and  many  other  popular  poems  of 
old  date,  and  generally  known,  which  ought  not  in 
conscience  to  have  made  part  of  a  set  of  tales  "  written 
and  collected"  by  a  modern  author.  His  bookseller 
was  also  accused  in  the  public  prints,  whether  truly 
or  not  I  am  uncertain,  of  having  attempted  to  secure 
to  himself  the  entire  profits  of  the  large  sale  which 
he  expected,  by  refusing  to  his  brethren  the  allow- 
ances usually,  if  not  in  all  cases,  made  to  the  retail 
trade. 

Lewis,  one  of  the  most  liberal  as  well  as  benevolent 
of  mankind,  had  not  the  least  participation  in  these 
proceedings  of  his  bibliopolist ;  but  his  work  sunk 
under  the  obloquy  which  was  heaped  on  it  by  the 
offended  parties.  The  book  was  termed  "  Tales  of 
Plunder,"  was  censured  by  reviewers,  and  attacked 
in  newspapers  and  magazines.  A  very  clever  parody 
was  made  on  the  style  and  the  person  of  the  author, 
and  the  world  laughed  as  willingly  as  if  it  had  never 
applauded. 

Thus,  owing  to  the  failure  of  the  vehicle  I  had 
chosen,  my  eflbrts  to  present  myself  before  the  public 
as  an  original  writer  proved  as  vain  as  those  by  which 
I  had  previously  endeavored  to  distinguish  myself  as 
a  translator.  Like  Lord  Home,  however,  at  the  battle 
of  Flodden,  I  did  so  far  well  that  I  was  able  to  stand 
and  save  myself;  and  amidst  the  general  depreciation 
of  the  Tales  of  Wonder,  my  small  share  of  the  obnox- 
ious publication  was  dismissed  without  much  censure, 
and  in  some  cases  obtained  praise  from  the  critics. 

The  consequence  of  my  escape  made  me  naturally 
more  daring,  and  I  attempted,  in  my  own  name,  a 
collection  of  ballads  of  various  kinds,  both  ancient 
and  modern,  to  be  connected  by  the  common  tie  of  re- 
lation to  the  Border  districts  in  which  I  had  gathered 
the  materials.  The  original  preface  explains  my  pur- 
pose, and  the  assistance  of  various  kinds  which  I  met 
with.  The  edition  was  curious,  as  being  the  first 
work  printed  by  my  friend  and  school-fellow,  Mr. 
James  Ballantyue,  who,  at  that  period,  was  editor  of 
a  provincial  newspaper,  called  the  Kelso  Mail.  When 


568 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  book  came  out,  in  1802,  the  imprint,  Kelso,  was 
read  with  wonder  by  amateurs  of  typography,  who 
had  never  heard  of  such  a  place,  and  were  astonished 
at  the  example  of  handsome  printing  which  so  obscure 
a  town  produced. 

As  for  the  editorial  part  of  the  task,  my  attempt  to 
imitate  the  plan  and  style  of  Bishop  Percy,  observing 
only  more  strict  fidelity  concerning  my  originals,  was 
favorably  received  by  the  public,  and  there  was  a 
demand  within  a  short  space  for  a  second  edition,  to 
which  I  proposed  to  add  a  third  volume.  Messrs. 
Cadell  &  Davies,  the  first  publishers  of  the  work, 
declined  the  publication  of  this  second  edition,  which 
was  undertaken,  at  a  very  liberal  price,  by  the  well- 


known  firm  of  Messrs.  Longman  &  Rees  of  Paternoster 
Low.  My  progress  in  the  literary  career,  in  which  I 
might  now  be  considered  as  seriously  engaged,  the 
reader  will  find  briefly  traced  in  an  introduction  pre- 
fixed to  the  "Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 

In  the  meantime,  the  editor  has  accomplished  his 
proposed  task  of  acquainting  the  reader  with  some 
particulars  respecting  the  modern  imitations  of  the 
Ancient  Ballad,  and  the  circumstances  which  grad- 
ually, and  almost  insensibly,  engaged  himself  in  that 
species  of  literary  employment. 

W.  8. 

Abbotsford,  April,  1830. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

The  Production  of  Modern  as  Ancient  Ballads.— 
P.  557. 

This  failure  applies  to  the  repairs  and  rifacimentos  of  old 
ballads  as  well  as  to  complete  imitations.  In  the  beautiful 
and  simple  ballad  of  "Gil  Morris"  some  affected  person  has 
stuck  in  one  or  two  factitious  verses,  which,  like  vulgar  per- 
sons in  a  drawing-room,  betray  themselves  by  their  over- 
finery.  Thus,  after  the  simple  and  affecting  verse  which 
prepares  the  reader  for  the  coming  tragedy — 

"  Gil  Morrice  sat  in  good  green  wood, 

He  whistled  and  he  sang ; 
'O,  what  mean  a'  yon  folk  coming? 

My  mother  tarries  lang '  " — 

some  such  "  vicious  intromitter  "  as  we  have  described  (to  use 
a  barbarous  phrase  for  a  barbarous  proceeding)  has  inserted 
the  following  quintessence  of  affectation : — 

"His  locks  were  like  the  threads  of  gold 

Drawn  from  Minerva's  loom  ; 
His  lips  like  roses  drapping  dew, 

His  breath  was  a'  perfume. 

"  His  brow  was  like  the  mountain  snow, 

Gilt  by  the  morning  beam ; 
His  cheeks  like  living  roses  blow, 

His  ecn  like  azure  stream. 

"  The  boy  was  clad  in  robes  of  green, 

Sweet  as  the  infant  spring; 
And  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush 

He  gart  the  valleys  ring." 


Note  B. 

M.  G.  Lewis.— P.  562. 

In  justice  to  a  departed  friend  I  have  subjoined  his  own 
defence  against  an  accusation  so  remorselessly  persisted  in. 
The  following  is  an  extract  of  a  letter  to  his  father : — 

"  Ihb.  23,  1798. 
"My  Dear  Father: 

"  Though  certain  that  the  clamor  raised  against  The  Monk 
cannot  have  given  you  the  smallest  doubt  of  the  rectitude  of 
my  intentions  or  the  purity  of  my  principles,  yet  I  am  con- 
scious that  it  must  have  grieved  you  to  find  any  doubts  on 
the  subject  existing  in  the  minds  of  other  people.  To  ex- 
press my  sorrow  for  having  given  you  pain  is  my  motive  for 
now  addressing  you,  and  also  to  assure  you  that  you  shall  not 
feel  that  pain  a  second  time  on  my  account.  Having  made 
you  feel  it  at  all  would  be  a  sufficient  reason,  had  I  no  others, 
to  make  me  regret  having  published  the  first  edition  of  The 


Monk;  but  I  have  others,  weaker,  indeed,  than  the  one  men- 
tioned, but  still  sufficiently  strong.  I  perceive  that  I  have 
put  too  much  confidence  in  the  accuracy  of  my  own  judg- 
ment; that,  convinced  of  my  object  being  unexceptionable, 
I  did  not  sufficiently  examine  whether  the  means  by  which 
I  attained  that  object  were  equally  so ;  and  that,  upon  many 
accounts,  I  have  to  accuse  myself  of  high  imprudence.  Let 
me,  however,  observe  that  twenty  is  not  the  age  at  which 
prudence  is  most  to  be  expected.  Inexperience  prevented 
my  distinguishing  what  would  give  offence  ;  but  as  soon  as  I 
found  that  offence  was  given,  I  made  the  only  reparation  in 
my  power — I  carefully  revised  the  work,  and  expunged  every 
syllable  on  which  could  be  grounded  the  slightest  construc- 
tion of  immorality.  This,  indeed,  was  no  difficult  task ;  for 
the  objections  rested  entirely  on  expressions  too  strong  and 
words  carelessly  chosen,  not  on  the  sentiments,  characters,  or 
general  tendency  of  the  work ; — that  the  latter  is  undeserving 
censure,  Addison  will  vouch  for  me.  The  moral  and  outline 
of  my  story  are  taken  from  an  allegory  inserted  by  him  in 
the  Guardian,  and  which  he  commends  highly  for  ability  of 
invention  and  'propriety  of  object.'  Unluckily,  in  working  it 
up,  I  thought  that  the  stronger  my  colors,  the  more  effect 
would  my  picture  produce ;  and  it  never  struck  me  that  the 
exhibition  of  Vice  in  her  temporary  triumph  might  possibly 
do  as  much  harm  as  her  final  exposure  and  punishment  could 
do  good.  To  do  much  good,  indeed,  was  more  than  I  expected 
of  my  book  ;  having  always  believed  that  our  conduct  de- 
pends on  our  own  hearts  and  characters,  not  on  the  books  we 
read  or  the  sentiments  we  hear.  But  though  I  did  not  hope 
much  benefit  to  arise  from  the  perusal  of  a  trifling  romance, 
written  by  a  youth  of  twenty,  I  was  in  my  own  mind  convinced 
that  no  harm  could  be  produced  by  a  work  whose  subject  was 
furnished  by  one  of  our  best  moralists,  and  in  the  composition 
of  which  I  did  not  introduce  a  single  incident  or  a  single 
character  without  meaning  to  illustrate  some  maxim  uni- 
versally allowed.    It  was,  then,  with  infinite  surprise  that  I 

heard  the  outcry  raised  against  the  " 

[I  regret  that  the  letter,  though  once  perfect,  now  only 
exists  in  my  possession  as  a  fragment.] 


Note  C. 


German  Ballads. — P.  565. 

Among  the  popular  ballads,  or  Volkslieder,  of  the  celebrated 
Herder,  is  (take  one  instance  out  of  many)  a  version  of  the 
old  Scottish  song  of  "  Sir  Patrick  Spence,"  in  which,  but  for 
difference  of  orthography,  the  two  languages  can  be  scarcely 
distinguished  from  each  other.    For  example— 

"  The  king  sits  in  Dunfermling  town, 

Drinking  the  blood-red  wine ; 
'  Where  will  I  get  a  good  skipper 

To  sail  this  ship  of  mine  ?'  " 

(  569  ) 


570 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"Der  Kcenig  sitzt  in  Dumfcrmling  Schloss: 
Er  trinkt  blutrSthen  Wein; 

'O  wo  tritl'  ich  einen  Segler  gut 
Dies  Schilf  zu  seglen  mein."  " 

In  like  manner,  the  opening  stanzas  of  "Child  Waters," 
and  many  other  Scottish  ballads,  fall  as  naturally  and  easily 
Into  the  German  habits  and  forms  of  speech  as  if  they  had 
originally  been  composed  in  that  language: — 

"About  Yule,  when  the  wind  was  cule, 

And  the  round  tables  began, 
O  there  is  come  to  our  king's  court 

Mony  weel-favour'd  mau." 

"In  Christmessfest,  in  winter  kalt, 

Als  Tafel  rund  began, 
Da  kam  zu  Konig's  Hoff  and  Hall 

Manch  wackrer  Ritter  an." 

It  requires  only  a  smattering  of  both  languages  to  see  at 
what  cheap  expense,  even  of  vocables  and  rhymes,  the  pop- 
ular poetry  of  the  one  may  be  transferred  to  the  other. 
Hardly  any  thing  is  more  flattering  to  a  Scottish  student  of 
German ;  it  resembles  the  unexpected  discovery  of  an  old 
friend  in  a  foreign  land. 


Note  D. 


Extracts  from  the  Correspondence  of  M.  G.  Lewis.— 
P.  567. 

My  attention  was  called  to  this  subject,  which  is  now  of 
an  old  date,  by  reading  the  following  passage  in  Medwin's 
Account  of  some  Passages  in  Lord  Byron's  Later  Years.  Lord 
Byron  is  supposed  to  speak : — "  When  Walter  Scott  began  to 
write  poetry,  which  was  not  at  a  very  early  age,  Monk  Lewis 
Correi  b  1  hi-  verse:  he  understood  little  then  of  the  mechan- 
ical part  of  the  art.  The  '  Fire  King,'  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottith  Border,  was  almost  all  Lewis's.  One  of  the  ballads  in 
that  work,  and,  except  some  of  Lcyden's,  perhaps  one  of  the 
best,  was  made  from  a  story  picked  up  in  a  stage-coach :  I 
mean  that  of  '  Will  Jones.' 

'They  boil'd  Will  Jones  within  the  pot, 
And  not  much  fat  had  Will.' 

"I  hope  Walter  Scott  did  not  write  the  review  on  'Chris- 
tabi'],'  for  he  certainly,  in  common  with  many  of  us,  is  in- 
debted to  Coleridge.  But  for  him,  perhaps,  the  '  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel '  would  never  have  been  thought  of.    The  line, 

'  Jesu  Maria  shield  thee  well !' 

is  word  for  word  from  Coleridge." 

There  are  some  parts  of  this  passage  extremely  mistaken 
and  exaggerated,  as  generally  attends  any  attempt  to  record 
what  passes  in  casual  conversation,  which  resembles  in  dif- 
ficulty the  experiments  of  the  old  chemists  for  fixing  quick- 
silver. 

The  fiillowing  is  a  specimen  of  my  poor  friend  Lewis'  crit- 
icism on  my  juvenile  attempts  at  ballad  poetry;  severe 
enough,  perhaps,  but  for  which  I  was  much  indebted  to  him, 
as  forcing  upon  the  notice  of  a  young  and  careless  author 
hints  which  the  said  author's  vanity  made  him  unwilling  to 
attend  to,  but  which  were  absolutely  necessary  to  any  hope 
of  his  ultimate  success: — 

"  Supposed  1799. 
' 'Thank  you  for  your  revised  'Glenfinlas.'     I  grumble,  but 
say  no  more  on  this  subject,  although  I  hope  you  will  not  be  so 
inflexible  on  that  of  your  other  ballads ;  for  I  do  not  despair 


of  convincing  you  in  time  that  a  bad  rhyme  is,  in  fact,  no 
rhyme  at  all.  You  desired  me  to  point  out  my  objections, 
leaving  you  at  liberty  to  make  use  of  them  or  not;  and  so 
have  at  'Frederic  and  Alice.'  Stanza  1st,  'hies'  and  'joys' 
are  not  rhymes;  the  1st  stanza  ends  with  'joys;'  the  2d  begins 
with  'joying.'  In  the  4th  there  is  too  sudden  a  change  of 
tenses,  'flows'  and  'rose.'  Gth,  7th,  and  8th,  I  like  much. 
9th,  Does  not  'ring  his  ears'  sound  ludicrous  in  yours?  The 
first  idea  that  presents  itself  is  that  his  ears  were  pulled ;  but 
even  the  ringing  of  the  ears  does  not  please.  12th,  '  Shower ' 
and  '  roar,'  not  rhymes.  'Soil'  and  'aisle,'  in  the  13th,  are 
not  much  better;  but  'head'  and  'descried'  are  execrable. 
In  the  14th,  'bar'  and  'stair'  are  ditto;  and  'groping'  is  a 
nasty  word.  Vide  Johnson,  'He  gropes  his  breeches  with  a 
monarch's  air.'  In  the  15th  you  change  your  metre,  which 
has  always  an  unpleasant  effect;  and  'safe'  and  'receive' 
rhyme  just  about  as  well  as  Scott  and  Lewis  would.  16th, 
'within'  and  'strain'  are  not  rhymes.  17th,  'hear'  and  'air,' 
not  rhymes.  18th,  Two  metres  are  mixed ;  the  same  objec- 
tion to  the  third  line  of  the  19th.  Observe  that,  in  the  bal- 
lad, I  do  not  always  object  to  a  variation  of  metre ;  but  then 
it  ought  to  increase  the  melody,  whereas,  in  my  opinion,  in 
these  instances  it  is  diminished. 

"The  Chase. — 12th,  The  2d  line  reads  very  harshly ;  and 
'choir'  and  'lore'  are  not  rhymes.  13th,  'Rides'  and  'side' 
are  not  rhymes.  3f)th,  'Pour'  and  'obscure,'  not  rhymes. 
40th,  'Spreads'  and  'invades'  are  not  rhymes.  46th,  'Rend*' 
and  '  ascend '  are  not  rhymes. 

"William  and  Helen. — In  order  that  I  may  bring  it 
nearer  the  original  title,  pray  introduce,  in  the  first  stanza, 
the  name  of  Ellenora,  instead  of  Ellen.  '  Crusade'  and  'spied' 
not  rhymes  in  the  2d.  3d, '  Made '  and  '  shed '  are  not  rhymes ; 
and  if  they  were,  come  too  close  to  the  rhymes  in  the  2d. 
In  the  4th,  'Joy'  and  'victory'  are  not  rhymes.  7th,  The 
first  line  wants  a  verb,  otherwise  is  not  intelligible,  loth, 
'Grace'  and  'bliss'  are  not  rhymes.  14th,  'Bale'  and  'hell' 
are  not  rhymes.  18th,  'Vain'  and  'fruitless'  is  tautology; 
and  as  a  verb  is  wanted,  the  line  will  run  better  thus, 
'And  vain  is  every  prayer.'  19th,  Is  not  'to  her'  absolutely 
necessary  in  the  4th  line?  20th,  'Grace'  and  'bliss,'  not. 
rhymes.  21st,  'Bale'  and  'hell,'  not  rhymes.  22d,  I  do  not 
like  the  word  'spent.'  23d,  '  O'er'  and  'star'  are  vile  rhymes. 
26th,  A  verb  is  wanted  in  the  4th  line:  better  thus,  'Then 
whispers  thus  a  voice.'  28th,  Is  not  'Is't  thou,  my  love." 
better  than  '  My  love !  my  love !'  31st,  If  '  wight '  means,  as  I 
conjecture,  'enchanted,'  does  not  this  let  the  cat  out  of  the 
bag?  Ought  hot  the  spur  to  be  sharp  rather  than  bright? 
In  the  4th  line,  'Stay'  and  'day'  jingle  together;  would  it 
not  be  better,  'I  must  be  gone  ere  day'?  32d,  'Steed'  and 
'bed'  are  not  rhymes.  34th,  'Bride'  and  'bed,'  not  rhymes. 
35th,  'Seat'  and  'await,'  not  rhymes.  39th,  'Keep  hold'  and 
'sit  fast'  seem  to  my  ear  vulgar  and  prosaic.  40th,  The  4th 
line  is  defective  in  point  of  English,  and,  indeed,  I  do  not 
quite  understand  the  meaning.  43d,  'Arose'  and  'pursues' 
are  not  rhymes.  45th,  I  am  not  pleased  with  the  epithet 
'savage;'  and  the  latter  part  of  the  stanza  is,  to  me,  unintel- 
ligible. 49th,  Is  it  not  closer  to  the  original  in  line  3d  to  say, 
'Swift  ride  the  dead'?  50th,  Does  the  rain  'whistle'?  55th, 
line  3d,  Does  it  express,  'Is  Helen  afraid  of  them'?  59th, 
'Door'  and  'flower'  do  not  rhyme  together.  60th,  'Scared' 
and  '  heard '  are  not  rhymes.  63d,  '  Bone '  and  '  skeleton,'  not 
rhymes.  64th,  The  last  line  sounds  ludicrous;  one  fancies 
the  heroine  coming  down  with  a  plump,  and  sprawling  upon 
her  bottom.  I  have  now  finished  my  severe  examination, 
and  pointed  out  every  objection  which  I  think  can  be  sug- 
gested." 

6lh  January,  1799. 

"  Wellwyn,— 99. 
"  Dear  Scott  : 

"Your  last  ballad  reached  me  just  as  I  was  stepping  into 
my  chaise  to  go  to  Brocket  Hall  (Lord  Melbourne's),  so  I  took 
it  with  me,  and  exhibited  both  that  and  'Glenfinlas'  with 


APPENDIX   ON   IMITATIONS   OF   THE   ANCIENT   BALLAD. 


571 


great  success.  I  must  not,  however,  conceal  from  you  that 
nobody  understood  the  Lady  Flora  of  Glengyle  to  be  a  dis- 
guised demon  till  the  catastrophe  arrived;  and  that  the 
opinion  was  universal  that  some  previous  stanzas  ought  to 
be  introduced  descriptive  of  the  nature  and  office  of  the  way- 
ivard  Ladies  of  the  Wood.  William  Lambe,1  too  (who  writes 
good  verses  himself,  and,  therefore,  may  be  allowed  to  judge 
those  of  other  people),  was  decidedly  for  the  omission  of  the 
last  stanza  but  one.  These  were  the  only  objections  started. 
I  thought  it  as  well  that  you  should  know  them,  whether  you 
attend  to  them  or  not.  With  regard  to  '  St.  John's  Eve,'  I  like 
it  much,  and,  instead  of  finding  fault  with  its  broken  metre, 
I  approve  of  it  highly.  I  think,  in  this  last  ballad,  you  have 
hit  off  the  ancient  manner  better  than  in  your  former  ones. 
'Glenfinlas,'  for  example,  is  more  like  a  polished  tale  than  an 
old  ballad.  But  why,  in  verse  6th,  is  the  baron's  helmet 
hacked  and  hewed,  if  (as  we  are  given  to  understand)  he  had 
assassinated  his  enemy?  Ought  not  tore  to  be  torn?  Tore 
seems  to  me  not  English.  In  verse  16th,  the  last  line  is  word 
for  word  from  'Gil  Morrice.'  21st,  'Floor'  and  'bower'  are  not 
rhymes,"  &c,  &c,  &c. 

The  gentleman  noticed  in  the  following  letter,  as  partaker 
in  the  author's  heresies  respecting  rhyme,  had  the  less  occasion 
to  justify  such  license,  as  his  own  have  been  singularly  accu- 
rate. Mr.  Smythe  is  now  Professor  of  Modern  History  at 
Cambridge : — 

"  London,  January  24,  1799. 
"I  must  not  omit  telling  you,  for  your  own  comfort  and 
that  of  all  such  persons  as  are  wicked  enough  to  make  bad 
rhymes,  that  Mr.  Smythe  (a  very  clever  man  at  Cambridge) 
took  great  pains  the  other  day  to  convince  me,  not  merely  that 
a  bad  rhyme  might  pass,  but  that  occasionally  a  bad  rhyme 
was  better  than  a  good  one !!!!!!  I  need  not  tell  you  that  he 
left  me  as  great  an  infidel  on  this  subject  as  he  found  me. 
"  Ever  yours, 

"M.  G.  Lewis." 

The  next  letter  respects  the  ballad  called  the  "  Fire  King," 
Stated  by  Captain  Medwin  to  be  almost  all  Lewis's.  This  is 
an  entire  misconception.  Lewis,  who  was  very  fond  of  his 
idea  of  four  elementary  kings,  had  prevailed  on  me  to  supply 
a  Fire  King.  After  being  repeatedly  urged  to  the  task,  I  sat 
down  one  day  after  dinner,  and  wrote  the  "  Fire  King,"  as  it 
was  published  in  the  Tales  of  Wonder.  The  next  extract 
gives  an  account  of  the  manner  in  which  Lewis  received  it, 
which  was  not  very  favorable ;  but  instead  of  writing  the 
greater  part,  he  did  not  write  a  single  word  of  it.  Dr.  Leyden, 
now  no  more,  and  another  gentleman  who  still  survives,  were 


1  Now  Lord  Melbourne.— Ed. 


sitting  at  my  side  while  I  wrote  it ;  nor  did  my  occupation 
prevent  the  circulation  of  the  bottle. 

Leyden  wrote  a  ballad  for  the  Cloud  King,  which  is  men- 
tioned in  the  ensuing  extract.  But  it  did  not  answer  Mat's 
ideas,  either  in  the  color  of  the  wings  or  some  point  of  cos- 
tume equally  important ;  so  Lewis,  who  was  otherwise  fond 
of  the  ballad,  converted  it  into  the  Elfin  King,  and  wrote 
a  Cloud  King  himself,  to  finish  the  hierarchy  in  the  way 
desired. 

There  is  a  leading  mistake  in  the  passage  from  Captain 
Medwin.  The  Minstrelsy  of  the  Border  is  spoken  of,  but  what 
is  meant  is  the  Tales  of  Wonder.  The  former  work  contains 
none  of  the  ballads  mentioned  by  Mr.  Medwin ;  the  latter 
has  them  all.  Indeed,  the  dynasty  of  Elemental  Kings  were 
written  entirely  for  Mr.  Lewis'  publication. 

My  intimate  friend,  William  Clerk,  Esq.,  was  the  person  who 
heard  the  legend  of  "Will  Jones"  told  in  a  mail-coach  by  a 
sea  captain,  who  imagined  himself  to  have  seen  the  ghost  to 
which  it  relates.  The  tale  was  versified  by  Lewis  himself. 
I  forget  where  it  was  published,  but  certainly  in  no  miscellany 
or  publication  of  mine. 

I  have  only  to  add,  in  allusion  to  the  passage  I  have  quoted, 
that  I  never  wrote  a  word  parodying  either  Mr.  Coleridge  or 
any  one  else,  which,  in  that  distinguished  instance,  it  would 
have  been  most  ungracious  in  me  to  have  done ;  for  which  the 
reader  will  see  reasons  in  the  introduction  to  the  "  Lay  of  the 
Last  Minstrel." 

"  London,  M  February,  1800. 
"Dear  Scott: 

"  I  return  you  many  thanks  for  your  ballad  and  the  extract, 
and  I  shall  tie  very  much  obliged  to  your  friend  for  the  'Cloud 
King.'  I  must,  however,  make  one  criticism  upon  the  stanzas 
which  you  sent  me.  The  Spirit,  being  a  wicked  one,  must  not 
have  such  delicate  wings  as  pale  blue  ones.  He  has  nothing 
to  do  with  heaven  except  to  deface  it  with  storms ;  and  there- 
fore in  The  Monk,  I  have  fitted  him  with  a  pair  of  sable 
pinions,  to  which  I  must  request  your  friend  to  adapt  his 
stanza.  With  the  others  I  am  much  pleased,  as  I  am  with 
your  'Fire  King;'  but  every  body  makes  the  same  objection 
to  it,  and  expresses  a  wish  that  you  had  conformed  your 
Spirit  to  the  description  given  of  him  in  The  Monk,  where  his 
office  is  to  play  the  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  and  lead  travellers  into 
bogs,  &c.  It  is  also  objected  to,  his  being  removed  from  his 
native  land,  Denmark,  to  Palestine ;  and  that  the  office  as- 
signed to  him  in  your  ballad  has  nothing  peculiar  to  the 
'  Fire  King,'  but  would  have  suited  Arimanes,  Beelzebub,  or 
any  other  evil  spirit,  as  well.  However,  the  ballad  itself  I 
think  very  pretty.  I  suppose  you  have  heard  from  Bell 
respecting  the  copies  of  the  ballads.  I  was  too  much  dis- 
tressed at  the  time  to  write  myself,"  &c,  Ac. 

"  M.  G.  L."  j 


CONTRIBUTIONS 


itttnstrclsg  of  tfje  Scottish  Bother, 


IMITATIONS  OF  THE  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 


Stomas  tijc  ISfjgnur. 


IN  THREE  PARTS. 


PART  FIRST.— ANCIENT. 


Few  personages  are  so  renowned  in  tradition  as 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  known  by  the  appellation  of 
The  Rhymer.  Uniting,  or  supposing  to  unite,  in  his 
person  the  powers  of  poetical  composition  and  of  va- 
ticination, his  memory,  even  after  the  lapse  of  five 
hundred  years,  is  regarded  with  veneration  by  his 
countrymen.  To  give  any  thing  like  a  certain  history 
of  this  remarkable  man  would  be  indeed  difficult;  but 
the  curious  may  derive  some  satisfaction  from  the  par- 
ticulars here  brought  together. 

It  is  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  residence,  and 
probably  the  birthplace,  of  this  ancient  bard  was  Er- 
cildoune, a  village  situated  upon  the  Leader,  two 
miles  above  its  junction  with  the  Tweed.  The  ruins 
of  an  ancient  tower  are  still  pointed  out  as  the  Rhym- 
er's castle.  The  uniform  tradition  bears  that  his  sur- 
name was  Lermont,  or  Learmont,  and  that  the  ap- 
pellation of  The  Rhymer  was  conferred  on  him  in 
consequence  of  his  poetical  compositions.  There  re- 
mains, nevertheless,  some  doubt  upon  the  subject.  In 
a  charter,  which  is  subjoined  at  length,1  the  son  of 
our  poet  designed  himself  "  Thomas  of  Ercildoun,  son 
and  heir  of  Thomas  Rymour  of  Ercildoun,"  which 
seems  to  imply  that  the  father  did  not  bear  the  hered- 
itary name   of  Learmont;    or,  at  least,  was  better 


1  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

2  The  lines  alluded  to  are  these  :— 
(572) 


known  and  distinguished  by  the  epithet  which  he 
had  acquired  by  his  personal  accomplishments.  I 
must,  however,  remark  that,  down  to  a  very  late  pe- 
riod, the  practice  of  distinguishing  the  parties,  even 
in  formal  writings,  by  the  epithets  which  had  been 
bestowed  on  them  from  personal  circumstances,  in- 
stead of  the  proper  surnames  of  their  families,  was 
common,  and  indeed  necessary,  among  the  Border 
clans.  So  early  as  the  end  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
when  surnames  were  hardly  introduced  in  Scotland, 
this  custom  must  have  been  universal.  There  is, 
therefore,  nothing  inconsistent  in  supposing  our  poet's 
name  to  have  been  actually  Learmont,  although,  in 
this  charter,  he  is  distinguished  by  the  popular  appel- 
lation of  I1  he  Rhymer. 

We  are  better  able  to  ascertain  the  period  at  which 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune  lived,  being  the  latter  end  of 
the  thirteenth  century.  I  am  inclined  to  place  his 
death  a  little  farther  back  than  Mr.  Pinkerton,  who 
supposes  that  he  was  alive  in  1300  (List  of  Scottish 
Poets),  which  is  hardly,  I  think,  consistent  with  the 
charter  already  quoted,  by  which  his  son,  in  1299,  for 
himself  and  his  heirs,  conveys  to  the  convent  of  the 
Trinity  of  Soltra  the  tenement  which  he  possessed  by 
inheritance  (hereditarie)  in  Ercildoune,  with  all  claim 
■which  he  or  his  predecessors  could  pretend  thereto. 
From  this  we  may  infer  that  the  Rhymer  was  now 
dead,  since  we  find  the  son  disposing  of  the  family 
property.  Still,  however,  the  argument  of  the  learned 
historian  will  remain  unimpeached  as  to  the  time  of 
the  poet's  birth.  For  if,  as  we  learn  from  Barbour, 
his  prophecies  were  held  in  reputation2  as  early  as 


"  T  hope  that  Thomas's  prophecie, 
Of  Erceldoun,  shall  truly  be, 
In  him,"  &c. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


573 


1306,  when  Bruce  slew  the  Red  Cummin,  the  sanc- 
tity and  (let  me  add  to  Mr.  Pinkerton's  words)  the 
uncertainty  of  antiquity  must  have  already  involved 
his  character  and  writings.  In  a  charter  of  Peter 
de  Haga  de  Bemersyde,  which  unfortunately  wants  a 
date,  the  Rhymer,  a  near  neighbor,  and,  if  we  may 
trust  tradition,  a  Mend  of  the  family,  appears  as  a 
witness. — Chartulary  of  Melrose. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  Thomas  of  Ercildoune 
was  a  remarkable  and  important  person  in  his  own 
time,  since,  very  shortly  after  his  death,  we  find  him 
celebrated  as  a  prophet  and  as  a  poet.  Whether  he 
himself  made  any  pretensions  to  the  first  of  these  char- 
acters, or  whether  it  was  gratuitously  conferred  upon 
him  by  the  credulity  of  posterity,  it  seems  difficult  to 
decide.  If  we  may  believe  Mackenzie,  Learmont  only 
versified  the  prophecies  delivered  by  Eliza,  an  inspired 
nun  of  a  convent  at  Haddington.  But  of  this  there 
seems  not  to  be  the  most  distant  proof.  On  the  con- 
trary, all  ancient  authors  who  quote  the  Rhymer's 
prophecies  uniformly  suppose  them  to  have  been 
emitted  by  himself.    Thus,  in  Winton's  Chronicle — 

"  Of  this  fycht  quilum  spak  Thomas 

Of  Ersyldoune,  that  sayd  in  derne, 

There  suld  meit  stalwartly,  starke  and  sterne. 

He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy; 

But  how  he  wist  it  was /e /•/«/." 

Book  viii.  chap.  32. 

There  could  have  been  no  ferly  (marvel),  in  Win- 
ton's  eyes  at  least,  how  Thomas  came  by  his  knowl- 
edge of  future  events,  had  he  ever  heard  of  the 
inspired  nun  of  Haddington,  which,  it  cannot  be 
doubted,  would  have  been  a  solution  of  the  mystery 
much  to  the  taste  of  the  Prior  of  Lochleven.1 

Whatever  doubts,  however,  the  learned  might  have 
as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's  prophetic  skill,  the 
vulgar  had  no  hesitation  to  ascribe  the  whole  to  the 
intercourse  between  the  bard  and  the  Queen  of  Faery. 
The  popular  tale  bears  that  Thomas  was  carried  off, 
at  an  early  age,  to  the  Fairy-land,  where  he  acquired 
all  the  knowledge  which  made  him  afterwards  so 
famous.  After  seven  years'  residence,  he  was  per- 
mitted to  return  to  the  earth,  to  enlighten  and  astonish 
his  countrymen  by  his  prophetic  powers ;  still,  how- 
ever, remaining  bound  to  return  to  his  royal  mistress 
when  she  should  intimate  her  pleasure.2  Accordingly, 
while  Thomas  was  making  merry  with  his  friends  in  the 
Tower  of  Ercildoune,  a  person  came  running  in,  and 
told,  with  marks  of  fear  and  astonishment,  that  a  hart 
and  hind  had  left  the  neighboring  forest,  and  were 

1  Henry  the  Minstrel,  who  introduces  Thomas  into  the  His- 
tory of  Wallace,  expresses  the  same  doubt  as  to  the  source  of 
his  prophetic  knowledge : — 

"  Thomas  Rhymer  into  the  faile  was  than 
With  the  minister,  which  was  a  worthy  man. 
He  used  oft  to  that  religious  place ; 
The  people  deemed  of  wit  he  meikle  can, 
And  so  he  told,  though  that  they  bless  or  ban, 
In  rule  of  war  whether  they  tint  or  wan  : 
Which  happened  sooth  in  many  divers  case ; 


comj)osedly  and  slowly  parading  the  street  of  the 
village.3  The  prophet  instantly  arose,  left  his  habita- 
tion, and  followed  the  wonderful  animals  to  the  forest, 
whence  he  was  never  seen  to  return.  According  to 
the  popular  belief,  he  still  "  drees  his  weird  "  in  Fairy- 
land, and  is  one  day  expected  to  revisit  earth.  In  the 
meanwhile,  his  memory  is  held  in  the  most  profound 
respect.  The  Eildon  Tree,  from  beneath  the  shade  of 
which  he  delivered  his  prophecies,  now  no  longer 
exists ;  but  the  spot  is  marked  by  a  large  stone,  called 
Eildon  Tree  Stone.  A  neighboring  rivulet  takes  the 
name  of  the  Bogle  Burn  (Goblin  Brook)  from  the 
Rhymer's  supernatural  visitants.  The  veneration  paid 
to  his  dwelling-place  even  attached  itself  in  some  de- 
gree to  a  person  who,  within  the  memory  of  man, 
chose  to  set  up  his  residence  in  the  ruins  of  Lear- 
mont's  tower.  The  name  of  this  man  was  Murray,  a 
kind  of  herbalist ;  who,  by  dint  of  some  knowledge 
in  simples,  the  possession  of  a  musical  clock,  an  elec- 
trical machine,  and  a  stuffed  alligator,  added  to  a 
supposed  communication  with  Thomas  the  Rhymer, 
lived  for  many  years  in  very  good  credit  as  a  wizard. 
It  seemed  to  the  editor  unpardonable  to  dismiss  a 
person  so  important  in  Border  tradition  as  the  Rhymer, 
without  some  further  notice  than  a  simple  commentary 
upon  the  following  ballad.  It  is  given  from  a  copy, 
obtained  from  a  lady  residing  not  far  from  Ercildoune, 
corrected  and  enlarged  by  one  in  Mrs.  Brown's  MSS. 
The  former  copy,  however,  as  might  be  expected,  is 
far  more  minute  as  to  local  description.  To  this  old 
tale  the  editor  has  ventured  to  add  a  Second  Part, 
consisting  of  a  kind  of  cento,  from  the  printed  proph- 
ecies vulgarly  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer ;  and  a  Third 
Part,  entirely  modern,  founded  ivpon  the  tradition  of 
his  having  returned  with  the  hart  and  hind  to  the 
Land  of  Faery.  To  make  his  peace  with  the  more 
severe  iintiquaries,  the  editor  has  prefixed  to  the  Sec- 
ond Part  some  remarks  on  Learmont's  prophecies. 


THOMAS   THE   RHYMER. 


PART   FIKST. 


True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank  ;4 

A  ferlie  he  spied  wi'  his  ee ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

I  cannot  say  by  wrong  or  righteousness. 
It  may  be  deemed  by  division  of  grace,"  &c. 

History  of  Wallace,  book  ii. 

2  See  the  Dissertation  on  Fairies  prefixed  to  "Tamlane," 
Border  Minstrelsy,  vol.  ii.  p.  254. 

3  There  is  a  singular  resemblance  betwixt  this  tradition  and 
an  incident  occurring  in  the  life  of  Merlin  Caledonius,  which 
the  reader  will  find  a  few  pages  onwards. 

4  Huntly  Bank  and  the  adjoining  ravine,  called,  from  im- 
memorial tradition,  the  Eky?ner'sGlen,were  ultimately  included 
in  the  domain  of  Abbotsford.    The  scenery  of  this  glen  forms 


574 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


II. t  Bhirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 

Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 
At  ilka  tnt  of  her  horse's  mane, 

Hung  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas,  he  pull'd  aff  his  cap, 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 

"All  hail,  thou  mighty  Queen  of  Heaven! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see." — 

"  Oh  no,  oh  no,  Thomas,"  she  said, 
"  That  name  does  not  belang  to  me; 

I  am  but  the  Queen  of  fair  Elfland, 
That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 

"  Harp  and  carp,  Thomas,"  she  said; 

"  Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me; 
And  if  ye  dare  to  kiss  my  lips. 

Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be." — 

"Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 
That  weird  shall  never  daunton  me." — 1 

Syne  he  has  kiss'd  her  rosy  lips, 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 

"  Now,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,"  she  said ; 

"  True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me  ; 
And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years, 

Thro'  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed ; 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  behind : 
And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rung, 

The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

Oh  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on ; 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind;  w 
Until  they  reaeh'd  a  desert  wide, 

And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

"Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 
And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee; 

Abide  and  rest  a  little  space, 

And  I  will  shew  you  ferlies  three. 

"  Oh  see  ye  not  yon  narrow  road, 

So  thick  beset  with  thorns  and  briers? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness, 
Though  after  it  but  few  inquires. 

"And  see  ye  not  that  braid  braid  road, 
That  lies  across  that  lily  leven  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 
Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 


the  background  of  Edwin  Landseer's  portrait  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  painted  in  1888.— Ed. 

1  Thai  weird,  &c. — That  destiny  shall  never  frighten  me. 

8  The  traditional  commentary  upon  this  ballad  informs  us 


"  And  see  not  ye  that  bonny  road, 

That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae? 
That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

"  But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue, 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see ; 
For,  if  ye  speak  word  in  Elflyn  land, 

Ye'll  ne'er  get  back  to  your  aiu  countrie." 

Oh  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on, 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the  knee, 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon, 

But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae  stern  light, 
And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the  knee  ; 

For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  earth 
Bins  through  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green, 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree — 2 

"  Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas; 
It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never  lie." — 

"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain,"  true  Thomas  said ; 

"  A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me ! 
I  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell, 

At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 

"  I  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 
Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye." — 

"  Now  hold  thy  peace !"  the  lady  said, 
"  For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be." 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 
And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  the  velvet  green ; 

And  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past, 
True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen.3 


STijomns  tlje  $\f);pur. 


PART  SECOND. — ALTERED  FROM  ANCIENT 
PROPHECIES. 


The  prophecies  ascribed  to  Thomas  of  Ercildoune 
have  been  the  principal  means  of  securing  to  him  re- 
membrance "  amongst  the  sons  of  his  people."     The 


that  the  apple  was  the  produce  of  the  fatal  Tree  of  Knowl- 
edge, and  that  the  garden  was  the  terrestrial  paradise.    The 
repugnance  of  Thomas  to  be  debarred  the  use  of  falsehood, 
win  in  he  might  find  it  convenient,  has  a  comic  effect. 
3  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTEELSY. 


575 


author  of  "  Sir  Tristrem"  would  long  ago  have  joined, 
in  the  vale  of  oblivion,  "  Clerk  of  Tranent,  who  wrote 
the  adventure  of  Schir  Gawain,"  if,  by  good  hap,  the 
same  current  of  ideas  respecting  antiquity  which 
causes  Virgil  to  be  regarded  as  a  magician  by  the 
Lazaroni  of  Naples  had  not  exalted  the  bard  of  Ercil- 
doune  to  the  prophetic  character.  Perhaps,  indeed, 
he  himself  affected  it  during  his  life.  We  know,  at 
least,  for  certain,  that  a  belief  in  his  supernatural 
knowledge  was  current  soon  after  his  death.  His 
prophecies  are  alluded  to  by  Barbour,  by  Winton, 
and  by  Henry  the  Minstrel,  or  Blind  Harry,  as  he  is 
usually  termed.  None  of  these  authors,  however, 
give  the  words  of  any  of  the  Rhymer's  vaticinations, 
but  merely  narrate,  historically,  his  having  predicted 
the  events  of  which  they  speak.  The  earliest  of  the 
prophecies  ascribed  to  him  which  is  now  extant  is 
quoted  by  Mr.  Pinkerton  from  a  MS.  It  is  supposed 
to  be  a  response  from  Thomas  of  Ercildoune  to  a 
question  from  the  heroic  Countess  of  March,  re- 
nowned for  the  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dunbar 
against  the  English,  and  termed,  in  the  familiar  dia- 
lect of  her  time,  Black  Agnes  of  Dunbar.  This  proph- 
ecy is  remarkable,  in  so  far  as  it  bears  very  little 
resemblance  to  any  verses  published  in  the  printed 
copy  of  the  Rhymer's  supposed  prophecies.  The 
verses  are  as  follows : — 

"  La  Countesse  deDonbar  demands,  a  Thomas  de  Essedoune  quant 

la  guerre  d' Escoce prendreit  fyn.    Eyl  Va  repoundy  ct  dyl. 

When  man  is  mad  a  kyng  of  a  capped  man  ; 

When  man  is  levere  other  mones  thyng  than  his  owen  ; 

When  londe  thouys  forest,  ant  forest  is  felde ; 

When  hares  kendles  o'  the  her'stane ; 

When  Wy  t  and  Wille  werres  togedere ; 

When  mon  makes  stables  of  kyrkes,  and  steles  castels  with 

stye; 
When  Kokesboroughe  nys  no  burgh  ant  market  is  at  Forwy- 

leye ; 
When  Bambourne  is  donged  with  dede  men ; 
When  men  ledes  men  in  ropes  to  buyen  and  to  sellen ; 
When  a  quarter  of  whaty  whete  is  chaunged  for  a  colt  of  ten 

markes ; 
When  prude  (pride)  prikes  and  pees  is  leyd  in  prisoun ; 
When  a  Scot  ne  me  hym  hude  ase  hare  in  forme  that  the 

English  ne  shall  hym  fynde ; 
When  rycht  ant  wronge  astente  the  togedere; 
When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies ; 
When  Seottes  flen  so  faste,  that,  for  faute  of  shep,  hy  drown- 

eth  hemselve; 
When  shal  this  be  ? 
Nouther  in  thine  tyme  ne  in  mine; 
Ah  comen  ant  gone 
Withinne  twenty  winter  ant  one." 

Pinkerton's  Poems,  from  Maitland's  3fSS.  quoting 
from  Hart.  Lib.  2253,  F.  127. 

As  I  have  never  seen  the  MS.  from  which  Mr.  Pin- 
kerton makes  this  extract,  and  as  the  date  of  it  is 
fixed  by  him  (certainly  one  of  the  most  able  antiqua- 
ries of  our  age)  to  the  reign  of  Edward  I.  or  II.,  it  is 
with  great  diffidence  that  I  hazard  a  contrary  opinion. 
There  can,  however,  I  believe,  be  little  doubt  that 
these  prophetic  verses  are  a  forgery,  and  not  the  pro- 


duction of  our  Thomas  the  Rhymer.  But  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  them  of  a  later  date  than  the  reign 
of  Edward  I.  or  II. 

The  gallant  defence  of  the  castle  of  Dunbar  by 
Black  Agnes  took  place  in  the  year  1337.  The 
Rhymer  died  previous  to  the  year  1299  (see  the  char- 
ter, by  his  son,  in  the  Appendix).  It  seems,  there- 
fore, very  improbable  that  the  Countess  of  Dunbar 
could  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  consulting  Thomas 
the  Rhymer,  since  that  would  infer  that  she  was 
married,  or  at  least  engaged  in  state  matters,  pre- 
vious to  1299 ;  whereas  she  is  described  as  a  young  or 
a  middle-aged  woman  at  the  period  of  her  being  be- 
sieged in  the  fortress  which  she  so  well  defended. 
If  the  editor  might  indulge  a  conjecture,  he  would 
suppose  that  the  prophecy  was  contrived  for  the  en- 
couragement of  the  English  invaders  during  the  Scot- 
tish wars ;  and  that  the  names  of  the  Countess  of 
Dunbar  and  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune  were  used  for 
the  greater  credit  of  the  forgery.  According  to  this 
hypothesis,  it  seems  likely  to  have  been  composed 
after  the  siege  of  Dunbar,  which  had  made  the  name 
of  the  Countess  well  known,  and  consequently  in  the 
reign  of  Edward  III.  The  whole  tendency  of  the 
prophecy  is  to  aver  that  there  shall  be  no  end  of  the 
Scottish  war  (concerning  which  the  question  was  pro- 
posed) till  a  final  conquest  of  the  country  by  England, 
attended  by  all  the  usual  severities  of  war.  "When 
the  cultivated  country  shall  become  forest,"  says  the 
prophecy ; — "  when  the  wild  animals  shall  inhabit  the 
abode  of  men ; — when  Scots  shall  not  be  able  to  escape 
the  English,  should  they  couch  as  hares  in  their  form  " 
— all  these  denunciations  seem  to  refer  to  the  time  of 
Edward  III.,  upon  whose  victories  the  prediction  was 
probably  founded.  The  mention  of  the  exchange  be- 
twixt a  colt  worth  ten  marks  and  a  quarter  of  "  whaty 
[indifferent]  wheat"  seems  to  allude  to  the  dreadful 
famine,  about  the  year  1388.  The  independence  of 
Scotland  was,  however,  as  impregnable  to  the  mines 
of  superstition  as  to  the  steel  of  our  more  powerful 
and  more  wealthy  neighbors.  The  war  of  Scotland 
is,  thank  God,  at  an  end ;  but  it  is  ended  without  her 
people  having  either  crouched  like  hares  in  their  form, 
or  being  drowned  in  their  flight,  "  for  faute  of  ships," 
— thank  God  for  that  too.  The  prophecy  quoted  in 
the  preceding  page  is  probably  of  the  same  date,  and 
intended  for  the  same  purpose. 

A  minute  search  of  the  records  of  the  time  would 
probably  throw  additional  light  upon  the  allusions 
contained  in  these  ancient  legends.  Among  various 
rhymes  of  prophetic  import,  which  are  at  this  day 
current  amongst  the  people  of  Teviotdale,  is  one,  sup- 
posed to  be  pronounced  by  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  pre- 
saging the  destruction  of  his  habitation  and  family  : — 

"  The  hare  sail  kittle  [litter]  on  my  hearth  stane, 
And  there  will  never  be  a  Laird  Learmont  again." 

The  first  of  these  lines  is  obviously  borrowed  from  that 
in  the  MS.  of  the  Harl.  Library — "  When  hares  ken- 
dles o'  the  her'stane  " — an  emphatic  image  of  desola- 


576 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


tion.  It  is  also  inaccurately  quoted  in  the  prophecy 
of  Waldhavc,  published  by  Amlro  Hart,  1613 : — 
"This  i-  a  true  talking  that  Thomas  of  tills, 
The  hare  shall  hirple  on  the  hard  [hearth]  stane." 
Spottiswoode,  an  honest  but  credulous  historian, 
seems  to  have  been  a  firm  believer  in  the  authenticity 
of  the  prophetic  wares  vended  in  the  name  of  Thomas 
of  Ercildoune.  "  The  prophecies,  yet  extant  in  Scot- 
tish rhymes,  whereupon  he  was  commonly  called 
Tliomas  the  Rhymer,  may  justly  be  admired;  haying 
foretold,  so  many  ages  before  the  union  of  England 
and  Scotland  in  the  ninth  degree  of  the  Bruce's 
blood,  with  the  succession  of  Bruce  himself  to  the 
crown,  being  yet  a  child,  and  other  divers  particulars, 
which  the  event  hath  ratified  and  made  good.  Boe- 
thins,  in  his  story,  relateth  his  prediction  of  King 
Alexander's  death,  and  that  he  did  foretell  the  same 
to  the  Earl  of  March,  the  day  before  it  fell  out;  sav- 
ing, '  That  before  the  next  day  at  noon,  such  a  tem- 
pest should  blow,  as  Scotland  had  not  felt  for  many 
yean  before.'  The  next  morning,  the  day  being  clear, 
and  no  change  appearing  in  the  air,  the  nobleman  did 
challenge  Thomas  of  his  saying,  calling  him  an  impos- 
tor. He  replied,  that  noon  was  not  yet  passed.  About 
which  time  a  post  came  to  advertise  the  earl  of  the 
king  his  sudden  death.  '  Then,'  said  Thomas,  '  this 
is  the  tempest  I  foretold ;  and  so  it  shall  prove  to  Scot- 
land.' Whence,  or  how,  he  had  this  knowledge,  can 
hardly  be  affirmed ;  but  sure  it  is,  that  he  did  divine 
and  answer  truly  of  many  things  to  come." — Spot- 
tiswoode, p.  47.  Besides  that  notable  voucher,  Mas- 
ter Hector  Boece,  the  good  archbishop  might,  had 
he  been  so  minded,  have  referred  to  Fordun  for  the 
prophecy  of  King  Alexander's  death.  That  historian 
calls  our  bard  "  ruralis  tile  vatcs." — Fordun,  lib.  x. 
cap.  40. 

What  Spottiswoode  calls  "the  prophecies  extant 
in  Scottish  rhyme"  are  the  metrical  productions 
ascribed  to  the  seer  of  Ercildoune,  which,  with  many 
other  compositions  of  the  same  nature,  bearing  the 
names  of  Bede,  Merlin,  Gildas,  and  other  approved 
soothsayers,  are  contained  in  one  small  volume,  pub- 
lished by  Andro  Hart,  at  Edinburgh,  1615.  Nisbet 
the  herald  I  who  claims  the  prophet  of  Ercildoune  as 
a  brother-professor  of  his  art,  founding  upon  the  vari- 
ous allegorical  and  emblematical  allusions  to  herald- 
ry) intimates  the  existence  of  some  earlier  copy  of 
his  prophecies  than  that  of  Andro  Hart,  which,  how- 
ever, he  does  not  pretend  to  have  seen.1  The  late 
excellent  Lord  Hailes  made  these  compositions  the 
jeel  of  a  dissertation,  published  in  his  Remarks  on 
the  History  of Scotland.  His  at  tin  tion  is  chiefly  direct- 
ed to  the  celebrated  prophecy  of  our  bard,  mentioned 
by  Bishop  Spottiswoode,  bearing  that  the  crowns  of 
England  and  Scotland  should  be  united  in  the  person 
of  a  king,  son  of  a  French  queen,  and  related  to  the 
Bruce  in  the  ninth  degree.  Lord  Hailes  plainly 
proves  that  this  prophecy  is  perverted  from  its  origi- 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


nal  purpose,  in  order  to  apply  it  to  the  succession  of 
James  VI.  The  groundwork  of  the  forgery  is  to  be 
found  in  the  prophecies  of  Berlington,  contained  iu 
the  same  collection,  and  runs  thus : — 

"  Of  Bruce's  left  side  shall  spring  out  a  leafe, 

As  neere  as  the  ninth  degree ; 

And  shall  he  fleeuied  of  faire  Scotland, 

In  France  farre  beyond  the  sea. 

And  then  shall  come  again  ryding, 

With  eyes  that  many  men  may  see. 

At  Aberladie  he  shall  light, 

With  hempen  helteres  and  horse  of  tre. 

However  it  happen  for  to  fall, 

The  lyon  shall  be  lord  of  all ; 

The  French  Quen  shall  bearre  the  sonne, 

Shall  rule  all  Britainne  to  the  sea; 

Ane  from  the  Bruce's  blood  shal  come  also, 

As  neer  as  the  ninth  degree. 

Yet  shal  there  come  a  keene  knight  over  the  salt  sea, 
A  keene  man  of  courage  and  bold  man  of  armes ; 
A  duke's  son  dowbled  [i.  e.  dubbed],  a  born  man  in  France, 
That  shall  our  mirths  augment,  and  mend  all  our  harmes; 
After  the  date  of  our  Lord  1513,  and  thrice  three  thereafter ; 
Which  shall  brooke  all  the  broad  isle  to  himself, 
Between  thirteen  and  thrice  three  the  threip  shall  be  ended  ; 
The  Saxons  shall  never  recover  alter." 

There  cannot  be  any  doubt  that  this  prophecy  was 
intended  to  excite  the  confidence  of  the  Scottish  na- 
tion in  the  Duke  of  Albany,  Begent  of  Scotland,  who 
arrived  from  France  in  1515,  two  years  after  the  death 
of  James  IV.  in  the  fatal  field  of  Flodden.  The  re- 
gent was  descended  of  Bruce  by  the  left,  i.  e.  by  the 
female  side,  within  the  ninth  degree.  His  mother  was 
daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Boulogne,  his  father  banished 
from  his  country — "  fleemit  of  fair  Scotland."  His 
arrival  must  necessarily  be  by  sea,  and  his  landing 
was  expected  at  Aberlady,  in  the  Firth  of  Forth.  He 
was  a  duke's  son,  dubbed  knight;  and  nine  years, 
from  1513,  are  allowed  him  by  the  pretended  prophet 
for  the  accomplishment  of  the  salvation  of  his  coun- 
try and  the  exaltation  of  Scotland  over  her  sister  and 
rival.  All  this  was  a  pious  fraud,  to  excite  the  confi- 
dence and  spirit  of  the  country. 

The  prophecy  put  in  the  name  of  our  Thomas  the 
Rhymer,  as  it  stands  in  Hart's  book,  refers  to  a  later 
period.  The  narrator  meets  the  Rhymer  upon  a  land 
beside  a  lee,  who  shows  him  many  emblematical  vis- 
ions, described  in  no  mean  strain  of  poetry.  They 
chiefly  relate  to  the  fields  of  Flodden  and  Pinkie,  to 
the  national  distress  which  followed  these  defeats,  and 
to  future  halcyon  days  which  are  promised  to  Scot- 
land. One  quotation  or  two  will  be  sufficient  to 
establish  this  fully : — 

"  Our  Scottish  King  sal  come  ful  keene, 

The  red  lyon  beareth  he ; 

A  feddered  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  winke  and  warre  to  see. 

Out  of  the  field  he  shall  be  led, 

When  he  is  bludie  and  woe  for  blood; 

Yet  to  his  men  shall  he  say, 

'  For  God's  love  turn  you  againe, 


Pi 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


577 


And  give  yon  sutherne  folk  a  frey ! 
Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine? 
My  date  is  not  to  die  this  day.' " 

Who  can  doubt,  for  a  moment,  that  this  refers  to 
the  battle  of  Flodden,  and  to  the  popular  reports  con- 
cerning the  doubtful  fate  of  James  IV.?  Allusion 
is  immediately  afterwards  made  to  the  death  of 
George  Douglas,  heir  apparent  of  Angus,  who  fought 
and  fell  with  his  sovereign : — 

"  The  sternes  three  that  day  shall  die, 
That  bears  the  harte  in  silver  sheen." 

The  well-known  arms  of  the  Douglas  family  are  the 
heart  and  three  stars.  In  another  place,  the  battle  of 
Pinkie  is  expressly  mentioned  by  name : — 

"  At  Pinken  Cluch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentle  blood  that  day ; 
There  shall  the  bear  lose  the  guilt, 
And  the  eagill  bear  it  away." 

To  the  end  of  all  this  allegorical  and  mystical  rhap- 
sody is  interpolated,  in  the  later  edition  by  Andro 
Hart,  a  new  edition  of  Berlington's  verses,  before 
quoted,  altered  and  manufactured  so  as  to  bear  refer- 
ence to  the  accession  of  James  VI.,  which  had  just 
then  taken  place.  The  insertion  is  made  with  a  pecu- 
liar degree  of  awkwardness,  betwixt  a  question,  put 
by  the  narrator,  concerning  the  name  and  abode  of 
the  person  who  showed  him  these  strange  matters, 
and  the  answer  of  the  prophet  to  that  question  : — 

"  Then  to  the  Beirne  could  I  say, 
Where  dwells  thou,  or  in  what  countrie  ? 
[Or  who  shall  rule  the  isle  of  Britane, 
From  the  north  to  the  south  sey  ? 
A  French  queene  shall  bear  the  sonne, 
Shall  rule  all  Britaine  to  the  sea ; 
Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 
As  neere  as  the  nint  degree : 
I  frained  fast  what  was  his  name, 
Where  that  he  came,  from  what  country.] 
In  Erslingtoun  I  dwell  at  hame, 
Thomas  Rymour  men  cals  me." 

There  is  surely  no  one  who  will  not  conclude,  with 
Lord  Hailes,  that  the  eight  lines  enclosed  in  brackets 
are  a  clumsy  interpolation,  borrowed  from  Berlington, 
with  such  alterations  as  might  render  the  supposed 
prophecy  applicable  to  the  union  of  the  crowns. 

While  we  are  on  this  subject,  it  may  be  proper 
briefly  to  notice  the  scope  of  some  of  the  other  predic- 
tions in  Hart's  collection.  As  the  prophecy  of  Ber- 
lington was  intended  to  raise  the  spirits  of  the  nation, 
during  the  regency  of  Albany,  so  those  of  Sybilla  and 
Eltraine  refer  to  that  of  the  Earl  of  Arran,  afterwards 
Duke  of  Chatelherault,  during  the  minority  of  Mary, 
a  period  of  similar  calamity.  This  is  obvious  from 
the  following  verses : — 

"  Take  a  thousand  in  calculation, 
And  the  longest  of  the  lyon, 
Four  crescents  under  one  crowne, 
With  Saint  Andrew's  croce  thrise, 
Then  threescore  and  thrise  three : 
37 


Take  tent  to  Merling  truely, 
Then  shall  the  wars  ended  be, 
And  never  again  rise. 
In  that  yere  there  shall  a  king, 
A  duke,  and  no  crown'd  king : 
Becaus  the  prince  shall  be  yong, 
And  tender  of  yeares." 

The  date  above  hinted  at  seems  to  be  1549,  when 
the  Scottish  regent,  by  means  of  some  succors  de- 
rived from  France,  was  endeavoring  to  repair  the  con- 
sequences of  the  fatal  battle  of  Pinkie.  Allusion  is 
made  to  the  supply  given  to  the  "  Moldwarte  [England] 
by  the  fained  hart"  (the  Earl  of  Angus).  The  regent 
is  described  by  his  bearing  the  antelope;  large  sup- 
plies are  promised  from  France,  and  complete  con- 
quest predicted  to  Scotland  and  her  allies.  Thus  was 
the  same  hackneyed  stratagem  repeated  whenever 
the  interest  of  the  rulers  appeared  to  stand  in  need  of 
it.  The  regent  was  not,  indeed,  till  after  this  period, 
created  Duke  of  Chatelherault;  but  that  honor  was 
the  object  of  his  hopes  and  expectations. 

The  name  of  our  renowned  soothsayer  is  liberally 
used  as  an  authority  throughout  all  the  prophecies 
published  by  Andro  Hart.  Besides  those  expressly 
put  in  his  name,  Gildas,  another  assumed  personage, 
is  supposed  to  derive  his  knowledge  from  him ;  for  he 
concludes  thus : — 

"  True  Thomas  me  told  in  a  troublesome  time, 
In  a  harvest  morn  at  Eldoun  hills." 

The  Prophecy  of  Gildas. 

In  the  prophecy  of  Berlington,  already  quoted,  we 
are  told, 

"  Marvellous  Merlin,  that  many  men  of  tells, 
And  Thomas's  sayings  comes  all  at  once." 

While  I  am  upon  the  subject  of  these  prophecies, 
may  I  be  permitted  to  call  the  attention  of  antiquaries 
to  Merdwynn  Wyllt,  or  Merlin  the  Wild,  in  whose 
name,  and  by  no  means  in  that  of  Ambrose  Merlin, 
the  friend  of  Arthur,  the  Scottish  prophecies  are  is- 
sued ?  That  this  personage  resided  at  Drummelziar, 
and  roamed,  like  a  second  Nebuchadnezzar,  the  woods 
of  Tweeddale,  in  remorse  for  the  death  of  his  nephew, 
we  learn  from  Fordun.  In  the  Scoti-Chronicon,  lib.  3, 
cap.  31,  is  an  account  of  an  interview  betwixt  St. 
Kentigern  and  Merlin,  then  in  this  distracted  and 
miserable  state.  He  is  said  to  have  been  called  Lai- 
loken,  from  his  mode  of  life.  On  being  commanded 
by  the  saint  to  give  an  account  of  himself,  he  says 
that  the  penance  which  he  performs  was  imposed  on 
him  by  a  voice  from  heaven,  during  a  bloody  contest 
betwixt  Lidel  and  Carwanolow,  of  which  battle  he 
had  been  the  cause.  According  to  his  own  prediction, 
he  perished  at  once  by  wood,  earth,  and  water;  for, 
being  pursued  with  stones  by  the  rustics,  he  fell  from 
a  rock  into  the  river  Tweed,  and  was  transfixed  by  a 
sharp  stake,  fixed  there  for  the  purpose  of  extending 
a  fishing-net : — 

"  Sude  perfossus,  lapide  percussus,  et  unda, 
Hcec  tria  Merlinum  fertur  inire  necetn. 


578 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Sieque  ntit,  mersusque  fuil  lignoque  prehensvs, 
El  JecU  vatem  per  lerna  pericula  rerum." 

But,  in  a  metrical  history  of  Merlin  of  Caledonia, 
compiled  by  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  from  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  Welsh  bards,  this  mode  of  death  is  attri- 
buted to  a  page,  whom  Merlin's  sister,  desirous  to 
convict  the  prophet  of  falsehood,  because  he  had  be- 
trayed her  intrigues,  introduced  to  him,  under  three 
various  disguises,  inquiring  each  time  in  what  man- 
ner the  person  should  die.  To  the  first  demand  Merlin 
answered,  the  party  should  perish  by  a  fall  from  a 
rock ;  to  the  second,  that  he  should  die  by  a  tree ;  and 
to  the  third,  that  he  should  be  drowned.  The  youth 
perished,  while  hunting,  in  the  mode  imputed  by 
Fordun  to  Merlin  himself. 

Fordun,  contrary  to  the  French  authorities,  con- 
founds this  person  with  the  Merlin  of  Arthur;  but 
concludes  by  informing  us  that  many  believed  him  to 
be  a  different  person.  The  grave  of  Merlin  is  pointed 
•out  at  Drummelziar,  in  Tweeddale,  beneath  an  aged 
thorn-tree.  On  the  east  side  of  the  churchyard,  the 
brook  called  Pausay  falls  into  the  Tweed ;  and  the 
following  prophecy  is  said  to  have  been  current  con- 
cerning their  union : — 

"  When  Tweed  and  Pausayl  join  at  Merlin's  grave, 
Scotland  and  England  shall  one  monarch  have." 

On  the  day  of  the  coronation  of  James  VI.,  the 
Tweed  accordingly  overflowed,  and  joined  the  Pau- 
sayl at  the  prophet's  grave. — Pennycuick'S  History 
of  Tweeddale,  p.  26.  These  circumstances  would 
seem  to  infer  a  communication  betwixt  the  south- 
west of  Scotland  and  Wales,  of  a  nature  peculiarly 
intimate;  for  I  presume  that  Merlin  would  retain 
sense  enough  to  choose  for  the  scene  of  his  wander- 
ings a  country  having  a  language  and  manners  sim- 
ilar to  his  own. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  memory  of  Merlin  Sylvester, 
or  the  Wild,  was  fresh  among  the  Scots  during  the 
reign  of  James  V.  Waldhave,1  under  whose  name  a 
set  of  prophecies  were  published,  describes  himself  as 
lying  upon  Lomond  Law ;  he  hears  a  voice,  which 
bids  him  stand  to  his  defence;  he  looks  around,  and 
beholds  a  flock  of  hares  and  foxes2  pursued  over  the 
mountain  by  a  savage  figure,  to  whom  he  can  hardly 
give  the  name  of  man.  At  the  sight  of  Waldhave, 
the  apparition  leaves  the  objects  of  his  pursuit,  and 
assaults  him  with  a  club.  Waldhave  defends  himself 
with  his  sword,  throws  the  savage  to  the  earth,  and 
refuses  to  let  him  arise  till  he  swear,  by  the  law  and 
lead  he  lives  upon,  "  to  do  him  no  harm."  This  done, 
he  permits  him  to  arise,  and  marvels  at  his  strange 
appearance : — 

"He  was  formed  like  a  freike  [man]  all  his  four  quarters; 
And  then  his  chin  and  his  face  haired  so  thick, 
With  haire  growing  so  grime,  fearful  to  see." 

1  I  do  not  know  whether  the  person  here  meant  be  Wald- 
have, an  abbot  of  Melrose,  who  died  in  the  odor  of  sanctity, 
about  1160. 


He  answers  briefly  to  Waldhave's  inquiry  concerning 
his  name  and  nature,  that  he  "  drees  his  weird,"  i.  e, 
does  penance  in  that  wood;  and,  having  hinted  that 
questions  as  to  his  own  state  are  offensive,  he  pours 
forth  an  obscure  rhapsody  concerning  futurity,  and 
concludes, — 

"  Go  musing  upon  Merlin  if  thou  wilt : 
For  I  mean  no  more,  man,  at  this  time." 

This  is  exactly  similar  to  the  meeting  betwixt  Mer- 
lin and  Kentigern  in  Fordun.  These  prophecies  of 
Merlin  seem  to  have  been  in  request  in  the  minority 
of  James  V. ;  for  among  the  amusements  with  which 
Sir  David  Lindsay  diverted  that  prince  during  his 
infancy  are 

"  The  prophecies  of  Rymer,  Bede,  and  Merlin." 

Sir  David  Lindsay's  Epistle  to  the  King. 

And  we  find  in  Waldhave  at  least  one  allusion  to 
the  very  ancient  prophecy  addressed  to  the  Countess 
of  Dunbar: — 

"  This  is  a  true  token  that  Thomas  of  tells, 

When  a  ladde  with  a  ladye  shall  go  over  the  fields." 

The  original  stands  thus : — 

"  When  laddes  weddeth  lovedies." 

Another  prophecy  of  Merlin  seems  to  have  been 
current  about  the  time  of  the  Regent  Morton's  exe- 
cution. When  that  nobleman  was  committed  to  the 
charge  of  his  accuser,  Captain  James  Stewart,  newly 
created  Earl  of  Arran,  to  be  conducted  to  his  trial  at 
Edinburgh,  Spottiswoode  says  that  he  asked,  "  '  Who 
was  Earl  of  Arran?'  and  being  answered  that  Cap- 
tain James  was  the  man,  after  a  short  pause,  he  said, 
'And  is  it  so?  I  know  then  what  I  may  look  for;' 
meaning,  as  was  thought,  that  the  old  prophecy  of 
the  '  Falling  of  the  heart3  by  the  mouth  of  Arran' 
should  then  be  fulfilled.  Whether  this  was  his  mind 
or  not,  it  is  not  known ;  but  some  spared  not,  at  the 
time  when  the  Hamiltons  were  banished,  in  which 
business  he  was  held  too  earnest,  to  say  that  he  stood 
in  fear  of  that  prediction,  and  went  that  course  only 
to  disappoint  it.  But  if  so  it  was,  he  did  find  himself 
now  deluded;  for  he  fell  by  the  mouth  of  another 
Arran  than  he  imagined."— Spottiswoode,  313.  The 
fatal  words  alluded  to  seem  to  be  these  in  the  proph- 
ecy of  Merlin : — 

"  In  the  mouthe  of  Arrane  a  selcouth  shall  fall, 
Two  bloodie  hearts  shall  be  taken  with  a  false  traine, 
And  derfly  dung  down  without  any  dome." 

To  return  from  these  desultory  remarks,  into  which 
I  have  been  led  by  the  celebrated  name  of  Merlin, 
the  style  of  all  these  prophecies  published  by  Hart 
is  very  much  the  same.    The  measure  is  alliterative, 

2  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

3  The  heart  was  the  cognizance  of  Morton. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


579 


and  somewhat  similar  to  that  of  Pierce  Plowman's 
Visions;  a  circumstance  which  might  entitle  us  to 
ascribe  to  some  of  them  an  earlier  date  than  the  reign 
of  James  V.,  did  we  not  know  that  Sir  Galloran  of 
Galloway  and  Gawaine  and  Gologras,  two  romances 
rendered  almost  unintelligible  by  the  extremity  of 
affected  alliteration,  are  perhaps  not  prior  to  that 
period.  Indeed,  although  we  may  allow  that,  during 
much  earlier  times,  prophecies,  under  the  names  of 
those  celebrated  soothsayers,  have  been  current  in 
Scotland,  yet  those  published  by  Hart  have  obviously 
been  so  often  vamped  and  revamped,  to  serve  the 
political  purposes  of  different  periods,  that  it  may  be 
shrewdly  suspected  that,  as  in  the  case  of  Sir  John 
Cutler's  transmigrated  stockings,  very  little  of  the 
original  materials  now  remains.  I  cannot  refrain 
from  indulging  my  readers  with  the  publisher's  title 
to  the  last  prophecy,  as  it  contains  certain  curious 
information  concerning  the  Queen  of  Sheba,  who  is 
identified  with  the  Cumaan  Sibyl : — "  Here  followeth 
a  prophecie,  pronounced  by  a  noble  queene  and  mat- 
ron, called  Sybilla,  Regina  Austri,  that  come  to  Solo- 
mon. Through  the  which  she  compiled  four  bookes, 
at  the  instance  of  the  said  King  Sol,  and  others 
divers :  and  the  fourth  book  was  directed  to  a  noble 
king,  called  Baldwine,  King  of  the  broad  isle  of  Brit- 
ain ;  in  the  which  she  maketh  mention  of  two  noble 
princes  and  emperours,  the  which  is  called  Leones. 
How  these  two  shall  subdue  and  overcome  all  earthlie 
princes  to  their  diademe  and  crowne,  and  also  be 
glorified  and  crowned  in  the  heaven  among  saints. 
The  first  of  these  two  is  Constantinus  Magnus ;  that 
was  Leprosus,  the  son  of  Saint  Helena,  that  found 
the  croce.  The  second  is  the  sixt  king  of  the  name 
of  Steward  of  Scotland,  the  which  is  our  most  noble 
king."  With  such  editors  and  commentators,  what 
wonder  that  the  text  became  unintelligible,  even  be- 
yond the  usual  oracular  obscurity  of  prediction? 

If  there  still  remain,  therefore,  among  these  pre- 
dictions, any  verses  having  a  claim  to  real  antiquity, 
it  seems  now  impossible  to  discover  them  from  those 
which  are  comparatively  modern.  Nevertheless,  as 
there  are  to  be  found,  in  these  compositions,  some  un- 
commonly wild  and  masculine  expressions,  the  editor 
has  been  induced  to  throw  a  few  passages  together, 
into  the  sort  of  ballad  to  which  this  disquisition  is 
prefixed.  It  would,  indeed,  have  been  no  difficult 
matter  for  him,  by  a  judicious  selection,  to  have  ex- 
cited, in  favor  of  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  a  share  of  the 
admiration  bestowed  by  sundry  wise  persons  upon 
Mass  Robert  Fleming.1     For  example  : — 

"  But  then  the  lilye  shal  be  loused  when  they  least  think  ; 
Then  clear  king's  blood  shal  quake  for  fear  of  death  ; 
For  churls  shal  chop  off  heads  of  their  chief  beirns, 
And  carfe  of  the  crowns  that  Christ  hath  appointed. 

Thereafter,  on  every  side,  sorrow  shal  arise ; 

1  The  Rev.  R.  Fleming,  pastor  of  a  Scotch  congregation  in 
London,  published  in  l"fll  Discourses  on  the  Rise  and  Fall  of 
Papacy,  in  which  he  expressed  his  belief,  founded  on  a  text 


The  barges  of  clear  barons  down  shal  be  sunken ; 
Seculars  shall  sit  in  spiritual  seats, 
Occupying  offices  anointed  as  they  were." 

Taking  the  lily  for  the  emblem  of  France,  can  there 
be  a  more  plain  prophecy  of  the  murder  of  her  mon- 
arch, the  destruction  of  her  nobility,  and  the  deso- 
lation of  her  hierarchy? 

But,  without  looking  further  into  the  signs  of  the 
times,  the  editor,  though  the  least  of  all  the  prophets, 
cannot  help  thinking  that  every  true  Briton  will  ap- 
prove of  his  application  of  the  last  prophecy  quoted 
in  the  ballad. 

Hart's  collection  of  prophecies  was  frequently  re- 
printed during  the  last  century,  probably  to  favor  the 
pretensions  of  the  unfortunate  family  of  Stuart.  For 
the  prophetic  renown  of  Gildas  and  Bede,  see  Fordun, 
lib.  3. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Thomas'  predictions, 
it  may  be  noticed  that  sundry  rhymes,  passing  for  his 
prophetic  effusions,  are  still  current  among  the  vul- 
gar. Thus,  he  is  said  to  have  prophesied  of  the  very 
ancient  family  of  Haig  of  Bemerside, 

"  Betide,  betide,  whate'er  betide, 
Haig  shall  be  Haig  of  Bemerside." 

The  grandfather  of  the  present  proprietor  of  Bemer- 
side had  twelve  daughters  before  his  lady  brought 
him  a  male  heir.  The  common  people  trembled  for 
the  credit  of  their  favorite  soothsayer.  The  late  Mr. 
Haig  was  at  length  born,  and  their  belief  in  the  proph- 
ecy confirmed  beyond  a  shadow  of  doubt. 

Another  memorable  prophecy  bore  that  the  Old 
Kirk  at  Kelso,  constructed  out  of  the  ruins  of  the 
abbey,  should  "  fall  when  at  the  fullest."  At  a  very 
crowded  sermon,  about  thirty  years  ago,  a  piece  of 
lime  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  church.  The  alarm,  for 
the  fulfillment  of  the  words  of  the  seer,  became  uni- 
versal; and  happy  were  they  who  were  nearest  the 
door  of  the  predestined  edifice.  The  church  was  in 
consequence  deserted,  and  has  never  since  had  an 
opportunity  of  tumbling  upon  a  full  congregation.  I 
hope,  for  the  sake  of  a  beautiful  specimen  of  Saxo- 
Gothic  architecture,  that  the  accomplishment  of  this 
prophecy  is  far  distant. 

Another  prediction,  ascribed  to  the  Rhymer,  seems 
to  have  been  founded  on  that  sort  of  insight  into  futu- 
rity possessed  by  most  men  of  a  sound  and  combining 
judgment.     It  runs  thus: — 

"  At  Eldon  Tree  if  you  shall  be, 

A  brigg  ower  Tweed  you  there  may  see." 

The  spot  in  question  commands  an  extensive  pros- 
pect of  the  course  of  the  river ;  and  it  was  easy  to 
foresee  that  when  the  country  should  become  in  the 
least  degree  improved,  a  bridge  would  be  somewhere 
thrown  over  the  stream.  In  fact,  you  now  see  no  less 
than  three  bridges  from  that  elevated  situation. 

in  the  Apocalypse,  that  the  French  monarchy  would  undergo 
some  remarkable  humiliation  about  1794. — Ed. 


580 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Corspatrick  (Comes  Patrick),  Earl  of  March,  but 
more  commonly  taking  his  title  from  his  castle  of 
Dunbar,  acted  a  noted  part  during  the  wars  of  Ed- 
ward I.  in  Scotland.  As  Thomas  of  Ercildoune  is  said 
to  have  delivered  to  him  his  famous  prophecy  of  King 
Alexander's  death,  the  editor  has  chosen  to  introduce 
him  into  the  following  ballad.  All  the  prophetic 
verses  are  selected  from  Hart's  publication.1 


THOMAS  THE  EHYMER. 


PART  SECOND. 


When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane, 
The  sun  blink'd  fair  on  pool  and  stream ; 

And  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank, 
Like  one  awaken'd  from  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  trampling  of  a  steed, 

He  saw  the  flash  of  armour  flee, 
And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon-tree. 

He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong ; 

Of  giant  make  he  'pear'd  to  be : 
He  stirr'd  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

Wi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 

Says — "  Well  met,  well  met,  true  Thomas ! 

Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me." — 
Says — "  Christ  thee  save,  Corspatrick  brave  ! 

Thrice  welcume,  good  Dunbar,  to  me ! 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave ! 

And  I  will  show  thee  curses  three, 
Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grarie, 

And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"  A  storm  shall  roar  this  very  hour, 

From  Ross's  hills  to  Solway  sea." — 
"  Ye  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar ! 

For  the  sun  shines  sweet  on  fauld  and  lee." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  Earlie's  head ; 

He  show'd  him  a  rock  beside  the  sea, 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff  beneath  his  steed,2 

And  steel-dight  nobles  wiped  their  ee. 

1  An  exact  reprint  of  these  prophecies,  from  the  edition  of 
Waldegrave,  in  1603,  collated  with  Hart's,  of  1615,  from  the 
copy  in  the  Abbotsford  Library,  was  completed  for  the  Ban- 
natyne  Club,  under  the  care  of  the  learned  antiquary,  Mr. 
David  Laing  of  Edinburgh.— Ed.    1833. 

-  King  Alexander,  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  near 
Kinghorn. 


"Theneist  curse  lights  on  Branxton  hills: 
By  Flodden's  high  and  heathery  side, 

Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude, 
And  chieftains  throng  wi'  meikle  pride. 

"  A  Scottish  King  shall  come  full  keen, 

The  ruddy  lion  beareth  he ; 
A  feather'd  arrow  sharp,  I  ween, 

Shall  make  him  wink  and  warre  to  see. 

"  When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bledde, 

Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — 
'  For  God's  sake,  turn  ye  back  again, 

And  give  yon  southern  folk  a  fray ! 
Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine? 

My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day.'5 

"  Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand, 

And  woe  and  wonder  ye  sail  see ! 
How  forty  thousand  spearmen  stand, 

Where  yon  rank  river  meets  the  sea. 

"  There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte, 
And  the  libbards  bear  it  clean  away ; 

At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentil  bluid  that  day." — 

"  Enough,  enough,  of  curse  and  ban  ; 

Some  blessings  show  thou  now  to  me, 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"  Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me !" — 

"  The  first  of  blessings  I  shall  thee  show 
Is  by  a  burn,  that's  call'd  of  bread  ;4 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  tine  the  bow, 
And  find  their  arrows  lack  the  head. 

"  Beside  that  brigg,  out  ower  that  burn, 
Where  the  water  bickereth  bright  and  sheen, 

Shall  many  a  fallen  courser  spurn, 
And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen. 

"  Beside  a  headless  cross  of  stone, 
The  libbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree  ; 

The  raven  shall  come,  the  erne  shall  go, 
And  drink  the  Saxon  bluid  sae  free. 

The  cross  of  stone  they  shall  not  know, 
So  thick  the  corses  there  shall  be." — 

"  But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 

"  True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me, 
What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  of  Britain, 

Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  sea?" — 

3  The  uncertainty  which  long  prevailed  in  Scotland  con- 
cerning the  fate  of  James  IV.  is  well  known. 

4  One  of  Thomas'  rhymes,  preserved  by  tradition,  runs 
thus : — 

"  The  burn  of  breid 

Shall  run  fow  reid." 
Bannock-burn  is  the  brook  here  meant.    The  Scots  give  the 
name  of  bannock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened  bread. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


581 


"  A  French  Queen  shall  bear  the  son, 
Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea; 

He  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come, 
As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

"  The  waters  worship  shall  his  race ; 

Likewise  the  waves  of  the  farthest  sea ; 
For  they  shall  ride  over  ocean  wide, 

With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree." 


Cfjomas  tf)e  &f)i>met. 


PART  THIRD.— MODERN. 


BY  WALTER  SCOTT. 

Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  renowned  among  his  con- 
temporaries as  the  author  of  the  celebrated  romance 
of  "  Sir  Tristrem."  Of  this  once-admired  poem  only 
one  copy  is  now  known  to  exist,  which  is  in  the 
Advocates'  Library.  The  editor,  in  1804,  published 
a  small  edition  of  this  curious  work ;  which,  if  it  does 
not  revive  the  reputation  of  the  bard  of  Ercildoune, 
is  at  least  the  earliest  specimen  of  Scottish  poetry 
hitherto  published.  Some  account  of  this  romance  has 
already  been  given  to  the  world  in  Mr.  Ellis'  Speci- 
mens of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  i.  p.  165,  iii.  p.  410;  a 
work  to  which  our  predecessors  and  our  posterity  are 
alike  obliged ;  the  former,  for  the  preservation  of  the 
best-selected  examples  of  their  poetical  taste,  and  the 
latter,  for  a  history  of  the  English  language  which 
will  only  cease  to  be  interesting  with  the  existence  of 
our  mother-tongue,  and  all  that  genius  and  learning 
have  recorded  in  it.  It  is  sufficient  here  to  mention 
that  so  great  was  the  reputation  of  the  romance  of  "  Sir 
Tristrem  "  that  few  were  thought  capable  of  reciting 
it  after  the  manner  of  the  author — a  circumstance 
alluded  to  by  Robert  de  Brunne,  the  annalist : — 

"  I  see  in  song,  in  sedgeyng  tale, 

Of  Erceldoun,  and  of  Kendale, 

Now  tbame  says  as  they  thame  wroght, 

And  in  thare  saying  it  semes  nocht. 

That  thou  may  here  in  Sir  Tristrem, 

Over  gestes  it  has  the  steme, 

Over  all  that  is  or  was ; 

If  men  it  said  as  made  Thomas,"  &c. 

It  appears,  from  a  very  curious  MS.  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  penes  Mr.  Douce  of  London,  containing  a 
French  metrical  romance  of  "  Sir  Tristrem,"  that  the 
work  of  our  Thomas  the  Rhymer  was  known  and  re- 

1  Ruberslaw  and  Dunyon  are  two  hills  near  Jedburgh. 

2  An  ancient  tower  near  Ercildoune,  belonging  to  a  family 
of  the  name  of  Home.  One  of  Thomas'  prophecies  is  said 
to  have  run  thus: — 

"Vengeance!  vengeance!  when  and  where? 

On  the  house  of  Ooldingknow,  now  and  ever  mair !" 


ferred  to  by  the  minstrels  of  Normandy  and  Bretagne. 
Having  arrived  at  a  part  of  the  romance  where  re- 
citers were  wont  to  differ  in  the  mode  of  telling  the 
story,  the  French  bard  expressly  cites  the  authority 
of  the  poet  of  Ercildoune : — 

"Plusurs  de  nos  granler  ne  volent, 
Co  gue  del  naim  dire  se  solent, 
Ki  femme  Kaherdin  dut  aimer, 
JA  naim  redut  Tristram  narrer, 
E  entusche  par  grant  engin, 
Quant  il  a/ole  Kaherdin; 
Pur  cestplai  epur  cest  mat, 
Enveiad  Tristram  Guvernal, 
En  Engleterre pur  Ysolt  : 
Thomas  ico  granter  ne  volt, 
El  si  mil  par  raisun  mostrer, 
Qu'  ico  ne  put  pas  esteer,"  &c. 

The  tale  of  "  Sir  Tristrem,"  as  narrated  in  the  Edin- 
burgh MS.,  is  totally  different  from  the  voluminous 
romance  in  prose  originally  compiled  on  the  same 
subject  by  Rusticien  de  Puise,  and  analyzed  by  M.  de 
Tressan ;  but  agrees  in  every  essential  particular  with 
the  metrical  performance  just  quoted,  which  is  a  work 
of  much  higher  antiquity. 

The  following  attempt  to  commemorate  the  Rhym- 
er's poetical  fame,  and  the  traditional  account  of  his 
marvellous  return  to  Fairy-land,  being  entirely  mod- 
ern, would  have  been  placed  with  greater  propriety 
among  the  class  of  Modern  Ballads,  had  it  not  been 
for  its  immediate  connection  with  the  first  and  second 
parts  of  the  same  story. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER. 


PART  THIRD. 


When  seven  years  more  were  come  and  gone, 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread, 

And  Ruberslaw  show'd  high  Dunyon1 
His  beacon  blazing  red. 

Then  all  by  bonny  Coldingknow,2 
Pitch'd  palliouns  took  their  room, 

And  crested  helms,  and  spears  a-row, 
Glanced  gayly  through  the  broom. 

The  Leader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 

Resounds  the  ensenzie  ;3 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead, 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.* 


The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  given  name  to 
the  beautiful  melody  called  the  "  Broom  o'  the  Cowdenknows." 

3  Ensenzie,  war-cry,  or  gathering  word. 

*  Torwoodlee  and  Caddenhead  are  places  in  Selkirkshire ; 
both  the  property  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Torwoodlee, 


582 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  feast  was  spread  in  Ercildoune, 
In  Learmont'e  high  and  ancient  hall: 

And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown, 
And  ladies,  laced  in  pall. 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dine, 

The  music  nor  the  tale, 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood-red  wine, 

Nor  mantling  quaighs1  of  ale. 

True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand, 

When  as  the  feast  was  done : 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy -land, 

The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

Hush'd  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue, 

And  harpers  for  envy  pale  ; 
And  armed  lords  lean'd  on  their  swords, 

And  hearken'd  to  the  tale. 

In  numbers  high,  the  witching  tale 

The  prophet  pour'd  along ; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail2 

Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

Yet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 

Float  down  the  tide  of  years, 
As,  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 

A  parted  wreck  appears.3 

He  sung  King  Arthur's  Table  Round : 

The  Warrior  of  the  Lake  ; 
How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  wound,4 

And  bled  for  ladies'  sake. 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Tristrem's  praise, 

The  notes  melodious  swell ; 
Was  none  excell'd  in  Arthur's  days 

The  knight  of  Lionelle. 

F'.r  Marke,  his  cowardly  uncle's  right, 

A  venom'd  wound  he  bore; 
When  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight, 

Upon  the  Irish  Bhore. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand; 

No  medicine  could  be  found, 
Till  lovely  Isolde's  lily  hand 

Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

With  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue 

She  bore  tin-  leech's  part ; 
And,  while  she  o'er  his  siek-bcd  hung, 

He  paid  her  with  his  heart. 


1  QimigliS,  wooden  cups,  composed  of  staves  hooped  to- 
gether. 
!  See  introduction  to  this  ballad. 

5  This  stanza  was  quoted  by  the  Edinburgh  Reviewer,  of 


Oh  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween ! 

For,  doom'd  in  evil  tide, 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen, 

His  cowardly  uncle's  bride. 

Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 

In  fairy  tissue  wove  ; 
Where  lords,  and  knights,  and  ladies  bright, 

In  gay  confusion  strove. 

The  Garde  Joyeuse,  amid  the  tale, 
High  rear'd  its  glittering  head ; 

And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 
In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

Brangwain  was  there,  and  Segramore, 
And  fiend-born  Merlin's  gramarye ; 

Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 
Oh  who  could  sing  but  he  ? 

Through  many  a  maze  the  winning  song 

In  changeful  passion  led, 
Till  bent  at  length  the  listening  throng 

O'er  Tristrem's  dying  bed. 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand, 
With  agony  his  heart  is  wrung : 

Oh  where  is  Isolde's  lily  hand, 
And  where  her  soothing  tongue  ? 

She  comes !  she  comes ! — like  flash  of  flame 

Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly  : 
She  comes !  she  comes ! — she  only  came 

To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 

She  saw  him  die ;  her  latest  sigh 
Join'd  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath ; 

The  gentlest  pair  that  Britain  bare 
United  are  in  death. 

There  paused  the  harp :  its  lingering  sound 

Died  slowly  on  the  ear ; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 

For  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 

Then  woe  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak : 
Nor  ladies  heaved  alone  the  sigh  ; 

But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 
Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont's  tower, 

The  mists  of  evening  close; 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 

Each  warrior  sought  repose. 


1804,  as  a  noble  contrast  to  the  ordinary  humility  of  the  gen- 
uine ballad  diction. — Ed. 

*  See,  in  the  Fabliaux  of  Monsieur  le  Grand,  elegantly 
translated  by  the  late  Gregory  Way,  Esq.,  the  tale  of  the 
"  Knight  and  the  Sword."    [Vol.  ii.  p.  3.] 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


583 


Lord  Douglas,  in  his  lofty  tent, 

Dream'd  o'er  the  woeful  tale ; 
When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent, 

The  warrior's  ears  assail. 

He  starts,  he  wakes ; — "  What,  Richard,  ho ! 

Arise,  my  page !  arise ! 
What  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night, 

Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies !" 

Then  forth  they  rush'd :  by  Leader's  tide, 

A  selcouth1  sight  they  see — 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side, 

As  white  as  snow  on  Fairnalie.2 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  gesture  proud, 

They  stately  move  and  slow ; 
Nor  scare  they  at  the  gathering  crowd, 

Who  marvel  as  they  go. 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped, 

As  fast  as  page  might  run ; 
And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed, 

And  soon  his  clothes  did  on. 

First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  woxe  red ; 

Never  a  word  he  spake  but  three  : — 
"  My  sand  is  run ;  my  thread  is  spun ; 

This  sign  regardeth  me." 

The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around, 

In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung ; 
And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound, 

Its  dying  accents  rung. 

Then  forth  he  went ;  yet  turn'd  him  oft 
To  view  his  ancient  hall : 


On  the  gray  tower,  in  lustre  soft, 
The  autumn  moonbeams  fall ; 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen, 

Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray  ; 
In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen, 

Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

"Farewell,  my  fathers'  ancient  tower! 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he : 
"  The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power, 

Thou  never  more  shalt  be. 

"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

Shall  here  again  belong, 
And,  on  thy  hospitable  hearth, 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

"Adieu !  adieu !"  again  he  cried, 

All  as  he  turn'd  him  roun' — 
"  Farewell  to  Leader's  silver  tide ! 

Farewell  to  Ercildoune !" 

The  hart  and  hind  approach'd  the  place, 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood ; 
And  there,  before  Lord  Douglas'  face, 

With  them  he  cross'd  the  flood. 

Lord  Douglas  leap'd  on  his  berry -brown  steed, 
And  spurr'd  him  the  Leader  o'er ; 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed, 
He  never  saw  them  more. 

Some  said  to  hill,  and  some  to  glen, 
Their  wondrous  course  had  been ; 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 
Again  was  Thomas  seen. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A.— P.  572. 

From  the  Chartutary  of  the  Trinity  House  of  Soltra. 

Advocates'  Library,  W.  4.  14. 

ERSYLTON. 

Omnibus  has  literas  visuris  vel  audituris  Thomas  de  Ereil- 
doun  Alius  et  heres  Thomae  Rymour  de  Ercildoun  salutem  in 
Domino.  Noveritis  me  per  fustem  et  haculum  in  pleno  judicio 
resignasse  ae  per  presentes  quietem  clamasse  pro  me  et  here- 

1  Selcouth,  wondrous. 

2  An  ancient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirkshire.  In  a 
popular  edition  of  the  first  part  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  the 
Fairy  Queen  thus  addresses  him : — 


dibus  meis  Magistro  domus  Sanctae  Trinitatis  de  Soltre  et 
fratribus  ejusdem  donius  totam  terram  meam  cum  omnibus 
pertinentibus  suis  quam  in  tenemento  de  Ercildoun  heredi- 
tarie  tenui  renunciando  de  toto  pro  me  et  heredibus  meis 
omni  jure  et  clameo  quae  ego  seu  antecessores  mei  in  eadem 
terra  alioque  tempore  de  perpetuo  habuimus  sive  de  futuro 
habere  possumus.  In  cujus  rei  testimonio  presentibus  his 
sigillum  meum  apposui  data  apud  Ercildoun  die  Martis  prox- 
imo post  festum  Sanctorum  Apostolorum  Symonis  et  Jude 
Anno  Domini  Millesimo  cc.  Konagesimo  Nono. 


"  Gin  ye  wad  meet  wi'  me  again, 
Gang  to  the  bonny  banks  of  Fairnalie." 
Fairnalie  is  now  one  of  the  seats  of  Mr.  Pringle  of  Clifton, 
M.  P.  for  Selkirkshire.    1833. 


584 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Note  B .— P.  574. 

The  reader  is  here  presented,  from  an  old  and  unfortunately 
an  imperfect  MS.,  with  the  undoubted  original  of  Thomas  the 
Rhymer's  intrigue  with  the  Queen  of  Faery.  It  will  afford 
great  amusement  to  those  who  would  study  the  nature  of 
traditional  poetry,  and  the  changes  effected  by  oral  tradition, 
to  compare  this  ancient  romance  with  the  foregoing  ballad. 
The  same  incidents  are  narrated,  even  the  expression  is  often 
the  same;  yet  the  poems  are  as  different  in  appearance  as  if 
the  older  tale  had  been  regularly  and  systematically  modern- 
ized by  a  poet  of  the  present  day. 

IncipU  Prophesia  Thomaz  de  Erseldoun. 

In  a  lande  as  I  was  lent, 

In  the  gryking  of  the  day, 

Ay  alone  as  I  went, 

In  Huntle  bankys  me  for  to  play; 

I  saw  the  throstyl,  and  the  jay, 

Ye  mawes  movyde  of  her  song. 

Ye  wodwale  sange  notes  gay, 

That  al  the  wod  about  range. 

In  that  longyng  as  I  lay, 

Undir  nethe  a  dern  tre, 

I  was  war  of  a  lady  gay, 

Come  rydyng  ouy r  a  fair  le ; 

Zogh  I  suld  sitt  to  domysday, 

With  my  tong  to  wrabbe  and  wry, 

Certenly  all  hyr  aray, 

It  beth  neuyer  discryuyd  for  me. 

Hyr  palfra  was  dappyll  gray, 

Sycke  on  say  neuer  none ; 

As  the  son  in  somers  day, 

All  abowte  that  lady  schone. 

Hyr  sadel  was  of  a  rewel  bone, 

A  semly  syght  it  was  to  se, 

Bryht  with  mony  a  precyous  stone, 

And  compasyd  all  with  crapste; 

Stones  of  oryeus,  gret  plente, 

Her  hair  about  her  hedc  it  hang, 

She  rode  ouer  the  farnyle, 

A  while  she  blew,  a  while  she  sang, 

Her  girths  of  nobil  silke  they  were, 

Her  boculs  were  of  beryl  stone, 

Sadyll  and  brydil  war    .     . ; 

With  sylk  and  sendel  about  bedone, 

Hyr  patyrel  was  of  a  pall  fyne, 

And  hyr  cropei  of  the  arase, 

Her  brydil  was  of  gold  fine, 

Oh  euery  syde  forsothe  hang  bells  thre, 

Her  brydil  reynes    .     .    . 

A  semly  syzt    .... 

Crop  and  patyrel    .... 

In  every  joynt     .... 

She  led  thre  grew  houndes  in  a  leash, 

And  ratchcs  COWpled  by  her  ran  ; 

She  bar  an  horn  about  her  halse, 

And  undir  her  gyrdil  nunc  dene. 

Thomas  lay  and  sa    .    .    . 

In  the  bankes  of    ...    . 

Hesayd  Yonder  Is  Mary  .if  Might, 

That  bar  the  child  that  died  for  me, 

Certes  bot  I  may  speke  with  that  lady  bright, 

Myd  my  hert  will  breke  in  three; 

I  schal  me  hye  with  all  my  might, 

Hyr  to  mete  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  rathly  up  her  rase, 

And  ran  ouer  mountayn  hye, 

If  it  he  sothe  the  story  says, 

He  met  her  euyn  at  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  knelyd  down  on  his  kne 

Undir  nethr  the  gxenswood  spray, 

And  sayd,  Lovely  lady,  thou  rue  on  me, 


Queen  of  Heaven  as  you  may  well  be. 

But  I  am  a  lady  of  another  countrie, 

If  I  be  parcld  most  of  prise, 

I  ride  after  the  wild  fee, 

My  ratchcs  rinnen  at  my  devys. 

If  thou  be  pareld  most  of  prise, 

And  rides  a  lady  in  Strang  foly, 

Lovely  lady,  as  thou  art  wise, 

Giue  you  me  leue  to  lige  ye  by. 

Do  way,  Thomas,  that  were  foly, 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  late  me  be, 

That  sin  will  fordo  all  my  bewtie. 

Lovely  ladye,  rewe  on  me, 

And  euer  more  I  shall  with  ye  dwell, 

Here  my  trowth  I  plyght  to  thee, 

Where  you  belieues  in  heuin  or  hell. 

Thomas,  and  you  myght  lyge  me  by, 

Undir  nethe  this  grene  wode  spray, 

Thou  would  tell  full  hastely, 

That  thou  had  layn  by  a  lady  gay. 

Lady,  mote  I  lyge  by  the, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  tre, 

For  all  the  gold  in  chrystenty, 

Suld  you  neuer  be  wryede  for  me. 

Man  on  molde  you  will  me  marre, 

And  yet  bot  you  may  haf  your  will, 

Trow  you  well,  Thomas,  you  cheuyst  ye  warre ; 

For  all  my  bewtie  wilt  you  spill. 

Down  lyghtyd  that  lady  bryzt, 

Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 

And  as  ye  story  sayth  full  ryzt, 

Seuyn  tymes  by  her  he  lay. 

She  sayd,  Man,  you  lyst  thi  play, 

What  berde  in  bouyr  may  dele  with  thee, 

That  maries  me  all  this  long  day ; 

I  pray  ye,  Thomas,  let  me  be. 

Thomas  stode  up  in  the  stede, 

And  behelde  the  lady  gay, 

Her  heyre  hang  down  about  hyr  hede, 

The  tane  was  blak,  the  other  gray, 

Her  eyn  semyt  onte  before  was  gray, 

Her  gay  clethyng  was  all  away, 

That  he  before  had  sene  in  that  stede 

Hyr  body  as  blow  as  ony  bede. 

Thomas  sighede,  and  sayd,  Alias, 

Me  thynke  this  a  dullfull  syght, 

That  thou  art  fadyd  in  the  face, 

Before  you  shone  as  son  so  bryzt. 

Take  thy  leue,  Thomas,  at  son  and  mone, 

At  gresse,  and  at  euery  tre, 

This  twelmonth  sail  you  with  me  gone, 

Mcdyl  erth  you  sail  not  se. 

Alas,  he  seyd,  ful  wo  is  me, 

I  trow  my  dedes  will  werke  me  care, 

Jesu,  my  sole  tak  to  ye, 

Whedir  so  euyr  my  body  sal  fare. 

She  rode  furth  with  all  her  niyzt, 

Undir  nethe  the  derne  lee, 

It  was  as  derke  as  at  midnizt, 

And  euyr  in  water  unto  the  kne; 

Through  the  space  of  days  thre, 

He  herde  but  swowyng  of  a  flode; 

Thomas  sayd,  Ful  wo  is  me, 

Now  I  spyll  for  fawte  of  fode ; 

To  a  garden  she  lede  him  tyte, 

There  was  fruyte  in  grete  plente, 

Peyres  and  appless  ther  were  rype, 

The  date  and  the  damese, 

The  figge  and  als  fylbert  tre ; 

The  nyghtyngale  bredyng  in  her  neste, 

The  papigaye  about  gan  fle, 

The  throstylcock  sang  wald  hafe  no  rest. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


585 


He  pressed  to  pulle  fruyt  with  his  hand, 

As  man  for  faute  that  was  faynt ; 

She  seyd,  Thomas,  lat  al  stand, 

Or  els  the  deuyl  wil  the  ataynt. 

Sche  seyd,  Thomas,  I  the  hyzt, 

To  lay  thi  hede  upon  my  kne, 

And  thou  shalt  see  fayrer  syght 

Than  euyr  sawe  man  in  their  kintre. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  fayr  way, 

That  lyggs  ouyr  yone  fayr  playn  ? 

Yonder  is  the  way  to  heuyn  for  ay, 

"Whan  synful  sawles  haf  derayed  their  payne. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  secund  way, 

That  lygges  lawe  undir  the  ryse? 

Streight  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

To  the  joyes  of  paradyee. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yon  thyrd  way, 

That  lygges  ouyr  yone  how  ? 

Wide  is  the  way,  sothly  to  say, 

To  the  byrnyng  fyres  of  helle. 

Sees  thou,  Thomas,  yone  fayr  castell, 

That  standes  ouyr  yone  fair  hill  ? 

Of  town  and  tower  it  beereth  the  belle, 

In  middell  erth  is  none  like  theretill. 

Whan  thou  comyst  in  yone  castell  gaye, 

I  pray  thee  curteis  man  to  be ; 

What  so  any  man  to  you  say, 

Loke  thu  answer  none  but  me. 

My  lord  is  servyd  at  yche  messe, 

With  xxx  kniztes  feir  and  fre; 

I  shall  say  syttyng  on  the  dese, 

I  toke  thy  speche  beyone  the  le. 

Thomas  stode  as  still  as  stone, 

And  behelde  that  ladye  gaye ; 

Than  was  sche  fayr,  and  ryche  anone, 

And  also  ryal  on  hir  palfreye. 

The  grewhoundes  had  fylde  thaim  on  the  dere, 

The  raches  coupled,  by  my  fay, 

She  blewe  her  home  Thomas  to  chere, 

To  the  castell  she  went  her  way. 

The  ladye  into  the  hall  went, 

Thomas  folowyd  at  her  hand ; 

Thar  kept  her  mony  a  lady  gent, 

With  curtasy  and  lawe. 

Harp  and  fedyl  both  he  fande, 

The  getern  and  the  sawtry, 

Lut  and  rybid  ther  gon  gan, 

Thair  was  al  maner  of  mynstralsy, 

The  most  fertly  that  Thomas  thoght, 

When  he  com  emyddes  the  flore, 

Fourty  hertes  to  quarry  were  broght, 

That  had  been  befor  both  long  and  store. 

Lymors  lay  lappyng  blode, 

And  kokes  standyng  with  dressyng  knyfe, 

And  dressyd  dere  as  thai  wer  wode, 

And  rewell  was  thair  wonder. 

Knyghtes  dansyd  by  two  and  thre, 

All  that  leue  long  day. 

Ladyes  that  were  gret  of  gre, 

Sat  and  sang  of  rych  aray. 

Thomas  saw  much  more  in  that  place, 

Than  I  can  descryve, 

Til  on  a  day,  alas,  alas, 

My  lovelye  ladye  sayd  to  me, 

Busk  ye,  Thomas,  you  must  agayn, 

Here  you  may  no  longer  be : 

Hy  then  zerne  that  you  were  at  hame, 

I  sal  ye  bryng  to  Eldyn  Tre. 

Thomas  answerd  with  heuy, 

And  said,  Lowely  ladye,  lat  ma  be, 

For  I  say  ye  certenly  here 

Haf  I  be  hot  the  space  of  dayes  three. 


Sothly,  Thomas,  as  I  telle  ye, 
You  hath  ben  here  thre  yeres, 
And  here  you  may  no  longer  be ; 
And  I  sal  tele  ye  a  skele, 
To-morrowe  of  helle  ye  foule  fende 
Amang  our  folke  shall  chuse  his  fee ; 
For  you  art  a  larg  man  and  an  hende, 
Trowe  you  wele  he  will  chuse  thee. 
Fore  all  the  golde  that  may  be, 
Fro  hens  unto  the  worldes  ende, 
Sail  you  not  be  betrayed  by  me, 
And  thairfor  sail  you  hens  wende." 
She  broght  hym  euyn  to  Eldyn  Tre, 
Undir  nethe  the  grene  wode  spray, 
In  Huntle  bankes  was  fayr  to  be, 
Ther  breddes  syng  both  nizt  and  day. 
Ferre  ouyr  yon  montayns  gray, 
Ther  hathe  my  facon  ; 
Fare  wele,  Thomas,  I  wende  my  way. 


The  Elfin  Queen,  after  restoring  Thomas  to  earth,  pours 
forth  a  string  of  prophecies,  in  which  we  distinguish  refer- 
ence to  the  events  and  personages  of  the  Scottish  wars  of 
Edward  III.  The  battles  of  Dupplin  and  Halidon  are  men- 
tioned, and  also  Black  Agnes,  Countess  of  Dunbar.  There  is 
a  copy  of  this  poem  in  the  museum  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lin- 
coln, another  in  the  collection  in  Peterborough,  but  unfor- 
tunately they  are  all  in  an  imperfect  state.  Mr.  Jamieson, 
in  his  curious  CoUectim  of  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  has  an 
entire  copy  of  this  ancient  poem,  with  all  the  collations. 
The  lacuna  of  the  former  editions  have  been  supplied  from 
his  copy. 


Note  C. 


Allusions  to  Heraldry.— P.  576. 

"  The  muscle  is  a  square  figure  like  a  lozenge,  but  it  is  always 
voided  of  tYiz  field.  They  are  carried  as  principal  figures  by 
the  name  of  Learmont.  Learmont  of  Earlstoun,  in  the  Merss, 
carried  or  on  a  bend  azure  three  muscles ;  of  which  family 
was  Sir  Thomas  Learmont,  who  is  well  known  by  the  name 
of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  because  he  wrote  his  prophecies  in 
rhime.  This  prophetick  herauld  lived  in  the  days  of  King 
Alexander  the  Third,  and  prophesied  of  his  death,  and  of 
many  other  remarkable  occurrences;  particularly  of  the 
union  of  Scotland  with  England,  which  was  not  accom- 
plished until  the  reign  of  James  the  Sixth,  some  hundred 
years  after  it  was  foretold  by  this  gentleman,  whose  proph- 
ecies are  much  esteemed  by  many  of  the  vulgar  even  at  this 
day.  I  was  promised  by  a  friend  a  sight  of  his  prophecies, 
of  which  there  is  everywhere  to  be  had  an  epitome,  which,  I 
suppose,  is  erroneous,  and  differs  in  many  things  from  the 
original,  it  having  been  oft  reprinted  by  some  unskilful  per- 
sons. Thus  many  things  are  amissing  in  the  small  book 
which  are  to  be  met  with  in  the  original,  particularly  these 
two  lines  concerning  his  neighbour,  Bemerside : — 

'  Tyde  what  may  betide, 

Haig  shall  be  laird  of  Bemerside.' 

And  indeed  his  prophecies  concerning  that  ancient  family 
have  hitherto  been  true ;  for,  since  that  time  to  this  day,  the 
Haigs  have  been  lairds  of  that  place.  They  carrie,  Azure  a 
saltier  cantoned  with  two  stars  in  chief  and  in  base  argent, 
as  many  crescents  in  the  flanques  or;  and  for  crest  a  rock 
proper,  with  this  motto,  taken  from  the  above-written 
rhyme— 'Tide  what  may.' "— Nisbet  on  Marks  of  Cadency, 
p.  158.    He  adds  "  that  Thomas'  meaning  may  be  understood 


586 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


by  hcraulds  when  he  speaks  of  kingdoms,  whose  insignia  sel- 
dom vary,  but  that  individual  families  cannot  be  discovered, 
either  because  they  have  altered  their  bearings,  or  because 
they  are  pointed  out  by  their  crests  and  exterior  ornaments, 
which  are  changed  at  the  pleasure  of  the  bearer."  Mr.  Nis- 
bet,  however,  comforts  himself  for  this  obscurity  by  reflect- 
ing that  "we  may  certainly  conclude,  from  his  writings,  that 
herauldry  was  in  good  esteem  in  his  days,  and  well  known  to 
the  vulgar." — Ibid.  p.  160.  It  may  be  added  that  the  pub- 
lication of  predictions,  either  printed  or  hieroglyphical,  in 
which  noble  families  were  pointed  out  by  their  armorial 
bearings,  was,  in  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  extremely 
common  ;  and  the  influence  of  such  predictions  on  the  minds 
of  the  common  people  was  so  great  as  to  occasion  a  prohibi- 
tion, by  statute,  of  prophecy  by  reference  to  heraldic  em- 
blems. Lord  Henry  Howard  also  (afterwards  Earl  of  North- 
ampton) directs  against  this  practice  much  of  the  reasoning 
in  his  learned  treatise  entitled  "A  Defensation  against  the 
Poyson  of  pretended  Prophecies." 


Note  D— P.  578. 

The  strange  occupation  in  which  Waldhave  beholds  Merlin 
engaged  derives  some  illustration  from  a  curious  passage  in 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth's  life  of  Merlin,  above  quoted.  The 
poem,  after  narrating  that  the  prophet  had  fled  to  the  forest 
in  a  state  of  distraction,  proceeds  to  mention  that,  looking 
upon  the  stars  one  clear  evening,  he  discerned  from  his  as- 
trological knowledge  that  his  wife,  Guendolen,  had  resolved 
upon  the  next  morning  to  take  another  husband.  As  he  had 
presaged  to  her  that  this  would  happen,  and  had  promised  her 
a  nuptial  gift  (cautioning  her,  however,  to  keep  the  bride- 
groom out  of  his  sight),  he  now  resolved  to  make  good  his 
word.    Accordingly,  he  collected  all  the  stags  and  lesser  game 


in  his  neighborhood,  and,  having  seated  himself  upon  a  buck, 
drove  the  herd  before  him  to  the  capital  of  Cumberland,  where 
Guendolen  resided.  But  her  lover's  curiosity  leading  him  to 
inspect  too  nearly  this  extraordinary  cavalcade,  Merlin's  rage 
was  awakened,  and  he  slew  him  with  the  stroke  of  an  antler 
of  the  stag.    The  original  runs  thus : — 

"  Dixerat :  et  silvas  el  saltus  circuit  omnes, 
Cervorumque  greges  agmen  collegil  in  unum, 
El  damas,  capreasque  simul;  cervoque  resedit, 
El,  venienle  die,  compellens  agniina  prce  se, 
Feslinans  vadil  quo  nubU  Guendolatna, 
Poslquam  venil  eo,  pacienter  ipse  coegil 
Cervos  ante  fores,  proelamans,  '  Gwndolcena, 
Guendolama,  veni,  le  talia  munera  speclant.' 
Ocius  ergo  venit  subridens  Guendolama, 
Geslarique  virum  cervo  miraiur,  el  ilium 
Sic  parere  viro,  tanlum  quoque  posse  ferarum 
Uniri  numerum  quas  prce  se  solus  agebat. 
Sicut  pastor  ores,  quas  ducere  suevit  ad  herbas. 
Stabal  ad  excel-sa  sponsus  speclando  fenestra, 
In  solw  mirans  equilem,  risumque  movebal. 
Asl  ubi  vidil  eum  votes,  animoque  quis  esset 
Calluit,  exlemplo  divulsit  cornua  cervo 
Quo  geslabaiur,  vibrataque  fecit  in  ilium, 
Et  caput  illius  penitus  contrivit,  eumque 
Reddidit  exanimem,  vitamque  fugavit  in  auras; 
Ocius  inde  suum,  talorum  verbere,  cervum 
Diffugiens  egit,  silvasque  redire  paravit." 

For  a  perusal  of  this  curious  poem,  accurately  copied  from 
a  manuscript  in  the  Cotton  Library,  nearly  coeval  with  the 
author,  I  was  indebted  to  my  learned  friend,  the  late  Mr.  Rit- 
son.  There  is  an  excellent  paraphrase  of  it  in  the  curious 
and  entertaining  Specimens  of  Early  English  Romances,  pub- 
lished by  Mr.  Ellis. 


C&lenfittlaa; 

OR, 

LORD    RONALD'S    CORONACH.1 


The  simple  tradition  upon  which  the  following 
stanzas  are  founded  runs  thus: — While  two  Highland 
hunters  were  passing  the  night  in  a  solitary  bothy  (a 
hut  built  for  the  purpose  of  hunting),  and  making 
merry  over  their  venison  and  whisky,  one  of  them 
expressed  a  wish  that  they  had  pretty  lasses  to  com- 
plete their  party.  The  words  were  scarcely  uttered 
when  two  beautiful  young  women,  habited  in  green, 
entered  the  hut,  dancing  and  singing.  One  of  the 
hunters  was  seduced  by  the  siren  who  attached  her- 
self particularly  to  him,  to  leave  the  hut :  the  other 
remained,  and,  suspicious  of  the  fair  seducers,  contin- 
ued to  play  upon  a  trump,  or  Jew's-harp,  some  strain 


1  Coronach  is  the  lamentation  for  a  deceased  warrior,  sung 
by  the  aged  of  the  clan. 


consecrated  to  the  Virgin  Mary.  Day  at  length  came, 
and  the  temptress  vanished.  Searching  in  the  forest, 
he  found  the  bones  of  his  unfortunate  friend,  who  had 
been  torn  to  pieces  and  devoured  by  the  fiend  into 
whose  toils  he  had  fallen.  The  place  was  from  thence 
called  the  Glen  of  the  Green  Women. 

Glenfinlas  is  a  tract  of  forest  ground,  lying  in  the 
Highlands  of  Perthshire,  not  far  from  Callender  in 
Menteith.  It  was  formerly  a  royal  forest,  and  now 
belongs  to  the  Earl  of  Moray.  This  country,  as  well 
as  the  adjacent  district  of  Balquidder,  was,  in  times 
of  yore,  chiefly  inhabited  by  the  Macgregors.  To  the 
west  of  the  Forest  of  Glenfinlas  lies  Loch  Katrine, 
and  its  romantic  avenue,  called  the  Trosachs.  Ben- 
ledi,  Benmore,  and  Benvoirlich,  are  mountains  in  the 
same  district,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  Glenfin- 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


587 


las.  The  river  Teith  passes  Callender  and  the  castle 
of  Doune,  and  joins  the  Forth  near  Stirling.  The 
Pass  of  Lenny  is  immediately  above  Callender,  and  is 
the  principal  access  to  the  Highlands  from  that  town. 
Glenartney  is  a  forest  near  Benvoirlich.  The  whole 
forms  a  sublime  tract  of  Alpine  scenery. 
This  ballad  first  appeared  in  the  Tales  of  Wonder.1 


tffiintfinlas ; 

OR, 

LORD  RONALD'S  CORONACH. 


"  For  them  the  viewless  forms  of  air  obey, 
Their  bidding  heed,  and  at  their  beck  repair ; 

They  know  what  spirit  brews  the  stormful  day, 
And  heartless  oft,  like  moody  madness  stare, 

To  see  the  phantom  train  their  secret  work  prepare." 

Collins. 


"  Oh  hone  a  rie' !  oh  hone  a  rie'  !2 

The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er, 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree  ; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more !" 

Oh,  sprung  from  great  Macgillianore,    ' 

The  chief  that  never  fear'd  a  foe, 
How  matchless  was  thy  broad  claymore, 

How  deadly  thine  unerring  bow ! 

Well  can  the  Saxon  widows  tell3 
How,  on  the  Teith's  resounding  shore, 

The  boldest  Lowland  warriors  fell, 
As  down  from  Lenny's  pass  you  bore. 

But  o'er  his  hills,  in  festal  day, 
How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree,* 

While  youths  and  maids  the  light  strathspey 
So  nimbly  danced  with  Highland  glee. 

Cheer'd  by  the  strength  of  Ronald's  shell, 

E'en  age  forgot  his  tresses  hoar; 
But  now  the  loud  lament  we  swell, 

Oh  ne'er  to  see  Lord  Ronald  more ! 

From  distant  isles  a  chieftain  came, 

The  joys  of  Ronald's  halls  to  find, 
And  chase  with  him  the  dark-brown  game 

That  bounds  o'er  Albin's  hills  of  wind. 

'Twas  Moy ;  whom  in  Columba's  isle 
The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found,5 

1  In  1801.  See  ante,  p.  565.  The  scenery  of  this,  the  author's 
first  serious  attempt  at  poetry,  reappears  in  the  "Lady  of  the 
Lake,"  in  "  Waverley,"  and  in  "  Rob  Roy." — Ed. 

2  Oh  hone  a  rie'  signifies  "  Alas  for  the  prince  or  chief." 


As,  with  a  minstrel's  fire  the  while, 

He  waked  his  harp's  harmonious  sound. 

Full  many  a  spell  to  him  was  known, 
Which  wandering  spirits  shrink  to  hear; 

And  many  a  lay  of  potent  tone, 
Was  never  meant  for  mortal  ear. 

For  there,  'tis  said,  in  mystic  mood, 
High  converse  with  the  dead  they  hold, 

And  oft  espy  the  fated  shroud, 
That  shall  the  future  corpse  enfold. 

Oh  so  it  fell  that  on  a  day, 

To  rouse  the  red  deer  from  their  den, 
The  Chiefs  have  ta'en  their  distant  way, 

And  scour'd  the  deep  Glenfinlas  glen. 

No  vassals  wait  their  sports  to  aid, 
To  watch  their  safety,  deck  their  board ; 

Their  simple  dress,  the  Highland  plaid, 
Their  trusty  guard,  the  Highland  sword. 

Three  summer  days,  through  brake  and  dell, 
Their  whistling  shafts  successful  flew ; 

And  still,  when  dewy  evening  fell, 
The  quarry  to  their  hut  they  drew. 

In  gray  Glenfinlas'  deepest  nook 

The  solitary  cabin  stood, 
Fast  by  Moneira's  sullen  brook, 

Which  murmurs  through  that  lonely  wood. 

Soft  fell  the  night,  the  sky  was  calm, 
When  three  successive  days  had  flown ; 

And  summer  mist  in  dewy  balm 
Steep'd  heathy  bank  and  mossy  stone. 

The  moon,  half  hid  in  silvery  flakes, 
Afar  her  dubious  radiance  shed, 

Quivering  on  Katrine's  distant  lakes, 
And  resting  on  Benledi's  head. 

Now  in  their  hut,  in  social  guise, 
Their  sylvan  fare  the  Chiefs  enjoy ; 

And  pleasure  laughs  in  Ronald's  eyes, 
As  many  a  pledge  he  quaffs  to  Moy. 

"  What  lack  we  here  to  crown  our  bliss, 
While  thus  the  pulse  of  joy  beats  high? 

What  but  fair  woman's  yielding  kiss, 
Her  panting  breath  and  melting  eye  ? 

"  To  chase  the  deer  of  yonder  shades, 
This  morning  left  their  father's  pile 


8  The  term  Sassenach,  or  Saxon,  is  applied  by  the  High- 
landers to  their  Low-Country  neighbors. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 
8  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 


588 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


The  fairest  of  our  mountain  maids, 
The  daughters  of  the  proud  Glengyle. 

"  Long  have  I  sought  sweet  Mary's  heart, 
And  dropp'd  the  tear,  and  heaved  the  sigh : 

But  vain  the  lover's  wily  art, 
Beneath  a  sister's  watchful  eye. 

"  But  thou  may'st  teach  that  guardian  fair, 

While  far  with  Mary  I  am  flown, 
Of  other  hearts  to  cease  her  care, 

And  find  it  hard  to  guard  her  own. 

"  Touch  but  thy  harp,  thou  soon  shalt  see 

The  lovely  Flora  of  Glengyle, 
Unmindful  of  her  charge  and  me, 

Hang  on  thy  notes,  'twixt  tear  and  smile. 

"  Or,  if  she  choose  a  melting  tale, 

All  underneath  the  greenwood  bough, 

Will  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail,1 
Stern  huntsman  of  the  rigid  brow  ?" — 

"  Since  Enrick's  fight,  since  Morna's  death, 

No  more  on  me  shall  rapture  rise, 
Responsive  to  the  panting  breath, 

Or  yielding  kiss,  or  melting  eyes. 

"  E'en  then,  when  o'er  the  heath  of  woe, 
Where  sunk  my  hopes  of  love  and  fame, 

I  bade  my  harp's  wild  wailings  flow, 
On  me  the  seer's  sad  spirit  came. 

"  The  last  dread  curse  of  angry  Heaven, 
With  ghastly  sights  and  sounds  of  woe, 

To  'lash  each  glimpse  of  joy  was  given — 
The  gift,  the  future  ill  to  know. 

"  The  bark  thou  saw'st,  yon  summer  morn, 

So  gaylv  part  from  Oban's  bay, 
My  eye  beheld  her  dash'd  and  torn, 

Far  on  the  rocky  Colonsay. 

"  Thy  Fergus  too,  thy  sister's  son — 
Thou  saw'st,  with  pride,  the  gallant's  power, 

As  marching  'gainst  the  Lord  of  Downe, 
He  left  the  skirts  of  huge  Benmore. 

"Thou  only  saw'st  their  tartans2  wave, 
As  down  Benvoirlich's  side  they  wound, 

Heardst  but  the  pibroch,3  answering  brave 
To  many  a  target  clanking  round. 

"  I  heard  the  groans,  I  mark'd  the  tears, 

I  saw  the  wound  his  bosom  bore, 
When  on  the  serried  Saxon  spears 

He  pour'd  his  clan's  resistless  roar. 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 

2  Tartan.':,  th<-  lull  Highland  dress,  made  of  the  chequered 
Btuff  so  termed. 


"  And  thou,  who  bidst  me  think  of  bliss, 

And  bidst  my  heart  awake  to  glee, 
And  court,  like  thee,  the  wanton  kiss — 

That  heart,  O  Ronald,  bleeds  for  thee ! 

"  I  see  the  death-damps  chill  thy  brow  ; 

I  hear  thy  Warning  Spirit  cry ; 
The  corpse-lights  dance — they're  gone,  and  now  .  . . 

No  more  is  given  to  gifted  eye  !" — 

"  Alone  enjoy  thy  dreary  dreams, 

Sad  prophet  of  the  evil  hour ! 
Say,  should  we  scorn  joy's  transient  beams, 

Because  to-morrow's  storm  may  lower  ? 

"  Or  false  or  sooth  thy  words  of  woe, 
Clangillian's  Chieftain  ne'er  shall  fear; 

His  blood  shall  bound  at  rapture's  glow, 
Though  doom'd  to  stain  the  Saxon  spear. 

"  E'en  now,  to  meet  me  in  yon  dell, 
My  Mary's  buskins  brush  the  clew." 

He  spoke,  nor  bade  the  Chief  farewell, 
But  call'd  his  dogs,  and  gay  withdrew. 

Within  an  hour  return'd  each  hound; 

In  rush'd  the  rousers  of  the  deer ; 
They  howl'd  in  melancholy  sound, 

Then  closely  couch'd  beside  the  Seer. 

No  Ronald  yet ;  though  midnight  came, 
And  sad  were  Moy's  prophetic  dreams, 

As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  flame, 
He  fed  the  watch-fire's  quivering  gleams. 

Sudden  the  hounds  erect  their  ears, 
And  sudden  cease  their  moaning  howl; 

Close  press'd  to  Moy,  they  mark  their  fears 
By  shivering  limbs  and  stifled  growl. 

Untouch'd,  the  harp  began  to  ring, 

As  softly,  slowly,  oped  the  door; 
And  shook  responsive  every  string, 

As  light  a  footstep  press'd  the  floor. 

And  by  the  watch-fire's  glimmering  light, 
Close  by  the  minstrel's  side  was  seen 

An  huntress  maid,  in  beauty  bright, 
All  dropping  wet  her  robes  of  green. 

All  dropping  wet  her  garments  seem ; 

Chill'd  was  her  cheek,  her  bosom  bare, 
As,  bending  o'er  the  dying  gleam, 

She  wrung  the  moisture  from  her  hair. 

With  maiden  blush  she  softly  said, 
"  Oh,  gentle  huntsman,  hast  thou  seen, 

3  Pibroch,  a  piece  of  martial  music,  adapted  to  the  High- 
laud  bagpipe. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


589 


In  deep  Glenfinlas'  moonlight  glade, 
A  lovely  maid  in  vest  of  green : 

"  With  her  a  Chief  in  Highland  pride ; 

His  shoulders  bear  the  hunter's  bow, 
The  mountain  dirk  adorns  his  side, 

Far  on  the  wind  his  tartans  flow  ?" — 

"And  who  art  thou?  and  who  are  they?" 

All  ghastly  gazing,  Moy  replied : 
"  And  why,  beneath  the  moon's  pale  ray, 

Dare  ye  thus  roam  Glenfinlas'  side?" — 

"  Where  wild  Loch  Katrine  pours  her  tide, 
Blue,  dark,  and  deep,  round  many  an  isle, 

Our  father's  towers  o'erhang  her  side, 
The  castle  of  the  bold  Glengyle. 

"  To  chase  the  dun  Glenfinlas  deer, 
Our  woodland  course  this  morn  we  bore, 

And  haply  met,  while  wandering  here, 
The  son  of  great  Macgillianore. 

"  Oh  aid  me,  then,  to  seek  the  pair, 
Whom,  loitering  in  the  woods,  I  lost ; 

Alone,  I  dare  not  venture  there, 
Where  walks,  they  say,  the  shrieking  ghost."- 

"  Yes,  many  a  shrieking  ghost  walks  there ; 

Then,  first,  my  own  sad  vow  to  keep, 
Here  will  I  pour  my  midnight  prayer, 

Which  still  must  rise  when  mortals  sleep." 

"  Oh  first,  for  pity's  gentle  sake, 
Guide  a  lone  wanderer  on  her  way ! 

For  I  must  cross  the  haunted  brake, 
And  reach  my  father's  towers  ere  day." — 

"  First,  three  times  tell  each  Ave-bead, 

And  thrice  a  Paternoster  say ; 
Then  kiss  with  me  the  holy  rede  ; 

So  shall  we  safely  wend  our  way." — 

"  Oh  shame  to  knighthood,  strange  and  foul ! 

Go  doff  the  bonnet  from  thy  brow, 
And  shroud  thee  in  the  monkish  cowl, 

Which  best  befits  thy  sullen  vow. 

"  Not  so,  by  high  Dunlathmon's  fire, 
Thy  heart  was  froze  to  love  and  joy, 

When  gayly  rung  thy  raptured  lyre 
To  wanton  Morna's  melting  eye." 

Wild  stared  the  minstrel's  eyes  of  flame, 

And  high  his  sable  locks  arose, 
And  quick  his  color  went  and  came, 

As  fear  and  rage  alternate  rose. 

"  And  thou !  when  by  the  blazing  oak 
I  lay,  to  her  and  love  resign'd, 


Say,  rode  ye  on  the  eddying  smoke, 
Or  sail'd  ye  on  the  midnight  wind  ? 

"  Not  thine  a  race  of  mortal  blood, 
Nor  old  Glengyle's  pretended  line ; 

Thy  dame,  the  Lady  of  the  Flood — 
Thy  sire,  the  Monarch  of  the  Mine." 

He  mutter'd  thrice  St.  Oran's  rhyme, 
And  thrice  St.  Fillan's  powerful  prayer  ;x 

Then  turn'd  him  to  the  eastern  clime, 
And  sternly  shook  his  coal-black  hair. 

And,  bending  o'er  his  harp,  he  flung 
His  wildest  witch-notes  on  the  wind  ; 

And  loud,  and  high,  and  strange,  they  rung, 
As  many  a  magic  change  they  find. 

Tall  wax'd  the  Spirit's  altering  form, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  stature  grew ; 

Then,  mingling  with  the  rising  storm, 
With  one  wild  yell  away  she  flew. 

Rain  beats,  hail  rattles,  whirlwinds  tear : 
The  slender  hut  in  fragments  flew ; 

But  not  a  lock  of  Moy's  loose  hair 
Was  w  aved  by  wind,  or  wet  by  dew. 

Wild  mingling  with  the  howling  gale, 
Loud  bursts  of  ghastly  laughter  rise ; 

High  o'er  the  minstrel's  head  they  sail, 
And  die  amid  the  northern  skies. 

The  voice  of  thunder  shook  the  wood, 
As  ceased  the  more  than  mortal  yell  ; 

And,  spattering  foul,  a  shower  of  blood 
Upon  the  hissing  firebrands  fell. 

Next  dropp'd  from  high  a  mangled  arm  ; 

The  fingers  strain'd  an  half-drawn  blade : 
And  last,  the  life-blood  streaming  warm, 

Torn  from  the  trunk,  a  gasping  head. 

Oft  o'er  that  head,  in  battling  field, 
Stream'd  the  proud  crest  of  high  Benmore ; 

That  arm  the  broad  claymore  could  wield, 
Which  dyed  the  Teith  with  Saxon  gore. 

Woe  to  Moneira's  sullen  rills ! 

Woe  to  Glenfinlas'  dreary  glen ! 
That  never  son  of  Albin's  hills 

Shall  draw  the  hunter's  shaft  agen ! 

E'en  the  tired  pilgrim's  burning  feet 
At  noon  shall  shun  that  sheltering  den, 

Lest,  journeying  in  their  rage,  he  meet 
The  wayward  Ladies  of  the  Glen. 


i  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 


590 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  we — behind  the  Chieftain's  shield, 
No  more  shall  we  in  safety  dwell; 

None  leads  the  people  to  the  field — 
And  we  the  loud  lament  must  swell. 


"  Lewis'  collection  produced  also  what  Scott  justly  calls 
hi-  '  Hist  BeriOUS  attempts  in  verse;'  and  of  these  the  earliest 
appears  to  have  been  the  '  Glenfinlas.'  Here  the  scene  is  laid 
in  the  most  favorite  district  of  his  favorite  Perthshire  High- 
lands; and  the  Gaelic  tradition  on  which  it  was  founded  was 
far  more  likely  to  draw  out  the  secret  strength  of  his  genius, 
as  well  as  to  arrest  the  feelings  of  his  countrymen,  than  auy 
subject  with  which  the  stores  of  German  diablerie  could  have 
supplied  him.    It  has  been  alleged,  however,  that  the  poet 


Oh  hone  a  rie' !  oh  hone  a  rie' ! 

The  pride  of  Albin's  line  is  o'er, 
And  fall'n  Glenartney's  stateliest  tree; 

We  ne'er  shall  see  Lord  Ronald  more ! 


makes  a  German  use  of  his  Scottish  materials;  that  the 
legend,  as  briefly  told  in  the  simple  prose  of  his  preface,  is 
more  affecting  than  the  lofty  and  sonorous  stanzas  them- 
selves; that  the  vague  terror  of  the  original  dream  loses,  in- 
stead of  gaining,  by  the  expanded  elaboration  of  the  detail. 
There  may  be  something  in  these  objections;  but  no  man 
can  pretend  to  be  an  impartial  critic  of  the  piece  which  first 
awoke  his  own  childish  ear  to  the  power  of  poetry  and  the 
melody  of  verse." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  25. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

How  blazed  Lord  Ronald's  beltane-tree. — P.  587. 

The  fires  lighted  by  the  Highlanders  on  the  first  of  May, 
in  compliance  with  a  custom  derived  from  the  pagan  times, 
are  termed  the  Beltane-tree.  It  is  a  festival  celebrated  with 
various  superstitious  rites,  both  in  the  north  of  Scotland  and 
in  Wales. 


Note  B. 


The  seer's  prophetic  spirit  found.— Y.  587. 

I  can  only  describe  the  second  sight  by  adopting  Dr.  John- 
son's definition,  who  calls  it  "An  impression,  either  by  the 
mind  upon  the  eye  or  by  the  eye  upon  the  mind,  by  which 
things  distant  and  future  are  perceived  and  seen  as  if  they 
were  present."  To  which  I  would  only  add  that  the  spectral 
appearances  thus  presented  usually  presage  misfortune;  that 
the  faculty  is  painful  to  those  who  suppose  they  possess  it; 
and  that  they  usually  acquire  it  while  themselves  under  the 
pressure  of  melancholy. 


Note  C. 


mil  good  St.  Oran's  rule  prevail— -P.  588. 

St.  Oran  was  a  friend  and  follower  of  St.  Columba,  and  was 
buried  at  Iculmkill.  His  pretensions  to  be  a  saint  were 
rather  dubious.  According  to  the  legend,  he  consented  to 
be  buried  alive  in  order  to  propitiate  certain  demons  of  the 
soil  who  obstructed  the  attempts  of  Coin  in  ha  to  build  a  chapel. 
Columba  caused  the  body  of  his  friend  to  Ik- dug  up.  after  three 
days  bad  elapsed  ;  when  Oran,  to  the  horror  and  scandal  of  the 
assistants,  declared  that  there  was  neither  a  God,  a  judgment, 
nor  a  future  state!  He  had  no  time  to  make  further  discov- 
eries, for  Columba  caused  the  earth  once  more  to  be  shovelled 
over  him  with  the  utmost  despatch.  The  chapel,  however, 
and  the  cemetery  was  called  Relig  Ouran;  and,  in  memory 
of  his  rigid  celibacy,  no  female  was  permitted  to  pay  her  de- 
votions or  be  buried  in  that  place.  This  is  the  rule  alluded 
to  in  the  poem. 


Note  D. 

And  thrice  St.  Milan's  powerful  prayer. — P.  589. 

St.  Fillan  has  given  his  name  to  many  chapels,  holy  fount- 
ains, &c,  in  Scotland.  He  was,  according  to  Camerarius,  an 
abbot  of  Pittenweem,  in  Fife;  from  which  situation  he  re- 
tired, and  died  a  hermit  in  the  wilds  of  Glenarchy,  A.  D.  649. 
While  engaged  in  transcribing  the  Scriptures,  his  left  hand 
was  observed  to  send  forth  such  a  splendor  as  to  afford  light 
to  that  with  which  he  wrote ;  a  miracle  which  saved  many 
candles  to  the  convent,  as  St.  Fillan  used  to  spend  whole 
nights  in  that  exercise.  The  9th  of  January  was  dedicated 
to  this  saint,  who  gave  his  name  to  Kilfillan,  in  Renfrew,  and 
St.  Phillans,  or  Forgend,  in  Fife.  Lesley,  lib.  7,  tells  us  that 
Robert  the  Bruce  was  possessed  of  Fillan's  miraculous  and 
luminous  arm,  which  he  enclosed  in  a  silver  shrine,  and  had 
it  carried  at  the  head  of  his  army.  Previous  to  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn,  the  king's  chaplain,  a  man  of  little  faith, 
abstracted  the  relic  and  deposited  it  in  a  place  of  security, 
lest  it  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English.  But,  lo ! 
while  Robert  was  addressing  his  prayers  to  the  empty  casket, 
it  was  observed  to  open  and  shut  suddenly ;  and,  on  inspec- 
tion, the  saint  was  found  to  have  himself  deposited  his  arm 
in  the  shrine  as  an  assurance  of  victory.  Such  is  the  tale  of 
Lesley.  But  though  Bruce  little  needed  that  the  arm  of  St. 
Fillan  should  assist  his  own,  he  dedicated  to  him,  in  gratitude, 
a  priory  at  Killin,  upon  Loch  Tay. 

In  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1802,  there  is  a  copy  of  a 
very  curious  crown  grant,  dated  11th  July,  1487,  by  which 
James  III.  confirms  to  Malice  Doire,  an  inhabitant  of  Strath- 
fillan,  in  Perthshire,  the  peaceable  exercise  and  enjoyment 
of  a  relic  of  St.  Fillan,  being  apparently  the  head  of  a  pas- 
toral staff  called  the  Quegrich,  which  he  and  his  predeces- 
sors are  said  to  have  possessed  since  the  days  of  Robert 
Bruce.  As  the  Quegrich  was  used  to  cure  diseases,  this  doc- 
ument is  probably  the  most  ancient  patent  ever  granted  for 
a  quack  medicine.  The  ingenious  correspondent  by  whom 
it  is  furnished  further  observes  that  additional  particulars 
concerning  St.  Fillan  are  to  be  found  in  Bellenden's  Boece, 
book  4,  folio  ccxiii.,  and  in  Pennant's  Tour  in  Scotland,  1772, 
pp.  11,  15. 

See  a  note  on  the  lines  in  the  first  canto  of  Marmion  :— 

"Thence  to  St.  Fillan's  blessed  well, 
Whose  spring  can  frenzied  dreams  dispel, 
And  the  crazed  brain  restore,"  <tc. — Ed. 


CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    MINSTRELSY. 


591 


ftf)*  <#be  of  £t  JSojjn. 


Smaylho'me  or  Smallholm  Tower,  the  scene  of 
the  following  ballad,  is  situated  on  the  northern  boun- 
dary of  Roxburghshire,  among  a  cluster  of  wild  rocks, 
called  Sandiknow'-Crags,  the  property  of  Hugh  Scott, 
Esq.,  of  Harden  [now  Lord  Polwarth].  The  tower  is 
a  high  square  building,  surrounded  by  an  outer  wall, 
now  ruinous.  The  circuit  of  the  outer  court,  being  de- 
fended on  three  sides  by  a  precipice  and  morass,  is  ac- 
cessible only  from  the  west,  by  a  steep  and  rocky  path. 
The  apartments,  as  is  usual  in  a  Border  keep  or  fortress, 
are  placed  one  above  another,  and  communicate  by  a 
narrow  stair ;  on  the  roof  are  two  bartizans  or  plat- 
forms, for  defence  or  pleasure.  The  inner  door  of  the 
tower  is  wood,  the  outer  an  iron  gate;  the  distance 
between  them  being  nine  feet,  the  thickness,  namely, 
of  the  wall.  From  the  elevated  situation  of  Smayl- 
ho'me Tower,  it  is  seen  many  miles  in  every  direction. 
Among  the  crags  by  which  it  is  surrounded,  one, 
more  eminent,  is  called  the  Watch  fold,  and  is  said  to 
have  been  the  station  of  a  beacon,  in  the  times  of 
war  with  England.  Without  the  tower-court  is  a 
ruined  chapel.  Brotherstone  is  a  heath  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Smaylho'me  Tower. 

This  ballad  was  first  printed  in  Mr.  Lewis'  Tales 
of  Wonder.  It  is  here  published,  with  some  additional 
illustrations — particularly  an  account  of  the  battle  of 
Ancram  Moor — which  seemed  proper  in  a  work  upon 
Border  antiquities.  The  catastrophe  of  the  tale  is 
founded  upon  a  well-known  Irish  tradition.2  This 
ancient  fortress  and  its  vicinity  formed  the  scene  of 
the  editor's  infancy,  and  seemed  to  claim  from  him 
this  attempt  to  celebrate  them  in  a  Border  tale.3 


C£e  ISbe  of  51.  fofm. 

The  Baron  of  Smaylho'me  rose  with  day, 

He  spurr'd  his  courser  on, 
Without  stop  or  stay,  down  the  rocky  way 

That  leads  to  Brotherstone. 


i  "This  place*  is  rendered  interesting  to  poetical  readers 
by  its  having  been  the  residence,  in  early  life,  of  Mr.  Walter 
Scott,  who  has  celebrated  it  in  his  '  Eve  of  St.  John.'  To  it 
he  probably  alludes  in  the  introduction  to  the  third  canto  of 
'  Marniion :' — 

'  Then  rise  those  crags,  that  mountain  tower, 
Which  charm'd  my  fancy's  wakening  hour.'  " 

Scots  Mag.  March,  1809. 

2  The  following  passage  in  Dr.  Henry  More's  Appendix  to 
the  Antidote  against  Atheism  relates  to  a  similar  phenomenon : — 
"  I  confess  that  the  bodies  of  devils  may  not  be  only  warm, 
but  singeingly  hot,  as  it  was  in  him  that  took  one  of  Melanc- 
thon's  relations  by  the  hand,  and  so  scorched  her  that  she 

•  The  farm-house  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Smailholm. 


He  went  not  with  the  bold  Bnccleuch, 

His  banner  broad  to  rear ; 
He  went  not  'gainst  the  English  yew 

To  lift  the  Scottish  spear. 

Yet  his  plate-jack4  was  braced,  and  his  helmet  was 
laced, 

And  his  vaunt-brace  of  proof  he  wore  ; 
At  his  saddle-gerthe  was  a  good  steel  sperthe, 

Full  ten  pound  weight  and  more. 

The  Baron  return'd  in  three  days'  space, 

And  his  looks  were  sad  and  sour; 
And  weary  was  his  courser's  pace, 

As  he  reach'd  his  rocky  tower. 

He  came  not  from  where  Ancram  Moor5 

Ran  red  with  English  blood ; 
Where  the  Douglas  true,  and  the  bold  Bnc- 
cleuch, 

'Gainst  keen  Lord  Evers  stood. 

Yet  was  his  helmet  hack'd  and  hew'd, 

His  acton  pierced  and  tore, 
His  axe  and  his  dagger  with  blood  imbrued, — 

But  it  was  not  English  gore. 

He  lighted  at  the  Chapellage, 

He  held  him  close  and  still ; 
And  he  whistled  thrice  for  his  little  foot-page, 

His  name  was  English  Will. 

"  Come  thou  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

Come  hither  to  my  knee ; 
Though  thou  art  young,  and  tender  of  age, 

I  think  thou  art  true  to  me. 

"  Come  tell  me  all  that  thou  hast  seen, 

And  look  thou  tell  me  true ! 
Since  I  from  Smaylho'me  tower  have  been, 

What  did  thy  lady  do?"— 

bare  the  mark  of  it  to  her  dying  day.  But  the  examples  of 
cold  are  more  frequent ;  as  in  that  famous  story  of  Cuntius, 
when  he  touched  the  arm  of  a  certain  woman  of  Pentoch,  as 
she  lay  in  her  bed,  he  felt  as  cold  as  ice;  and  so  did  the  spir- 
it's claw  to  Annie  Styles." — Ed.  1C62,  p.  135. 
8  See  the  introduction  to  the  third  canto  of  "  Marmion :" — 

"  It  was  a  barren  scene,  and  wild, 

Where  naked  cliffs  were  ruddy  piled ; 

But  ever  and  anon  between 

Lay  velvet  tufts  of  softest  green  ; 

And  well  the  lonely  infant  knew 

Recesses  where  the  wallflower  grew,"  Ac. — Ed. 

4  The  plate-jack  is  coat-armor;  the  vaunt-brace,  or  wam- 
brace,  armor  for  the  body ;  the  sperthe,  a  battle-axe. 

5  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 


592 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  My  lady,  each  night,  sought  the  lonely  light 

That  burns  on  the  wihl  Watehfold ; 
For,  from  height  to  height,  the  beacons  bright 

Of  the  English  foemen  told. 

"  The  bittern  clamor'd  from  the  moss, 

The  wind  blew  loud  and  shrill ; 
Yet  the  craggy  pathway  she  did  cross 

To  the  eiry  Beacon  Hill. 

"  I  wateh'd  her  steps,  and  silent  came 

Where  she  sat  her  on  a  stone ; 
No  watchman  stood  by  the  dreary  flame, 

It  burned  all  alone. 

"  The  second  night  I  kept  her  in  sight, 

Till  to  the  fire  she  came, 
And,  by  Mary's  might!  an  armed  Knight 

Stood  by  the  lonely  flame. 

"  And  many  a  word  that  warlike  lord 

Did  speak  to  my  lady  there ; 
But  the  rain  fell  fast,  and  loud  blew  the  blast, 

And  I  heard  not  what  they  were. 

"  The  third  night  there  the  sky  was  fair, 

And  the  mountain  blast  was  still, 
As  again  I  wateh'd  the  secret  pair, 

On  the  lonesome  Beacon  Hill. 

"  And  I  heard  her  name  the  midnight  hour, 

And  name  this  holy  eve ; 
And  say,  '  Come  this  night  to  thy  lady's  bower; 

Ask  no  bold  Baron's  leave. 

" '  He  lifts  his  spear  with  the  bold  Buccleuch ; 

His  lady  is  all  alone ; 
The  door  she'll  undo  to  her  knight  so  true, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John.' — 

" '  I  cannot  come ;  I  must  not  come ; 

I  dare  not  come  to  thee ; 
On  the  eve  of  St.  John  I  must  wander  alone : 

In  thy  bower  I  may  not  be.' — 

" '  Now,  out  on  thee,  faint-hearted  knight ! 

Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay; 
For  the  eve  is  sweet,  and  when  lovers  meet, 

Is  worth  the  whole  summer's  day. 

"'And  I'll  chain  the  blood-hound,  and  the  warder 
shall  not  sound, 
And  rushes  shall  be  strew'd  on  the  stair ; 

1  The  black  rood  of  Melrose  was  a  crucifix  of  black  marble, 
and  of  superior  sanctity. 

2  Dryburgh  Abbey  is  beautifully  situated  on  the  banks  of 
the  Tweed.  After  its  dissolution  it  became  the  property  of 
the  Halliburtons  of  Newmains,  and  is  now  the  seat  of  the 
Kik'ht  Honorable  the  Earl  of  Buchan.  It  belonged  to  the 
order  of  Premonstratenses.    [The  ancient  Barons  of  New- 


So,  by  the  black  rood-stone,1  and  by  holy  St.  John, 
I  conjure  thee,  my  love,  to  be  there  !' — 

" '  Though  the  blood-hound  be  mute,  and  the  rush 
beneath  my  foot, 

And  the  warder  his  bugle  should  not  blow, 
Yet  there  sleepeth  a  priest  in  the  chamber  to  the  east, 

And  my  footstep  he  would  know.' — 

" '  Oh  fear  not  the  priest  who  sleepeth  to  the  east ! 

For  to  Dryburgh2  the  way  he  has  ta'en ; 
And  there  to  say  mass,  till  three  days  do  pass, 

For  the  soul  of  a  knight  that  is  slayne.' — 

"He  turn'd  him  around,  and  grimly  he  frown'd; 

Then  he  laugh'd  right  scornfully — 
( He  who  says  the  mass-rite  for  the  soul  of  that  knight 

May  as  well  say  mass  for  me : 

" '  At  the  lone  midnight  hour,  when  bad  spirits  have 
power, 

In  thy  chamber  will  I  be.' — 
With  that  he  was  gone,  and  my  lady  left  alone, 

And  no  more  did  I  see." 

Then  changed,  I  trow,  was  that  bold  Baron's  brow, 

From  the  dark  to  the  blood-red  high  : 
"  Now,  tell  me  the  mien  of  the  knight  thou  hast  seen, 

For,  by  Mary,  he  shall  die !" — 

"  His  arms  shone  full  bright,  in  the  beacon's  red  light ; 

His  plume  it  was  scarlet  and  blue ; 
On  his  shield  was  a  hound,  in  a  silver  leash  bound, 

And  his  crest  was  a  branch  of  the  yew." — 

"  Thou  liest,  thou  liest,  thou  little  foot-page, 

Loud  dost  thou  lie  to  me ! 
For  that  knight  is  cold,  and  low  laid  in  the  mould, 

All  under  the  Eildon-tree." — 3 

"  Yet  hear  but  my  word,  my  noble  lord ! 

For  I  heard  her  name  his  name ; 
And  that  lady  bright,  she  called  the  knight 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame." — 

The  bold  Baron's  brow  then  changed,  I  trow, 

From  high  blood-red  to  pale — 
"  The  grave  is  deep  and  dark — and  the  corpse  is  stiff 
and  stark — 

So  I  may  not  trust  thy  tale. 

"  Where  fair  Tweed  flows  round  holy  Melrose, 
And  Eildon  slopes  to  the  plain, 

mains  were  ultimately  represented  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whose 
remains  now  repose  in  the  cemetery  at  Dryburgh. — Ed.] 

8  Eildon  is  a  high  hill,  terminating  in  three  conical  sum- 
mits, immediately  above  the  town  of  Melrose,  where  are  the 
admired  ruins  of  a  magnificent  monastery.  Eildon-tree  is 
said  to  be  the  spot  where  Thomas  the  Rhymer  uttered  his 
prophecies.    See  artfe,  p.  573. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTRELSY. 


593 


Full  three  nights  ago,  by  some  secret  foe, 
That  gay  gallant  was  slain. 

"  The  varying  light  deceived  thy  sight, 
And  the  wild  winds  drown'd  the  name ; 

For  the  Dryburgh  bells  ring,  and  the  white  monks 
do  sing, 
For  Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame !" 

He  pass'd  the  court-gate,  and  he  oped  the  tower-gate, 

And  he  mounted  the  narrow  stair, 
To  the  bartizan-seat,  where,  with  maids  that  on  her  wait, 

He  found  his  lady  fair. 

That  lady  sat  in  mournful  mood ; 

Look'd  over  hill  and  vale  ; 
Over  Tweed's  fair  flood,  and  Mertoun's1  wood, 

And  all  down  Teviotdale. 

"  Now  hail,  now  hail,  thou  lady  bright !" — 

"  Now  hail,  thou  Baron  true ! 
What  news,  what  news,  from  Ancram  fight  ? 

What  news  from  the  bold  Buccleuch  ?" — 

"  The  Ancram  Moor  is  red  with  gore, 

For  many  a  southron  fell  ; 
And  Buccleuch  has  charged  us,  evermore, 

To  watch  our  beacons  well." 

The  lady  blush'd  red,  but  nothing  she  said  ; 

Nor  added  the  Baron  a  word  : 
Then  she  stepp'd  down  the  stair  to  her  chamber  fair, 

And  so  did  her  moody  lord. 

In  sleep  the  lady  mourn'd,  and  the  Baron  toss'd  and 
turn'd, 
And  oft  to  himself  he  said, — 
"  The  worms  around  him  creep,  and  his  bloody  grave 
is  deep  .... 
It  cannot  give  up  the  dead !" 

It  was  near  the  ringing  of  matin-bell, 

The  night  was  wellnigh  done, 
When  a  heavy  sleep  on  that  Baron  fell, 

On  the  eve  of  good  St.  John. 

The  lady  look'd  through  the  chamber  fair, 

By  the  light  of  a  dying  flame ; 
And  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  stood  there — 

Sir  Richard  of  Coldinghame ! 


1  Mertoun  is  the  beautiful  seat  of  Lord  Polwarth. 

*  Trysting-place,  place  of  rendezvous. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 

"  The  next  of  these  compositions  was,  I  believe,  the  '  Eve  of 
St.  John,'  in  which  Scott  repeoples  the  tower  of  Smailholm, 
the  awe-inspiring  haunt  of  his  infancy;  and  here  he  touches, 
for  the  first  time,  the  one  superstition  which  can  still  be  ap- 
pealed to  with  full  and  perfect  effect;  the  only  one  which 
lingers  in  minds  long  since  weaned  from  all  sympathy  with 
the  machinery  of  witches  and  goblins.  And  surely  this  mys- 
38 


"  Alas !  away,  away !"  she  cried, 

"  For  the  holy  Virgin's  sake !" — 
"  Lady,  I  know  who  sleeps  by  thy  side ; 

But,  lady,  he  will  not  awake. 

"  By  Eildon-tree,  for  long  nights  three, 

In  bloody  grave  have  I  lain ; 
The  mass  and  the  death-prayer  are  said  for  me, 

But,  lady,  they  are  said  in  vain. 

"  By  the  Baron's  brand,  near  Tweed's  fair 
strand, 

Most  foully  slain,  I  fell ; 
And  my  restless  sprite  on  the  beacon's  height 

For  a  space  is  doom'd  to  dwell. 

"  At  our  trysting-place,2  for  a  certain  space, 

I  must  wander  to  and  fro ; 
But  I  had  not  had  power  to  come  to  thy  bower, 

Hadst  thou  not  conjured  me  so." 

Love  master'd  fear — her  brow  she  cross'd ; 

"  How,  Richard,  hast  thou  sped  ? 
And  art  thou  saved,  or  art  thou  lost  ?" — 

The  vision  shook  his  head. 

"  Who  spilleth  life  shall  forfeit  life ; 

So  bid  thy  lord  believe : 
That  lawless  love  is  guilt  above, 

This  awful  sign  receive." 

He  laid  his  left  palm  on  an  oaken  beam; 

His  right  upon  her  hand ; 
The  lady  shrunk,  and  fainting  sunk, 

For  it  scorch'd  like  a  fiery  brand. 

The  sable  score  of  fingers  four 
Remains  on  that  board  impress'd ; 

And  for  evermore  that  lady  bore 
A  covering  on  her  wrist. 

There  is  a  nun  in  Dryburgh  bower 

Ne'er  looks  upon  the  sun ; 
There  is  a  monk  in  Melrose  tower, 

He  speaketh  word  to  none. 

That  nun  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day,3 
That  monk  who  speaks  to  none — 

That  nun  was  Smaylho'me's  lady  gay, 
That  monk  the  bold  Baron. 


tery  was  never  touched  with  more  thrilling  skill  than  in  that 
noble  ballad.  It  is  the  first  of  his  original  pieces,  too,  in 
which  he  uses  the  measure  of  his  own  favorite  minstrels — a 
measure  which  the  monotony  of  mediocrity  had  long  and 
successfully  been  laboring  to  degrade,  but  in  itself  adequate 
to  the  expression  of  the  highest  thoughts  as  well  as  the  gen- 
tlest emotions ;  and  capable,  in  fit  hands,  of  as  rich  a  variety 
of  music  as  any  other  of  modern  times.  This  was  written  at 
Mertoun  House  in  the  autumn  of  1799." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii. 
p.  26.    See  ante,  p.  566. 


594 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 

Battle  of  Ancram  Moor.— P.  591. 

Lord  Evers  and  Sir  Brian  Latoun,  during  the  year  1544, 
committed  the  most  dreadful  ravages  upon  the  Scottish  fron- 
tier, compelling  most  of  the  inhabitants,  and  especially  the 
men  of  Liddesdale,  to  take  assurance  under  the  King  of  Eng- 
land. Upon  the  17th  November,  in  that  year,  the  sum  total 
of  their  depredations  stood  thus,  iu  the  bloody  ledger  of  Lord 
Evers : — 

Towns,  towers,  barnekynes,  paryshe  churches,  bastill 

houses,  burned  and  destroyed,        .           .           .  192 

Scots  slain,             ......  403 

Prisoners  taken,    ......  816 

Nolt  (cattle) 10,386 

Shepe 12,492 

Nags  and  geldings,           .....  1,296 

Gayt, 200 

Bulls  of  corn,         ......  850 

Insight  gear,  &c.  (furniture),  an  incalculable  quantity. 

Murdin's  State  Papers,  vol.  i.  p.  51. 

For  these  services  Sir  Ralph  Evers  was  made  a  Lord  of 
Parliament.  See  a  strain  of  exulting  congratulation  upon 
his  promotion,  poured  forth  by  some  contemporary  minstrel, 
in  vol.  i.  p.  417. 

The  King  of  England  had  promised  to  these  two  barons  a 
feudal  grant  of  the  country  which  they  had  thus  reduced  to 
a  desert ;  upon  hearing  which  Archibald  Douglas,  the  seventh 
Earl  of  Angus,  is  said  to  have  sworn  to  write  the  deed  of  in- 
vestiture upon  their  skins,  with  sharp  pens  and  bloody  ink, 
in  resentment  for  their  having  defaced  the  tombs  of  his  an- 
cestors at  Melrose.— Godscroft.  In  1545,  Lord  Evers  and 
Latoun  again  entered  Scotland,  with  an  army  consisting  of 
3000  mercenaries,  1500  English  Borderers,  and  700  assured 
Scottish  men,  chiefly  Armstrongs,  Turnbulls,  and  other 
broken  clans.  In  this  second  incursion  the  English  generals 
even  exceeded  their  former  cruelty.  Evers  burned  the  tower 
of  Broomhouse,  with  its  lady  (a  noble  and  aged  woman,  says 
Lesley )  and  her  whole  family.  The  English  penetrated  as  far 
as  Melrose,  which  they  had  destroyed  last  year,  and  which 
they  now  again  pillaged.  As  they  returned  towards  Jedburgh, 
they  were  followed  by  Angus  at  the  head  of  1000  horse,  who 
was  shortly  after  joined  by  the  famous  Norman  Lesley,  with 
a  body  of  Fife  men.  The  English,  being  probably  unwilling 
to  cross  the  Teviot  while  the  Scots  hung  upon  their  rear, 
halted  upon  Ancram  Moor,  above  the  village  of  that  name; 
and  the  Scottish  general  was  deliberating  whether  to  advance 
or  retire,  when  Sir  Walter  Scott,'  of  Buccleuch,  came  up  at 
full  speed  with  a  small  but  chosen  body  of  his  retainers,  the 
rest  of  whom  were  near  at  hand.    By  the  advice  of  this  expe- 


1  The  editor  has  found  no  instance  upon  record  of  this 
family  having  taken  assurance  with  England— hence  they 
usually  suffered  dreadfully  from  the  English  forays.  In  Au- 
gust, 1544  (the  year  preceding  the  battle),  the  whole  lands 
belonging  to  Buccleuch,  in  West  Teviotdale,  were  harried  by 
Evers ;  the  outworks,  or  barnikin,  of  the  tower  of  Branx- 
holm  burned;  eight  Scotts  slain,  thirty  made  prisoners,  and 
an  immense  prey  of  horses,  cattle,  and  sheep,  carried  off.  The 
lands  upon  the  Kale  Water,  belonging  to  the  same  chieftain, 
were  also  plundered,  and  much  spoil  obtained ;  thirty  Scotts 


rienced  warrior  (to  whose  conduct  Pitscottie  and  Buchanan 
ascribe  the  success  of  the  engagement),  Angus  withdrew  from 
the  height  which  he  occupied,  and  drew  up  his  forces  behind 
it,  upon  a  piece  of  low  flat  ground,  called  Panier-heugh  or 
Paniel-heugh.  The  spare  horses,  being  sent  to  an  eminence 
in  their  rear,  appeared  to  the  English  to  be  the  main  body 
of  the  Scots  in  the  act  of  flight.  Under  this  persuasion,  Evers 
and  Latoun  hurried  precipitately  forward,  and  having  ascend- 
ed the  hill,  which  their  foes  had  abandoned,  were  no  less  dis- 
mayed than  astonished  to  find  the  phalanx  of  Scottish  spear- 
men drawn  up  in  firm  array  upon  the  flat  ground  below.  The 
Scots  in  their  turn  became  the  assailants.  A  heron,  roused 
from  the  marshes  by  the  tumult,  soared  away  betwixt  the 
encountering  armies.  "  Oh,"  exclaimed  Angus,  "  that  I  had 
here  my  white  goss-hawk,  that  we  might  all  yoke  at  once !" — 
Godscroft.  The  English,  breathless  and  fatigued,  having 
the  setting  sun  and  wind  full  in  their  faces,  were  unable  to 
withstand  the  resolute  and  desperate  charge  of  the  Scottish 
lances.  No  sooner  had  they  begun  to  waver  than  their  own 
allies,  the  assured  Borderers,  who  had  been  waiting  the  event, 
threw  aside  their  red  crosses,  and,  joining  their  countrymen, 
made  a  most  merciless  slaughter  among  the  English  fugitives, 
the  pursuers  calling  upon  each  other  to  "  remember  Broom- 
house  ["—Lesley,  p.  478. 

In  the  battle  fell  Lord  Evers  and  his  son,  together  with  Sir 
Brian  Latoun  and  eight  hundred  Englishmen,  many  of  whom 
were  persons  of  rank.  A  thousand  prisoners  were  taken. 
Among  these  was  a  patriotic  alderman  of  London,  Read  by 
name,  who,  having  contumaciously  refused  to  pay  his  por- 
tion of  a  benevolence  demanded  from  the  city  by  Henry 
VIII.,  was  sent  by  royal  authority  to  serve  against  the  Scots. 
These,  at  settling  his  ransom,  he  found  still  more  exorbitant 
in  their  exactions  than  the  monarch. — Redpath's  Border 
History,  p.  563. 

Evers  was  much  regTetted  by  King  Henry,  who  swore  to 
avenge  his  death  upon  Angus,  against  whom  he  conceived 
himself  to  have  particular  grounds  of  resentment,  on  account 
of  favors  received  by  the  earl  at  his  hands.  The  answer  of 
Angus  was  worthy  of  a  Douglas.  "Is  our  brother-in-law  of- 
fended,"2 said  he,  "  that  I,  as  a  good  Scotsman,  have  avenged 
my  ravaged  country,  and  the  defaced  tombs  of  my  ancestors, 
upon  Ralph  Evers?  They  were  better  men  than  he,  and  I 
was  bound  to  do  no  less;  and  will  he  take  my  life  for  that? 
Little  knows  King  Henry  the  skirts  of  Kirnetable:3  I  can 
keep  myself  there  against  all  his  English  host."— Godscroft. 

Such  was  the  noted  battle  of  Ancram  Moor.  The  spot  on 
which  it  was  fought  is  called  Lilyard's  edge,  from  an  Ama- 
zonian Scottish  woman  of  that  name,  who  is  reported  by  tra- 
dition to  have  distinguished  herself  in  the  same  manner  as 
Squire  Witherington.4  The  old  people  point  out  her  mon- 
ument, now  broken  and  defaced.  The  inscription  is  said  to 
have  been  legible  within  this  century,  and  to  have  run  thus  .— 

slain,  and  the  Moss  Tower  (a  fortress  near  Eckford)  smoked 
very  sore.  Thus  Buccleuch  had  a  long  account  to  settle  at 
Ancram  Moor.— Murdin's  State  Papers,  pp.  45,  46. 

2  Angus  had  married  the  widow  of  James  IV.,  sister  to 
King  Henry  VIII. 

8  Kirnetable,  now  called  Cairntable,  is  a  mountainons  tract 
at  the  head  of  Douglas  dale.  [See  Notes  to  "  Castle  Danger- 
ous," Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xlvii.] 

*  See  "  Chevy  Chase." 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


)95 


"  Fair  maiden  Lylliard  lies  under  this  stane, 
Little  was  her  stature,  but  great  was  her  fame ; 
Upon  the  English  louns  she  laid  mony  thumps, 
And,  when  her  legs  were  cutted  off,  she  fought  upon  her 
stumps." 

Vide  Account  of  the  Parish  of  Melrose. 

It  appears,  from  a  passage  in  Stowe,  that  an  ancestor  of 
Lord  Evers  held  also  a  grant  of  Scottish  lands  from  an  Eng- 
lish monarch.  "  I  have  seen,"  says  the  historian,  "  under 
the  broad  seale  of  the  said  King  Edward  I.,  a  manor,  called 
Ketnes,  in  the  county  of  Forfare,  in  Scotland,  and  neere  the 
furthest  part  of  the  same  nation  northward,  given  to  John 
Ure  and  his  heires,  ancestor  to  the  Lord  Ure  that  now  is,  for 
his  service  done  in  these  partes,  with  market,  &c.  dated  at 
Lanercost,  the  20th  day  of  October,  anno  regis,  34." — Stowe's 
Annals,  p.  210.  This  grant,  like  that  of  Henry,  must  have 
been  dangerous  to  the  receiver. 


Note  B. 

That  nun  who  ne'er  beholds  the  day. — P.  593. 

The  circumstance  of  the  nun  "  who  never  saw  the  day  "  is 
not  entirely  imaginary.  About  fifty  years  ago,  an  unfortunate 


female  wanderer  took  up  her  residence  in  a  dark  vault,  among 
the  ruins  of  Dryburgh  Abbey,  which,  during  the  day,  she 
never  quitted.  When  night  fell,  she  issued  from  this  misera- 
ble habitation,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Haliburton  of 
Newmains,  the  editor's  great-grandfather,  or  to  that  of  Mr. 
Erskine  of  Sheilfield,  two  gentlemen  of  the  neighborhood. 
From  their  charity  she  obtained  such  necessaries  as  she  could 
be  prevailed  upon  to  accept.  At  twelve,  each  night,  she 
lighted  her  candle  and  returned  to  her  vault,  assuring  her 
friendly  neighbors  that,  during  her  absence,  her  habitation 
was  arranged  by  a  spirit,  to  whom  she  gave  the  uncouth  name 
of  Fallips;  describing  him  as  a  little  man,  wearing  heavy  iron 
shoes,  with  which  he  trampled  the  clay  floor  of  the  vault,  to 
dispel  the  damps.  This  circumstance  caused  her  to  be  re- 
garded, by  the  well-informed,  with  compassion,  as  deranged 
in  her  understanding ;  and  by  the  vulgar,  with  some  degree  of 
terror.  The  cause  of  her  adopting  this  extraordinary  mode  of 
life  she  would  never  explain.  It  was,  however,  believed  to 
have  been  occasioned  by  a  vow  that,  during  the  absence  of  a 
man  to  whom  she  was  attached,  she  would  never  look  upon  the 
sun.  Her  lover  never  returned.  He  fell  during  the  Civil  War 
of  1745-6,  and  she  never  more  would  behold  the  light  of  day. 
The  vault,  or  rather  dungeon,  in  which  this  unfortunate 
woman  lived  and  died,  passes  still  by  the  name  of  the  super- 
natural being  with  which  its  gloom  was  tenanted  by  her  dis- 
turbed imagination,  and  few  of  the  neighboring  peasants  dare 
enter  it  by  night.    1803. 


Caftgoto  atastle. 


The  ruins  of  Cadyow  or  Cadzow  Castle,  the  an- 
cient baronial  residence  of  the  family  of  Hamilton, 
are  situated  upon  the  precipitous  banks  of  the  river 
Evan,  about  two  miles  above  its  junction  with  the 
Clyde.  It  was  dismantled  in  the  conclusion  of  the 
Civil  Wars,  during  the  reign  of  the  unfortunate  Mary, 
to  whose  cause  the  house  of  Hamilton  devoted  them- 
selves with  a  generous  zeal  which  occasioned  their 
temporary  obscurity,  and,  very  nearly,  their  total 
ruin.  The  situation  of  the  ruins,  embosomed  in  wood, 
darkened  by  ivy  and  creeping  shrubs,  and  overhanging 
the  brawling  torrent,  is  romantic  in  the  highest  de- 
gree. In  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Cadyow  is  a  grove 
of  immense  oaks,  the  remains  of  the  Caledonian  For- 
est, which  anciently  extended  through  the  south  of 
Scotland,  from  the  eastern  to  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
Some  of  these  trees  measure  twenty-five  feet  and 
upwards  in  circumference;  and  the  state  of  decay 
in  which  they  now  appear  shows  that  they  have  wit- 
nessed the  rites  of  the  Druids.  The  whole  scenery  is 
included  in  the  magnificent  and  extensive  j^ark  of  the 
Duke  of  Hamilton.  There  was  long  preserved  in  this 
forest  the  breed  of  the  Scottish  wild  cattle,  until  their 

1  The  breed  had  not  been  entirely  extirpated.  There  re- 
mained certainly  a  magnificent  herd  of  these  cattle  in  Cadyow 
Forest  within  these  few  years.    1833.— Ed. 

2  They  were  formerly  kept  in  the  park  at  Drumlanrig,  and 


ferocity  occasioned  their  being  extirpated,  about  forty 
years  ago.1  Their  appearance  was  beautiful,  being 
milk-white,  with  black  muzzles,  horns,  and  hoofs. 
The  bulls  are  described  by  ancient  authors  as  having 
white  manes ;  but  those  of  latter  days  had  lost  that 
peculiarity,  perhaps  by  intermixture  with  the  tame 
breed.2 

In  detailing  the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray,  which 
is  made  the  subject  of  the  following  ballad,  it  would 
be  injustice  to  my  reader  to  use  other  words  than 
those  of  Dr.  Robertson,  whose  accotint  of  that  memor- 
able event  forms  a  beautiful  piece  of  historical  paint- 
ing. 

"  Hamilton  of  Bothwellhaugh  was  the  person  who 
committed  this  barbarous  action.  He  had  been  con- 
demned to  death  soon  after  the  battle  of  Langside,  as 
we  have  already  related,  and  owed  his  life  to  the  re- 
gent's clemency.  But  part  of  his  estate  had  been 
bestowed  upon  one  of  the  regent's  favorites,3  who 
seized  his  house,  and  turned  out  his  wife,  naked,  in  a 
cold  night,  into  the  open  fields,  where,  before  next 
morning,  she  became  furiously  mad.  This  injury 
made  a  deeper  impression  on  him  than  the  benefit  he 

are  still  to  be  seen  at  Chillingham  Castle,  in  Northumberland. 
For  their  nature  and  ferocity,  see  Notes. 

3  This  was  Sir  James  Bellenden,  Lord  Justice-Clerk,  whose 
shameful  and  inhuman  rapacity  occasioned  the  catastrophe 
in  the  text.— Spottiswoode. 


596 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


had  received,  and  from  that  moment  he  vowed  to  be 
revenged  of  the  regent.  Party  rage  strengthened 
and  inflamed  his  private  resentment.  His  kinsmen, 
the  Hamiltons,  applauded  the  enterprise.  The  maxims 
of  that  age  justified  the  most  desperate  course  he 
could  take  to  obtain  vengeance.  He  followed  the  re- 
gent for  some  time,  and  watched  for  an  opportunity 
to  strike  the  blow.  He  resolved  at  last  to  wait  till 
his  enemy  should  arrive  at  Linlithgow,  through  which 
be  was  to  pass  in  his  way  from  Stirling  to  Edinburgh. 
He  took  his  stand  in  a  wooden  gallery,1  which  had  a 
window  towards  the  street;  spread  a  feather-bed  on 
the  floor  to  hinder  the  noise  of  his  feet  from  being 
heard ;  hung  up  a  black  cloth  behind  him,  that  his 
shadow  might  not  be  observed  from  without;  and, 
after  all  this  preparation,  calmly  expected  the  regent's 
approach,  who  had  lodged,  during  the  night,  in  a 
house  not  far  distant.  Some  indistinct  information 
of  the  danger  which  threatened  him  had  been  con- 
veyed to  the  regent,  and  he  paid  so  much  regard  to 
it  that  he  resolved  to  return  by  the  same  gate  through 
which  he  had  entered,  and  to  fetch  a  compass  round 
the  town.  But,  as  the  crowd  about  the  gate  was 
great,  and  he  himself  unacquainted  with  fear,  he  pro- 
ceeded directly  along  the  street;  and  the  throng  of 
people  obliging  him  to  move  very  slowly,  gave  the 
assassin  time  to  take  so  true  an  aim  that  he  shot  him, 
with  a  single  bullet,  through  the  lower  part  of  his 
belly,  and  killed  the  horse  of  a  gentleman  who  rode  on 
his  other  side.  His  followers  instantly  endeavored 
to  break  into  the  house  whence  the  blow  had  come ; 
but  they  found  the  door  strongly  barricaded,  and 
before  it  could  be  forced  open,  Hamilton  had  mounted 
a  fleet  horse,3  which  stood  ready  for  him  at  a  back 
passage,  and  was  got  far  beyond  their  reach.  The 
regent  died  the  same  night  of  his  wound." — History 
of  Scotland,  book  v. 

Bothwellhaugh  rode  straight  to  Hamilton,  where 
he  was  received  in  triumph ;  for  the  ashes  of  the  houses 
in  Clydesdale,  which  had  been  burned  by  Murray's 
army,  were  yet  smoking;  and  party  prejudice,  the 
habits  of  the  age,  and  the  enormity  of  the  provocation, 
seemed  to  his  kinsmen  to  justify  the  deed.  After  a 
short  abode  at  Hamilton,  this  fierce  and  determined 
man  left  Scotland,  and  served  in  France,  under  the 
patronage  of  the  family  of  Guise,  to  whom  he  was 
doubtless  recommended  by  having  avenged  the  cause 
of  their  niece,  Queen  Mary,  upon  her  ungrateful 
brother.  De  Thou  has  recorded  that  an  attempt  was 
made  to  engage  him  to  assassinate  Caspar  de  Coligni, 
the  famous  Admiral  of  France,  and  the  buckler  of  the 
Huguenot  cause.  But  the  character  of  Bothwell- 
haugh was  mistaken.  He  was  no  mercenary  trader 
in  blood,  and  rejected  the  offer  with  contempt  and 

1  This  projecting  gallery  is  still  shown.  The  house  to  which 
it  was  attached  was  the  property  of  the  Archbishop  of  St. 
Andrews,  a  natural  brother  to  the  Duke  of  Chatelherault, 
and  uncle  to  Bothwellhaugh.  This,  among  many  other  cir- 
cumstances, seems  to  evince  the  aid  which  Bothwellhaugh 
received  from  his  clan  in  elfectiug  his  purpose. 


indignation.  He  had  no  authority,  he  said,  from 
Scotland  to  commit  murders  in  France  ;  he  had 
avenged  his  own  just  quarrel,  but  he  would  neither, 
for  price  nor  prayer,  avenge  that  of  another  man. — 
Thuanus,  cap.  46. 

The  regent's  death  happened  23d  January,  1569. 
It  is  applauded  or  stigmatized,  by  contemporary  his- 
torians, according  to  their  religious  or  party  preju- 
dices. The  triumph  of  Blackwood  is  unbounded. 
He  not  only  extols  the  pious  feat  of  Bothwellhaugh, 
"who,"  he  observes,  "satisfied,  with  a  single  ounce 
of  lead,  him  whose  sacrilegious  avarice  had  stripped 
the  metropolitan  church  of  St.  Andrews  of  its  cover- 
ing," but  he  ascribes  it  to  immediate  divine  inspira- 
tion, and  the  escape  of  Hamilton  to  little  less  than 
the  miraculous  interference  of  the  Deity. — Jebb,  vol. 
ii.  p.  263.  With  equal  injustice,  it  was,  by  others,  made 
the  ground  of  a  general  national  reflection  ;  for,  when 
Mather  urged  Berney  to  assassinate  Burleigh,  and 
quoted  the  examples  of  Poltrot  and  Bothwellhaugh, 
the  other  conspirator  answered,  "that  neyther  Pol- 
trot  nor  Hambleton  did  attempt  their  enterpryse 
without  some  reason  or  consideration  to  lead  them  to 
it ;  as  the  one,  by  hyre,  and  promise  of  preferment  or 
rewarde ;  the  other,  upon  desperate  mind  of  revenge, 
for  a  lyttle  wrong  done  unto  him,  as  the  report  goethe, 
according  to  the  vyle  trayterous  dysposysyon  of  the 
hoole  natyon  of  the  Scottes." — Mukdin's  State  Papers, 
vol.  i.  p.  197. 


(ftatogoto  (tasstlt. 

ADDRESSED  TO 
THE  BIGHT  HONORABLE 

LADY  ANNE   HAMILTON.* 

When  princely  Hamilton's  abode 

Ennobled  Cadyow's  Gothic  towers, 
The  song  went  round,  the  goblet  flow'd, 

And  revel  sped  the  laughing  hours. 

Then,  thrilling  to  the  harp's  gay  sound, 

So  sweetly  rung  each  vaulted  wall, 
And  echo'd  light  the  dancer's  bound, 

As  mirth  and  music  cheer'd  the  hall. 

But  Cadyow's  towers,  in  ruins  laid, 

And  vaults,  by  ivy  mantled  o'er, 
Thrill  to  the  music  of  the  shade, 

Or  echo  Evan's  hoarser  roar. 

2  The  gift  of  Lord  John  Hamilton,  Commendator  of  Ar- 
broath. 

8  Eldest  daughter  of  Archibald,  ninth  Duke  of  Hamilton. 
—Ed. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


597 


Yet  still,  of  Cadyow's  faded  fame, 
You  bid  me  tell  a  minstrel  tale, 

And  tune  my  harp,  of  Border  frame, 
On  the  wild  banks  of  Evandale. 

For  thou,  from  scenes  of  courtly  pride, 
From  pleasure's  lighter  scenes,  canst  turn, 

To  draw  oblivion's  pall  aside, 
And  mark  the  long-forgotten  urn. 

Then,  noble  maid!  at  thy  command, 
Again  the  crumbled  halls  shall  rise  ; 

Lo !  as  on  Evan's  banks  we  stand, 
The  past  returns — the  present  flies. 

Where,  with  the  rock's  wood-cover'd  side, 
Were  blended  late  the  ruins  green, 

Rise  turrets  in  fantastic  pride, 
And  feudal  banners  flaunt  between : 

Where  the  rude  torrent's  brawling  course 
Was  shagg'd  with  thorn  and  tangling  sloe, 

The  ashlar  buttress  braves  its  force, 
And  ramparts  frown  in  battled  row. 

'Tis  night — the  shade  of  keep  and  spire 
Obscurely  dance  on  Evan's  stream ; 

And  on  the  wave  the  warder's  fire 
Is  chequering  the  moonlight  beam. 

Fades  slow  their  light ;  the  east  is  gray ; 

The  weary  warder  leaves  his  tower; 
Steeds  snort,  uncoupled  stag-hounds  bay, 

And  merry  hunters  quit  the  bower. 

The  drawbridge  falls — they  hurry  out — 
Clatters  each  plank  and  swinging  chain, 

As,  dashing  o'er,  the  jovial  rout 

Urge  the  shy  steed,  and  slack  the  rein. 

First  of  his  troop,  the  Chief  rode  on  j1 
His  shouting  merry-men  throng  behind ; 

The  steed  of  princely  Hamilton 
Was  fleeter  than  the  mountain  wind. 

From  the  thick  copse  the  roebucks  bound, 
The  startled  red-deer  scuds  the  plain, 

For  the  hoarse  bugle's  warrior  sound 
Has  roused  their  mountain  haunts  again. 

Through  the  huge  oaks  of  Evandale, 
Whose  limbs  a  thousand  years  have  worn, 

What  sullen  roar  comes  down  the  gale, 
And  drowns  the  hunter's  pealing  horn  ? 


1  The  head  of  the  family  of  Hamilton,  at  this  period,  was 
James,  Earl  of  Arran,  Duke  of  Chatelherault  in  France,  and 
first  peer  of  the  Scottish  realm.  In  1569  he  was  appointed  by 
Queen  Mary  her  lieutenant-general  in  Scotland,  under  the 
Bingular  title  of  her  adopted  father. 


Mightiest  of  all  the  beasts  of  chase 

That  roam  in  woody  Caledon, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  Mountain  Bull  comes  thundering  on. 

Fierce,  on  the  hunter's  quiver'd  band, 

He  rolls  his  eyes  of  swarthy  glow, 
Spurns,  with  black  hoof  and  horn,  the  sand, 

And  tosses  high  his  mane  of  snow. 

Aim'd  well,  the  Chieftain's  lance  has  flown ; 

Struggling  in  blood  the  savage  lies ; 
His  roar  is  sunk  in  hollow  groan — 

Sound,  merry  huntsmen !  sound  the  pryse  P 

'Tis  noon — against  the  knotted  oak 

The  hunters  rest  the  idle  spear ; 
Curls  through  the  trees  the  slender  smoke, 

Where  yeomen  dight  the  woodland  cheer. 

Proudly  the  Chieftain  mark'd  his  clan, 
On  greenwood  lap  all  careless  thrown, 

Yet  miss'd  his  eye  the  boldest  man 
That  bore  the  name  of  Hamilton. 

"  Why  fills  not  Bothwellhaugh  his  place, 
Still  wont  our  weal  and  woe  to  share  ? 

Why  comes  he  not  our  sport  to  grace? 
Why  shares  he  not  our  hunter's  fare  ?" 

Stern  Claud  replied,3  with  darkening  face 
(Gray  Paisley's  haughty  lord  was  he), 

"  At  merry  feast,  or  buxom  chase, 
No  more  the  warrior  wilt  thou  see. 

"  Few  suns  have  set  since  Woodhouselee4 
Saw  Bothwellhaugh's  bright  goblets  foam, 

When  to  his  hearths,  in  social  glee, 
The  war-worn  soldier  turn'd  him  home. 

"  There,  wan  from  her  maternal  throes, 

His  Margaret,  beautiful  and  mild, 
Sat  in  her  bower,  a  pallid  rose, 

And  peaceful  nursed  her  new-born  child. 

"  Oh  change  accursed !  past  are  those  days ; 

False  Murray's  ruthless  spoilers  came, 
And,  for  the  hearth's  domestic  blaze, 

Ascends  destruction's  volumed  flame. 

"  What  sheeted  phantom  wanders  wild 
Where  mountain  Esk  through  woodland  flows  ? 

Her  arms  enfold  a  shadowy  child — 
Oh,  is  it  she,  the  pallid  rose  ? 


2  See  Appendix,  Note  A. 

3  See  Appendix,  Note  B. 
*  See  Appendix,  Note  C. 


598 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  The  wilder'd  traveller  sees  her  glide, 
And  hears  her  feeble  voice  with  awe — 

'  Revenge,'  she  cries,  '  on  Murray's  pride ! 
And  woe  for  injured  Bothwellhaugh !'  " 

He  ceased — and  cries  of  rage  and  grief 
Burst  mingling  from  the  kindred  band, 

And  half  arose  the  kindling  Chief, 
And  half  unsheathed  his  Arran  brand. 

But  who,  o'er  bush,  o'er  stream  and  rock, 
Rides  headlong,  with  resistless  speed, 

Whose  bloody  poniard's  frantic  stroke 
Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed  ;l 

Whose  cheek  is  pale,  whose  eyeballs  glare, 
As  one  some  vision'd  sight  that  saw, 

Whose  hands  are  bloody,  loose  his  hair? — 
'Tis  he !  'tis  he !  'tis  Bothwellhaugh. 

From  gory  selle2  and  reeling  steed 
Sprung  the  fierce  horseman  with  a  bound, 

And,  reeking  from  the  recent  deed, 
He  dash'd  his  carbine  on  the  ground. 

Sternly  he  spoke — "  'Tis  sweet  to  hear 
In  good  greenwood  the  bugle  blown, 

But  sweeter  to  Revenge's  ear, 
To  drink  a  tyrant's  dying  groan. 

"  Your  slaughter'd  quarry  proudly  trode, 
At  dawning  morn,  o'er  dale  and  down, 

But  prouder  base-born  Murray  rode 
Through  old  Linlithgow's  crowded  town. 

"  From  the  wild  Border's  humbled  side3 

In  haughty  triumph  marched  he, 
While  Knox  relax'd  his  bigot  pride, 

And  smiled  the  traitorous  pomp  to  see. 

"  But  can  stern  Power,  with  all  his  vaunt, 
Or  Pomp,  with  all  her  courtly  glare, 

The  settled  heart  of  Vengeance  daunt, 
Or  change  the  purpose  of  Despair? 

"  With  hackbut  bent,4  my  secret  stand, 

Dark  as  the  purposed  deed,  I  chose, 
And  mark'd  where,  mingling  in  his  band, 

Troop'd  Scottish  pikes  and  English  bows. 

"  Dark  Morton,5  girt  with  many  a  spear, 

Murder's  foul  minion,  led  the  van; 
And  clash 'd  their  broadswords  in  the  rear 

The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan.6 

1  See  Appendix,  Note  D. 

2  .SWe,  saddle ;  a  word  used  by  Spenser  and  other  ancient 
writers. 

s  See  Appendix,  Note  E.  *  Ibid.  Note  F. 

6  Of  this  noted  person  it  is  enough  to  say  that  he  was  active 


"  Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead7  were  nigh. 

Obsequious  at  their  Regent's  rein, 
And  haggard  Lindsay's  iron  eye, 

That  saw  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain.8 

"  'Mid  pennon'd  spears,  a  steely  grove, 
Proud  Murray's  plumage  floated  high; 

Scarce  could  his  trampling  charger  move, 
So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh.9 

"  From  the  raised  visor's  shade  his  eye, 
Dark-rolling,  glanced  the  ranks  along, 

And  his  steel  truncheon,  waved  on  high, 
Seem'd  marshalling  the  iron  throng. 

"  But  yet  his  sadden'd  brow  confess'd 

A  passing  shade  of  doubt  and  awe ; 
Some  fiend  was  whispering  in  his  breast, 

1  Beware  of  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' 

"  The  death-shot  parts — the  charger  springs — 

Wild  rises  tumult's  startling  roar ! 
And  Murray's  plumy  helmet  rings — 

Rings  on  the  ground,  to  rise  no  more. 

"  What  joy  the  raptured  youth  can  feel, 
To  hear  her  love  the  loved  one  tell — 

Or  he,  who  broaches  on  his  steel 
The  wolf,  by  whom  his  infant  fell ! 

"  But  dearer  to  my  injured  eye 

To  see  in  dust  proud  Murray  roll ; 
And  mine  was  ten  times  trebled  joy, 

To  hear  him  groan  his  felon  soul. 

"  My  Margaret's  spectre  glided  near ; 

With  pride  her  bleeding  victim  saw ; 
And  shriek'd  in  his  death-deafen'd  ear, 

'  Remember  injured  Bothwellhaugh !' 

"  Then  speed  thee,  noble  Chatlerault ! 

Spread  to  the  wind  thy  banner'd  tree  !10 
Each  warrior  bend  his  Clydesdale  bow ! — 

Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  free !" 

Vaults  every  warrior  to  his  steed ; 

Loud  bugles  join  their  wild  acclaim — 
"  Murray  is  fall'n,  and  Scotland  freed ! 

Couch,  Arran !  couch  thy  spear  of  flame !" 

But,  see !  the  minstrel  vision  fails — 
The  glimmering  spears  are  seen  no  more; 

The  shouts  of  war  die  on  the  gales, 
Or  sink  in  Evan's  lonely  roar. 

in  the  murder  of  David  Rizzio,  and  at  least  party  to  that  of 
Darnley. 

•  See  Appendix,  Note  G.  T  Ibid.  Note  H. 

*  See  Appendix,  Note  I.  »  Ibid.  Note  K. 

10  An  oak,  half  sawn,  with  the  motto  through,  is  an  ancient 
cognizance  of  the  family  of  Hamilton. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


599 


For  the  loud  bugle,  pealing  high, 
The  blackbird  whistles  down  the  vale, 

And  sunk  in  ivied  ruins  lie 
The  banner'd  towers  of  Evandale. 

For  Chiefs  intent  on  bloody  deed, 
And  Vengeance  shouting  o'er  the  slain, 

"  Scott  spent  the  Christmas  of  1801  at  Hamilton  Palace,  in 
Lanarkshire.  To  Lady  Anne  Hamilton  he  had  been  intro- 
duced by  her  friend,  Lady  Charlotte  Campbell,  and  both  the 
late  and  the  present  Dukes  of  Hamilton  appear  to  have  par- 
taken of  Lady  Anne's  admiration  for  'Glenfinlas'  and  the 
'  Eve  of  St.  John.'  A  morning's  ramble  in  the  majestic  ruins 
of  the  old  baronial  castle  on  the  precipitous  banks  of  the 
Evan,  and  among  the  adjoining  remains  of  the  primeval  Cal- 
edonian forest,  suggested  to  him  a  ballad,  not  inferior  in  ex- 
ecution to  any  that  he  had  hitherto  produced,  and  especially 
interesting  as  the  first  in  which  he  grapples  with  the  world 
of  picturesque  incident  unfolded  in  the  authentic  annals  of 
Scotland.  With  the  magnificent  localities  before  him,  he 
skillfully  interwove  the  daring  assassination  of  the  Regent 
Murray  by  one  of  the  clansmen  of  '  the  princely  Hamilton.' 
Had  the  subject  been  taken  up  in  after  years,  we  might  have 
had  another  'Marmion'  or  'Heart  of  Mid-Lothian;'  for  in 
'  Cadyow  Castle '  we  have  the  materials  and  outline  of  more 
than  one  of  the  noblest  ballads. 

"About  two  years  before  this  piece  began  to  be  handed 
about  in  Edinburgh,  Thomas  Campbell  had  made  his  appear- 
ance there,  and  at  once  seized  a  high  place  in  the  literary 


Lo !  high-born  Beauty  rules  the  steed, 
Or  graceful  guides  the  silken  rein. 

And  long  may  Peace  and  Pleasure  own 
The  maids  who  list  the  minstrel's  tale  ; 

Nor  e'er  a  ruder  guest  be  known 
On  the  fair  banks  of  Evandale ! 


world  by  his  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  Among  the  most  eager  to 
welcome  him  had  been  Scott ;  and  I  find  the  brother  bard  thus 
expressing  himself  concerning  the  MS.  of  '  Cadyow :' — 

"  '  The  verses  of  "  Cadyow  Castle  "  are  perpetually  ringing 
in  my  imagination — 

"  Where,  mightiest  of  the  beasts  of  chase 

That  roam  in  woody  CaledoD, 
Crashing  the  forest  in  his  race, 

The  mountain  bull  comes  thundering  on  " — 

and  the  arrival  of  Hamilton,  when 

"  Reeking  from  the  recent  deed, 
He  dashed  his  carbine  on  the  ground." 

I  have  repeated  these  lines  so  often  on  the  North  Bridge 
that  the  whole  fraternity  of  coachmen  know  me  by  tongue 
as  I  pass.  To  be  sure,  to  a  mind  in  sober,  serious  street- 
walking  humor,  it  must  bear  an  appearance  of  lunacy  when 
one  stamps  with  the  hurried  pace  and  fervent  shake  of  the 
head  which  strong,  pithy  poetry  excites.'  " — Life  of  Scott,  vol. 
ii.  p.  77. 


APPENDIX. 


Note  A. 


•  sound  the  pryse  ! — P.  597. 


Pryse,  the  note  blown  at  the  death  of  the  game. — In  Cale- 
donia olimrfrequent  eral  sylvetlrit  quidam  bos,  nunc  vero  rarior, 
qui,  colore  candidi-ssimo,  jubam  densam  el  demissam  instar  leonis 
gestat,  truculentus  acferus  ab  humano  genere  abhorrent,  ut  quoe- 
cunque  homines  vel  manibut  contrectdrint,  vel  halilu  perflaverint, 
ab  iis  mullos  post  dies  omnino  abstinuerunt.  Ad  hoc  tanta  auda- 
cia  huic  bovi  indila  erat,  ut  non  solum  irrilatus  equiies  fur  enter 
prosterneret,  sed  ne  tantillum  lacessilus  omnes  promiscue  homines 
cornibus  ae  ungulis  peteril ;  ac  canum,  qui  apud  nos  ferocissimi 
sunt,  impetus  plane  contemneret.  Ejus  carnes  cartilaginosw,  sed 
saporis  suavissimi.  Brat  is  olim  per  illam  vastissimam  Caledo- 
nian sylvam  frequent,  sed  humana  ingluviejam  atsumptut  tribus 
tantum  locis  est  reliquus,  Slrivttingii,  Cumbernaldice,  el  Kincar- 
nioe. — Lesl^eus,  Scotia;  Descriplio,  p.  13.  [See  a  note  on  "  Cas- 
tle Dangerous,"  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  xlvii. — Ed.] 


Note  B. 

Stern  Claud  replied. — P.  597. 

Lord  Claud  Hamilton,  second  son  of  the  Duke  of  Chatel- 
herault,  and  commendator  of  the  Abbey  of  Paisley,  acted  a 


distinguished  part  during  the  troubles  of  Queen  Mary's  reign, 
and  remained  unalterably  attached  to  the  cause  of  that  un- 
fortunate princess.  He  led  the  van  of  her  army  at  the  fatal 
battle  of  Langside,  and  was  one  of  the  commanders  at  the 
raid  of  Stirling,  which  had  so  nearly  given  complete  success 
to  the  queen's  faction.  He  was  ancestor  of  the  present  Mar- 
quis of  Abercorn. 


Note  C. 

Woodhouselee.— P.  597. 

This  barony,  stretching  along  the  banks  of  the  Esk,  near 
Auehendinny,  belonged  to  Bothwellhaugh,  in  right  of  his 
wife.  The  ruins  of  the  mansion,  from  whence  she  was  ex- 
pelled in  the  brutal  manner  which  occasioned  her  death,  are 
still  to  be  seen  in  a  hollow  glen  beside  the  river.  Popular 
report  tenants  them  with  the  restless  ghost  of  the  Lady  Both- 
wellhaugh— whom,  however,  it  confounds  with  Lady  Anne 
Bothwell,  whose  "Lament"  is  so  popular.  This  spectre  is  so 
tenacious  of  her  rights  that,  a  part  of  the  stones  of  the  an- 
cient edifice  having  been  employed  in  building  or  repairing 
the  present  Woodhouselee,  she  has  deemed  it  a  part  of  her 
privilege  to  haunt  that  house  also,  and,  even  of  very  late 
years,  has  excited  considerable  disturbance  and  terror  among 
the  domestics.  This  is  a  more  remarkable  vindication  of  the 
rights  of  ghosts,  as  the  present  Woodhouselee,  which  gives  his 


600 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


title  to  the  Honorable  Alexander  Fraser  Tytler,  a  senator 
of  the  College  of  Justice,  is  situated  on  the  slope  of  the  Pent- 
land  Hills,  distant  at  least  four  miles  from  her  proper  abode. 
She  always  appears  in  white,  and  with  her  child  in  her  arms. 


Note  D. 

Drives  to  the  leap  his  jaded  steed. — P.  598. 

Birrel  informs  us  that  Bothwellhaugh,  being  closely  pur- 
sued, "  after  that  spur  and  wand  had  failed  him,  he  drew 
forth  his  dagger,  and  strocke  his  horse  behind,  whilk  caused 
the  horse  to  leap  a  very  brode  stanke  [i.  e.  ditch],  by  whilk 
means  he  eseapit,  and  gat  away  from  all  the  rest  of  the 
horses." — Birrel's  Diary,  p.  18. 


Note  E. 


Prom  the  wild  Border's  hinnbled  side. — P.  598. 

Murray's  death  took  place  shortly  after  an  expedition  to 
the  Borders,  which  is  thus  commemorated  by  the  author  of 
his  elegy : — 

"So  having  stablischt  all  thing  in  this  sort, 

To  Liddisdaill  agane  he  did  resort, 

Throw  Ewisdail,  Eskdail,  and  all  the  daills  rode  he, 

And  also  lay  three  nights  in  Cannabie, 

Whair  na  prince  lay  thir  hundred  yeiris  before. 

Nae  thief  durst  stir,  they  did  him  feir  sa  sair; 

And,  that  thay  suld  na  mair  thair  thift  allege, 

Threescore  and  twelf  he  brocht  of  thame  in  pledge, 

Syne  wardit  thame,  whilk  maid  the  rest  keep  ordour; 

Than  mycht  the  rasch-bus  keep  ky  on  the  Border." 

Scottish  Poems,  sixteenth  century,  p.  232. 


Note  F. 

With  hackbut  bent— P.  598. 

Hackbut  bent,  gun  cocked.  The  carbine  with  which  the 
regent  was  shot  is  preserved  at  Hamilton  Palace.  It  is  a 
brass  piece,  of  a  middling  length,  very  small  in  the  bore,  and, 
what  is  rather  extraordinary,  appears  to  have  been  rifled  or 
indented  in  the  barrel.  It  had  a  matchlock,  for  which  a 
modern  firelock  has  been  injudiciously  substituted. 


Note  G. 

The  wild  Macfarlanes'  plaided  clan.— P.  598. 

This  clan  of  Lennox  Highlanders  were  attached  to  the 
Regent  Murray.    Holinshed,  speaking  of  the  battle  of  Lang- 


side,  says,  "  In  this  batayle  the  valiancie  of  an  Heiland  gen- 
tleman, named  Macfarlaue,  stood  the  regent's  part  in  great 
steede ;  for,  in  the  hottest  brunte  of  the  fighte,  he  came  up 
with  two  hundred  of  his  friendes  and  countrymen,  and  so 
manfully  gave  in  upon  the  flankes  of  the  queen's  people,  that 
he  was  a  great  cause  of  the  disordering  of  them.  This  Mac- 
farlane  had  been  lately  before,  as  I  have  heard,  condemned 
to  die,  for  some  outrage  by  him  committed,  and  obtayning 
pardon  through  suyte  of  the  Countess  of  Murray,  he  recom- 
pensed that  clemencie  by  this  piece  of  service  now  at  this 
batayle."  Calderwood's  account  is  less  favorable  to  the  Mac- 
farlanes.  He  states  that  "Macfarlane,  with  his  Highland- 
men,  fled  from  the  wing  where  they  were  set.  The  Lord 
Lindsay,  who  stood  nearest  to  them  in  the  regent's  battle, 
said,  'Let  them  go!  I  shall  fill  their  place  better;'  and  so, 
stepping  forward,  with  a  company  of  fresh  men,  charged  the 
enemy,  whose  spears  were  now  spent,  with  long  weapons,  so 
that  they  were  driven  back  by  force,  being  before  almost 
overthrown  by  the  avaunt-guard  and  harquebusiers,  and  so 
were  turned  to  flight." — Calderwood's  MS.  apud  Keith, 
p.  480.  Melville  mentions  the  flight  of  the  vanguard,  but 
states  it  to  have  been  commanded  by  Morton,  and  composed 
chiefly  of  commoners  of  the  barony  of  Renfrew. 


Note  H. 

Glencairn  and  stout  Parkhead  were  nigh. — P.  598. 

The  Earl  of  Glencairn  was  a  steady  adherent  of  the  regent. 
George  Douglas  of  Parkhead  was  a  natural  brother  of  the 
Earl  of  Morton,  whose  horse  was  killed  by  the  same  ball  by 
which  Murray  fell. 


Note  I. 


haggard  Lindsay's  iron  eye, 

That  sau  fair  Mary  weep  in  vain. — P.  598. 

Lord  Lindsay  of  the  Byres  was  the  most  ferocious  and 
brutal  of  the  regent's  faction,  and  as  such  was  employed  to 
extort  Mary's  signature  to  the  deed  of  resignation  presented 
to  her  at  Lochleven  Castle.  He  discharged  his  commission 
with  the  most  savage  rigor;  and  it  is  even  said  that  when 
the  weeping  captive,  in  the  act  of  signing,  averted  her  eyes 
from  the  fatal  deed,  he  pinched  her  arm  with  the  grasp  of  his 
iron  glove. 


Note  K. 


So  close  the  minions  crowded  nigh. — P.  598. 

Not  only  had  the  regent  notice  of  the  intended  attempt 
upon  his  life,  but  even  of  the  very  house  from  which  it  was 
threatened.  With  that  infatuation  at  which  men  wonder 
after  such  events  have  happened,  he  deemed  it  would  be  a 
sufficient  precaution  to  ride  briskly  past  the  dangerous  spot. 
But  even  this  was  prevented  by  the  crowd ;  so  that  Both- 
wellhaugh had  time  to  take  a  deliberate  aim. — Spottis- 
woode,  p.  233.    Buchanan. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


601 


&f)e  ©tag  Brother. 


A  FRAGMENT. 


The  imperfect  state  of  this  ballad,  which  was  writ- 
ten several  years  ago,  is  not  a  circumstance  affected 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  that  peculiar  interest 
which  is  often  found  to  arise  from  ungratified  curiosity. 
On  the  contrary,  it  was  the  editor's  intention  to  have 
completed  the  tale  if  he  had  found  himself  able  to 
succeed  to  his  own  satisfaction.  Yielding  to  the  opin- 
ion of  persons  whose  judgment,  if  not  biassed  by  the 
partiality  of  friendship,  is  entitled  to  deference,  he 
has  preferred  inserting  these  verses  as  a  fragment,  to 
his  intention  of  entirely  suppressing  them. 

The  tradition  upon  which  the  tale  is  founded  re- 
gards a  house  upon  the  barony  of  Gilmerton,  near 
Lasswade,  in  Mid-Lothian.  This  building,  now  called 
Gilmerton  Grange,  was  originally  named  Burndale, 
from  the  following  tragic  adventure : — The  barony  of 
Gilmerton  belonged,  of  yore,  to  a  gentleman  named 
Heron,  who  had  one  beautiful  daughter.  This  young 
lady  was  seduced  by  the  Abbot  of  Newbattle,  a  richly 
endowed  abbey  upon  the  banks  of  the  South  Esk,  now 
a  seat  of  the  Marquis  of  Lothian.  Heron  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  this  circumstance,  and  learned  also 
that  the  lovers  carried  on  their  guilty  intercourse  by 
the  connivance  of  the  lady's  nurse,  who  lived  at  this 
house  of  Gilmerton  Grange,  or  Burndale.  He  formed 
a  resolution  of  bloody  vengeance,  undeterred  by  the 
supposed  sanctity  of  the  clerical  character,  or  by  the 
stronger  claims  of  natural  affection.  Choosing,  there- 
fore, a  dark  and  windy  night,  when  the  objects  of  his 
vengeance  were  engaged  in  a  stolen  interview,  he  set 
fire  to  a  stack  of  dried  thorns  and  other  combustibles 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  piled  against  the  house, 
and  reduced  to  a  pile  of  glowing  ashes  the  dwelling, 
with  all  its  inmates.1 

The  scene  with  which  the  ballad  opens  was  sug- 
gested by  the  following  curious  passage  extracted 
from  the  Life  of  Alexander  Peden,  one  of  the  wander- 
ing and  persecuted  teachers  of  the  sect  of  Cameronians, 
during  the  reign  of  Charles  II.  and  his  successor, 
James.  This  person  was  supposed  by  his  followers, 
and,  perhaps,  really  believed  himself,  to  be  possessed 
of  supernatural  gifts ;  for  the  wild  scenes  which  they 
frequented,  and  the  constant  dangers  which  were  in- 
curred  through    their  proscription,   deepened  upon 

1  This  tradition  was  communicated  to  me  by  John  Clerk, 
Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an  Rsay  upon  Naval  Tactics,  who  will 
be  remembered  by  posterity  as  having  taught  the  Gtenius  of 


their  mindg  the  gloom  of  superstition,  so  general  in 
that  age. 

"  About  the  same  time  he  [Peden]  came  to  Andrew 
Normand's  house,  in  the  parish  of  Alloway,  in  the 
shire  of  Ayr,  being  to  preach  at  night  in  his  barn. 
After  he  came  in,  he  halted  a  little,  leaning  upon  a 
chair-back,  with  his  face  covered ;  when  he  lifted  up 
his  head,  he  said,  '  They  are  in  this  house  that  I  have 
not  one  word  of  salvation  unto :'  he  halted  a  little  again, 
saying,  '  This  is  strange,  that  the  devil  will  not  go  out, 
that  we  may  begin  our  work !'  Then  there  was  a  wo- 
man went  out,  ill-looked  upon  almost  all  her  life,  and 
to  her  dying  hour,  for  a  witch,  with  many  presumptions 
of  the  same.  It  escaped  me,  in  the  former  passages, 
what  John  Muirhead  (whom  I  have  often  mentioned) 
told  me,  that  when  he  came  from  Ireland  to  Galloway, 
he  was  at  family  worship,  and  giving  some  notes  upon 
the  Scripture  read,  when  a  very  ill-looking  man  came, 
and  sat  down  within  the  door,  at  the  back  of  the 
hallan  [partition  of  the  cottage] :  immediately  he 
halted  and  said,  '  There  is  some  unhappy  body  just 
now  come  into  this  house.  I  charge  him  to  go  out, 
and  not  stop  my  mouth !'  This  person  went  out,  and 
he  insisted  [went  on],  yet  he  saw  him  neither  come  in 
nor  go  out." — The  Life  and  Prophecies  of  Mr.  Alex- 
ander Peden,  late  Minister  of  the  Gospel  at  New  Glen- 
luce,  in  Galloway,  part  ii.  $  26. 

A  friendly  correspondent  remarks  "  that  the  in- 
capacity of  proceeding  in  the  performance  of  a  relig- 
ious duty,  when  a  contaminated  person  is  present,  is 
of  much  higher  antiquity  than  the  era  of  the  Rev- 
erend Mr.  Alexander  Peden." — Vide  LTygini  Fabulas, 
cap.  26.  "  Medea  Corintho  exul,  Athenas,  ad  JEgeum 
Pandionis  filium  eleven-it  in  hospitium,  eique  nupsit. 

"  Postea  sacerdos  Diana  Medeam  exagitare 

cazpit,  regique  negabat  sacra  caste  facere  posse,  eo  quod 
in  ea  civitate  esset  mulier  venefica  et  scelerata ;  tunc  exu- 
latur." 


2Tf)e  (fcrag  $3rotf)n;. 

The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  high,  high  mass, 
All  on  Saint  Peter's  day, 

Britain  to  concentrate  her  thunders,  and  to  launch  them 
against  her  foes  with  an  unerring  aim. 


602 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


With  the  power  to  him  given,  by  the  saints  in  heaven, 
To  wash  men's  sins  away. 

« 
The  Pope  he  was  saying  the  blessed  mass, 

And  the  people  kneel'd  around, 
And  from  each  man's  soul  his  sins  did  pass, 

As  he  kiss'd  the  holy  ground. 

And  all,  among  the  crowded  throng, 

Was  still,  both  limb  and  tongue, 
While,  through  vaulted  roof  and  aisles  aloof, 

The  holy  accents  rung. 

At  the  holiest  word  he  quiver'd  for  fear, 

And  falter'd  in  the  sound — 
And,  when  he  would  the  chalice  rear, 

He  dropp'd  it  to  the  ground. 

"  The  breath  of  one  of  evil  deed 

Pollutes  our  sacred  day ; 
He  has  no  portion  in  our  creed, 

No  part  in  what  I  say. 

"  A  being  whom  no  blessed  word 

To  ghostly  peace  can  bring  ; 
A  wretch  at  whose  approach  abhorr'd 

Recoils  each  holy  thing. 

"  Up,  up,  unhappy !  haste,  arise ! 

My  adjuration  fear ! 
I  charge  thee  not  to  stop  my  voice, 

Nor  longer  tarry  here  !" 

Amid  them  all  a  pilgrim  kneel'd, 

In  gown  of  sackcloth  gray ; 
Far  journeying  from  his  native  field, 

He  first  saw  Rome  that  day. 

For  forty  days  and  nights  so  drear, 

I  ween  he  had  not  spoke, 
And,  save  with  bread  and  water  clear, 

His  fast  he  ne'er  had  broke. 

Amid  the  penitential  flock, 

Seem'd  none  more  bent  to  pray  ; 
But,  when  the  Holy  Father  spoke, 

He  rose  and  went  his  way. 

Again  unto  his  native  land 

His  weary  course  he  drew, 
To  Lothian's  fair  and  fertile  strand, 

And  Pentland's  mountains  blue. 

His  unblest  feet  his  native  seat, 

'Mid  Esk's  fair  woods,  regain; 
Thro'  woods  more  fair  no  stream  more  sweet 

Rolls  to  the  eastern  main. 

And  lords  to  meet  the  pilgrim  came, 
And  vassals  bent  the  knee ; 


For  all  'mid  Scotland's  chiefs  of  fame, 
Was  none  more  famed  than  he. 

And  boldly  for  his  country,  still, 

In  battle  he  had  stood, 
Ay,  even  when  on  the  banks  of  Till 

Her  noblest  pour'd  their  blood. 

Sweet  are  the  paths,  oh  passing  sweet ! 

By  Esk's  fair  streams  that  run, 
O'er  airy  steep,  through  copsewood  deep, 

Impervious  to  the  sun. 

There  the  rapt  poet's  step  may  rove, 

And  yield  the  muse  the  day ; 
There  Beauty,  led  by  timid  Love, 

May  shun  the  tell-tale  ray ; 

From  that  fair  dome,  where  suit  is  paid 

By  blast  of  bugle  free,1 
To  Auchendinny's  hazel  glade,2 

And  haunted  Woodhouselee.3 

Who  knows  not  Melville's  beechy  grove,* 

And  Roslin's  rocky  glen,5 
Dalkeith,  which  all  the  virtues  love,6 

And  classic  Hawthornden  ? ' 

Yet  never  a  path,  from  day  to  day, 

The  pilgrim's  footsteps  range, 
Save  but  the  solitary  way 

To  Burndale's  ruin'd  grange. 

A  woeful  place  was  that,  I  ween, 

As  sorrow  could  desire  ; 
For  nodding  to  the  fall  was  each  crumbling  wall, 

And  the  roof  was  scathed  with  fire. 

It  fell  upon  a  summer's  eve, 

While  on  Carnethy's  head 
The  last  faint  gleams  of  the  sun's  low  beams 

Had  streak'd  the  gray  with  red, 

And  the  convent  bell  did  vespers  tell 

Newbattle's  oaks  among, 
And  mingled  with  the  solemn  knell 

Our  Ladye's  evening  song, — 

The  heavy  knell,  the  choir's  faint  swell, 

Came  slowly  down  the  wind, 
And  on  the  pilgrim's  ear  they  fell, 

As  his  wonted  path  he  did  find. 

Deep  sunk  in  thought,  I  ween,  he  was, 

Nor  ever  raised  his  eye, 
Until  he  came  to  that  dreary  place, 

Which  did  all  in  ruins  lie. 


1  See  Appendix,  Notes  1  to  7. 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO   MINSTRELSY. 


603 


He  gazed  on  the  walls,  so  scathed  with  fire, 

With  many  a  bitter  groan — 
And  there  was  aware  of  a  Gray  Friar, 

Resting  him  on  a  stone. 

"Now,  Christ  thee  save!"  said  the  Gray  Brother; 

"Some  pilgrim  thou  seemest  to  be." 
But  in  sore  amaze  did  Lord  Albert  gaze, 

Nor  answer  again  made  he. 

"  Oh  come  ye  from  east,  or  come  ye  from  west, 
Or  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea ; 

Or  come  ye  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the  divine, 
Or  St.  John  of  Beverley  ?"— 

"  I  come  not  from  the  shrine  of  St.  James  the  divine, 
Nor  bring  reliques  from  over  the  sea  ; 

I  bring  but  a  curse  from  our  father,  the  Pope, 
Which  forever  will  cling  to  me." — 

"  Now,  woeful  pilgrim,  say  not  so ! 
But  kneel  thee  down  to  me, 

i  The  contemporary  criticism  on  this  noble  ballad  was  all 
feeble,  but  laudatory,  with  the  exception  of  the  following 
remark: — "The  painter  is  justly  blamed  whose  figures  do  not 
correspond  with  his  landscape — who  assembles  banditti  in 
an  elysium,  or  bathing  loves  in  a  lake  of  storm.  The  same 
adaptation  of  parts  is  expedient  in  the  poet.    The  stanzas, 

'  Sweet  are  thy  paths,  oh  passing  sweet !' 
to 

'And  classic  Hawthornden,' 

disagreeably  contrast  with  the  mysterious,  gloomy  character 
of  the  ballad.  Were  these  omitted,  it  would  merit  high  rank 
for  the  terrific  expectation  it  excites  by  the  majestic  intro- 
duction, and  the  awful  close." — Critical  Review,  November, 
1803.— Ed. 


And  shrive  thee  so  clean  of  thy  deadly  sin, 
That  absolved  thou  may'st  be." — 

"  And  who  art  thou,  thou  Gray  Brother, 

That  I  should  shrive  to  thee, 
When  He,  to  whom  are  given  the  keys  of  earth 
and  heaven, 

Has  no  power  to  pardon  me  ?" — 

"  Oh  I  am  sent  from  a  distant  clime, 

Five  thousand  miles  away, 
And  all  to  absolve  a  foul,  foul  crime, 

Done  here  'twixt  night  and  day." 

The  pilgrim  kneel'd  him  on  the  sand, 

And  thus  began  his  saye — 
When  on  his  neck  an  ice-cold  hand 

Did  that  Gray  Brother  laye.1 


"Then  came  the  'Gray  Brother,'  founded  on  another 
superstition,  which  seems  to  have  been  almost  as  ancient  as 
the  belief  in  ghosts, — namely,  that  the  holiest  service  of  the 
altar  cannot  go  on  in  the  presence  of  an  unclean  person — a 
heinous  sinner  unconfessed  and  unabsolved.  The  fragment- 
ary form  of  this  poem  greatly  heightens  the  awfulness  of  its 
impression ;  and  in  expression  and  metre,  the  verses  which 
really  belong  to  the  story  appear  to  me  the  happiest  that 
have  ever  been  produced  expressly  in  imitation  of  the  ballad 
of  the  middle  age.  In  the  stanzas,  previously  quoted,  on  the 
scenery  of  the  Esk,  however  beautiful  in  themselves,  and 
however  interesting  now  as  marking  the  locality  of  the  com- 
position, he  must  be  allowed  to  have  lapsed  into  another 
strain,  and  produced  a  pannus  purpureus  which  interferes 
with  and  mars  the  general  texture." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii. 
p.  26. 


APPENDIX. 


Notes  l  to  7. 

Scenery  of  the  Esk.— P.  602. 

1  The  barony  of  Pennycuik,  the  property  of  Sir  George 
Clerk,  Bart.,  is  held  by  a  singular  tenure, — the  proprietor 
being  bound  to  sit  upon  a  large  rocky  fragment  called  the 
Buckstane,  and  wind  three  blasts  of  a  horn,  when  the  king 
shall  come  to  hunt  on  the  Borough  Muir,  near  Edinburgh. 
Hence  the  family  have  adopted  as  their  crest  a  demi-forester 
proper,  winding  a  horn,  with  the  motto,  "  Free  for  a  blast." 
The  beautiful  mansion-house  of  Pennycuik  is  much  admired, 
both  on  account  of  the  architecture  and  surrounding  scenery. 

8  Auchendinny,  situated  upon  the  Esk,  below  Pennycuik, 
the  present  residence  of  the  ingenious  H.  Mackenzie,  Esq., 
author  of  the  "  Man  of  Feeling,"  &c. ;  edition  1803. 

3  "  Haunted  Woodhouselee." — For  the  traditions  connected 
with  this  ruinous  mansion,  see  ballad  of  "Cadyow  Castle," 
Note,  p.  599. 


*  Melville  Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Eight  Honorable  Lord 
Melville,  to  whom  it  gives  the  title  of  viscount,  is  delightfully 
situated  upon  the  Esk,  near  Lasswade. 

5  The  ruins  of  Boslin  Castle,  the  baronial  residence  of  the 
ancient  family  of  St.  Clair.  The  Gothic  chapel,  which  is  still 
in  beautiful  preservation,  with  the  romantic  and  woody  dell 
in  which  they  are  situated,  belong  to  the  Right  Honorable 
the  Earl  of  Rosslyn,  the  representative  of  the  former  Lords 
of  Roslin. 

6  The  village  and  castle  of  Dalkeith  belonged  of  old  to  the 
famous  Earl  of  Morton,  but  is  now  the  residence  of  the  noble 
family'of  Buccleuch.  The  park  extends  along  the  Esk,  which 
is  there  joined  by  its  sister  stream  of  the  same  name. 

7  Hawthornden,  the  residence  of  the  poet  Drummond.  A 
house  of  more  modern  date  is  enclosed,  as  it  were,  by  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  castle,  and  overhangs  a  tremendous 
precipice  upon  the  banks  of  the  Esk,  perforated  by  winding 
caves,  which  in  former  times  were  a  refuge  to  the  oppressed 


604 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


patriots  of  Scotland.  Here  Drummond  received  Ben  Jonson, 
who  journeyed  from  London  on  foot  in  order  to  visit  him. 
The  beauty  of  this  striking  scene  has  been  much  injured  of 
late  years  by  the  indiscriminate  use  of  the  axe.  The  travel- 
ler now  looks  in  vain  for  the  leafy  bower 

"  Where  Jonson  sat  in  Drummond's  social  shade." 


Upon  the  whole,  tracing  the  Esk  from  its  source  till  it 
joins  Che  sea  at  Musselburgh,  no  stream  in  Scotland  can 
boast  such  a  varied  succession  of  the  most  interesting  ob- 
jects, as  well  as  of  the.  most  romantic  and  beautiful  scenery. 
1803.  .  .  .  The  beautiful  scenery  of  Hawthornden  has,  since 
the  above  note  was  written,  recovered  all  its  proper  orna- 
ment of  wood.    1831. 


S&lar'Song  of  tfje  ISogal  IStoinimrgf)  Etgf)t  ©rapotts. 


"  Nermiut.  Is  not  peace  the  end  of  arms? 

"  Caratach.  Not  where  the  cause  implies  a  general  conquest. 
Had  we  a  difference  with  some  petty  isle, 
Or  with  our  neighbors,  Britons,  for  our  landmarks, 
The  taking  in  of  some  rebellious  lord, 
Or  making  head  against  a  slight  commotion, 
After  a  day  of  blood,  peace  might  be  argued : 
But  where  we  grapple  for  the  land  we  live  on, 
The  liberty  we  hold  more  dear  than  life, 
The  gods  we  worship,  and,  next  these,  our  honors, 
And,  with  those,  swords  that  know  no  end  of  battle — 
Those  men,  beside  themselves,  allow  no  neighbor, 
Those  minds  that,  where  the  day  is,  claim  inheritance, 
And,  where  the  sun  makes  ripe  the  fruit,  their  harvest, 
And,  where  they  march,  but  measure  out  more  ground 

To  add  to  Rome 

It  must  not  be — No !  as  they  are  our  foes, 

Let's  use  the  peace  of  honor — that's  fair  dealing ; 

But  in  our  hands  our  swords.    The  hardy  Roman, 

That  thinks  to  graft  himself  into  my  stock, 

Must  first  begin  his  kindred  under  ground, 

And  be  allied  in  ashes." Bonduca. 


The  following  War-Song  was  written  during  the 
apprehension  of  an  invasion.1  The  corps  of  volun- 
teers to  which  it  was  addressed  was  raised  in  1797, 
consisting  of  gentlemen  mounted  and  armed  at  their 
own  expense.  It  still  subsists  as  the  Right  Troop  of 
the  Royal  Mid-Lothian  Light  Cavalry,  commanded 
by  the  Honorable  Lieutenant-Colonel  Dundas.2  The 
noble  and  constitutional  measure  of  arming  freemen 
in  defence  of  their  own  rights  was  nowhere  more  suc- 
cessful than  in  Edinburgh,  which  furnished  a  force  of 
3000  armed  and  disciplined  volunteers,  including  a 
regiment  of  cavalry,  from  the  city  and  county,  and 


1  The  song  originally  appeared  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for 
1802.— Ed. 

2  Now  Viscount  Melville.    1831. 
8  The  royal  colors. 

4  The  allusion  is  to  the  massacre  of  the  Swiss  Guards,  on 
the  fatal  10th  August,  1702.  It  is  painful,  but  not  useless, 
to  remark  that  the  passive  temper  with  which  the  Swiss 


two  corps  of  artillery,  each  capable  of  serving  twelve 
guns.  To  such  a  force,  above  all  others,  might,  in 
similar  circumstances,  be  applied  the  exhortation  of 
our  ancient  Galgacus :  "  Proinde  ituri  in  aciem,  et 
majores  vestros  et  posteros  cogitate."    1812. 


OF  THE 

ROYAL  EDINBURGH  LIGHT  DRAGOONS. 

To  horse !  to  horse !  the  standard  flies, 

The  bugles  sound  the  call ; 
The  Gallic  navy  stems  the  seas, 
The  voice  of  battle's  on  the  breeze ; 

Arouse  ye,  one  and  all ! 

From  high  Dunedin's  towers  we  come, 

A  band  of  brothers  true ; 
Our  casques  the  leopard's  spoils  surround, 
With  Scotland's  hardy  thistle  crown'd ; 

We  boast  the  red  and  blue.3 

Though  tamely  crouch  to  Gallia's  frown 

Dull  Holland's  tardy  train  ; 
Their  ravish'd  toys  though  Romans  mourn ; 
Though  gallant  Switzers  vainly  spurn, 

And,  foaming,  gnaw  the  chain, — 

Oh !  had  they  mark'd  the  avenging  call4 
Their  brethren's  murder  gave, 

regarded  the  death  of  their  bravest  countrymen,  mercilessly 
slaughtered  in  discharge  of  their  duty,  encouraged  and  au- 
thorized the  progressive  injustice  by  which  the  Alps,  once 
the  seat  of  the  most  virtuous  and  free  people  upon  the  con- 
tinent, have  at  length  been  converted  into  the  citadel  of  a 
foreign  and  military  despot.  A  state  degraded  is  half  en- 
slaved.   1812. 


CONTRIBUTIONS  TO  MINSTEELSY. 


605 


Disunion  ne'er  their  ranks  had  mown, 
Nor  patriot  valor,  desperate  grown, 
Sought  freedom  in  the  grave ! 

Shall  we,  too,  bend  the  stubborn  head, 

In  Freedom's  temple  born, 
Dress  our  pale  cheek  in  timid  smile, 
To  hail  a  master  in  our  isle, 

Or  brook  a  victor's  scorn  ? 

No !  though  destruction  o'er  the  land 

Come  pouring  as  a  flood, 
The  sun,  that  sees  our  falling  day, 
Shall  mark  our  sabres'  deadly  sway, 

And  set  that  night  in  blood. 

For  gold  let  Gallia's  legions  fight, 

Or  plunder's  bloody  gain  ; 
Unbribed,  unbought,  our  swords  we  draw, 
To  guard  our  king,  to  fence  our  law, 

Nor  shall  their  edge  be  vain. 


If  ever  breath  of  British  gale 

Shall  fan  the  tri-color, 
Or  footstep  of  invader  rude, 
With  rapine  foul,  and  red  with  blood, 

Pollute  our  happy  shore, — 

Then  farewell  home !  and  farewell  friends ! 

Adieu  each  tender  tie ! 
Resolved,  we  mingle  in  the  tide, 
Where  charging  squadrons  furious  ride, 

To  conquer  or  to  die. 

To  horse !  to  horse !  the  sabres  gleam ; 

High  sounds  our  bugle-call ; 
Combined  by  honor's  sacred  tie, 
Our  word  is  Laws  and  Liberty  ! 

March  forward,  one  and  aU  l1 


i  Sir  Walter  Scott  was,  at  the  time  when  he  wrote  this 
song,  quartermaster  of  the  Edinhurgh  Light  Cavalry.  See 
one  of  the  epistles  introductory  to  "  Marmion."— Ed. 


Ballatrs, 


TRANSLATED  OR  IMITATED  FROM  THE  GERMAN,  &c. 


QMillim  ano  ffitUn. 


1796.1 


IMITATED  FKOM  THE  "LENORE"  OF  BttRGER. 


THE  author  had  resolved  to  omit  the  following  ver- 
sion of  a  well-known  poem  in  any  collection  which 
he  might  make  of  his  poetical  trifles.  But  the  pub- 
lishers having  pleaded  for  ite  admission,  the  author 
has  consented,  though  not  unaware  of  the  disadvan- 
tage at  which  this  youthful  essay  (for  it  was  written 
in  1795)  must  appear  with  those  which  have  been 
executed  by  much  more  able  hands,  in  particular  that 
of  Mr.  Taylor  of  Norwich,  and  that  of  Mr.  Spencer. 

The  following  translation  was  written  long  before 
the  author  saw  any  other,  and  originated  in  the  fol- 
lowing circumstances : — A  lady  of  high  rank  in  the 
literary  world  read  this  romantic  tale,  as  translated 
by  Mr.  Taylor,  in  the  house  of  the  celebrated  Profes- 
sor Dugald  Stewart  of  Edinburgh.  The  author  was 
not  present,  nor  indeed  in  Edinburgh  at  the  time ;  but 
a  gentleman  who  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  bal- 
lad afterwards  told  him  the  story,  and  repeated  the 
remarkable  chorus — 

"Tramp!  tramp!  across  the  land  they  speed, 

Splash !  splash  !  across  the  sea ; 
Hurrah !  The  dead  can  ride  apace ! 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ?" 

In  attempting  a  translation,  then  intended  only  to 
circulate  among  friends,  the  present  author  did  not 
hesitate  to  make  use  of  this  impressive  stanza;  for 
which  freedom  he  has  since  obtained  the  forgiveness 
of  the  ingenious  gentleman  to  whom  it  properly  be- 


1  "The  Chase"  and  "William  and  Helen:"  two  Ballads, 

from  the  German  of  Gottfried  Augustus  Burger.    Edinburgh : 

Printed  by  Mundell  &  Son,  Royal  Bank  Close,  for  Manners  A 

Miller,  Parliament  Square ;  and  sold  by  T.  Cadell,  Jun.,  and 

(606) 


WILLIAM  AND  HELEN. 


From  heavy  dreams  fair  Helen  rose, 

And  eyed  the  dawning  red : 
"  Alas,  my  love,  thou  tarriest  long ! 

Oh  art  thou  false,  or  dead?" 

II. 

With  gallant  Fred'rick's  princely  power 
He  sought  the  bold  Crusade ; 

But  not  a  word  from  Judah's  wars 
Told  Helen  how  he  sped. 

III. 

With  Paynim  and  with  Saracen 

At  length  a  truce  was  made, 
And  every  knight  return'd  to  dry 

The  tears  his  love  had  shed. 

IV. 

Our  gallant  host  was  homeward  bound 

With  many  a  song  of  joy ; 
Green  waved  the  laurel  in  each  plume, 

The  badge  of  victory. 


And  old  and  young,  and  sire  and  son, 
To  meet  them  crowd  the  way ; 

With  shouts,  and  mirth,  and  melody, 
The  debt  of  love  to  pay. 

VI. 

Full  many  a  maid  her  true-love  met, 
And  sobb'd  in  his  embrace, 

And  flutt'ring  joy  in  tears  and  smiles 
Array'd  full  many  a  face. 


W.  Davis,  in  the  Strand,  London.  1796.  4to.— See  "Essay 
on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad,"  ante,  p.  565,  and  Life 
of  Scott,  vol.  i.  chaps.  7  and  8. 


BALLADS   FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


607 


VII. 

Nor  joy  nor  smile  for  Helen  sad ; 

She  sought  the  host  in  vain ; 
For  none  could  tell  her  William's  fate, 

If  faithless,  or  if  slain. 

VIII. 

The  martial  baud  is  past  and  gone ; 

She  rends  her  raven  hair, 
And  in  distraction's  bitter  mood 

She  weeps  with  wild  despair. 

IX. 

"  Oh  rise,  my  child,"  her  mother  said, 

"  Nor  sorrow  thus  in  vain  ; 
A  perjured  lover's  fleeting  heart 

No  tears  recall  again." — 

X. 

"  Oh,  mother,  what  is  gone,  is  gone, 

What's  lost,  for  ever  lorn : 
Death,  death  alone  can  comfort  me ; 

Oh  had  I  ne'er  been  born ! 

XI. 

"  Oh  break,  my  heart, — oh  break  at  once ! 

Drink  my  life-blood,  Despair ! 
No  joy  remains  on  earth  for  me, 

For  me  in  heaven  no  share." — 

XII. 

"  Oh  enter  not  in  judgment,  Lord  !" 

The  pious  mother  prays ; 
"  Impute  not  guilt  to  thy  frail  child ! 

She  knows  not  what  she  says. 

XIII. 

"  Oh  say  thy  pater  noster,  child  ! 

Oh  turn  to  God  and  grace ! 
His  will,  that  turn'd  thy  bliss  to  bale, 

Can  change  thy  bale  to  bliss." — 

XIV. 
"Oh,  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss? 

Oh,  mother,  what  is  bale? 
My  William's  love  was  heaven  on  earth, 

Without  it  earth  is  hell. 

XV. 

"  Why  should  I  pray  to  ruthless  Heaven, 
Since  my  loved  William's  slain  ? 

I  only  pray'd  for  William's  sake, 
And  all  my  prayers  were  vain." — 

XVI. 

"  Oh  take  the  sacrament,  my  child, 
And  check  these  tears  that  flow ; 

By  resignation's  humble  prayer, 
Oh  hallow'd  be  thy  woe !" — 


XVII. 
"  No  sacrament  can  quench  this  fire, 

Or  slake  this  scorching  pain ; 
No  sacrament  can  bid  the  dead 

Arise  and  live  again. 

XVIII. 

"  Oh  break,  my  heart, — oh  break  at  once ! 

Be  thou  my  god,  Despair ! 
Heaven's  heaviest  blow  has  fallen  on  me, 

And  vain  each  fruitless  prayer." — 

XIX. 

"  Oh  enter  not  in  judgment,  Lord, 

With  thy  frail  child  of  clay ! 
She  knows  not  what  her  tongue  has  spoke ; 

Impute  it  not,  I  pray ! 

XX. 

"  Forbear,  my  child,  this  desperate  woe, 

And  turn  to  God  and  grace ; 
Well  can  devotion's  heavenly  glow 

Convert  thy  bale  to  bliss."— 

XXI. 

Oh,  mother,  mother,  what  is  bliss? 
Oh,  mother,  what  is  bale  ? 
Without  my  William  what  were  heaven, 
Or  with  him  what  were  hell  ?" 

XXII. 
Wild  she  arraigns  the  eternal  doom, 

Upbraids  each  sacred  power, 
Till,  spent,  she  sought  her  silent  room, 

All  in  the  lonely  tower. 

XXIII. 
She  beat  her  breast,  she  wrung  her  hands, 

Till  sun  and  day  were  o'er, 
And  through  the  glimmering  lattice  shone 

The  twinkling  of  the  star. 

XXIV. 

Then,  crash !  the  heavy  drawbridge  fell 

That  o'er  the  moat  was  hung ; 
And  clatter !  clatter !  on  its  boards 

The  hoof  of  courser  rung. 

XXV. 

The  clank  of  echoing  steel  was  heard 

As  off  the  rider  bounded ; 
And  slowly  on  the  winding  stair 

A  heavy  footstep  sounded. 

XXVI. 
And  hark !  and  hark !  a  knock— Tap !  tap ! 

A  rustling  stifled  noise ; — 
Door-latch  and  tinkling  staples  ring: 

At  length  a  whispering  voice. 


608 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


XXVII. 

"  Awake,  awake,  arise,  my  love ! 

How,  Helen,  dost  thou  fare  ? 
Wak'st  thou,  or  sleep'st?  laugh'st  thou,  or  weep'st? 

Hast  thought  on  me,  my  fair?" — 

XXVIII. 

"  My  love !  my  love ! — so  late  by  night ! — 

I  waked,  I  wept  for  thee : 
Much  have  I  borne  since  dawn  of  morn ; 

Where,  William,  couldst  thou  be  ?" — 

XXIX. 

"  We  saddle  late — from  Hungary 

I  rode  since  darkness  fell ; 
And  to  its  bourne  we  both  return 

Before  the  matin-bell." — 

XXX. 

"  Oh  rest  this  night  within  my  arms, 

And  warm  thee  in  their  fold ! 
Chill  howls  through  hawthorn  bush  the  wind ; — 

My  love  is  deadly  cold." — 

XXXI. 

"  Let  the  wind  howl  through  hawthorn  bush ! 

This  night  we  must  away ; 
The  steed  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright ; 

I  cannot  stay  till  day. 

XXXII. 

"  Busk,  busk,  and  boune !     Thou  mount'st  behind 

Upon  my  black  barb  steed : 
O'er  stock  and  stile,  a  hundred  miles, 

We  haste  to  bridal  bed." — 

XXXIII. 

"  To-night — to-night  a  hundred  miles ! — 

Oh,  dearest  William,  stay ! 
The  bell  strikes  twelve — dark,  dismal  hour! 

Oh  wait,  my  love,  till  day !" — 

XXXIV. 

"  Look  here,  look  here — the  moon  shines  clear — 

Full  fast  I  ween  we  ride ; 
Mount  and  away !  for  ere  the  day 

We  reach  our  bridal  bed. 

XXXV. 

"  The  black  barb  snorts,  the  bridle  rings ; 

Haste,  busk,  and  boune,  and  seat  thee ! 
The  feast  is  made,  the  chamber  spread, 

The  bridal  guests  await  thee." 

XXXVI. 

Strong  love  prevail'd :  she  busks,  she  bounes, 

She  mounts  the  barb  behind, 
And  round  her  darling  William's  waist 

Her  lily  arms  she  twined. 


XXXVIL 

And  hurry !  hurry !  off  they  rode, 

As  fast  as  fast  might  be ; 
Spuru'd  from  the  courser's  thundering  heels 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XXXVIII. 

And  on  the  right,  and  on  the  left, 

Ere  they  could  snatch  a  view, 
Fast,  fast  each  mountain,  mead,  and  plain, 

And  cot  and  castle,  flew. 

XXXIX. 

" Sit  fast — dost  fear?    The  moon  shines  clear — 

Fleet  goes  my  barb — keep  hold ! 
Fear'st  thou?" — "  Oh  no !"  she  faintly  said ; 

"  But  why  so  stern  and  cold? 

XL. 
"  What  yonder  rings  ?  what  yonder  sings  ? 

Why  shrieks  the  owlet  gray?" — 
"  'Tis  death-bells'  clang,  'tis  funeral  song, 

The  body  to  the  clay. 

XLI. 

"  With  song  and  clang,  at  morrow's  dawn, 

Ye  may  inter  the  dead : 
To-night  I  ride,  with  my  young  bride, 

To  deck  our  bridal  bed. 

XLII. 
"  Come  with  thy  choir,  thou  cofnn'd  guest 

To  swell  our  nuptial  song ! 
Come,  priest,  to  bless  our  marriage  feast 

Come  all,  come  all  along !" 

XLIIL 

Ceased  clang  and  song;  down  sunk  the  bier; 

The  shrouded  corpse  arose : 
And  hurry !  hurry !  all  the  train 

The  thundering  steed  pursues. 

XLIV. 

And  forward !  forward !  on  they  go ; 

High  snorts  the  straining  steed  ; 
Thick  pants  the  rider's  laboring  breath, 

As  headlong  on  they  speed. 

XLV. 

"Oh,  William,  why  this  savage  haste? 

And  where  thy  bridal  bed  ?" — 
"  'Tis  distant  far,  low,  damp,  and  chill, 

And  narrow,  trustless  maid." — 

XLVI. 

"  No  room  for  me?"—"  Enough  for  both  ;— 
Speed,  speed,  my  barb,  thy  course !" 

O'er  thundering  bridge,  through  boiling  surge, 
He  drove  the  furious  horse. 


BALLADS   FKOM   THE   GERMAN. 


609 


XLVII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scourge  is  wight,  the  spur  is  bright, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

XLVIII. 

Fled  past  on  right  and  left  how  fast 

Each  forest,  grove,  and  bower ! 
On  right  and  left  fled  past  how  fast 

Each  city,  town,  and  tower ! 

XLIX. 
"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?    The  moon  shines  clear ; 

Dost  fear  to  ride  with  me  ? — 
Hurrah !  hurrah !  the  dead  can  ride !" — 

"  Oh,  William,  let  them  be  !— 

L. 

"  See  there,  see  there !    What  yonder  swings 
And  creaks  'mid  whistling  rain  ?" — 

"  Gibbet  and  steel,  th'  accursed  wheel ; 
A  murderer  in  his  chain. — 

LI. 

"  Hollo !  thou  felon,  follow  here : 

To  bridal  bed  we  ride ; 
And  thou  shalt  prance  a  fetter  dance 

Before  me  and  my  bride." 

LI  I. 
And  hurry !  hurry !  clash,  clash,  clash ! 

The  wasted  form  descends ; 
And  fleet  as  wind  through  hazel  bush 

The  wild  career  attends. 

LIII. 
Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 

Splash !  splash  !  along  the  sea ; 
The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 

The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LIV. 

How  fled  what  moonshine  faintly  show'd ! 

How  fled  what  darkness  hid ! 
How  fled  the  earth  beneath  their  feet, 

The  heaven  above  their  head ! 

LV. 

"  Dost  fear  ?  dost  fear  ?    The  moon  shines  clear, 

And  well  the  dead  can  ride ; 
Does  faithful  Helen  fear  for  them  ?" — 

"  Oh  leave  in  peace  the  dead !" — 

LVI. 

"  Barb !  Barb  !  methinks  I  hear  the  cock ; 

The  sand  will  soon  be  run : 
Barb !  Barb !  I  smell  the  morning  air ; 

The  race  is  wellnigh  done." 
39 


LVII. 

Tramp !  tramp !  along  the  land  they  rode, 
Splash !  splash !  along  the  sea ; 

The  scourge  is  red,  the  spur  drops  blood, 
The  flashing  pebbles  flee. 

LVIII. 

"  Hurrah !  hurrah !  well  ride  the  dead ; 

The  bride,  the  bride  is  come ; 
And  soon  we  reach  the  bridal  bed, 

For,  Helen,  here's  my  home." 

LIX. 

Reluctant  on  its  rusty  hinge 

Revolved  an  iron  door, 
And  by  the  pale  moon's  setting  beam 

Were  seen  a  church  and  tower. 

LX. 

With  many  a  shriek  and  cry  whiz  round 
The  birds  of  midnight,  scared ; 

And  rustling  like  autumnal  leaves 
Unhallow'd  ghosts  were  heard. 

LXI. 

O'er  many  a  tomb  and  tombstone  pale 

He  spurr'd  the  fiery  horse, 
Till  sudden  at  an  open  grave 

He  check'd  the  wondrous  course. 

LXII. 

The  falling  gauntlet  quits  the  rein, 
Down  drops  the  casque  of  steel, 

The  cuirass  leaves  his  shrinking  side, 
The  spur  his  gory  heel. 

LXIII. 

The  eyes  desert  the  naked  skull, 
The  mould'ring  flesh  the  bone, 

Till  Helen's  lily  arms  entwine 
A  ghastly  skeleton. 

LXIV. 

The  furious  barb  snorts  fire  and  foam, 

And,  with  a  fearful  bound, 
Dissolves  at  once  in  empty  air, 

And  leaves  her  on  the  ground. 

LXV. 

Half  seen  by  fits,  by  fits  half  heard, 

Pale  spectres  flit  along, 
Wheel  round  the  maid  in  dismal  dance, 

And  howl  the  funeral  song : — 

LXVI. 

"  E'en  when  the  heart's  with  anguish  eleft^ 

Revere  the  doom  of  Heaven : 
Her  soul  is  from  her  body  reft ; 

Her  spirit  be  forgiven !" 


610 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


CJ)e  CTittJ  huntsman. 

This  is  a  translation,  or  rather  an  imitation,  of  the 
"  Wilde  Jager  "  of  the  German  poet  Burger.  The  tra- 
dition upon  which  it  is  founded  bears  that  formerly  a 
Wildgrave,  or  keeper  of  a  royal  forest,  named  Falk- 
enburg,  was  so  much  addicted  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase,  and  otherwise  so  extremely  profligate  and  cruel, 
that  he  not  only  followed  this  unhallowed  amusement 
on  the  Sabbath,  and  other  days  consecrated  to  relig- 
ious duty,  but  accompanied  it  with  the  most  unheard- 
of  oppression  upon  the  poor  peasants  who  were  under 
his  vassalage.  When  tljis  second  Nimrod  died,  the 
people  adopted  a  superstition,  founded  probably  on 
the  many  various  uncouth  sounds  heard  in  the  depth 
of  a  German  forest  during  the  silence  of  the  night. 
They  conceived  they  still  heard  the  cry  of  the  Wild- 
grave's  hounds ;  and  the  well-known  cheer  of  the  de- 
ceased hunter,  the  sounds  of  his  horses'  feet,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  branches  before  the  game,  the  pack, 
and  the  sportsmen,  are  also  distinctly  discriminated ; 
but  the  phantoms  are  rarely,  if  ever,  visible.  Once,  as 
a  benighted  Chasseur  heard  this  infernal  chase  pass  by 
him,  at  the  sound  of  the  halloo,  with  which  the  Spectre 
Huntsman  cheered  his  hounds,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  crying,  "  Gluckzu,Falkenburgh!"  [Good  sport 
to  ye,  Falkenburgh !  ]  "  Dost  thou  wish  me  good 
sport?"  answered  a  hoarse  voice;  "thou  shalt  share 
the  game ;"  and  there  was  thrown  at  him  what  seemed 
to  be  a  huge  piece  of  foul  carrion.  The  daring  Chas- 
seur lost  two  of  his  best  horses  soon  after,  and  never 
perfectly  recovered  the  personal  effects  of  this  ghostly 
greeting.  This  tale,  though  told  with  some  variations, 
is  universally  believed  all  over  Germany. 

The  French  had  a  similar  tradition  concerning  an 
aerial  hunter  who  infested  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau. 
He  was  sometimes  visible;  when  he  appeared  as  a 
huntsman,  surrounded  with  dogs,  a  tall  grisly  figure. 
Some  account  of  him  may  be  found  in  Sully's  Mem- 
oirs, who  says  he  was  called  Le  Grand  Veneur.  At 
one  time  he  chose  to  hunt  so  near  the  palace  that  the 
attendants,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  Sully  himself,  came 
out  into  the  court,  supposing  it  was  the  sound  of  the 
king  returning  from  the  chase.  This  phantom  is  else- 
where called  Saint  Hubert. 

The  superstition  seems  to  have  been  very  general, 
as  appears  from  the  following  fine  poetical  description 
of  this  phantom  chase,  as  it  was  heard  in  the  wilds  of 
Roes-shire : — 

"  E'er  since  of  old  the  haught  y  thanes  of  Ross,— 
Ro  to  the  Bimple  swain  tradition  tolls, — 
Were  wont  with  elans,  and  ready  vassals  throng'd, 
To  wake  the  bounding  stag  or  guilty  wolf, 
There  oft  is  heard,  at  midnight  or  at  noon, 
Beginning  faint,  hut  rising  still  more  loud, 
And  nearer,  voiee  of  hunters  and  of  hounds, 
And  horns,  hoarse  winded,  Mowing  far  and  keen: — 
Forthwith  the  huhhub  multiplies:  the  gale 
Labors  with  wilder  shrieks,  and  lifer  din 
Of  hot  pursuit ;  the  broken  cry  of  deer 
Mangled  by  throttling  dogs;  the  shouts  of  men, 


And  hoofs  thick  beating  on  the  hollow  hill. 

Sudden  the  gazing  heifer  in  the  vale 

Starts  at  the  noise,  and  both  the  herdsman's  ears 

Tingle  with  inward  dread.    Aghast  he  eyes 

The  mountain's  height,  and  all  the  ridges  round, 

Yet  not  one  trace  of  living  wight  discerns, 

Nor  knows,  o'erawed  and  trembling  as  he  stands, 

To  what  or  whom  he  owes  his  idle  fear, 

To  ghost,  to  witch,  to  fairy,  or  to  fiend; 

But  wonders,  and  no  end  of  wondering  finds." 

Albania — reprinted  in  Scottish  Descriptive  Poems, 
pp.  167,  168. 

A  posthumous  miracle  of  Father  Lesley,  a  Scottish 
capuchin,  related  to  his  being  buried  on  a  hill  haunted 
by  these  unearthly  cries  of  hounds  and  huntsmen. 
After  his  sainted  relics  had  been  deposited  there,  the 
noise  was  never  heard  more.  The  reader  will  find 
this  and  other  miracles  recorded  in  the  life  of  Father 
Bonaventura,  which  is  written  in  the  choicest  Italian. 


THE  WILD  HUNTSMAN. 


1796.1 


The  Wildgrave  winds  his  bugle-horn, 
To  horse,  to  horse !  halloo !  halloo ! 

His  fiery  courser  snuffs  the  morn, 
And  thronging  serfs  their  lord  pursue. 

The  eager  pack,  from  couples  freed, 

Dash  through  the  bush,  the  brier,  the  brake : 

While  answering  hound,  and  horn,  and  steed, 
The  mountain  echoes  startling  wake. 

The  beams  of  God's  own  hallow'd  day 
Had  painted  yonder  spire  with  gold, 

And,  calling  sinful  man  to  pray, 
Loud,  long,  and  deep  the  bell  had  toll'd : 

But  still  the  Wildgrave  onward  rides ; 

Halloo!  halloo!  and  hark  again ! 
When,  spurring  from  opposing  sides, 

Two  Stranger  Horsemen  join  the  train. 

Who  was  each  Stranger,  left  and  right, 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 

The  right-hand  steed  was  silver  white, 
The  left,  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

The  right-hand  Horseman,  young  and  fair, 
His  smile  was  like  the  morn  of  May ; 

The  left,  from  eye  of  tawny  glare 
Shot  midnight  lightning's  lurid  ray. 

He  waved  his  huntsman's  cap  on  high, 
Cried,  "Welcome,  welcome,  noble  lord! 

What  sport  can  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky, 
To  match  the  princely  chase,  afford  ?" — 


'  Published  (1796)  with  "William  and  Helen,"  and  entitled 
'  The  Chase." 


BALLADS  FROM  THE  GEEMAN. 


611 


"  Cease  thy  loud  bugle's  changing  knell," 
Cried  the  fair  youth,  with  silver  voice  ; 

"  And  for  devotion's  choral  swell 
Exchange  the  rude  unhallow'd  noise. 

"  To-day,  the  ill-omen'd  chase  forbear, 
Yon  bell  yet  summons  to  the  fane ; 

To-day  the  Warning  Spirit  hear, 
To-morrow  thou  may'st  mourn  in  vain." — 

"  Away,  and  sweep  the  glades  along !" 

The  Sable  Hunter  hoarse  replies ; 
"  To  muttering  monks  leave  matin-song, 

And  bells,  and  books,  and  mysteries." 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  ardent  steed, 
And,  launching  forward  with  a  bound, 

"  Who,  for  thy  drowsy  priestlike  rede, 
Would  leave  the  jovial  horn  and  hound? 

"  Hence,  if  our  manly  sport  offend  ! 

With  pious  fools  go  chant  and  pray  : — 
Well  hast  thou  spoke,  my  dark-brow'd  friend ; 

Halloo  !  halloo  !  and  hark  away !" 

The  Wildgrave  spurr'd  his  courser  light, 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  holt  and  hill ; 

And  on  the  left  and  on  the  right, 

Each  Stranger  Horseman  follow'd  still. 

Up  springs,  from  yonder  tangled  thorn, 
A  stag  more  white  than  mountain  snow 

And  louder  rung  the  Wildgrave's  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward !  holla,  ho !" 

A  heedless  wretch  has  cross'd  the  way ; 

He  gasps  the  thundering  hoofs  below ; 
But,  live  who  can,  or  die  who  may, 

Still,  "  Forward,  forward !"  on  they  go. 

See,  where  yon  simple  fences  meet, 
A  field  with  autumn's  blessings  crown'd ; 

See,  prostrate  at  the  Wildgrave's  feet, 
A  husbandman  with  toil  embrown'd : — 

"  Oh  mercy,  mercy,  noble  lord ! 

Spare  the  poor's  pittance,"  was  his  cry, 
"  Earn'd  by  the  sweat  these  brows  have  pour'd, 

In  scorching  hours  of  fierce  July." 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  impetuous  Earl  no  warning  heeds, 
But  furious  holds  the  onward  way. 

"  Away,  thou  hound !  so  basely  born, 
Or  dread  the  scourge's  echoing  blow !" 

Then  loudly  rung  his  bugle-horn, 

"  Hark  forward,  forward !  holla,  ho !" 


So  said,  so  done : — A  single  bound 
Clears  the  poor  laborer's  humble  pale , 

Wild  follows  man,  and  horse,  and  hound, 
Like  dark  December's  stormy  gale. 

And  man  and  horse,  and  hound  and  horn, 
Destructive  sweep  the  field  along ; 

While,  joying  o'er  the  wasted  corn, 
Fell  Famine  marks  the  maddening  throng. 

Again  uproused,  the  timorous  prey 
Scours  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill ; 

Hard  run,  he  feels  his  strength  decay, 
And  trusts  for  life  his  simple  skill. 

Too  dangerous  solitude  appear'd ; 

He  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  crowd ; 
Amid  the  flock's  domestic  herd 

His  harmless  head  he  hopes  to  shroud. 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  and  holt  and  hill, 
His  track  the  steady  blood-hounds  trace ; 

O'er  moss  and  moor,  unwearied  still, 
The  furious  Earl  pursues  the  chase. 

Full  lowly  did  the  herdsman  fall : — 
"  Oh  spare,  thou  noble  Baron,  spare 

These  herds,  a  widow's  little  all, 
These  flocks,  an  orphan's  fleecy  care !" 

Earnest  the  right-hand  Stranger  pleads, 
The  left  still  cheering  to  the  prey ; 

The  Earl  nor  prayer  nor  pity  heeds, 
But  furious  keeps  the  onward  way. 

"  Unmanner'd  dog !     To  stop  my  sport 
Vain  were  thy  cant  and  beggar  whine, 

Though  human  spirits,  of  thy  sort, 
Were  tenants  of  these  carrion  kine !" 

Again  he  winds  his  bugle-horn, 

"Hark  forward,  forward!  holla,  ho! 

And  through  the  herd,  in  ruthless  scorn, 
He  cheers  his  furious  hounds  to  go. 

In  heaps  the  throttled  victims  fall ; 

Down  sinks  their  mangled  herdsman  near ; 
The  murderous  cries  the  stag  appall, — 

Again  he  starts,  new-nerved  by  fear. 

With  blood  besmear'd,  and  white  with  foam, 
While  big  the  tears  of  anguish  pour, 

He  seeks,  amid  the  forest's  gloom, 
The  humble  hermit's  hallow'd  bower. 

But  man  and  horse,  and  horn  and  hound, 

Fast  rattling  on  his  traces  go ; 
The  sacred  chapel  rung  around 

With,  "  Hark  away !  and  holla,  ho !" 


612 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


All  mild,  amid  the  rout  profane, 

The  holy  hermit  pour'd  his  prayer : — 

"  Forbear  with  blood  God's  house  to  stain  ; 
Revere  his  altar,  and  forbear ! 

"  The  meanest  brute  has  rights  to  plead, 
Which,  wrong'd  by  cruelty  or  pride, 

Draw  vengeance  on  the  ruthless  head ; — 
Be  warird  at  length,  aud  turn  aside." 

Still  the  Fair  Horseman  anxious  pleads; 

The  Black,  wild  whooping,  points  the  prey; 
Alas  !  the  Earl  no  warning  heeds, 

But  frantic  keeps  the  forward  way. 

"  Holy  or  not,  or  right  or  wrong, 

Thy  altar  and  its  rites  I  spurn ; 
Not  sainted  martyrs'  sacred  song, 

Not  God  himself,  shall  make  me  turn  !" 

He  spurs  his  horse,  he  winds  his  horn, 
"  Hark  forward,  forward!  holla,  ho!" — 

But  off,  on  whirlwind's  pinions  borne, 
The  stag,  the  hut,  the  hermit,  go. 

And  horse  and  man,  and  horn  and  hound, 
And  clamor  of  the  chase,  was  gone ; 

For  hoofs,  and  howls,  and  bugle-sound, 
A  deadly  silence  reign'd  alone. 

Wild  gazed  the  affrighted  Earl  around ; 

He  strove  in  vain  to  wake  his  horn, 
In  vain  to  call ;  for  not  a  sound 

Could  from  his  anxious  lips  be  borne. 

He  listens  for  his  trusty  hounds; 

No  distant  baying  reach'd  his  ears : 
His  courser,  rooted  to  the  ground, 

The  quickening  spur  unmindful  bears. 

Still  dark  and  darker  frown  the  shades, 
Dark  as  the  darkness  of  the  grave  ; 

And  not  a  sound  the  still  invades, 
Save  what  a  distant  torrent  gave. 

High  o'er  the  sinner's  humbled  head 
At  length  the  solemn  silence  broke ; 

And,  from  a  cloud  of  swarthy  red, 
The  awful  voice  of  thunder  spoke. 

"  Oppressor  of  creation  fair ! 

Apostate  Spirit's  harden'd  tool ! 
Scorner  of  God !  scourge  of  the  poor! 

The  measure  of  thy  cup  is  full. 

"  Be  chased  for  ever  through  the  wood ; 

For  ever  roam  the  affrighted  wild; 
And  let  thy  fate  instruct  the  proud, 

God's  meanest  creature  is  his  child." 


'Twas  hush'd : — One  flash,  of  sombre  glare, 
With  yellow  tinged  the  forest  brown ; 

Uprose  the  Wildgrave's  bristling  hair, 
And  horror  chill'd  each  nerve  and  bone. 

Cold  pour'd  the  sweat  in  freezing  rill; 

A  rising  wind  began  to  sing; 
And  louder,  louder,  louder  still, 

Brought  storm  and  tempest  on  its  wing. 

Earth  heard  the  call ; — her  entrails  rend  ; 

From  yawning  rifts,  with  many  a  yell, 
Mix'd  with  sulphureous  flames,  ascend 

The  misbegotten  dogs  of  hell. 

What  ghastly  Huntsman  next  arose, 
Well  may  I  guess,  but  dare  not  tell ; 

His  eye  like  midnight  lightning  glows, 
His  steed  the  swarthy  hue  of  hell. 

The  Wildgrave  flies  o'er  bush  and  thorn, 
With  many  a  shriek  of  helpless  woe ; 

Behind  him  hound  and  horse  and  horn, 
And  "  Hark  away !  and  holla,  ho !" 

With  wild  despair's  reverted  eye, 

Close,  close  behind,  he  marks  the  throng, 

With  bloody  fangs  and  eager  cry ; 
In  frantic  fear  he  scours  along. — 

Still,  still  shall  last  the  dreadful  chase, 
Till  time  itself  shall  have  an  end ; 

By  day,  they  scour  earth's  cavern'd  space, 
At  midnight's  witching  hour,  ascend. 

This  is  the  horn,  and  hound,  and  horse, 
That  oft  the  lated  peasant  hears ; 

Appall'd,  he  signs  the  frequent  cross, 
When  the  wild  din  invades  his  ears. 

The  wakeful  priest  oft  drops  a  tear 
For  human  pride,  for  human  woe, 

When,  at  his  midnight  mass,  he  hears 
The  infernal  cry  of  "  Holla,  ho !" 


%$t  dfittzMinq. 


"The  blessings  of  the  evil  Genii,  which  are  curses,  were 

upon  him." 

Eastern  Tale. 


1801. 


This  ballad  was  written  at  the  request  of  Mr.  Lewis, 
to  be  inserted  in  his  Tales  of  Wonder.1    It  is  the  third 

i  Published  in  1801.    See  ante,  p.  571. 


BALLADS   FROM   THE   GERMAN. 


613 


in  a  series  of  four  ballads,  on  the  subject  of  Element- 
ary Spirits.  The  story  is,  however,  partly  historical ; 
for  it  is  recorded  that,  during  the  struggles  of  the  Latin 
kingdom  of  Jerusalem,  a  Knight-Templar,  called 
Saint  Alban,  deserted  to  the  Saracens,  and  defeated 
the  Christians  in  many  combats,  till  he  was  finally 
routed  and  slain,  in  a  conflict  with  King  Baldwin, 
under  the  walls  of  Jerusalem. 


Bold  knights  and  fair  dames,  to  my  harp  give  an  ear, 
Of  love,  and  of  war,  and  of  wonder  to  hear ; 
And  you  haply  may  sigh,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 

Oh  see  you  that  castle,  so  strong  and  so  high  ? 
And  see  you  that  lady,  the  tear  in  her  eye  ? 
And  see  you  that  palmer,  from  Palestine's  land, 
The  shell  on  his  hat,  and  the  staff  in  his  hand  ? — 

"  Now,  palmer,  gray  palmer,  oh  tell  unto  me, 
What  news  bring  you  home  from  the  Holy  Countrie  ? 
And  how  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  strand  ? 
And  how  fare  our  nobles,  the  flower  of  the  land  ?" — 

"Oh  well  goes  the  warfare  by  Galilee's  wave, 
For  Gilead,  and  Nablous,  and  Ramah  we  have ; 
And  well  fare  our  nobles  by  Mount  Lebanon, 
For  the  Heathen  have  lost,  and  the  Christians  have 
won." 

A  fair  chain  of  gold  'mid  her  ringlets  there  hung ; 
O'er  the  palmer's  gray  locks  the  fair  chain  has  she 

flung : 
"  Oh,  palmer,  gray  palmer,  this  chain  be  thy  fee, 
For  the   news   thou   hast  brought  from   the   Holy 

Countrie. 

"And,  palmer,  good  palmer,  by  Galilee's  wave, 
Oh  saw  ye  Count  Albert,  the  gentle  and  brave  ? 
When  the  Crescent  went  back,  and  the  Red  Cross 

rush'd  on, 
Oh  saw  ye  him  foremost  on  Mount  Lebanon  ?" — 

"  Oh,  lady,  fair  lady,  the  tree  green  it  grows ; 
Oh,  lady,  fair  lady,  the  stream  pure  it  flows  ; 
Your  castle  stands  strong,  and  your  hopes  soar  on 

high; 
But,  lady,  fair  lady,  all  blossoms  to  die. 

"The  green   boughs   they  wither,  the   thunderbolt 

falls, 
It  leaves  of  your  castle  but  levin-scorch'd  walls  ; 
The  pure  stream  runs  muddy ;  the  gay  hope  is  gone ; 
Count  Albert  is  prisoner  on  Mount  Lebanon." 

Oh  she's  ta'en  a  horse,  should  be  fleet  at  her  speed  ; 
And  she's  ta'en  a  sword,  should  be  sharp  at  her  need ; 
And  she  has  ta'en  shipping  for  Palestine's  land, 
To  ransom  Count  Albert  from  Soldanrie's  hand. 


Small  thought  had  Count  Albert  on  fair  Rosalie, 
Small  thought  on  his  faith  or  his  knighthood  had  he ; 
A  heathenish  damsel  his  light  heart  had  won, 
The  Soldan's  fair  daughter  of  Mount  Lebanon. 

"Oh,  Christian,  brave  Christian,  my  love  wouldst 

thou  be, 
Three  things  must  thou  do  ere  I  hearken  to  thee : 
Our  laws  and  our  worship  on  thee  shalt  thou  take; 
And  this  thou  shalt  first  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  next,  in  the  cavern,  where  burns  evermore 
The  mystical  flame  which  the  Curdmaus  adore, 
Alone,  and  in  silence,  three  nights  shalt  thou  wake ; 
And  this  thou  shalt  next  do  for  Zulema's  sake. 

"  And,  last,  thou  shalt  aid  us  with  counsel  and  hand 
To  drive  the  Frank  robber  from  Palestine's  land ; 
For  my  lord  and  my  love  then  Count  Albert  I'll  take, 
When  all  this  is  accomplish'd  for  Zulema's  sake." 

He  has  thrown  by  his  helmet,  and  cross-handled  sword, 
Renouncing  his  knighthood,  denying  his  Lord  ; 
He  has  ta'en  the  green  caftan,  and  turban  put  on, 
For  the  love  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

And  in  the  dread  cavern,  deep  deep  under  ground, 
Which  fifty  steel  gates  and  steel  portals  surround, 
He  has  watch'd  until  daybreak,  but  sight  saw  he  none, 
Save  the  flame  burning  bright  on  its  altar  of  stone. 

Amazed  was  the  Princess,  the  Soldan  amazed, 
Sore  murmur'd  the  priests  as  on  Albert  they  gazed ; 
They  search'd  all  his  garments,  and,  under  his  weeds, 
They  found,  and  took  from  him,  his  rosary  beads. 

Again  in  the  cavern,  deep  deep  under  ground, 

He  watch'd  the  lone  night,  while  the  winds  whistled 

round ; 
Far  off  was  their  murmur,  it  came  not  more  nigh, 
The  flame  burn'd  unmoved,  and  nought  else  did  he  spy. 

Loud  murmur'd  the  priests,  and  amazed  was  the  King, 
While  many  dark  spells  of  their  witchcraft  they  sing; 
They  search'd  Albert's  body,  and,  lo !  on  his  breast 
Was  the  sign  of  the  Cross,  by  his  father  impress'd. 

The  priests  they  erase  it  with  care  and  with  pain, 
And  the  recreant  return'd  to  the  cavern  again ; 
But,  as  he  descended,  a  whisper  there  fell : 
It  was  his  good  angel,  who  bade  him  farewell ! 

High  bristled  his  hair,  his  heart  flutter'd  and  beat, 
And  he  turn'd  him  five  steps,  half  resolved  to  retreat; 
But  his  heart  it  was  harden'd,  his  purpose  was  gone, 
When  he  thought  of  the  maiden  of  fair  Lebanon. 

Scarce  pass'd  he  the  archway,  the  threshold  scarce  trod, 
When  the  winds  from  the  four  points  of  heaven  were 
abroad ; 


614 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


They  made  each  steel  portal  to  rattle  and  ring, 
And,  borne  on  the  blast,  came  the  dread  Fire-King. 

Full  sore  rock'd  the  cavern  whene'er  he  drew  nigh, 
The  fire  on  the  altar  blazed  bickering  and  high ; 
In  volcanic  explosions  the  mountains  proclaim 
The  dreadful  approach  of  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

Unmeasured  in  height,  undistinguish'd  in  form, 
His  breath  it  was  lightning,  his  voice  it  was  storm ; 
I  ween  the  stout  heart  of  Count  Albert  was  tame, 
When  he  saw  in  his  terrors  the  Monarch  of  Flame. 

In  his  hand  a  broad  falchion  blue-glimmer'd  through 

smoke, 
And  Mount  Lebanon  shook  as  the  monarch  he  spoke : 
"  With  this  brand  shalt  thou  conquer,  thus  long,  and 

no  more, 
Till  thou  bend  to  the  Cross,  and  the  Virgin  adore." 

The  cloud-shrouded  Arm   gives   the  weapon ;    and 

see! 
The  recreant  receives  the  charm'd  gift  on  his  knee : 
The  thunders  growl  distant,  and  faint  gleam  the  fires, 
As,  borne  on  the  whirlwind,  the  phantom  retires. 

Count  Albert  has  arm'd  him  the  Paynim  among, 
Though  his  heart  it  was  false,  yet  his  arm  it  was  strong; 
And  the  Red  Cross  wax'd  faint,  and  the  Crescent 

came  on, 
From  the  day  he  commanded  on  Mount  Lebanon. 

From  Lebanon's  forests  to  Galilee's  wave, 

The  sands  of  Samaar  drank  the  blood  of  the  brave ; 

Till  the  Knights  of  the  Temple,  and  Knights  of  Saint 

John, 
With  Salem's  King  Baldwin,  against  him  came  on. 

The  war-cymbals  clatter'd,  the  trumpets  replied, 
The  lances  were  couch'd,  and  they  closed  on  each 

side; 
And  horsemen  and  horses  Count  Albert  o'erthrew, 
Till  he  pierced  the  thick  tumult  King  Baldwin  unto. 

Against  the  charm'd  blade  which  Count  Albert  did 

wield, 
The  fence  had  been  vain  of  the  King's  Red  Cross 

shield ; 
But  a  Page  thrust  him  forward  the  monarch  before, 
And  cleft  the  proud  turban  the  renegade  wore. 

So  fell  was  the  dint,  that  Count  Albert  stoop'd  low 
Before  the  cross'd  shield,  to  his  Bteel  saddlebow; 
And  scarce  had  he  bent  to  the  Red  Cross  his  head, — 
"Bonne  Grace,  Notre  Dame!"  he  unwittingly  said. 

Sore  sigh'd  the  charm'd  sword,  for  its  virtue  was  o'er, 
It  sprung  from  his  grasp,  and  was  never  seen  more; 
But  true  men  have  said  that  the  lightning's  red  wing 
Did  waft  back  the  brand  to  the  dread  Fire-King. 


He  clench'd  his  set  teeth,  and  his  gauntleted  hand  ; 
He  stretch'd,  with  one  buffet,  that  Page  on  the  strand; 
As  back  from  the  stripling  the  broken  casque  roll'd, 
You  might  see  the  blue  eyes,  and  the  ringlets  of  gold. 

Short  time  had  Count  Albert  in  horror  to  stare 

On  those  death-swimming  eyeballs,  and  blood-clotted 

hair ; 
For  down  came  the  Templars,  like  Cedron  in  flood, 
And  dyed  their  long  lances  in  Saracen  blood. 

The  Saracens,  Curdmans,  and  Ishmaelites  yield 
To  the  scallop,  the  saltier,  and  crossleted  shield ; 
And  the  eagles  were  gorged  with  the  infidel  dead, 
From  Bethsaida's  fountains  to  Naphtali's  head. 

The  battle  is  over  on  Bethsaida's  plain. — 
Oh,  who  is  yon  Paynim  lies  stretch'd  'mid  the  slain  ? 
And  who  is  yon  Page  lying  cold  at  his  knee  ? — 
Oh,  who  but  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie ! 

The  Lady  was  buried  in  Salem's  bless'd  bound, 
The  Count  he  was  left  to  the  vulture  and  hound : 
Her  soul  to  high  mercy  Our  Lady  did  bring ; 
His  went  on  the  blast  to  the  dread  Fire-King. 

Yet  many  a  minstrel,  in  harping,  can  tell 
How  the  Red  Cross  it  conquer'd,  the  Crescent  it  fell : 
And  lords  and  gay  ladies  have  sigh'd,  'mid  their  glee, 
At  the  tale  of  Count  Albert  and  fair  Rosalie. 


jFretiericK  antJ  Eltce. 


1801. 


This  tale  is  imitated,  rather  than  translated,  from  a 
fragment  introduced  in  Goethe's  Claudina  von  Villa 
Jit /In,  where  it  is  sung  by  a  member  of  a  gang  of  ban- 
ditti, to  engage  the  attention  of  the  family  while  his 
companions  break  into  the  castle.  It  owes  any  little 
merit  it  may  possess  to  my  friend  Mr.  Lewis,  to  whom 
it  was  sent  in  an  extremely  rude  state ;  and  who,  after 
some  material  improvements,  published  it  in  his  Tales 
of  Wonder. 


Frederick  leaves  the  land  of  France, 
Homeward  hastes  his  steps  to  measure, 

Careless  casts  the  parting  glance 
On  the  scene  of  former  pleasure. 

Joying  in  his  prancing  steed, 
Keen  to  prove  his  untried  blade, 

Hope's  gay  dreams  the  soldier  lead 
Over  mountain,  moor,  and  glade. 


BALLADS   FEOM   THE   GEEMAN. 


615 


Helpless,  ruin'd,  left  forlorn, 

Lovely  Alice  wept  alone ; 
Mourn'd  o'er  love's  fond  contract  torn, 

Hope,  and  peace,  and  honor  flown. 

Mark  her  breast's  convulsive  throbs! 

See,  the  tear  of  anguish  flows!— 
Mingling  soon  with  bursting  sobs, 

Loud  the  laugh  of  frenzy  rose. 

Wild  she  cursed,  and  wild  she  pray'd ; 

Seven  long  days  and  nights  are  o'er ; 
Death  in  pity  brought  his  aid, 

As  the  village  bell  struck  four. 

Far  from  her,  and  far  from  France, 
Faithless  Frederick  onward  rides ; 

Marking,  blithe,  the  morning's  glance 
Mantling  o'er  the  mountain's  sides. 

Heard  ye  not  the  boding  sound, 
As  the  tongue  of  yonder  tower, 

Slowly,  to  the  hills  around, 
Told  the  fourth,  the  fated  hour  ? 

Starts  the  steed,  and  snuffs  the  air, 
Yet  no  cause  of  dread  appears ; 

Bristles  high  the  rider's  hair, 
Struck  with  strange  mysterious  fears. 

Desperate,  as  his  terrors  rise, 
In  the  steed  the  spur  he  hides ; 

From  himself  in  vain  he  flies ; 
Anxious,  restless,  on  he  rides. 

Seven  long  days,  and  seven  long  nights, 
Wild  he  wander'd,  woe  the  while ! 

Ceaseless  care,  and  causeless  fright, 
Urge  his  footsteps  many  a  mile. 

Dark  the  seventh  sad  night  descends ; 

Rivers  swell,  and  rain-streams  pour; 
While  the  deafening  thunder  lends 

All  the  terrors  of  its  roar. 

Weary,  wet,  and  spent  with  toil, 

Where  his  head  shall  Frederick  hide? 

Where,  but  in  yon  ruin'd  aisle, 
By  the  lightning's  flash  descried. 

To  the  portal,  dank  and  low, 

Fast  his  steed  the  wanderer  bound : 

Down  a  ruin'd  staircase  slow, 

Next  his  darkling  way  he  wound. 

Long  drear  vaults  before  him  lie ! 

Glimmering  lights  are  seen  to  glide ! — 
"  Blessed  Mary,  hear  my  cry ! 

Deign  a  sinner's  steps  to  guide !" 


Often  lost  their  quivering  beam, 
Still  the  lights  move  slow  before, 

Till  they  rest  their  ghastly  gleam 
Itight  against  an  iron  door. 

Thundering  voices  from  within, 
Mix'd  with  peals  of  laughter,  rose ; 

As  they  fell,  a  solemn  strain 
Lent  its  wild  and  wondrous  close ! 

Midst  the  din  he  seem'd  to  hear 
Voice  of  friends,  by  death  removed  ;- 

Well  he  knew  that  solemn  air, 
'Twas  the  lay  that  Alice  loved. — 

Hark !  for  now  a  solemn  knell 

Four  times  on  the  still  night  broke ; 

Four  times,  at  its  deaden'd  swell, 
Echoes  from  the  ruins  spoke. 

As  the  lengthen'd  clangors  die, 

Slowly  opes  the  iron  door ! 
Straight  a  banquet  met  his  eye, 

But  a  funeral's  form  it  wore ! 

Coffins  for  the  seats  extend ; 

All  with  black  the  board  was  spread ; 
Girt  by  parent,  brother,  friend, 

Long  since  number'd  with  the  dead ! 

Alice,  in  her  grave-clothes  bound, 
Ghastly  smiling,  points  a  seat; 

All  arose,  with  thundering  sound ; 
All  the  expected  stranger  greet. 

High  their  meagre  arms  they  wave, 
Wild  their  notes  of  welcome  swell  :— 

"  Welcome,  traitor,  to  the  grave ! 
Perjured,  bid  the  light  farewell!" 


Cf)e  battle  of  Sempacf). 


1818. 


These  verses  are  a  literal  translation  of  an  ancient 
Swiss  ballad  upon  the  battle  of  Sempach,  fought  9th 
July,  1386,  being  the  victory  by  which  the  Swiss  can- 
tons established  their  independence;  the  author, 
Albert  Tchudi,  denominated  the  Souter,  from  his  pro- 
fession of  a  shoemaker.  He  was  a  citizen  of  Lucerne, 
esteemed  highly  among  his  countrymen,  both  for  his 
powers  as  a  Meister-Singer,  or  minstrel,  and  his  cour- 
age as  a  soldier;  so  that  he  might  share  the  praise 
conferred  by  Collins  on  ^Eschylus,  that — 

"  Not  alone  he  nursed  the  poet's  flame, 

But  reach'd  from  Virtue's  hand  the  patriot  steel." 


616 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  circumstance  of  their  being  written  by  a  poet 
returning  from  the  well-fought  field  he  describes,  and 
in  which  his  country's  fortune  was  secured,  may  con- 
fer on  Tchudi's  verses  an  interest  which  they  are  not 
entitled  to  claim  from  their  poetical  merit.  But  ballad 
poetry,  the  more  literally  it  is  translated,  the  more  it 
loses  its  simplicity,  without  acquiring  either  grace  or 
strength ;  and,  therefore,  some  of  the  faults  of  the 
verses  must  be  imputed  to  the  translator's  feeling  it  a 
duty  to  keep  as  closely  as  possible  to  his  original.  The 
various  puns,  rude  attempts  at  pleasantry,  and  dis- 
proportioned  episodes,  must  be  set  down  to  Tchudi's 
account,  or  to  the  taste  of  his  age. 

The  military  antiquary  will  derive  some  amusement 
from  the  minute  particulars  which  the  martial  poet 
has  recorded.  The  mode  in  which  the  Austrian  men- 
at-arms  received  the  charge  of  the  Swiss  was  by 
forming  a  phalanx,  which  they  defended  with  their 
long  lances.  The  gallant  Winkelreid,  who  sacrificed 
his  own  life  by  rushing  among  the  spears,  clasping 
in  his  arms  as  many  as  he  could  grasp,  and  thus  open- 
ing a  gap  in  those  iron  battalions,  is  celebrated  in 
Swiss  history.  When  fairly  mingled  together,  the 
unwieldy  length  of  their  weapons,  and  cumbrous 
weight  of  their  defensive  armor,  rendered  the  Aus- 
trian men-at-arms  a  very  unequal  match  for  the  light- 
armed  mountaineers.  The  victories  obtained  by  the 
Swiss  over  the  German  chivalry,  hitherto  deemed  as 
formidable  on  foot  as  on  horseback,  led  to  important 
changes  in  the  art  of  war.  The  poet  describes  the 
Austrian  knights  and  squires  as  cutting  the  peaks 
from  their  boots  ere  they  could  act  upon  foot,  in  allu- 
Bion  to  an  inconvenient  piece  of  foppery,  often  men- 
tioned in  the  middle  ages.  Leopold  III.,  Archduke 
of  Austria,  called  "  the  handsome  man-at-arms,"  was 
slain  in  the  battle  of  Sempach,  with  the  flower  of  his 
chivalry. 


THE  BATTLE  OF  SEMPACH.1 

'Twas  when  among  our  linden-trees 

The  bees  had  housed  in  swarms 
(And  gray-hair'd  peasants  say  that  these 

Betoken  foreign  arms), 

Then  look'd  we  down  to  Willisow, 

The  land  was  all  in  flame ; 
We  knew  the  Archduke  Leopold 

With  all  his  army  came. 

1  This  translation  first  appeared  in  Blackwood's  Edinburgh 
Magazine  for  February,  1818.— Ed. 

a  All  the  Swiss  clergy  who  were  able  to  bear  arms  fought 
in  this  patriotic  war. 

8  In  the  original,  ITaasenstem,  or  Hare-stone. 

4  This  seems  to  allude  to  the  preposterous  fashion,  during    | 


The  Austrian  nobles  made  their  vow, 

So  hot  their  heart  and  bold, 
"  On  Switzer  carles  we'll  trample  now 

And  slay  both  young  and  old." 

With  clarion  loud  and  banner  proud, 

From  Zurich  on  the  lake, 
In  martial  pomp  and  fair  array 

Their  onward  march  they  make. 

"  Now  list,  ye  lowland  nobles  all — 

Ye  seek  the  mountain  strand, 
Nor  wot  ye  what  shall  be  your  lot 

In  such  a  dangerous  land. 

"  I  rede  ye,  shrive  ye  of  your  sins 

Before  ye  farther  go ; 
A  skirmish  in  Helvetian  hills 

May  send  your  souls  to  woe." — 

"  But  where  now  shall  we  find  a  priest 

Our  shrift  that  he  may  hear?" — 
" The  Switzer  priest2  has  ta'en  the  field; 

He  deals  a  penance  drear. 

"  Right  heavily  upon  your  head 

He'll  lay  his  hand  of  steel ; 
And  with  his  trusty  partisan 

Your  absolution  deal." 

'Twas  on  a  Monday  morning  then, 

The  corn  was  steep'd  in  dew, 
And  merry  maids  had  sickles  ta'en, 

When  the  host  to  Sempach  drew. 

The  stalwart  men  of  fair  Lucerne 

Together  have  they  join'd ; 
The  pith  and  core  of  manhood  stern, 

Was  none  cast  looks  behind. 

It  was  the  Lord  of  Hare-castle, 

And  to  the  Duke  he  said, 
"  Yon  little  band  of  brethren  true 

Will  meet  us  undismay'd." — 

"  Oh,  Hare-castle,3  thou  heart  of  hare !" 

Fierce  Oxenstern  replied. — 
"  Shall  see  then  how  the  game  will  fare," 

The  taunted  knight  replied. 

There  was  lacing  then  of  helmets  bright, 

And  closing  ranks  amain  ; 
The  peaks  they  hew'd  from  their  boot-points 

Might  wellnigh  load  a  wain.* 

the  middle  ages,  of  wearing  boots  with  the  points  or  peaks 
turned  upwards,  and  so  long  that  in  some  cases  they  were 
fastened  to  the  knees  of  the  wearer  with  small  chains.  When 
they  alighted  to  fight  upon  foot,  it  would  seem  that  the  Aus- 
trian  gentlemen  found  it  necessary  to  cut  off  these  peaks, 
that  they  might  move  with  the  necessary  activity. 


BALLADS   FROM  THE   GEEMAN. 


617 


And  thus  they  to  each  other  said, 

"  Yon  handful  down  to  hew 
Will  be  no  boastful  tale  to  tell, 

The  peasants  are  so  few." 

The  gallant  Swiss  Confederates  there 

They  pray'd  to  God  aloud, 
And  he  display'd  his  rainbow  fair 

Against  a  swarthy  cloud. 

Then  heart  and  pulse  throbb'd  more  and  more 

With  courage  firm  and  high, 
And  down  the  good  Confederates  bore 

On  the  Austrian  chivalry. 

The  Austrian  Lion1  'gan  to  growl, 

And  toss  his  mane  and  tail ; 
And  ball,  and  shaft,  and  crossbow  bolt, 

Went  whistling  forth  like  hail. 

Lance,  pike,  and  halbert,  mingled  there, 

The  game  was  nothing  sweet ; 
The  boughs  of  many  a  stately  tree 

Lay  shiver'd  at  their  feet. 

The  Austrian  men-at-arms  stood  fast; 

So  close  their  spears  they  laid, 
It  chafed  the  gallant  Winkelreid, 

Who  to  his  comrades  said — 

"  I  have  a  virtuous  wife  at  home, 

A  wife  and  infant  son  ; 
I  leave  them  to  my  country's  care, — 

This  field  shall  soon  be  won. 

"  These  nobles  lay  their  spears  right  thick, 

And  keep  full  firm  array, 
Yet  shall  my  charge  their  order  break, 

And  make  my  brethren  way." 

He  rush'd  against  the  Austrian  band, 

In  desperate  career, 
And  with  his  body,  breast,  and  hand, 

Bore  down  each  hostile  spear. 

Four  lances  splinter'd  on  his  crest, 

Six  shiver'd  in  his  side ; 
Still  on  the  serried  files  he  press'd — 

He  broke  their  ranks,  and  died. 

This  patriot's  self-devoted  deed 

First  tamed  the  Lion's  mood, 
And  the  four  forest  cantons  freed 

From  thraldom  by  his  blood. 

Right  where  his  charge  had  made  a  lane, 
His  valiant  comrades  burst, 

1  A  pun  on  the  archduke's  name,  Leopold. 


With  sword,  and  axe,  and  partisan, 
And  hack,  and  stab,  and  thrust. 

The  daunted  Lion  'gan  to  whine, 

And  granted  ground  amain ; 
The  Mountain  Bull2  he  bent  his  brows, 

And  gored  his  sides  again. 

Then  lost  was  banner,  spear,  and  shield, 

At  Senipach  in  the  flight  ; 
The  cloister  vaults  at  Konig's-field 

Hold  many  an  Austrian  knight. 

It  was  the  Archduke  Leopold, 

So  lordly  would  he  ride, 
But  he  came  against  the  Switzer  churls, 

And  they  slew  him  in  his  pride. 

The  heifer  said  unto  the  bull, 

"And  shall  I  not  complain? 
There  came  a  foreign  nobleman 

To  milk  me  on  the  plain. 

"  One  thrust  of  thine  outrageous  horn 

Has  gall'd  the  knight  so  sore, 
That  to  the  churchyard  he  is  borne, 

To  range  our  gleus  no  more." 

An  Austrian  noble  left  the  stour, 

And  fast  the  flight  'gan  take ; 
And  he  arrived  in  luckless  hour 

At  Sempach  on  the  lake. 

He  and  his  squire  a  fisher  call'd 

(His  name  was  Hans  Von  Rot), 
"  For  love,  or  meed,  or  charity, 

Receive  us  in  thy  boat !" 

Their  anxious  call  the  fisher  heard, 

And,  glad  the  meed  to  win, 
His  shallop  to  the  shore  he  steer'd, 

And  took  the  flyers  in. 

And  while  against  the  tide  and  wiud 

Hans  stoutly  rowed  his  way, 
The  noble  to  his  follower  sign'd 

He  should  the  boatman  slay. 

The  fisher's  back  was  to  them  turn'd, 

The  scpiire  his  dagger  drew, 
Hans  saw  his  shadow  in  the  lake, 

The  boat  he  overthrew. 

He  whelm'd  the  boat,  and  as  they  strove, 

He  stunn'd  them  with  his  oar : 
"  Now,  drink  ye  deep,  my  gentle  sirs, 

You'll  ne'er  stab  boatman  more. 

2  A  pun  on  the  Urus,  or  wild  bull,  which  gives  name  to  the 
canton  of  Ury. 


618 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


"  Two  gilded  fishes  in  the  lake 
This  morning  have  I  caught ; 

Their  silver  scales  may  much  avail, 
Their  carrion  flesh  is  naught." 

It  was  a  messenger  of  woe 
lias  sought  the  Austrian  land : 

"Ah!  gracious  lady,  evil  news! 
My  lord  lies  on  the  strand. 

"At  Sempach,  on  the  battle-field, 
His  bloody  corpse  lies  there." — 

"Ah,  gracious  God!"  the  lady  cried, 
"  What  tidings  of  despair !" 

Now  would  you  know  the  minstrel  wight 

Who  sings  of  strife  so  stern, 
Albert  the  Souter  is  he  hight, 

A  burgher  of  Lucerne. 

A  merry  man  was  he,  I  wot, 

The  night  he  made  the  lay, 
Returning  from  the  bloody  spot 

Where  God  had  judged  the  day. 


&f)e  i&ofile  iHoringet. 

AN  ANCIENT  BALLAD. 
TBANSLATED  FEOM  THE  GEEMAN. 


1819.1 


The  original  of  these  verses  occurs  in  a  collection 
of  German  popular  songs,  entitled  Sammlung  Dcut- 
schen  Volkslieder,  Berlin,  1807,  published  by  Messrs. 
Busching  &  Von  der  Hagen,  both,  and  more  especi- 
ally the  last,  distinguished  for  their  acquaintance  with 
the  ancient  popular  poetry  and  legendary  history  of 
Germany. 

In  the  German  editor's  notice  of  the  ballad,  it  is 
stated  to  have  been  extracted  from  a  manuscript 
Chronicle  of  Nicolaus  Thomann,  chaplain  to  Saint 
Leonard  in  Weisenhorn,  which  bears  the  date  1533 ; 
and  the  song  is  stated  by  the  author  to  have  been 
generally  sung  in  the  neighborhood  at  that  early 
period.  Thomann,  as  quoted  by  the  German  editor, 
seems  faithfully  to  have  believed  the  event  he  nar- 
rates. He  quotes  tombstones  and  obituaries  to  prove 
the  existence  of  the  personages  of  the  ballad,  and  dis- 
covers that  there  actually  died,  on  the  11th  May,  1349, 
a  Lady  Von  Neuffen,  Countess  of  Marstetten,  who 

i  The  translation  of  the  "Nohle  Moringer"  appeared  ori- 
ginally in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  for  1816  (published 
in  1819).  It  was  composed  daring  Sir  Walter  Scott's  severe 
and  alarming  illness  of  April,  1819,  and  dictated,  in  the  inter- 


was,  by  birth,  of  the  house  of  Moringer.  This  lady 
he  supposes  to  have  been  Moringer's  daughter,  men- 
tioned in  the  ballad.  He  quotes  the  same  authority 
for  the  death  of  Berckhold  Von  Neuffen,  in  the  same 
year.  The  editors,  on  the  whole,  seem  to  embrace  the 
opinion  of  Professor  Smith  of  Ulm,  who,  from  the 
language  of  the  ballad,  ascribes  its  date  to  the  fifteenth 
century. 

The  legend  itself  turns  on  an  incident  not  peculiar 
to  Germany,  and  which,  perhaps,  was  not  unlikely  to 
happen  in  more  instances  than  one,  when  crusaders 
abode  long  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  their  disconsolate 
dames  received  no  tidings  of  their  fate.  A  story,  very 
similar  in  circumstances,  but  without  the  miraculous 
machinery  of  Saint  Thomas,  is  told  of  one  of  the  an- 
cient Lords  of  Haigh  Hall  in  Lancashire,  the  patri- 
monial inheritance  of  the  late  Countess  of  Balcarras ; 
and  the  particulars  are  represented  on  stained  glass 
upon  a  window  in  that  ancient  manor-house.2 


THE  NOBLE  MORINGER. 

I. 

Oh,  will  you  hear  a  knightly  tale  of  old  Bohemian 

day? 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  in  wedlock  bed  he  lay ; 
He  halsed  and  kiss'd  his  dearest  dame,  that  was  as 

sweet  as  May, 
And  said,  "  Now,  lady  of  my  heart,  attend  the  words 

I  say. 

II. 

"  'Tis  I  have  vow'd  a  pilgrimage  unto  a  distant  shrine, 
And  I  must  seek  Saint  Thomas-land,  and  leave  the 

land  that's  mine ; 
Here  shalt  thou  dwell  the  while  in  state,  so  thou  wilt 

pledge  thy  fay 
That  thou  for  my  return  wilt  wait  seven  twelvemonths 

and  a  day." 

III. 

Then  out  and  spoke  that  Lady  bright,  sore  troubled 

in  her  cheer, 
"Now  tell  me  true,  thou  noble  knight,  what  order 

takest  thou  here ; 
And  who  shall  lead  thy  vassal  band,  and  hold  thy 

lordly  sway, 
And  be  thy  Lady's  guardian  true  when  thou  art  far 

away  ?" 

IV. 

Out  spoke  the  noble  Moringer,  "  Of  that  have  thou 

no  care, 
There's  many  a  valiant  gentleman  of  me  holds  living 

fair; 

vals  of  exquisite  pain,  to  his  daughter  Sophia  and  his  friend 
William  Laidlaw— Ed.    See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vi.  p.  71. 

2  See  introduction  to  "The  Betrothed,"   Waverley  Novels, 
vol.  xxxvii. 


BALLADS    FROM    THE  GEEMAN. 


619 


The  trustiest  shall  rule  my  land,  my  vassals,  and  my 

state, 
And  be  a  guardian  tried  and  true  to  thee,  my  lovely 

mate. 

V. 

"  As  Christian  man,  I  needs  must  keep  the  vow  which 

I  have  plight, 
When  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  remember  thy  true 

knight ; 
And  cease,  my  dearest  dame,  to  grieve,  for  vain  were 

sorrow  now, 
But  grant  thy  Moringer  his  leave,  since  God  hath 

heard  his  vow." 

VI. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  from  bed  he  made  him 

boune, 
And  met  him  there  his  Chamberlain,  with  ewer  and 

with  gown : 
He  flung  the  mantle  on  his  back,  'twas  furr'd  with 

miniver, 
He  dipp'd  his  hand  in  water  cold,  and  bathed  his 

forehead  fair. 

VII. 

"  Now  hear,"  he  said,  "  Sir  Chamberlain,  true  vassal 

art  thou  mine, 
And  such  the  trust  that  I  repose  in  that  proved  worth 

of  thine, 
For  seven  years  shalt  thou  rule  my  towers,  and  lead 

my  vassal  train, 
And  pledge  thee  for  my  Lady's  faith  till  I  return 

again." 

VIII. 

The  Chamberlain  was  blunt  and  true,  and  sturdily 
said  he, 

"  Abide,  my  Lord,  and  rule  your  own,  and  take  this 
rede  from  me : 

That  woman's  faith's  a  brittle  trust — Seven  twelve- 
months didst  thou  say  ? 

I'll  pledge  me  for  no  lady's  truth  beyond  the  seventh 
fair  day." 

IX. 

The  noble  Baron  turn'd  him  round,  his  heart  was  full 

of  care ; 
His  gallant  Esquire  stood  him  nigh,  he  was  Marstet- 

ten's  heir, 
To  whom  he  spoke  right  anxiously,  "Thou  trusty 

squire  to  me, 
Wilt  thou  receive  this  weighty  trust  when  I  am  o'er 

the  sea? 


"  To  watch  and  ward  my  castle  strong,  and  to  protect 

my  land, 
And  to  the  hunting  or  the  host  to  lead  my  vassal  band ; 


And  pledge  thee  for  my  Lady's  faith  till  seven  long 

years  are  gone, 
And  guard  her  as  Our  Lady  dear  was  guarded  by 

Saint  John." 

XL 

Marstetten's  heir  was  kind  and  true,  but  fiejsy,  hot, 

and  young, 
And  readily  he  answer  made  with  too  presumptuous 

tongue : 
"  My  noble  Lord,  cast  care  away,  and  on  your  journey 

wend, 
And  trust  this  charge  to  me  until  your  pilgrimage 

have  end. 

XII. 

"  Rely  upon  my  plighted  faith,  which  shall  be  truly 

tried, 
To  guard  your  lands,  and  ward  your  towers,  and  with 

your  vassals  ride ; 
And  for  your  lovely  Lady's  faith,  so  virtuous  and  so 

dear, 
I'll  gage  my  head  it  knows  no  change,  be  absent  thirty 

year." 

XIII. 

The  noble  Moringer  took  cheer  when  thus  he  heard 
him  speak, 

And  doubt  forsook  his  troubled  brow,  and  sorrow  left 
his  cheek ; 

A  long  adieu  he  bids  to  all — hoists  topsails,  and  away, 

And  wanders  in  Saint  Thomas-land  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day. 

XIV. 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  within  an  orchard  slept, 
When  on  the   Baron's  slumbering  sense  a  boding 

vision  crept; 
And  whisper'd  in  his  ear  a  voice,  "  'Tis  time,  Sir 

Knight,  to  wake, 
Thy  Lady  and  thy  heritage  another  master  take. 

XV. 

"  Thy  tower  another  banner  knows,  thy  steeds  another 
rein, 

And  stoop  them  to  another's  will  thy  gallant  vassal 
train ; 

And  she,  the  Lady  of  thy  love,  so  faithful  once  and  fair, 

This  night  within  thy  fathers'  hall  she  weds  Marstet- 
ten's heir." 

XVI. 

It  is  the  noble  Moringer  starts  up  and  tears  his  beard, 
"  Oh  would  that  I  had  ne'er  been  born !  what  tidings 

have  I  heard ! 
To  lose  my  lordship  and  my  lands  the  less  would  be 

my  care, 
But,  God !  that  e'er  a  squire  untrue  should  wed  my 

Lady  fair. 


620 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


XVII. 

"  Oh,  good  Saint  Thomas,  hear,"  he  pray'd,  "  my  pa- 
tron Saint  art  thou, 

A  traitor  robs  me  of  my  land  even  while  I  pay  my 
vow! 

My  wife  he  brings  to  infamy  that  was  so  pure  of 
.name, 

And  I  am  far  in  foreign  land,  and  must  endure  the 
shame." 

XVIII. 
It  was  the  good  Saint  Thomas,  then,  who  heard  his 

pilgrim's  prayer, 
And  sent  a  sleep  so  deep  and  dead  that  it  o'erpower'd 

his  care ; 
He  waked  in  fair  Bohemian  land  outstretch'd  beside 

a  rill, 
High  on  the  right  a  castle  stood,  low  on  the  left  a 

mill. 

XIX. 

The  Moringer  he  started  up  as  one  from  spell  un- 
bound, 

And  dizzy  with  surprise  and  joy  gazed  wildly  all 
around ; 

"I  know  my  fathers'  ancient  towers,  the  mill,  the 
stream  I  know, 

Now  blessed  be  my  patron  Saint  who  cheer'd  his 
pilgrim's  woe !" 

XX. 

He  leant  upon  his  pilgrim  staff,  and  to  the  mill  he 

drew, 
So  alter'd  was  his  goodly  form  that  none  their  master 

knew; 
The   Baron   to  the  miller  said,   "Good  friend,  for 

charity, 
Tell  a  poor  palmer  in  your  land  what  tidings  may 

there  be?" 

XXI. 

The  miller  answer'd   him  again,  "  He  knew  of  little 

news, 
Save  that  the  Lady  of  the  land  did  a  new  bridegroom 

choose ; 
Her  husband  died  in  distant  land,  such  is  the  constant 

word, 
His  death  sits  heavy  on  our  souls,  he  was  a  worthy 

Lord. 

XXII. 
"  Of  him  I  held  the  little  mill  which  wins  me  living 

free, 
God  rest  the  Baron  in  his  grave,  he  still  was  kind  to 

me! 
And  when   Saint   Martin's   tide  comes  round,   and 

millers  take  their  toll, 
The  priest  that  prays  for  Moringer  shall  have  both 

cope  and  stole." 


XXIII. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  to  climb  the  hill  be- 
gan, 

And  stood  before  the  bolted  gate  a  woe  and  weary 
man ; 

"  Now  help  me,  every  saint  in  heaven  that  can  com- 
passion take, 

To  gain  the  entrance  of  my  hall  this  woeful  match  to 
break." 

XXIV. 

His  very  knock  it  sounded  sad,  his  call  was  sad  and 

slow, 
For  heart  and  head,  and  voice  and  hand,  were  heavy 

all  with  woe ; 
And  to  the  warder  thus  he  spoke :  "  Friend,  to  thy 

Lady  say, 
A  pilgrim  from  Saint   Thomas-land  craves  harbor 

for  a  day. 

XXV. 

"I've  wander'd  many  a  weary  step,  my  strength  is 
wellnigh  done, 

And  if  she  turn  me  from  her  gate  I'll  see  no  morrow's 
sun; 

I  pray,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  a  pilgrim's  bed 
and  dole, 

And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer's,  her  once-loved  hus- 
band's soul." 

XXVI. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then  he  came  his  dame 

before : 
"A  pilgrim,  worn  and  travel-toil'd,  stands  at  the 

castle  door; 
And  prays,  for  sweet  Saint  Thomas'  sake,  for  harbor 

and  for  dole, 
And  for  the  sake  of  Moringer,  thy  noble  husband's 

soul." 

XXVII. 

The  Lady's  gentle  heart  was  moved:   "Do  up  the 

gate,"  she  said, 
"  And  bid  the  wanderer  welcome  be  to  banquet  and 

to  bed; 
And  since  he  names  my  husband's  name,  so  that  he 

lists  to  stay, 
These  towers  shall  be  his  harborage  a  twelvemonth 

and  a  day." 

XXVIII. 

It  was  the  stalwart  warder  then   undid  the  portal 

broad, 
It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  o'er  the  threshold 

strode ; 
"  And   have  thou  thanks,  kind  Heaven,"  he  said, 

"  though  from  a  man  of  sin, 
That  the  true  Lord  stands  here  once  more  his  castle 

gate  within." 


BALLADS   FKOM   THE   GERMAN. 


621 


XXIX. 

Then  up  the  halls  paced  Moringer,  his  step  was  sad 

and  slow ; 
It  sat  full  heavy  on  his  heart,  none  seem'd  their  Lord 

to  know ; 
He  sat  him  on  a  lowly  bench,  oppress'd  with  woe 

and  wrong, 
Short  space  he  sat,  but  ne'er  to  him  seem'd  little 

space  so  long. 

XXX. 

Now  spent  was  day,  and  feasting  o'er,  and  come  was 

evening  hour, 
The  time  was  nigh  when  new-made  brides  retire  to 

nuptial  bower ; 
"Our  castle's  wont,"  a  bridesman  said,  "hath  been 

both  firm  and  long, 
No  guest  to  harbor  in  our  halls  till  he  shall  chant  a 

song." 

XXXI. 

Then  spoke  the  youthful  bridegroom  there  as  he  sat 

by  the  bride, 
"  My  merry  minstrel   folk,"  quoth  he,  "  lay  shalm 

and  harp  aside ; 
Our  pilgrim  guest  must  sing  a  lay,  the  castle's  rule 

to  hold, 
And  well  his  guerdon  will  I  pay  with  garment  and 

with  gold." — 

XXXII. 

"  Chill  flows  the  lay  of  frozen  age,"  'twas  thus  the 

pilgrim  sung, 
"  Nor  golden  meed,  nor  garment  gay,  unlocks  his 

heavy  tongue ; 
Once  did  I  sit,  thou  bridegroom  gay,  at  board  as  rich 

as  thine, 
And  by  my  side  as  fair  a  bride  with  all  her  charms 

was  mine. 

XXXIII. 

"But  time  traced  furrows  on  my  face,  and  I  grew 

silver-hair'd, 
For  locks  of  brown,  and  cheeks  of  youth,  she  left  this 

brow  and  beard ; 
Once  rich,  but  now  a  palmer  poor,  I  tread  life's  latest 

stage, 
And  mingle  with  your  bridal  mirth  the  lay  of  frozen 

age." 

XXXIV. 

It  was  the  noble  Lady  there  this  woeful  lay  that  hears, 
And  for  the  aged  pilgrim's  grief  her  eye  was  dimm'd 

with  tears ; 
She  bade  her  gallant  cupbearer  a  golden  beaker  take, 
And  bear  it  to  the  palmer  poor  to  quaff  it  for  her  sake. 

XXXV. 

It  was  the  noble  Moringer  that  dropp'd  amid  the  wine 
A  bridal  ring  of  burning  gold  so  costly  and  so  fine : 


Now  listen,  gentles,  to  my  song,  it  tells  you  but  the 

sooth, 
'Twas  with  that  very  ring  of  gold  he  pledged  his 

bridal  truth. 

XXXVI. 

Then  to  the  cupbearer  he  said,  "  Do  me  one  kindly 

deed, 
And  should  my  better  days  return,  full  rich  shall  be 

thy  meed ; 
Bear  back  the  golden  cup  again  to  yonder  bride  so 

gay, 

And  crave  her  of  her  courtesy  to  pledge  the  palmer 
gray." 

XXXVII. 

The  cupbearer  was  courtly  bred,  nor  was  the  boon 

denied ; 
The  golden  cup  he  took  again,  and  bore  it  to  the 

bride : 
"  Lady,"  he  said,  "  your  reverend  guest  sends  this, 

and  bids  me  pray 
That,  in  thy  noble  courtesy,  thou  pledge  the  palmer 

gray." 

XXXVIII. 

The  ring  hath  caught  the  Lady's  eye,  she  views  it 
close  and  near, 

Then  might  you  hear  her  shriek  aloud,  "  The  Morin- 
ger is  here !" 

Then  might  you  see  her  start  from  seat,  while  tears 
in  torrents  fell, 

But  whether  'twas  for  joy  or  woe,  the  ladies  best  can 
tell. 

XXXIX. 

But  loud  she  utter'd  thanks  to  Heaven,  and  every 

saintly  power, 
That  had  return'd  the  Moringer  before  the  midnight 

hour ;  • 

And  loud  she  utter'd  vow  on  vow,  that  never  was 

there  bride 
That  had  like  her  preserved  her  troth,  or  been  so 

sorely  tried. 

XL. 

"Yes,  here  I  claim  the  praise,"  she  said,  "to  con- 
stant matrons  due, 

Who  keep  the  troth  that  they  have  plight,  so  stead- 
fastly and  true  ; 

For  count  the  term  howe'er  you  will,  so  that  you 
count  aright, 

Seven  twelvemonths  and  a  day  are  out  when  bells 
toll  twelve  to-night." 

XLI. 

It  was  Marstetten  then  rose  up,  his  falchion  there  he 

drew, 
He  kneel'd  before  the  Moringer,  and  down  his  weapon 

threw ; 


622 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  My  oath  and  knightly  faith  are  broke,"  these  were 

the  words  he  said, 
"  Then  take,  my  liege,  thy  vassal's  sword,  and  take 

thy  vassal's  head." 

XLII. 

The  noble  Moringer  he  smiled,  and  then  aloud  did 
say, 

"  He  gathers  wisdom  that  hath  roam'd  seven  twelve- 
months and  a  day ; 

My  daughter  now  hath  fifteen  years,  fame  speaks  her 
sweet  and  fair, 

I  give  her  for  the  bride  you  lose,  and  name  her  for 
my  heir. 

XLIII. 
"  The  young  bridegroom  hath  youthful  bride,  the  old 

bridegroom  the  old, 
Whose  faith  was  kept  till  term  and  tide  so  punctually 

were  told ; 
But  blessings  on  the  warder  kind  that   oped    my 

castle  gate, 
For  had  I  come  at  morrow  tide,  I  came  a  day  too 

late." 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  GOETHE. 

[The  Erl-King  is  a  goblin  that  haunts  the  Black 
Forest  in  Thuringia. — To  be  read  by  a  candle  partic- 
ularly long  in  the  snuff.] 

Oh  who  rides  by  night  thro'  the  woodland  so  wild  ? 
It  is  the  fond  father  embracing  his  child ; 
And  close  the  boy  nestles  within  his  loved  arm, 
To  hold  himself  fast,  and  to  keep  himself  warm. 
i . . . 

1  1797.  "  To  Miss  Christian  Rutherford. — I  send  a  goblin 
story.  You  see  I  have  not  altogether  lost  the  faculty  of 
rhyming.    I  assure  you  there  is  no  small  impudence  in 


"  Oh,  father,  see  yonder !  see  yonder !"  he  says. 
"  My  boy,  upon  what  dost  thou  fearfully  gaze  ?" — 
"Oh,   'tis  the   Erl-King,   with  his  crown  and  his 

shroud." — 
"  No,  my  son,  it  is  but  a  dark  wreath  of  the  cloud." 

( The  Erl-King  speaks.) 
"Oh  come  and  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  child; 
By  many  a  gay  sport  shall  thy  time  be  beguiled; 
My  mother  keeps  for  thee  full  many  a  fair  toy, 
And  many  a  fine  flower  shall  she  pluck  for  my  boy." 

"  Oh,  father,  my  father,  and  did  you  not  hear 
The  Erl-King  whisper  so  low  in  my  ear?" — 
"  Be  still,  my  heart's  darling — my  child,  be  at  ease ; 
It  was  but  the  wild  blast  as  it  suug  thro'  the  trees." 

Erl-King. 
" Oh  wilt  thou  go  with  me,  thou  loveliest  boy? 
My  daughter  shall  tend  thee  with  care  and  with  joy ; 
She  shall  bear  thee  so  lightly  thro'  wet  and  thro'  wild, 
And  press  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  sing  to  my  child." 

"  Oh,  father,  my  father,  and  saw  you  not  plain, 

The  Erl-King's  pale  daughter  glide  past  thro'  the 

rain?"— 
"  Oh  yes,  my  loved  treasure,  I  kneMr  it  full  soon ; 
It  was  the  gray  willow  that  danced  to  the  moon." 

Erl-King. 
"  Oh  come  and  go  with  me,  no  longer  delay, 
Or  else,  silly  child,  I  will  drag  thee  away." — 
"  Oh,  father !  oh,  father !  now,  now  keep  your  hold, 
The  Erl-King  has  seized  me — his  grasp  is  so  cold !" 

Sore  trembled  the  father;  he  spurr'd  thro'  the  wild, 
Clasping  close  to  his  bosom  his  shuddering  child ; 
He  reaches  his  dwelling  in  doubt  and  in  dread, 
But,  clasp'd  to  his  bosom,  the  infant  was  dead  ! 

attempting  a  version  of  that  ballad,  as  it  has  been  translated 
by  Lewis.  .  .  .  W.  S."—Life,  vol.  i.  p.  378. 


SLgttcal  anfc  Jttf  scellancoxis  pieces* 


IN  THE  ORDER  OF  THEIR  COMPOSITION  OR  PUBLICATION. 


FKOM  VIRGIL. 


1782.— ^Etat.  11. 


"Scott's  autobiography  tells  us  that  his  transla- 
tions in  verse  from  Horace  and  Virgil  were  often 
approved  by  Dr.  Adams  [Rector  of  the  High  School, 
Edinburgh].  One  of  these  little  pieces,  written  in  a 
weak  boyish  scrawl,  within  pencilled  marks  still  vis- 
ible, had  been  carefully  preserved  by  his  mother ;  it 
was  found  folded  up  in  a  cover,  inscribed  by  the  old 
lady— '  Hy  Walter's  first  lines,  1782.' "— Lockhart. 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  129. 

In  awful  ruins  Mtna,  thunders  nigh, 
And  sends  in  pitchy  whirlwinds  to  the  sky 
Black  clouds  of  smoke,  which  still  as  they  aspire, 
From  their  dark  sides  there  bursts  the  glowing  fire ; 
At  other  times  huge  balls  of  fire  are  toss'd, 
That  lick  the  stars,  and  in  the  smoke  are  lost : 
Sometimes  the  mount,  with  vast  convulsions  torn, 
Emits  huge  rocks,  which  instantly  are  borne 
With  loud  explosions  to  the  starry  skies, 
The  stones  made  liquid  as  the  huge  mass  flies, 
Then  back  again  with  greater  weight  recoils, 
While  Mtna,  thundering  from  the  bottom  boils. 


<©n  a  Cfjmrticr  Storm. 


1783.— JEtat.  12. 


"In  Scott's  introduction  to  the  'Lay,'  he  alludes 
to  an  original  effusion  of  these  '  schoolboy  days,' 
prompted  by  a  thunder-storm,  which  he  says  'was 

1  "  It  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  these  lines,  though  of 
the  class  to  which  the  poet  himself  modestly  ascribes  them, 
and  not  to  be  compared  with  the  efforts  of  Pope,  still  less  of 


much  approved  of,  until  a  malevolent  critic  sprung 
up  in  the  shape  of  an  apothecary's  blue-buskined 
wife,'  <fec.  &c.  These  lines,  and  another  short  piece, 
'  On  the  Setting  Sun,'  were  lately  found  wrapped  up 
in  a  cover,  inscribed  by  Dr.  Adam,  '  Walter  Scott, 
July,  1783.' " 

Loud  o'er  my  head  though  awful  thunders  roll, 
And  vivid  lightnings  flash  from  pole  to  pole, 
Yet  'tis  thy  voice,  my  God,  that  bids  them  fly, 
Thy  arm  directs  those  lightnings  through  the  sky. 
Then  let  the  good  thy  mighty  name  revere, 
And  harden'd  sinners  thy  just  vengeance  fear. 


<©n  tije  Setting  Sun. 


1783. 


Those  evening  clouds,  that  setting  ray, 
And  beauteous  tints,  serve  to  display 

Their  great  Creator's  praise ; 
Then  let  the  short-lived  thing  call'd  man, 
Whose  life's  comprised  within  a  span, 

To  him  his  homage  raise. 

We  often  praise  the  evening  clouds, 

And  tints  so  gay  and  bold, 
But  seldom  think  upon  our  God, 

Who  tinged  these  clouds  with  gold ! 1 


&l)t  Violtt. 


1797. 


It  appears  from  the  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  333,  that 
these  lines,  first  published  in  the  English  Minstrelsy, 

Cowley  at  the  same  period,  show,  nevertheless,  praiseworthy 
dexterity  for  a  boy  of  twelve." — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  i.  p.  131. 

(623) 


624 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


1810,  were  written  in  1797,  on  occasion  of  the  poet's 
disappointment  in  love. 

The  violet  in  her  greenwood  bower, 
Where  birchen  boughs  with  hazels  mingle, 

May  boast  itself  the  fairest  flower 
In  glen,  or  copse,  or  forest  dingle. 

Though  fair  her  gems  of  azure  hue, 

Beneath  the  dewdrop's  weight  reclining, 

I've  seen  an  eye  of  lovelier  blue, 

More  sweet  through  wat'ry  lustre  shining. 

The  summer  sun  that  dew  shall  dry, 
Ere  yet  the  day  be  past  its  morrow ; 

Nor  longer  in  my  false  love's  eye 
Remain'd  the  tear  of  parting  sorrow. 


WITH  FLOWERS  FROM  A  ROMAN  WALL. 


1797. 


Written  in  1797,  on  an  excursion  from  Gillsland, 
in  Cumberland.    See  Life,  vol.  i.  p.  365. 

Take  these  flowers  which,  purple  waving, 

On  the  ruin'd  rampart  grew, 
Where,  the  sons  of  freedom  braving, 

Rome's  imperial  standards  flew. 

Warriors  from  the  breach  of  danger 

Pluck  no  longer  laurels  there ; 
They  but  yield  the  passing  stranger 

Wild-flower  wreaths  for  Beauty's  hair. 


Jfragments. 


(l.)  iSotJjtoeU  (&m\U. 


1799. 


The  following  fragment  of  a  ballad  written  at  Both- 
well  Castle,  in  the  autumn  of  1799,  was  first  printed 
in  the  Life  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  28. 

When  fruitful  Clydesdale's  apple-bowers 

Are  mellowing  in  the  noon  ; 
When  sighs  round  Pembroke's  ruin'd  towers 

The  sultry  breath  of  June ; 

1  Sir  Aylmer  de  Valence,  Earl  of  Pembroke,  Edward  the 
First's  Governor  of  Scotland,  usually  resided  at  Bothwell 


When  Clyde,  despite  his  sheltering  wood, 

Must  leave  bis  channel  dry, 
And  vainly  o'er  the  limpid  flood 

The  angler  guides  his  fly, — 

If  chance  by  Bothwell's  lovely  braes 

A  wanderer  thou  hast  been, 
Or  hid  thee  from  the  summer's  blaze 

In  Blantyre's  bowers  of  green, 

Full  where  the  copsewood  opens  wild 

Thy  pilgrim  step  hath  staid, 
Where  Bothwell's  towers,  in  ruin  piled, 

O'erlook  the  verdant  glade ; 

And  many  a  tale  of  love  and  fear 
Hath  mingled  with  the  scene — 

Of  Bothwell's  banks  that  bloom'd  so  dear, 
And  Bothwell's  bonny  Jean. 

Oh,  if  with  rugged  minstrel  lays 

Unsated  be  thy  ear, 
And  thou  of  deeds  of  other  days 

Another  tale  wilt  hear, — 

Then  all  beneath  the  spreading  beech, 

Flung  careless  on  the  lea, 
The  Gothic  muse  the  tale  shall  teach 

Of  Bothwell's  sisters  three. 

Wight  Wallace  stood  on  Deckmont  head, 

He  blew  his  bugle  round, 
Till  the  wild  bull  in  Cadyow  wood 

Has  started  at  the  sound. 

St.  George's  cross,  o'er  Bothwell  hung, 

Was  waving  far  and  wide, 
And  from  the  lofty  turret  flung 

Its  crimson  blaze  on  Clyde  j 

And  rising  at  the  bugle  blast 
That  mark'd  the  Scottish  foe, 

Old  England's  yeomen  muster'd  fast,     - 
And  bent  the  Norman  bow. 

Tall  in  the  midst  Sir  Aylmer1  rose, 
Proud  Pembroke's  Earl  was  he — 
While" 


(2.)  QL\)t  SfjcpfjertTg  Caie.2 


1799. 


"  Another  imperfect  ballad,  in  which  he  had  meant 
to  blend  together  two  legends  familiar  to  every  reader 


Castle,  the  ruins  of  which  attest  the  magnificence  of  the 
invader. — En. 
2  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  31. 


LYKICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES 


625 


of  Scottish  history  and  romance,  has  been  found  in 
the  same  portfolio,  and  the  handwriting  proves  it  to 
be  of  the  same  early  date.— Lockhart,  vol.  ii.  p.  30. 


*  •  *  *  *  » 

And  ne'er  but  once,  my  son,  he  says, 

Was  yon  sad  cavern  trod, 
In  persecution's  iron  days, 

When  the  land  was  left  by  God. 

From  Bewlie  bog,  with  slaughter  red, 

A  wanderer  hither  drew, 
And  oft  he  stopt  and  turn'd  his  head, 

As  by  fits  the  night  wind  blew ; 

For  trampling  round  by  Cheviot  edge 

Were  heard  the  troopers  keen, 
And  frequent  from  the  Whitelaw  ridge 

The  death-shot  flash'd  between. 

The  moonbeams  through  the  misty  shower 

On  yon  dark  cavern  fell ; 
Through  the  cloudy  night  the  snow  gleam'd  white, 

Which  sunbeam  ne'er  could  quell. 

"  Yon  cavern  dark  is  rough  and  rude, 

And  cold  its  jaws  of  snow  ; 
But  more  rough  and  rude  are  the  men  of  blood 

That  hunt  my  life  below ! 

"  Yon  spell-bound  den,  as  the  aged  tell, 

Was  hewn  by  demon's  hands ; 
But  I  had  lourd1  melle  with  the  fiends  of  hell, 

Than  with  Clavers  and  his  baud." 

He  heard  the  deep-mouth'd  blood-hound  bark, 

He  heard  the  horses  neigh, 
He  plunged  him  in  the  cavern  dark, 

And  downward  sped  his  way. 

Now  faintly  down  the  winding  path 
Came  the  cry  of  the  faulting  hound, 

And  the  mutter'd  oath  of  baulked  wrath 
Was  lost  in  hollow  sound. 

He  threw  him  on  the  flinted  floor, 

And  held  his  breath  for  fear ; 
He  rose  and  bitter  cursed  his  foes, 

As  the  sounds  died  on  his  ear. 

"  Oh  bare  thine  arm,  thou  battling  Lord, 

For  Scotland's  wandering  band ; 
Dash  from  the  oppressor's  grasp  the  sword, 

And  sweep  him  from  the  land ! 

"  Forget  not  thou  thy  people's  groans  j 
From  dark  Dunnotter's  tower, 


1  Lourd,  i.  e.  liefer,  rather. 


40 


Mix'd  with  the  seafowl's  shrilly  moans, 
And  ocean's  bursting  roar ! 

"  Oh,  in  fell  Clavers'  hour  of  pride, 

Even  in  his  mightiest  day, 
As  bold  he  strides  through  conquest's  tide, 

Oh  stretch  him  on  the  clay ! 

"  His  widow  and  his  little  ones, 

Oh  may  their  tower  of  trust 
Remove  its  strong  foundation  stones, 

And  crush  them  in  the  dust !" — 

"  Sweet  prayers  to  me,"  a  voice  replied ; 

"Thrice  welcome,  guest  of  mine !" 
And  glimmering  on  the  cavern  side, 

A  light  was  seen  to  shine. 

An  aged  man,  in  amice  brown, 

Stood  by  the  wanderer's  side ; 
By  powerful  charm,  a  dead  man's  arm 

The  torch's  light  supplied. 

From  each  stiff  finger,  stretch'd  upright, 

Arose  a  ghastly  flame, 
That  waved  not  in  the  blast  of  night 

Which  through  the  cavern  came. 

Oh,  deadly  blue  was  that  taper's  hue, 

That  flamed  the  cavern  o'er, 
But  more  deadly  blue  was  the  ghastly  hue 

Of  his  eyes  who  the  taper  bore. 

He  laid  on  his  head  a  hand  like  lead, 

As  heavy,  pale,  and  cold — 
"  Vengeance  be  thine,  thou  guest  of  mine, 

If  thy  heart  be  firm  and  bold. 

"  But  if  faint  thy  heart,  and  caitiff  fear 

Thy  recreant  sinews  know, 
The  mountain  erne  thy  heart  shall  tear, 

Thy  nerves  the  hooded  crow." 

The  wanderer  raised  him  undismay'd : — 

"  My  soul,  by  dangers  steel'd, 
Is  stubborn  as  my  Border  blade, 

Which  never  knew  to  yield. 

"  And  if  thy  power  can  speed  the  hour 

Of  vengeance  on  my  foes, 
Theirs  be  the  fate,  from  bridge  and  gate, 

To  feed  the  hooded  crows." 

The  Brownie  look'd  him  in  the  face, 
And  his  color  fled  with  speed — 

"  I  fear  me,"  quoth  he,  "  uneath  it  will  be 
To  match  thy  word  and  deed. 

"  In  ancient  days,  when  English  bands 
Sore  ravaged  Scotland  fair, 


626 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  sword  and  shield  of  Scottish  land 
Was  valiant  Halbert  Kerr. 

"  A  warlock  loved  the  warrior  well, 

Sir  Michael  Scott  by  name, 
And  he  sought  for  his  sake  a  spell  to  make, 

Should  the  Southern  foemen  tame. 

" '  Look  thou,'  he  said,  '  from  Cessford  head, 

As  the  July  sun  sinks  low, 
And  when  glimmering  white  on  Cheviot's  height 

Thou  shalt  spy  a  wreath  of  snow, 
The  spell  is  complete  which  shall  bring  to  thy 
feet 

The  haughty  Saxon  foe.' 

"  For  many  a  year  wrought  the  wizard  here, 

In  Cheviot's  bosom  low, 
Till  the  spell  was  complete,  and  in  July's  heat 

Appear'd  December's  snow, 
But  Cessford's  Halbert  never  came 

The  wondrous  cause  to  know. 

"  For  years  before  in  Bowden  aisle 

The  warrior's  bones  had  lain, 
And  after  short  while,  by  female  guile, 

Sir  Michael  Scott  was  slain. 

"  But  me  and  my  brethren  in  this  cell 

His  mighty  charms  retain, — 
And  he  that  can  quell  the  powerful  spell 

Shall  o'er  broad  Scotland  reign." 

He  led  him  through  an  iron  door 

And  up  a  winding  stair, 
And  in  wild  amaze  did  the  wanderer  gaze 

On  the  sight  which  ojjen'd  there. 

Through  the  gloomy  night  flash'd  ruddy  light, — 

A  thousand  torches  glow ; 
The  cave  rose  high,  like  the  vaulted  sky, 

O'er  stalls  in  double  row. 

In  every  stall  of  that  endless  hall 

Stood  a  steed  in  barbing  bright; 
At  the  foot  of  each  steed,  all  arm'd  save  the  head, 

Lay  stretch'd  a  stalwart  knight. 

In  each  mail'd  hand  was  a  naked  brand  ; 

As  they  lay  on  the  black  bull's  hide, 
Each  visage  stern  did  upwards  turn, 

With  eyeballs  fix'd  and  wide. 

A  launcegay  strong,  full  twelve  ells  long, 

By  every  warrior  hung; 
At  each  pommel  there,  for  battle  yare, 

A  Jedwood  axe  was  slung. 

The  casque  hung  near  each  cavalier; 
The  plumes  waved  mournfully 


At  every  tread  which  the  wanderer  made 
Through  the  hall  of  gramarye. 

The  ruddy  beam  of  the  torches'  gleam 

That  glared  the  warriors  on, 
Reflected  light  from  armor  bright, 

In  noontide  splendor  shone. 

And  onward  seen  in  lustre  sheen, 

Still  lengthening  on  the  sight, 
Through  the  boundless  hall  stood  steeds  in  stall, 

And  by  each  lay  a  sable  knight. 

Still  as  the  dead  lay  each  horseman  dread, 

And  moved  nor  limb  nor  tongue ; 
Each  steed  stood  stiff  as  an  earthfast  cliff, 

Nor  hoof  nor  bridle  rung. 

No  sounds  through  all  the  spacious  hall 

The  deadly  still  divide, 
Save  where  echoes  aloof  from  the  vaulted  roof 

To  the  wanderer's  step  replied. 

At  length  before  his  wondering  eyes, 

On  an  iron  column  borne, 
Of  antique  shape,  and  giant  size, 

Appear'd  a  sword  and  horn. 

"  Now  choose  thee  here,"  quoth  his  leader, 

"  Thy  venturous  fortune  try  ; 
Thy  woe  and  weal,  thy  boot  and  bale, 

In  yon  brand  and  bugle  lie." 

To  the  fatal  brand  he  mounted  his  hand, 
But  his  soul  did  quiver  and  quail ; 

The  life-blood  did  start  to  his  shuddering  heart, 
And  left  him  wan  and  pale. 

The  brand  he  forsook,  and  the  horn  he  took 

To  'say  a  gentle  sound  ; 
But  so  wild  a  blast  from  the  bugle  brast, 

That  the  Cheviot  rock'd  around. 

From  Forth  to  Tees,  from  seas  to  seas, 

The  awful  bugle  rung ; 
On  Carlisle  wall,  and  Berwick  withal, 

To  arms  the  warders  sprung. 

With  clank  and  clang  the  cavern  rang, 

The  steeds  did  stamp  and  neigh  ; 
And  loud  was  the  yell  as  each  warrior  fell 

Sterte  up  with  a  hoop  and  cry. 

"  Woe,  woe,"  they  cried,  "  thou  caitiff  coward, 

That  ever  thou  wert  born  ! 
Why  drew  ye  not  the  knightly  sword 

Before  ye  blew  the  horn?" 

The  morning  on  the  mountain  shone, 
And  on  the  bloody  ground 


Hurl'd  from  the  cave  with  shiver'd  bone 
The  mangled  wretch  was  found. 

And  still  beneath  the  cavern  dread, 

Among  the  glidders  gray, 
A  shapeless  stone  with  lichens  spread 

Marks  where  the  wanderer  lay."1 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES.  627 

(4.)  Cfx>  Mettw's  rartitimg. 


(3.)  (Efjebtot. 


1799. 


Go  sit  old  Cheviot's  crest  below, 
And  pensive  mark  the  lingering  snow 

In  all  his  scaurs  abide, 
And  slow  dissolving  from  the  hill 
In  many  a  sightless,  soundless  rill, 

Feed  sparkling  Bowmont's  tide. 

Fair  shines  the  stream  by  bank  and  lea, 
As  wimpling  to  the  eastern  sea 

She  seeks  Till's  sullen  bed, 
Indenting  deep  the  fatal  plain 
Where  Scotland's  noblest,  brave  in  vain, 

Around  their  monarch  bled. 

And  westward  hills  on  hills  you  see, 
Even  as  old  Ocean's  mightiest  sea 

Heaves  high  her  waves  of  foam, 
Dark  and  snow-ridged  from  Cutsfeld's  wold 
To  the  proud  foot  of  Cheviot  roll'd, 

Earth's  mountain  billows  come. 


1  The  reader  may  be  interested  by  comparing  with  this  bal- 
lad the  author's  prose  version  of  part  of  its  legend,  as  given  in 
one  of  the  last  works  of  his  pen.  He  says,  in  the  "  Letters 
on  Demonology  and  Witchcraft,"  1830 :— "  Thomas  of  Ercil- 
doune,  during  his  retirement,  has  been  supposed,  from  time 
to  time,  to  be  levying  forces  to  take  the  field  in  some  crisis 
of  his  country's  fate.  The  story  has  often  been  told  of  a 
daring  horse-jockey  having  sold  a  black  horse  to  a  man  of 
venerable  and  antique  appearance,  who  appointed  the  re- 
markable hillock  upon  Eildon  Hills,  called  the  Lucken-hare, 
as  the  place  where,  at  twelve  o'clock  at  night,  he  should 
receive  the  price.  He  came,  his  money  was  paid  in  ancient 
coin,  and  he  was  invited  by  his  customer  to  view  his  res- 
idence. The  trader  in  horses  followed  his  guide  in  the  deep- 
est astonishment  through  several  long  ranges  of  stalls,  in  each 
of  which  a  horse  stood  motionless,  while  an  armed  warrior 
lay  equally  still  at  the  charger's  feet.  'All  these  men,'  said 
the  wizard  in  a  whisper,  '  will  awaken  at  the  battle  of  Sher- 
iffmuir.'     At  the  extremity  of  this  extraordinary  depot  hung 


1802. 


In  "  The  Reiver's  Wedding,"  the  poet  had  evident- 
ly designed  to  blend  together  two  traditional  stories 
concerning  his  own  forefathers,  the  Scotts  of  Harden, 
which  are  detailed  in  the  first  chapters  of  his  Life. 
The  biographer  adds : — "  I  know  not  for  what  reason, 
Lochwood,  the  ancient  fortress  of  the  Johustones  in 
Annandale,  has  been  substituted  for  the  real  locality 
of  his  ancestor's  drumhead  Wedding  Contract." — 
Life,  vol.  ii.  p.  94. 


Oh  will  ye  hear  a  mirthful  bourd  ? 

Or  will  ye  hear  of  courtesie  ? 
Or  will  hear  how  a  gallant  lord 

Was  wedded  to  a  gay  ladye  ? 

"  Ca'  out  the  kye,"  quo'  the  village  herd, 

As  he  stood  on  the  knowe, 
"  Ca'  this  ane's  nine  and  that  ane's  ten, 

And  bauld  Lord  William's  cow." — 

"Ah!  by  my  sooth!"  quoth  William  then, 

"And  stands  it  that  way  now, 
When  knave  and  churl  have  nine  and  ten, 

That  the  Lord  has  but  his  cow  ? 

"  I  swear  by  the  light  of  the  Michaelmas  moon, 

And  the  might  of  Mary  high, 
And  by  the  edge  of  my  braidsword  brown, 

They  shall  soon  say  Harden's  kye." 

He  took  a  bugle  frae  his  side, 
With  names  carved  o'er  and  o'er — 

Full  many  a  chief  of  meikle  pride 
That  Border  bugle  bore.2 


a  sword  and  a  horn,  which  the  prophet  pointed  out  to  the 
horse-dealer  as  containing  the  means  of  dissolving  the  spell. 
The  man,  in  confusion,  took  the  horn  and  attempted  to  wind 
it.  The  horses  instantly  started  in  their  stalls,  stamped,  and 
shook  their  bridles,  the  men  arose  and  clashed  their  armor, 
and  the  mortal,  terrified  at  the  tumult  he  had  excited,  dropped 
the  horn  from  his  hand.  A  voice  like  that  of  a  giant,  louder 
even  than  the  tumult  around,  pronounced  these  words: — 

'Woe  to  the  coward  that  ever  he  was  born, 

That  did  not  draw  the  sword  before  he  blew  the  horn.' 

A  whirlwind  expelled  the  horse-dealer  from  the  cavern,  the 
entrance  to  which  he  could  never  more  find.  A  moral  might 
be  perhaps  extracted  from  the  legend,  namely,  that  it  is  better 
to  be  armed  against  danger  before  bidding  it  defiance." 

2  This  celebrated  horn  is  still  in  the  possession  of  the  chief 
of  the  Harden  family,  Lord  Polwarth. 


628 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


He  blew  a  note  baith  sharp  and  hie, 
Till  rock  and  water  rang  around — 

Three  score  of  moss-troopers  and  three 
Have  mounted  at  that  bugle  sound. 

The  Michaelmas  moon  had  enter'd  then, 

And  ere  she  wan  the  full, 
Ye  might  see  by  her  light  in  Harden  glen 

A  bow  o'  kye  and  a  bassen'd  bull. 

And  loud  and  loud  in  Harden  tower 

The  quaigh  gaed  round  wi'  meikle  glee; 

For  the  English  beef  was  brought  in  bower, 
And  the  English  ale  flow'd  merrilie. 

And  mony  a  guest  from  Teviotside 

And  Yarrow's  Braes  was  there ; 
Was  never  a  lord  in  Scotland  wide 

That  made  more  dainty  fare. 

They  ate,  they  laugh'd,  they  sang  and  quaff'd, 

Till  nought  on  board  was  seen, 
When  knight  and  squire  were  boune  to  dine, 

But  a  spur  of  silver  sheen. 

Lord   William  has  ta'en  his  berry  brown 
steed — 

A  sore  shent  man  was  he ; 
"  Wait  ye,  my  guests,  a  little  speed — 

Weel  feasted  ye  shall  be." 

He  rode  him  down  by  Falsehope  burn, 

His  cousin  dear  to  see, 
With  him  to  take  a  riding  turn — 

Wat-draw-the-sword  was  he. 

And  when  he  came  to  Falsehope  glen, 

Beneath  the  trysting-tree, 
On  the  smooth  green  was  carved  plain,1 

"  To  Loch  wood  bound  are  we." 

"  Oh  if  they  be  gane  to  dark  Loch  wood 

To  drive  the  Warden's  gear, 
Betwixt  our  names,  I  ween,  there's  feud  ; 

I'll  go  and  have  my  share : 

"  For  little  reck  I  for  Johnstone's  feud, 

The  Warden  though  he  be." 
So  Lord  William  is  away  to  dark  Lochwood, 

With  riders  barely  three. 

The  Warden's  daughters  in  Lochwood  sat, 

Were  all  both  fair  and  gay, 
All  save  the  Lady  Margaret, 

And  she  was  wan  and  wae. 


1  "At  Linton,  in  Roxburghshire,  there  is  a  circle  of  stones 
surrounding  a  smooth  plot  of  turf,  called  the  Tryst,  or  place 
of  appointment,  which  tradition  avers  to  have  been  the  ren- 
dezvous of  the  neighboring  warriors.    The  name  of  the  leader 


The  sister,  Jean,  had  a  full  fair  skin, 
And  Grace  was  bauld  and  braw ; 

But  the  leal-fast  heart  her  breast  within 
It  weel  was  worth  them  a'. 

Her  father's  prank'd  her  sisters  twa 

With  meikle  joy  and  pride; 
But  Margaret  maun  seek  Dundrennan's  wa'- 

She  ne'er  can  be  a  bride. 

On  spear  and  casque  by  gallants  gent 

Her  sisters'  scarfs  were  borne, 
But  never  at  tilt  or  tournament 

Were  Margaret's  colors  worn. 

Her  sisters  rode  to  Thirlstane  bower, 

But  she  was  left  at  hame 
To  wander  round  the  gloomy  tower, 

And  sigh  young  Harden's  name. 

"  Of  all  the  knights,  the  knight  most  fair, 

From  Yarrow  to  the  Tyne," 
Soft  sigh'd  the  maid,  "  is  Harden's  heir, 

But  ne'er  can  he  be  mine  ; 

"  Of  all  the  maids,  the  foulest  maid 

From  Teviot  to  the  Dee, 
Ah !"  sighing  sad,  that  lady  said, 

"  Can  ne'er  young  Harden's  be." — 

She  looked  up  the  briery  glen, 

And  up  the  mossy  brae, 
And  she  saw  a  score  of  her  father's  men 

Yclad  in  the  Johnstone  gray. 

Oh  fast  and  fast  they  downwards  sped 

The  moss  and  briers  among, 
And  in  the  midst  the  troopers  led 

A  shackled  knight  along. 


2H)e  Parti's  incantation. 

WRITTEN  UNDER  THE  THREAT  OF  INVASION  IN  THK 
AUTUMN  OF  1804. 

The  forest  of  Glenmore  is  drear, 

It  is  all  of  black  pine  and  the  dark  oak-tree ; 
And  the  midnight  wind,  to  the  mountain  deer, 

Is  whistling  the  forest  lullaby  : 
The  moon  looks  through  the  drifting  storm, 
But  the  troubled  lake  reflects  not  her  forta, 


was  cut  in  the  turf,  and  the  arrangement  of  the  letters  an- 
nounced to  his  followers  the  course  which  he  had  taken."— 
Introduction  to  the  Minstrelsy,  p.  185. 


LYRICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


629 


For  the  waves  roll  whitening  to  the  land, 
And  dash  against  the  shelvy  strand. 
There  is  a  voice  among  the  trees, 

That  mingles  with  the  groaning  oak — 
That  mingles  with  the  stormy  breeze, 

And  the  lake-waves  dashing  against  the  rock  ;— 
There  is  a  voice  within  the  wood, 
The  voice  of  the  bard  in  fitful  mood ; 
His  song  was  louder  than  the  blast, 
As  the  bard  of  Glenmore  through  the  forest  past. 

"  Wake  ye  from  your  sleep  of  death, 

Minstrels  and  bards  of  other  days ! 
For  the  midnight  wind  is  on  the  heath, 

And  the  midnight  meteors  dimly  blaze : 
The  Spectre  with  his  Bloody  Hand1 
Is  wandering  through  the  wild  woodland; 
The  owl  and  the  raven  are  mute  for  dread, 
And  the  time  is  meet  to  awake  the  dead ! 

"  Souls  of  the  mighty,  wake  and  say 
To  what  high  strain  your  harps  were  strung, 

When  Lochlin  plow'd  her  billowy  way, 
And  on  your  shores  her  Norsemen  flung? 

Her  Norsemen  train'd  to  spoil  and  blood, 

SkilFd  to  prepare  the  Raven's  food, 

All,  by  your  harpings,  doom'd  to  die 

On  bloody  Largs  and  Loncarty.2 

"  Mute  are  ye  all  ?     No  murmurs  strange 

Upon  the  midnight  breeze  sail  by, 
Nor  through  the  pines,  with  whistling  change, 

Mimic  the  harp's  wild  harmony ! 
Mute  are  ye  now  ? — Ye  ne'er  were  mute 
When  Murder  with  his  bloody  foot, 
And  Rapine  with  his  iron  hand, 
Were  hovering  near  yon  mountain  strand. 

"  Oh  yet  awake  the  strain  to  tell, 

By  every  deed  in  song  enroll 'd, 
By  every  chief  who  fought  or  fell 

For  Albion's  weal  in  battle  bold, — 
From  Coilgach,3  first  who  roll'd  his  car 
Through  the  deep  ranks  of  Roman  war, 
To  him,  of  veteran  memory  dear, 
Who  victor  died  on  Aboukir. 

"  By  all  their  swords,  by  all  their  scars,    . 

By  all  their  names,  a  mighty  spell ! 
By  all  their  wounds,  by  all  their  wars, 

Arise,  the  mighty  strain  to  tell ! 
For  fiercer  than  fierce  Hengist's  strain, 
More  impious  than  the  heathen  Dane, 
More  grasping  than  all-grasping  Rome, 
Gaul's  ravening  legions  hither  come !" 
The  wind  is  hush'd,  and  still  the  lake — 

Strange  murmurs  fill  my  tinkling  ears, 

1  The   forest  of  Glenmore  is  haunted  by  a  spirit  called 
meam-dearg,  or  Red-hand. 


Bristles  my  hair,  my  sinews  quake, 

At  the  dread  voice  of  other  years : — 
"  When  targets  clash'd,  and  bugles  rung, 
And  blades  round  warriors'  heads  were  flung, 
The  foremost  of  the  band  were  we, 
And  hymn'd  the  joys  of  Liberty !" 


^eUbeUgn. 


1805. 


In  the  spring  of  1805,  a  young  gentleman  of  talents, 
and  of  a  most  amiable  disposition,  perished  by  losing 
his  way  on  the  mountain  Hellvellyn.  His  remains 
were  not  discovered  till  three  months  afterwards,  when 
they  were  found  guarded  by  a  faithful  terrier-bitch,  his 
constant  attendant  during  frequent  solitary  rambles 
through  the  wilds  of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland. 


I  climb'd  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hellvellyn, — 
Lakes  and  mountains  beneath  me  gleam'd  misty  and 
wide ; 
All  was  still,  save  by  fits,  when  the  eagle  was  yelling, 

And  starting  around  me  the  echoes  replied. 
On  the  right,  Striden-edge  round  the  Red-tarn  was 

bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending ; 
One  huge  nameless  rock  in  the  front  was  ascending, 
When  I  mark'd  the  sad  spot  where  the  wanderer 
had  died. 

Dark  green  was  that  spot  'mid  the  brown  mountain 
heather, 

Where  the  Pilgrim  of  Nature  lay  stretch'd  in  decay, 
Like  the  corpse  of  an  outcast  abandon'd  to  weather, 

Till  the  mountain  winds  wasted  the  tenantless  clay. 
Nor  yet  quite  deserted,  though  lonely  extended, 
For,  faithful  in  death,  his  mute  favorite  attended, 
The  much-loved  remains  of  her  master  defended, 

And  chased  the  hill-fox  and  the  raven  away. 

How  long  didst  thou  think  that  his  silence  was  slum- 
ber? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst 
thou  start? 
How  many  long  days  and  long  weeks  didst  thou  num- 
ber, 
Ere  he  faded  before  thee,  the  friend  of  thy  heart? 
And,  oh,  was  it  meet  that— no  requiem  read  o'er 
him — 

2  Where  the  Norwegian  invader  of  Scotland  received  two 
bloody  defeats. 
s  The  Galgacus  of  Tacitus. 


630 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


No  mother  to  weep,  and  no  friend  to  deplore  him, 
And  thou,  little  guardian,  alone  Btretch'd  before  him — 
Unhonor'd  the  Pilgrim  from  life  should  depart  ? 

When  a  prince  to  the  fate  of  the  peasant  has  yielded, 
Tin-  tapestry  waves  dark  round  the  dim-lighted  hall ; 

With  scutcheons  of  silver  the  coffin  is  shielded, 
And  pages  stand  mute  by  the  canopied  pall : 

Through  the  courts,  at  deep  midnight,  the  torches  are 
gleaming ; 

In  the  proudly-arch'd  chapel  the  banners  are  beaming, 

Far  adown  the  long  aisle  sacred  music  is  streaming, 
Lamenting  a  chief  of  the  people  should  fall. 

But  meeter  for  thee,  gentle  lover  of  nature, 

To  lay  down  thy  head  like  the  meek  mountain  lamb, 
When,  wilder'd,  he  drops  from  some  cliff  huge  in 
stature, 
And  draws  his  last  sob  by  the  side  of  his  dam. 
And  more  stately  thy  couch  by  this  desert  lake  lying, 
Thy  obsequies  sung  by  the  gray  plover  flying, 
With  one  faithful  friend  but  to  witness  thy  dying, 
In  the  arms  of  Hellvellyn  and  Catchedicam. 


ftfje  Bpt'ng  ^Sarto.1 


1806. 


Air — Daffydz  Gangiven. 

The  Welsh  tradition  bears  that  a  bard,  on  his  death- 
bed, demanded  his  harp,  and  played  the  air  to  which 
these  verses  are  adapted ;  requesting  that  it  might  be 
performed  at  his  funeral. 


I. 

Dinas  Emlinn,  lament;  for  the  moment  is  nigh 
When  mute  in  the  woodlands  thine  echoes  shall  die : 
No  more  by  sweet  Teivi  Cadwallon  shall  rave, 
And  mix  his  wild  notes  with  the  wild  dashing  wave. 

II. 

In  spring  and  in  autumn  thy  glories  of  shade 
Unhonor'd  shall  flourish,  unhonor'd  shall  fade; 
For  soon  shall  be  lifeless  the  eye  and  the  tongue 
That  view'd  them  with  rapture,  with  rapture  that  sung. 

III. 
Thy  sons,  Dinas  Emlinn,  may  march  in  their  pride, 
And  chase  the  proud  Saxon  from  Prestatyn's  side; 
But  where  is  the  harp  shall  give  lite  to  their  name? 
And  where  is  the  bard  shall  give  heroes  their  fame:' 

1  This  and  the  following  were  written  for  Mr.  George 
Thomson's  Welsh  Airs,  and  are  contained  in  his  Select  Mel- 
odies, vol.  i. 


IV. 

And  oh,  Dinas  Emlinn !  thy  daughters  so  fair, 
Who  heave  the  white  bosom,  and  wave  the  dark  hair,— 
What  tuneful  enthusiast  shall  worship  their  eye, 
When  half  of  their  charms  with  Cadwallon  shall  die? 


Then  adieu,  silver  Teivi !  I  quit  thy  loved  scene, 
To  join  the  dim  choir  of  the  bards  who  have  been ; 
With  Lewarch,  and  Meilor,  and  Merlin  the  Old, 
And  sage  Taliessin,  high  harping  to  hold. 

VI. 

And  adieu,  Dinas  Emlinn!  still  green  be  thy  shades, 
Unconquer'd  thy  warriors,  and  matchless  thy  maids ! 
And  thou,  whose  faint  warblings  my  weakness  can  tell, 
Farewell,  my  loved  Harp !  my  last  treasure,  farewell  1 


Cije  iEorman  il)ors^st)oe. 


1806. 


Air — The  War-Song  of  the  Men  of  Glamorgan. 

The  Welsh,  inhabiting  a  mountainous  country,  and 
possessing  only  an  inferior  breed  of  horses,  were  usually 
unable  to  encounter  the  shock  of  the  Anglo-Norman 
cavalry.  Occasionally,  however,  they  were  successful 
in  repelling  the  invaders ;  and  the  following  verses  are 
supposed  to  celebrate  a  defeat  of  Clare,  Earl  of  Striguil 
and  Pembroke,  and  of*  Neville,  Baron  of  Chepstow, 
lords-marchers  of  Monmouthshire.  Rymny  is  a  stream 
which  divides  the  counties  of  Monmouth  and  Glamor- 
gan; Caerphili,  the  scene  of  the  supposed  battle,  is 
a  vale  upon  its  banks,  dignified  by  the  ruins  of  a 
very  ancient  castle. 


Red  glows  the  forge  in  StriguiPs  bounds, 
And  hammers  din,  and  anvil  sounds, 
And  armorers,  with  iron  toil, 
Barb  many  a  steed  for  battle's  broil. 
Foul  fall  the  hand  which  bends  the  steel 
Around  the  courser's  thundering  heel, 
That  e'er  shall  dint  a  sable  wound 
On  fair  Glamorgan's  velvet  ground ! 

II. 

From  Chepstow's  towers,  ere  dawn  of  morn, 

Was  heard  afar  the  bugle-horn  ; 

And  forth  in  banded  pomp  and  pride, 

Stout  Clare  and  fiery  Neville  ride. 

They  swore,  their  banners  broad  should  gleam, 

In  crimson  light,  on  Rymny's  stream ; 


LYRICAL   AND    MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


631 


They  vow'd,  Caerphili's  sod  should  feel 
The  Norman  charger's  spurning  heel. 

III. 

And  sooth  they  swore — the  sun  arose, 
And  Rymny's  wave  with  crimson  glows ; 
For  Clare's  red  banner,  floating  wide, 
Roll'd  down  the  stream  to  Severn's  tide ! 
And  sooth  they  vow'd — the  trampled  green 
Show'd  where  hot  Neville's  charge  had  been : 
In  every  sable  hoof-tramp  stood 
A  Norman  horseman's  curdling  blood ! 

IV. 

Old  Chepstow's  brides  may  curse  the  toil 
That  arm'd  stout  Clare  for  Cambrian  broil  ; 
Their  orphans  long  the  art  may  rue 
For  Neville's  war-horse  forged  the  shoe. 
No  more  the  stamp  of  armed  steed 
Shall  dint  Glamorgan's  velvet  mead; 
Nor  trace  be  there,  in  early  spring, 
Save  of  the  Fairies'  emerald  ring. 


Cije  JflattJ  of  Coro.1 


1806. 


Oh,  low  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 

And  weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark 
wood, 
All  as  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 

Sorely  sigh'd  to  the  breezes,  and  wept  to  the  flood. 
"O  saints!  from  the  mansions  of  bliss  lowly  bending; 

Sweet  Virgin !  who  hearest  the  suppliant's  cry, 
Now  grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 

My  Henry  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die !" 

All  distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle, 

With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes  they  fail, 
Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's  dread 
rattle, 

And  the  chase's  wild  clamor,  came  loading  the  gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  on  the  woodlands  so  dreary ; 

Slowly  approaching  a  warrior  was  seen ; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 

Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his  mien. 

"Oh  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying! 

Oh  save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ! 
Deadly  cold  on  yon  heath  thy  brave  Henry  is  lying, 

And  fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the  foe." 


1  This   and   the  three   following  were  first  published  in 
Haydn's  Collection  of  Scottish  Airs.    Edin.  1806. 


Scarce  could  he  falter  the  tidings  of  sorrow, 
And  scarce  could  she  hear  them,  benumb'd  with 
despair : 

And  when  the  sun  sank  on  the  sweet  lake  of  Toro, 
For  ever  he  set  to  the  Brave  and  the  Fair. 


2Ti)e  Maimer. 


1806. 


"  Oh,  open  the  door,  some  pity  to  show ; 

Keen  blows  the  northern  wind  ! 
The  glen  is  white  with  the  drifted  snow, 

And  the  path  is  hard  to  find. 

"  No  outlaw  seeks  your  castle  gate, 
From  chasing  the  King's  deer, 

Though  even  an  outlaw's  wretched  state 
Might  claim  compassion  here. 

"A  weary  Palmer,  worn  and  weak, 

I  wander  for  my  sin ; 
Oh  open,  for  Our  Lady's  sake ! 

A  pilgrim's  blessing  win ! 

"I'll  give  you  pardons  from  the  Pope, 
And  reliques  from  o'er  the  sea; 

Or  if  for  these  you  will  not  ope, 
Yet  open  for  charity. 

"  The  hare  is  crouching  in  her  form, 

The  hart  beside  the  hind ; 
An  aged  man,  amid  the  storm, 

No  shelter  can  I  find. 

"  You  hear  the  Ettrick's  sullen  roar, 
Dark,  deep,  and  strong  is  he, 

And  I  must  ford  the  Ettrick  o'er, 
Unless  you  pity  me. 

"  The  iron  gate  is  bolted  hard, 

At  which  I  knock  in  vain ; 
The  owner's  heart  is  closer  barr'd, 

Who  hears  me  thus  complain. 

"  Farewell,  farewell !  and  Mary  grant, 

When  old  and  frail  you  be, 
You  never  may  the  shelter  want 

That's  now  denied  to  me." 

The  Ranger  on  his  couch  lay  warm, 
And  heard  him  plead  in  vain ; 

But  oft  amid  December's  storm, 
He'll  hear  that  voice  again : 


632 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


For  lo,  when  through  the  vapors  dank 
Morn  shone  on  Ettrick  fair, 

A  corpse  amid  the  alders  rank, — 
The  Palmer  welter'd  there. 


Cfje  JHafa  of  Ncfopatf). 


lMMi. 


Theee  is  a  tradition  in  Tweeddale  that,  -when 
Neidpath  Castle,  near  Peebles,  was  inhabited  by  the 
Earls  of  March,  a  mutual  passion  subsisted  between  a 
daughter  of  that  noble  family  and  a  son  of  the  Laird 
of  Tushielaw,  in  Ettrick  Forest.  As  the  alliance  was 
thought  unsuitable  by  her  parents,  the  young  man 
went  abroad.  During  his  absence,  the  lady  fell  into 
a  consumption ;  and  at  length,  as  the  only  means  of 
saving  her  life,  her  father  consented  that  her  lover 
should  be  recalled.  On  the  day  when  he  was  expected 
to  pass  through  Peebles,  on  the  road  to  Tushielaw,  the 
young  lady,  though  much  exhausted,  caused  herself 
to  be  carried  to  the  balcony  of  a  house  in  Peebles, 
belonging  to  the  family,  that  she  might  see  him  as  he 
rode  past.  Her  anxiety  and  eagerness  gave  such  force 
to  her  organs  that  she  is  said  to  have  distinguished 
his  horse's  footsteps  at  an  incredible  distance.  But 
Tushielaw,  unprepared  for  the  change  in  her  appear- 
ance, and  not  expecting  to  see  her  in  that  place,  rode 
on  without  recognizing  her,  or  even  slackening  his 
pace.  The  lady  was  unable  to  support  the  shock; 
and,  after  a  short  struggle,  died  in  the  arms  of  her 
attendants.  There  is  an  incident  similar  to  this  tra- 
ditional tale  in  Count  Hamilton's  Fleur  d'Epine. 


Oh,  lovers'  eyes  are  sharp  to  see, 

And  lovers'  ears  in  hearing ; 
And  love,  in  life's  extremity, 

Can  lend  an  hour  of  cheering. 
Disease  had  been  in  Mary's  bower, 

And  slow  decay  from  mourning, 
Though  now  she  sits  on  Neidpath 's  tower, 

To  watch  her  love's  returning. 

All  sunk  and  dim  her  eyes  so  bright, 
Her  form  decay'd  by  pining, 

Till  through  her  wasted  hand,  at  night, 

You  saw  the  taper  shining  ; 
By  fits,  a  sultry  hectic  hue 

Across  her  cheek  was  flying; 
By  fits,  so  ashy  pale  she  grew, 

Her  maidens  thought  her  dying. 

Yet  keenest  powers  to  see  and  hear 
Seem'd  in  her  frame  residing ; 

Before  the  watch-dog  prick'd  his  ear, 
She  heard  her  lover's  riding ; 


Ere  scarce  a  distant  form  was  kenn'd, 
She  knew,  and  waved  to  greet  him  ; 

And  o'er  the  battlement  did  bend, 
As  on  the  wing  to  meet  him. 

ne  came — he  pass'd — an  heedless  gaze, 

As  o'er  some  stranger  glancing ; 
Her  welcome,  spoke  in  faltering  phrase, 

Lost  in  his  courser's  prancing — 
The  castle  arch,  whose  hollow  tone 

Returns  each  whisper  spoken, 
Could  scarcely  catch  the  feeble  moan 

Which  told  her  heart  was  broken. 


£2aanoctmg  &&ltllte. 


1806. 


All  joy  was  bereft  me  the  day  that  you  left  me, 
And  climb'd  the  tall  vessel  to  sail  yon  wide  sea; 

Oh  weary  betide  it !  I  wander'd  beside  it, 
And  bann'd  it  for  parting  my  Willie  and  me. 

Far  o'er  the  wave  hast  thou  follow'd  thy  fortune, 
Oft  fought  the  squadrons  of  France  and  of  Spain ; 

Ae  kiss  of  welcome's  worth  twenty  at  parting, 
Now  I  hae  gotten  my  Willie  again. 

When  the  sky  it  was  mirk,  and  the  winds  they  were 
wailing, 

I  sat  on  the  beach  wi'  the  tear  in  my  ee, 
And  thought  o'  the  bark  where  my  Willie  was  sailing, 

And  wish'd  that  the  tempest  could  a'  blaw  on  me. 

Now  that  thy  gallant  ship  rides  at  her  mooring, 
Now  that  my  wanderer's  in  safety  at  hame, 

Music  to  me  were  the  wildest  winds'  roaring 
That  e'er  o'er  Inch-Keith  drove  the  dark  ocean  faem. 

When  the  lights  they  did  blaze,  and  the  guns  they 
did  rattle, 

And  blithe  was  each  heart  for  the  great  victory, 
In  secret  I  wept  for  the  dangers  of  battle, 

And  thy  glory  itself  was  scarce  comfort  to  me. 

But  now  shalt  thou  tell,  while  I  eagerly  listen, 
Of  each  bold  adventure,  and  every  brave  scar; 

And  trust  me,  I'll  smile,  though  my  een  they  may 
glisten ; 
For  sweet  after  danger's  the  tale  of  the  war. 

And  oh,  how  we  doubt  when  there's  distance  'tween 
lovers, 
When  there's  naething  to  speak  to  the  heart  thro' 
the  ee ; 


LYRICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


633 


How  often  the  kindest  and  warmest  prove  rovers, 
And  the  love  of  the  faithfullest  ebbs  like  the  sea. 

Till,  at  times — could  I  help  it  ? — I  pined  and  I  pon- 
der'd, 
If  love  could  change  notes  like  the  bird  on  the 
tree — 
Now  I'll  ne'er  ask  if  thine  eyes  may  hae  wander'd, 
Enough,  thy  leal  heart  has  been  constant  to  me. 

Welcome,  from  sweeping  o'er  sea  and  through  channel, 
Hardships  and  danger  despising  for  fame, 

Furnishing  story  for  glory's  bright  annal, 
Welcome,  my  wanderer,  to  Jeanie  and  hame  ! 

Enough,  now  thy  story  in  annals  of  glory 
Has  humbled  the  pride  of  France,  Holland,  and 
Spain ; 
No  more  shalt  thou  grieve  me,  no  more  shalt  thou 
leave  me, 
I  never  will  part  with  my  Willie  again. 


$ealti)  to  ftort  iHelbt'Uc.1 


1806. 


Air — Carrickfergiis. 

"The  impeachment  of  Lord  Melville  was  among 
the  first  measures  of  the  new  (Whig)  government; 
and  personal  affection  and  gratitude  graced  as  well 
as  heightened  the  zeal  with  which  Scott  watched  the 
issue  of  this,  in  his  eyes,  vindictive  proceeding ;  but, 
though  the  ex-minister's  ultimate  acquittal  was,  as  to 
all  the  charges  involviug  his  personal  honor,  complete, 
it  must  now  be  allowed  that  the  investigation  brought 
out  many  circumstances  by  no  means  creditable  to 
his  discretion ;  and  the  rejoicings  of  his  friends  ought 
not,  therefore,  to  have  been  scornfully  jubilant.  Such 
they  were,  however — at  least  in  Edinburgh ;  and  Scott 
took  his  share  in  them  by  inditing  a  song,  which  was 
sung  by  James  Ballantyne,  and  received  with  clam- 
orous applauses,  at  a  public  dinner  given  in  honor  of 
the  event,  on  the  27th  of  June,  1806." — Life,  vol.  ii. 
p.  322. 


Since  here  we  are  set  in  array  round  the  table, 

Five  hundred  good  fellows  well  met  in  a  hall, 
Come  listen,  brave  boys,  and  I'll  sing  as  I'm  able 
How  innocence  triumph'd  and  pride  got  a  fall. 
But  push  round  the  claretr— 
Come,  stewards,  don't  spare  it — 

1  Published  on  a  broadside,  and  reprinted  in  the  Life  of 
ScoU,  1837. 


With  rapture  you'll  drink  to  the  toast  that  I  give : 

Here,  boys, 

Off  with  it  merrily — 
Melville  for  ever,  and  long  may  he  live ! 

What  were  the  Whigs  doing,  when  boldly  pursuing, 

Pitt  banish'd  Rebellion,  gave  Treason  a  string? 
Why,    they    swore    on    their    honor,    for    Arthur 
O'Connor, 
And  fought  hard  for  Despaed  against  country  and 
king. 

Well,  then,  we  knew,  boys, 
Pitt  and  Melville  were  true  boys, 
And  the  tempest  was  raised  by  the  friends  of  Reform. 
Ah,  woe ! 

Weep  to  his  memory ; 
Low  lies  the  pilot  that  weather'd  the  storm ! 

And  pray,  don't  you  mind  when  the  Blues  first  were 
raising, 
And  we  scarcely  could  think  the  house  safe  o'er  our 
heads? 
When  villains  and  coxcombs,  French  politics  praising, 
Drove  peace  from  our  tables  and  sleep  from  our  beds? 
Our  hearts  they  grew  bolder 
When,  musket  on  shoulder, 
Stepp'd  forth  our  old  Statesmen  example  to  give. 
Come,  boys,  never  fear, 
Drink  the  Blue  grenadier — 
Here's  to  old  Harry,  and  long  may  he  live! 

They  would  turn  us  adrift ;  though  rely,  sir,  upon  it— 

Our  own  faithful  chronicles  warrant  us  that 
The  free  mountaineer  and  his  bonny  blue  bonnet 
Have  oft  gone  as  far  as  the  regular's  hat. 

We  laugh  at  their  taunting, 

For  all  we  are  wanting 
Is  license  our  life  for  our  country  to  give. 

Off  with  it  merrily, 

Horse,  foot,  and  artillery, 
Each  loyal  Volunteer,  long  may  he  live ! 

'Tis  not  us  alone,  boys — the  Army  and  Navy 

Have  each  got  a  slap  'mid  their  politic  pranks; 
CoRNWALLiscashier'd,  that  watch'd  winters  to  save  ye, 
And  the  Cape  call'd  a  bauble,  unworthy  of  thanks. 

But  vain  is  their  taunt, 

No  soldier  shall  want 
The  thanks  that  his  country  to  valor  can  give : 

Come,  boys, 

Drink  it  off  merrily, — 
Sir  David  and  Popham,  and  long  may  they  live  ! 

And  then  our  revenue— Lord  knows  how  they  view'd  it, 

While  each  petty  statesman  talk'd  lofty  and  big; 
But  the  beer-tax  was  weak,  as  if  Whitbread  had 
brew'd  it, 
And  the  pig-iron  duty  a  shame  to  a  pig. 
In  vain  is  their  vaunting, 
Too  surely  there's  wanting 


634 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


What  judgment,  experience,  and  steadiness  give : 

Come,  boys, 

Drink  about  merrily, — 
Health  to  sage  Melville,  and  long  may  he  live ! 

Our  King,  too — our  Princess — I  dare  not  say  more, 
sir, — 
May  Providence  watch  them  with  mercy  and  might! 
While  there's  one  Scottish  hand  that  can  wag  a  clay- 
more, sir, 
They  shall  ne'er  want  a  friend  to  stand  up  for  their 
right. 

Be  damn'd  he  that  dare  not, — 
For  my  part,  I'll  spare  not 
To  beauty  afflicted  a  tribute  to  give : 
Fill  it  up  steadily, 
Drink  it  off  readily — 
Here's  to  the  Princess,  and  long  may  she  live ! 

And  since  we  must  not  set  Auld  Eeekie  in  glory, 
And    make    her    brown  visage    as    light    as    her 
heart  j1 
Till  each  man  illumine  his  own  upper  story, 
Nor  law-book  nor  lawyer  shall  force  us  to  part. 
In  Grenville  and  Spencer, 
And  some  few  good  men,  sir, 
High  talents  we  honor,  slight  difference  forgive  ; 
But  the  Brewer  we'll  hoax, 
Tallyho  to  the  Fox, 
And  drink  Melville  for  ever,  as  long  as  we  live ! 


punting  Song.5 


1MIS. 


Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

On  the  mountain  dawns  the  day, 

All  the  jolly  chase  is  here, 

With  hawk,  and  horse,  and  hunting-spear! 

Hounds  are  in  their  couples  yelling, 

Hawks  are  whistling,  horns  are  knelling, 

Merrily,  merrily,  mingle  they, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 

The  mist  has  left  the  mountain  gray, 


1  The  Magistrates  of  Edinburgh  had  rejected  an  applica- 
tion for  illumination  of  the  town  on  the  arrival  of  the  news 
of  Lord  Melville's  acquittal. 

2  First  published  in  the  continuation  of  Strutt's  Queenhoo 
Hall,  1808,  inserted  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Register  of  the 
same  year,  and  set  to  a  Welsh  air  in  Thomson's  Select  Mel- 
Odies,  vol.  iii.    1817. 

3  Published  anonymously  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual  Regis- 


Springlets  in  the  dawn  are  steaming, 

Diamonds  on  the  brake  are  gleaming : 

And  foresters  have  busy  been, 

To  track  the  buck  in  thicket  green  ; 

Now  we  come  to  chant  our  lay, 

"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay, 
To  the  greenwood  haste  away ; 
We  can  show  you  where  he  lies, 
Fleet  of  foot,  and  tall  of  size ; 
We  can  show  the  marks  he  made, 
When  'gainst  the  oak  his  antlers  fray'd ; 
You  shall  see  him  brought  to  bay, 
"  Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay." 

Louder,  louder  chant  the  lay, 

Waken,  lords  and  ladies  gay ! 

Tell  them  youth,  and  mirth,  and  glee, 

Run  a  course  as  well  as  we ; 

Time,  stern  huntsman  !  who  can  balk, 

Stanch  as  hound,  and  fleet  as  hawk ; 

Think  of  this,  and  rise  with  day 

Gently  lords  and  ladies  gay. 


IN  IMITATION  OF  AN  OLD   ENGLISH   POEM. 


1808. 


My  wayward  fate  I  needs  must  plain, 

Though  bootless  be  the  theme ; 
I  loved,  and  was  beloved  again, 

Yet  all  was  but  a  dream : 
For,  as  her  love  was  quickly  got, 

So  it  was  quickly  gone  ; 
No  more  I'll  bask  in  flame  so  hot, 

But  coldly  dwell  alone. 

Not  maid  more  bright  than  maid  was  e'er 

My  fancy  shall  beguile, 
By  flattering  word,  or  feigned  tear, 

By  gesture,  look,  or  smile : 
No  more  I'll  call  the  shaft  fair  shot, 

Till  it  has  fairly  flown, 
Nor  scorch  me  at  a  flame  so  hot ; — 

I'll  rather  freeze  alone. 


ter  of  1808.  Writing  to  his  brother  Thomas,  the  author 
says : — "  '  The  Resolve '  is  mine ;  and  it  is  not— or,  to  be  less 
enigmatical,  it  is — an  old  fragment,  which  I  coopered  up  into 
its  present  slate  with  the  purpose  of  quizzing  certain  judges 
of  poetry,  who  have  been  extremely  delighted,  and  declare 
thai  ii"  living  poet  could  write  in  the  same  exquisite  taste." 
— Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  330. 


LYKICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


635 


Each  ambush'd  Cupid  I'll  defy, 

In  cheek,  or  chin,  or  brow, 
And  deem  the  glance  of  woman's  eye 

As  weak  as  woman's  vow : 
I'll  lightly  hold  the  lady's  heart 

That  is  but  lightly  won ; 
I'll  steel  my  breast  to  beauty's  art, 

And  learn  to  live  alone. 

The  flaunting  torch  soon  blazes  out, 

The  diamond's  ray  abides ; 
The  flame  its  glory  hurls  about, 

The  gem  its  lustre  hides ; 
Such  gem  I  fondly  deem'd  was  mine, 

And  glow'd  a  diamond  stone, 
But,  since  each  eye  may  see  it  shine, 

I'll  darkling  dwell  alone. 

No  waking  dream  shall  tinge  my  thought 

With  dyes  so  bright  and  vain, 
No  silken  net,  so  slightly  wrought, 

Shall  tangle  me  again  ; 
No  more  I'll  pay  so  dear  for  wit, 

I'll  live  upon  mine  own, 
Nor  shall  wild  passions  trouble  it, — 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone. 

And  thus  I'll  hush  my  heart  to  rest, — 

"  Thy  loving  labor's  lost ; 
Thou  shalt  no  more  be  wildly  blest, 

To  be  so  strangely  crost ; 
The  widow'd  turtles  mateless  die, 

The  phoenix  is  but  one  ; 
They  seek  no  loves — no  more  will  I — 

I'll  rather  dwell  alone." 


(frpitapf),1 

DESIGNED  FOR  A  MONUMENT 

IN  LICHFIELD  CATHEDRAL,  AT  THE   BURIAL-PLACE 

OF  THE   FAMILY   OF   MISS   SEWARD. 

Amid  these  aisles,  where  once  his  precepts  show'd 
The  heavenward  pathway  which  in  life  he  trode, 
This  simple  tablet  marks  a  Father's  bier, 
And  those  he  loved  in  life,  in  death  are  near ; 
For  him,  for  them,  a  Daughter  bade  it  rise, 
Memorial  of  domestic  charities. 
Still  wouldst  thou  know  why  o'er  the  marble  spread, 
In  female  grace  the  willow  droops  her  head; 
Why  on  her  branches,  silent  and  unstrung, 
The  minstrel  harp  is  emblematic  hung ; 


1  Edinburgh  Annual  Register,  1809. 

2  Miss  Baillie's  Family  Legend  was  produced  with  consider- 
able success  on  the  Edinburgh  stage  in  the  winter  of  1809-10. 


What  poet's  voice  is  smother'd  here  in  dust 
Till  waked  to  join  the  chorus  of  the  just, — 
Lo !  one  brief  line  an  answer  sad  supplies, 
Honor'd,  beloved,  and  mourn'd,  here  Seward  lies. 
Her  worth,  her  warmth  of  heart,  let  friendship  say,- 
Go  seek  her  genius  in  her  living  lay. 


prologue 


TO  MISS  BAILLIE'S  PLAY  OF  THE  FAMILY  LEGEND.2 


1809. 


'TlS  sweet  to  hear  expiring  summer's  sigh, 
Through  forests  tinged  with  russet,  wail  and  die ; 
'Tis  sweet  and  sad  the  latest  notes  to  hear 
Of  distant  music,  dying  on  the  ear ; 
But  far  more  sadly  sweet,  on  foreign  strand, 
We  list  the  legends  of  our  native  land, 
Link'd  as  they  come  with  every  tender  tie, 
Memorials  dear  of  youth  and  infancy. 

Chief,  thy  wild  tales,  romantic  Caledon, 
Wake  keen  remembrance  in  each  hardy  son. 
Whether  on  India's  burning  coasts  he  toil, 
Or  till  Arcadia's3  wrnter-fetter'd  soil, 
He  hears  with  throbbing  heart  and  moisten'd  eyes, 
And,  as  he  hears,  what  dear  illusions  rise ! 
It  opens  on  his  soul  his  native  dell, 
The  woods  wild  waving,  and  the  water's  swell ; 
Tradition's  theme,  the  tower  that  threats  the  plain, 
The  mossy  cairn  that  hides  the  hero  slain  ; 
The  cot,  beneath  whose  simple  porch  were  told, 
By  gray-hair'd  patriarch,  the  tales  of  old, 
The  infant  group,  that  hush'd  their  sports  the  while, 
And  the  dear  maid  who  listen'd  with  a  smile. 
The  wanderer,  while  the  vision  warms  his  brain, 
Is  denizen  of  Scotland  once  again. 

Are  such  keen  feelings  to  the  crowd  confined, 
And  sleep  they  in  the  Poet's  gifted  mind  ? 
Oh  no  !     For  She,  within  whose  mighty  page 
Each  tyrant  Passion  shows  his  woe  Snd  rage, 
Has  felt  the  wizard  influence  they  inspire, 
And  to  your  own  traditions  tuned  her  lyre. 
Yourselves  shall  judge — whoe'er  has  raised  the  sail 
By  Mull's  dark  coast,  has  heard  this  evening's  tale. 
The  plaided  boatman,  resting  on  his  oar, 
Points  to  the  fatal  rock  amid  the  roar 
Of  whitening  waves,  and  tells  whate'er  to-night 
Our  humble  stage  shall  offer  to  your  sight ; 


This  prologue  was  spoken  on  that  occasion  by  the  author's 
friend,  Mr.  Daniel  Terry. 
3  Acadia,  or  Nova  Scotia. 


636 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Proudly  preferr'd  that  first  our  efforts  give 
Scenes  glowing  from  her  pen  to  breathe  and  live; 
More  proudly  yet,  should  Caledon  approve 
The  filial  tokeu  of  a  daughter's  love. 


WRITTEN  IN  IMITATION  OF  CRABBE,  AND  PUBLISHED 
IN  THE  EDINBURGH  ANNUAL  REGISTER  OF  1809.1 

Welcome,  grave  Stranger,  to  our  green  retreats, 
Where  health  with  exercise  and  freedom  meets ! 
Thrice  welcome,  Sage,  whose  philosophic  plan 
By  nature's  limits  metes  the  rights  of  man; 
Generous  as  he  who  now  for  freedom  bawls, 
Now  gives  full  value  for  true  Indian  shawls : 
O'er  court,  o'er  customhouse,  his  shoe  who  flings, 
Now  bilks  excisemen,  and  now  bullies  kings. 
Like  his,  I  ween,  thy  comprehensive  mind 
Holds  laws  as  mouse-traps  baited  for  mankind : 
Thine  eye,  applausive,  each  sly  vermin  sees, 
That  balks  the  snare,  yet  battens  on  the  cheese ; 
Thine  ear  has  heard,  with  scorn  instead  of  awe, 
Our  buckskinn'd  justices  expound  the  law, 
Wire-draw  the  acts  that  fix  for  wires  the  pain, 
And  for  the  netted  partridge  noose  the  swain ; 
And  thy  vindictive  arm  would  fain  have  broke 
The  last  light  fetter  of  the  feudal  yoke, 
To  give  the  denizens  of  wood  and  wild, 
Nature's  free  race,  to  each  her  free-born  child. 
Hence  hast  thou  mark'd,  with  grief,  fair  London's 

race, 
Mock'd  with  the  boon  of  one  poor  Easter  chase, 
And  long'd  to  send  them  forth  as  free  as  when 
Pour'd  o'er  Chantilly  the  Parisian  train, 
When  musket,  pistol,  blunderbuss,  combined, 
And  scarce  the  field-pieces  were  left  behind! 
A  squadron's  charge  each  leveret's  heart  dismay'd, 
On  every  cover  fired  a  bold  brigade  ; 
La  Douce  Humanite  approved  the  sport, 
For  great  the  alarm  indeed,  yet  small  the  hurt; 
Shouts  patriotic  solemnized  the  day, 
And  Seine  re-echo'd  Vive  I"  lAberti! 
But  mad  Citoycn,  meek  Mnuxit  u r  again, 
With  some  few  added  links  resumes  his  chain. 
Then,  since  such  scenes  to  France  no  more  are  known, 
Come  view  with  me  a  hero  of  thine  own  ! 
One  whose  free  actions  vindicate  the  cause 
Of  sylvan  liberty  o'er  feudal  laws. 

Seek  we  yon  glades,  where  the  proud  oak  o'ertops 
Wide-waving  seas  of  birch  and  hazel  copse, 

1  Son  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  iii.  p.  329. 

2  Such  is  the  law  in  the  New  Forest,  Hampshire,  tending 
greatly  to  increase  the  various  settlements  of  thieves,  Smug- 
glers, and  deer-stealers,  who  Infest  it.  In  the  forest  courts 
the  presiding  judge  wears  as  a  badge  of  office  an  antique  stir- 


Leaving  between  deserted  isles  of  land, 

Where  stunted  heath  is  patch'd  with  ruddy  sand; 

And  lonely  on  the  waste  the  yew  is  seen, 

Or  straggling  hollies  spread  a  brighter  green. 

Here,  little  worn,  and  winding  dark  and  steep, 

Our  scarce-mark'd  path  descends  yon  dingle  deep: 

Follow — but  heedful,  cautious  of  a  trip, — 

In  earthly  mire  philosophy  may  slip. 

Step  slow  and  wary  o'er  that  swampy  stream, 

Till,  guided  by  the  charcoal's  smothering  steam, 

We  reach  the  frail  yet  barricaded  door 

Of  hovel  form'd  for  poorest  of  the  poor ; 

No  hearth  the  fire,  no  vent  the  smoke  receives, 

The  walls  are  wattles,  and  the  covering  leaves ; 

For,  if  such  hut,  our  forest  statutes  say, 

Rise  in  the  progress  of  one  night  and  day 

(Though   placed   where  still  the  Conqueror's   hests 

o'erawe, 
And  his  son's  stirrup  shines  the  badge  of  law), 
The  builder  claims  the  unenviable  boon, 
To  tenant  dwelling,  framed  as  slight  and  soon 
As  wigwam  wild,  that  shrouds  the  native  frore 
On  the  bleak  coast  of  frost-barr'd  Labrador.2 

Approach,   and  through  the  unlatticed  window 

peep — 
Nay,  shrink  not  back,  the  inmate  is  asleep ; 
Sunk  'mid  yon  sordid  blankets,  till  the  sun 
Stoop  to  the  west,  the  plunderer's  toils  are  done. 
Loaded   and  primed,   and  prompt  for  desperate 

hand, 
Rifle  and  fowling-piece  beside  him  stand ; 
While  round  the  hut  are  in  disorder  laid 
The  tools  and  booty  of  his  lawless  trade ; 
For  force  or  fraud,  resistance  or  escape, 
The  crow,  the  saw,  the  bludgeon,  and  the  crape. 
His  pilfer'd  powder  in  yon  nook  he  hoards, 
And  the  filch'd  lead  the  church's  roof  affords — 
(Hence  shall  the  rector's  congregation  fret, 
That  while  his  sermon's  dry  his  walls  are  wet.) 
The  fish  spear  barb'd,  the  sweeping  net,  are  there, 
Doe-hides,  and  pheasant  plumes,  and  skins  of  hare, 
Cordage  for  toils,  and  wiring  for  the  snare. 
Barter'd  for  game  from  chase  or  warren  won, 
Yon  cask   holds  moonlight,3  run   when   moon   was 

none ; 
And  late-snatch 'd  spoils  lie  stow'd  in  hutch  apart, 
To  wait  the  associate  higgler's  evening  cart. 

Look  on  his  pallet  foul,  and  mark  his  rest: 
What  scenes  perturb'd  are  acting  in  his  breast! 
His  sable  brow  is  wet  and  wrung  with  pain, 
And  his  dilated  nostril  toils  in  vain  ; 
For  short  and  scant  the  breath  each  effort  draws, 
And  'twixt  each  effort  Nature  claims  a  pause. 

rup,  said  to  have  been  that  of  William  Rufus.    See  Mr.  Wil- 
liam Rose's  spirited  poem  entitled  "  The  Red  King." 

"  To  the  bleak  coast  of  savage  Labrador."— Falconer. 

8  A  cant  term  for  smuggled  spirits. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


637 


Beyond  the  loose  and  sable  neckcloth  stretch'd, 
His  sinewy  throat  seems  by  convulsion  twiteh'd, 
While  the  tongue  falters,  as  to  utterance  loth, 
Sounds  of  dire  import — watcbword,  threat,  and  oath. 
Though,  stupefied  by  toil,  and  drugg'd  with  gin, 
The  body  sleep,  the  restless  guest  within 
Now  plies  on  wood  and  wold  his  lawless  trade, 
Now  in  the  fangs  of  justice  wakes  disinay'd.— 

"  Was  that  wild  start  of  terror  and  despair, 
Those  bursting  eyeballs,  and  that  wilder'd  air, 
Signs  of  compunction  for  a  murder'd  hare  ? 
Do  the  locks  bristle  and  the  eyebrows  arch 
For  grouse  or  partridge  massacred  in  March?" — 

No,  scoffer,  no !    Attend,  and  mark  with  awe, 
There  is  no  wicket  in  the  gate  of  law ! 
He  that  would  e'er  so  lightly  set  ajar 
That  awful  portal,  must  undo  each  bar : 
Tempting  occasion,  habit,  passion,  pride, 
Will  join  to  storm  the  breach,  and  force  the  barrier  wide. 

That  ruffian,  whom  true  men  avoid  and  dread, 
Wbom  bruisers,  poachers,  smugglers,  call  Black  Ned, 
Was  Edward  Mansell  once ; — the  lightest  heart 
That  ever  play'd  on  holiday  his  part ! 
The  leader  he  in  every  Christmas  game, 
The  harvest-feast  grew  blither  when  he  came, 
And  liveliest  on  the  chords  the  bow  did  glance, 
When  Edward  named  the  tune  and  led  the  dance. 
Kind  was  his  heart,  his  passions  quick  and  strong, 
Hearty  his  laugh,  and  jovial  was  his  song ; 
And  if  he  loved  a  gun,  his  father  swore, 
"  'Twas  but  a  trick  of  youth  would  soon  be  o'er, 
Himself  had  done  the  same  some  thirty  years  before." 

But  he  whose  humors  spurn  law's  awful  yoke 
Must  herd  with  those  by  whom  law's  bonds  are  broke; 
The  common  dread  of  justice  soon  allies 
The  clown,  who  robs  the  warren  or  excise, 
With  sterner  felons  train'd  to  act  more  dread, 
Even  with  the  wretch  by  whom  his  fellow  bled. 
Then,  as  in  plagues  the  foul  contagions  pass, 
Leavening  and  festering  the  corrupted  mass, 
Guilt  leagues  with  guilt,  while  mutual  motives  draw, 
Their  hope  impunity,  their  fear  the  law ; 
Their  foes,  their  friends,  their  rendezvous  the  same, 
Till  the  revenue  balk'd,  or  pilfer'd  game, 
Flesh  the  young  culprit,  and  example  leads 
To  darker  villainy  and  direr  deeds. 

Wild  howl'd  the  wind  the  forest  glades  along, 
And  oft  the  owl  renew'd  her  dismal  song ; 
Around  the  spot  where  erst  he  felt  the  wound, 
Bed  William's  spectre  walk'd  his  midnight  round. 
When  o'er  the  swamp  he  cast  his  blighting  look, 
From  the  green  marshes  of  the  stagnant  brook 

1  This  song  was  written  shortly  after  the  battle  of  Badajos 
(April,  1812),  for  a  Yeomanry  Cavalry  dinner.    It  was  first 


The  bittern's  sullen  shout  the  sedges  shook ! 
The  waning  moon,  with  storm-presaging  gleam, 
Now  gave  and  now  withheld  her  doubtful  beam ; 
The  old  oak  stoop'd  his  arms,  then  flung  them  high, 
Bellowing  and  groaning  to  the  troubled  sky ; — 
'Twas  then  that,  couch'd  amid  the  brushwood  sere, 
In  Malwood-walk  young  Mansell  watch'd  the  deer : 
The  fattest  buck  received  his  deadly  shot — 
The  watchful  keeper  heard,  and  sought  the  spot. 
Stout  were  their  hearts,  and  stubborn  was  their  strife, 
O'erpower'd  at  length  the  Outlaw  drew  his  knife. 
Next  morn  a  corpse  was  found  upon  the  fell — 
The  rest  his  waking  agony  may  tell ! 


Song. 

Oh,  say  not,  my  love,  with  that  mortified  air, 
That  your  spring-time  of  pleasure  is  flown, 

Nor  bid  me  to  maids  that  are  younger  repair, 
For  those  raptures  that  still  are  thine  own. 

Though  April  his  temples  may  wreathe  with  the  vine, 

Its  tendrils  in  infancy  curl'd, 
'Tis  the  ardor  of  August  features  us  the  wine, 

Whose  life-blood  enlivens  the  world. 

Though  thy  form,  that  was  fashion'd  as  light  as  a  fay's, 
Has  assumed  a  proportion  more  round, 

And  thy  glance,  that  was  bright  as  a  falcon's  at  gaze, 
Looks  soberly  now  on  the  ground, — 

Enough,  after  absence  to  meet  me  again, 

Thy  steps  still  with  ecstasy  move; 
Enough,  that  those  dear  sober  glances  retain 

For  me  the  kind  language  of  love. 


%i\\t  ISotti  Bragoon;1 

OR, 

THE    PLAIN    OF    BADAJ08. 


1812. 


'Twas  a  Marechal  of  France,  and  he  fain  would 

honor  gain, 
And  he  long'd  to  take  a  passing  glance  at  Portugal 
from  Spain  ; 
With  his  flying  guns  this  gallant  gay, 
And  boasted  corps  d'armee — 
Oh,  he  fear'd  not  our  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 


printed  in  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Collection  of  Select  Melodies, 
and  stands  in  vol.  vi.  of  the  last  edition  of  that  work. 


638 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


To  Campo  Mayor  come,  he  had  quietly  sat  down, 
Just  a  fricassee  to  pick,  while  his  soldiers  sack'd  the 
town, 
When,  'twas  peste !  morbleu !  mon  General, 
Hear  the  English  bugle-call ! 
And  behold  the  light  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Right  about  went  horse  and  foot,  artillery  and  all, 
And,  as  the  devil  leaves  a  house,  they  tumbled  through 
the  wall  j1 
They  took  no  time  to  seek  the  door, 
But,  best  foot  set  before — 
Oh  they  ran  from  our  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Those  valiant  men  of  France  they  had  scarcely  fled  a 

mile, 
When  on  their  flank  there  soused  at  once  the  British 
rank  and  file  ; 
For  Long,  De  Grey,  and  Otway,  then 
Ne'er  minded  one  to  ten, 
But  came  on  like  light  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Three  hundred  British  lads  they  made  three  thousand 

reel, 
Their  hearts  were  made  of  English  oak,  their  swords 
of  Sheffield  steel, 
Their  horses  were  in  Yorkshire  bred, 
And  Beresford  them  led ; 
So  huzza  for  brave  dragoons,  with  their  long  swords, 
boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 

Then  here's  a  health  to  Wellington,  to  Beresford,  to 

Long, 
And  a  single  word  of  Bonaparte  before  I  close  my  song : 
The  eagles  that  to  fight  he  brings 
Should  serve  his  men  with  wings, 
When  they  meet  the  bold  dragoons,  with  their  long 
swords,  boldly  riding, 
Whack,  fal  de  ral,  &c. 


<&n  tfje  iHrlassarre  of  (Klntcoe.s 


1814. 


"In  the  beginning  of  the  year  1692,  an  action  of 
unexampled  barbarity  disgraced  the  government  of 


1  In  their  hasty  evacuation  of  Campo  Mayor  the  French 
pulled  down  a  part  of  the  rampart,  and  marched  out  over  the 
glacis. 

8  First  published  in  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  1814. 


King  William  III.  in  Scotland.  In  the  August  pre- 
ceding, a  proclamation  had  been  issued,  offering  an 
indemnity  to  such  insurgents  as  should  take  the  oaths 
to  the  king  and  queen,  on  or  before  the  last  day  of 
December ;  and  the  chiefs  of  such  tribes  as  had  been 
in  arms  for  James  soon  after  took  advantage  of  the 
proclamation.  But  Macdonald  of  Glencoe  was  pre- 
vented by  accident,  rather  than  by  design,  from  ten- 
dering his  submission  within  the  limited  time.  In  the 
end  of  December  he  went  to  Colonel  Hill,  who  com- 
manded the  garrison  in  Fort  William,  to  take  the 
oaths  of  allegiance  to  the  government;  and  the. latter 
having  furnished  him  with  a  letter  to  Sir  Colin  Camp- 
bell, sheriff  of  the  county  of  Argyll,  directed  him  to 
repair  immediately  to  Inverary,  to  make  his  submis- 
sion in  a  legal  manner  before  that  magistrate.  But 
the  way  to  Inverary  lay  through  almost  impassable 
mountains,  the  season  was  extremely  rigorous,  and 
the  whole  country  was  covered  with  a  deep  snow.  So 
eager,  however,  was  Macdonald  to  take  the  oaths  be- 
fore the  limited  time  should  expire,  that,  though  the 
road  lay  within  half  a  mile  of  his  own  house,  he 
stopped  not  to  visit  his  family,  and,  after  various  ob- 
structions, arrived  at  Inverary.  The  time  had  elapsed, 
and  the  sheriff  hesitated  to  receive  his  submission ; 
but  Macdonald  prevailed  by  importunities,  and  even 
tears,  in  inducing  that  functionary  to  administer  to 
him  the  oath  of  allegiance,  and  to  certify  the  cause  of 
his  delay.  At  this  time  Sir  John  Dalrymple,  after- 
wards Earl  of  Stair,  being  in  attendance  upon  Wil- 
liam as  Secretary  of  State  for  Scotland,  took  advan- 
tage of  Macdonald's  neglecting  to  take  the  oath  within 
the  time  prescribed,  and  procured  from  the  king  a 
warrant  of  military  execution  against  that  chief  and 
his  whole  clan.  This  was  done  at  the  instigation  of 
the  Earl  of  Breadalbane,  whose  lands  the  Glencoe 
men  had  plundered,  and  whose  treachery  to  govern- 
ment in  negotiating  with  the  Highland  clans  Mac- 
donald himself  had  exposed.  The  king  was  accord- 
ingly persuaded  that  Glencoe  was  the  main  obstacle 
to  the  pacification  of  the  Highlands ;  and  the  fact  of 
the  unfortunate  chief's  submission  having  been  con- 
cealed, the  sanguinary  orders  for  proceeding  to  mili- 
tary execution  against  his  clan  were  in  consequence 
obtained.  The  warrant  was  both  signed  and  counter- 
signed by  the  king's  own  hand,  and  the  secretary 
urged  the  officers  who  commanded  in  the  Highlands 
to  execute  their  orders  with  the  utmost  rigor.  Camp- 
bell of  Glenlyon,  a  captain  in  Argyle's  regiment, 
and  two  subalterns,  were  ordered  to  repair  to  Glen- 
coe on  the  1st  of  February  with  a  hundred  and 
twenty  men.  Campbell,  being  uncle  to  young  Mac- 
donald's wife,  was  received  by  the  father  with  all 
manner  of  friendship  and  hospitality.  The  men  were 
lodged  at  free  quarters  in  the  houses  of  his  tenants, 
and  received  the  kindest  entertainment.  Till  the 
13th  of  the  month  the  troops  lived  in  the  utmost  har- 
mony and  familiarity  with  the  people ;  and  on  the  very 
night  of  the  massacre  the  officers  passed  the  evening 
at  cards  in  Macdonald's  house.    In  the  night,  Lieu- 


LYRICAL    AND    MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


639 


tenant  Lindsay,  with  a  party  of  soldiers,  called  in  a 
friendly  manner  at  his  door,  and  was  instantly  ad- 
mitted. Macdonald,  while  in  the  act  of  rising  to  re- 
ceive his  guest,  was  shot  dead  through  the  back  with 
two  bullets.  His  wife  had  already  dressed ;  but  she 
was  stripped  naked  by  the  soldiers,  who  tore  the  rings 
off  her  fingers  with  their  teeth.  The  slaughter  now 
became  general,  and  neither  age  nor  infirmity  was 
spared.  Some  women,  in  defending  their  children, 
were  killed ;  boys  imploring  mercy  were  shot  dead  by 
officers  on  whose  knees  they  hung.  In  one  place  nine 
persons,  as  they  sat  enjoying  themselves  at  table,  were 
butchered  by  the  soldiers.  In  Inverriggon,  Camp- 
bell's own  quarters,  nine  men  were  first  bound  by  the 
soldiers,  and  then  shot  at  intervals,  one  by  one. 
Nearly  forty  persons  were  massacred  by  the  troops ; 
and  several  who  fled  to  the  mountains  perished  by 
famine  and  the  inclemency  of  the  season.  Those  who 
escaped  owed  their  lives  to  a  tempestuous  night. 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Hamilton,  who  had  received  the 
charge  of  the  execution  from  Dalrymple,  was  on  his 
march  with  four  hundred  men,  to  guard  all  the  passes 
from  the  valley  of  Glencoe ;  but  he  was  obliged  to  stop 
by  the  severity  of  the  weather,  which  proved  the 
safety  of  the  unfortunate  clan.  Next  day  he  entered 
the  valley,  laid  the  houses  in  ashes,  and  carried  away 
the  cattle  and  spoil,  which  were  divided  among  the 
officers  and  soldiers." — Article  "  Britain  ;"  Encyc. 
Britannica,  new  edition. 


"  Oh  tell  me,  Harper,  wherefore  flow 
Thy  wayward  notes  of  wail  and  woe, 
Far  down  the  desert  of  Glencoe, 

Where  none  may  list  their  melody  ? 
Say,  harp'st  thou  to  the  mists  that  fly, 
Or  to  the  dun-deer  glancing  by, 
Or  to  the  eagle,  that  from  high 

Screams  chorus  to  thy  minstrelsy  ?" — 

"  No,  not  to  these,  for  they  have  rest, — 
The  mist-wreath  has  the  mountain  crest, 
The  stag  his  lair,  the  erne  her  nest, 

Abode  of  lone  security. 
But  those  for  whom  I  pour  the  lay, 
Not  wildwood  deep,  nor  mountain  gray, 
Not  this  deep  dell,  that  shrouds  from  day, 

Could  screen  from  treach'rous  cruelty. 

"  Their  flag  was  furl'd,  and  mute  their  drum, 
The  very  household  dogs  were  dumb, 
Unwont  to  bay  at  guests  that  come 

In  guise  of  hospitality. 
His  blithest  notes  the  piper  plied, 
Her  gayest  snood  the  maiden  tied, 
The  dame  her  distaff  flung  aside, 

To  tend  her  kindly  housewifery. 

"The  hand  that  mingled  in  the  meal 
At  midnight  drew  the  felon  steel, 


And  gave  the  host's  kind  breast  to  feel 

Meed  for  his  hospitality ! 
The  friendly  hearth  which  warm'd  that  hand, 
At  midnight  arm'd  it  with  the  brand, 
That  bade  destruction's  flames  expand 

Their  red  and  fearful  blazonry. 

"  Then  woman's  shriek  was  heard  in  vain, 

Nor  infancy's  unpitied  plain, 

More  than  the  warrior's  groan,  could  gain 

Respite  from  ruthless  butchery ! 
The  winter  wind  that  whistled  shrill, 
The  snows  that  night  that  cloak'd  the  hill 
Though  wild  and  pitiless,  had  still 

Far  more  than  Southern  clemency. 

"  Long  have  my  harp's  best  notes  been  gone, 
Few  are  its  strings,  and  faint  their  tone, 
They  can  but  sound  in  desert  lone 

Their  gray-hair'd  master's  misery. 
Were  each  gray  hair  a  minstrel  string, 
Each  chord  should  imprecations  fling, 
Till  startled  Scotland  loud  should  ring, 

'Revenge  for  blood  and  treachery!'" 


dTor  a'  tfjat  an'  a'  tijat.1 

A  NEW  SONG  TO  AN  OLD  TUNE. 


1814. 


Though  right  be  aft  put  down  by  strength, 

As  mony  a  day  we  saw  that, 
The  true  and  leilfu'  cause  at  length 

Shall  bear  the  grie  for  a'  that. 
For  a'  that  an'  a'  that, 

Guns,  guillotines,  and  a'  that, 
The  Fleur-de-lis,  that  lost  her  right, 

Is  queen  again  for  a'  that! 

We'll  twine  her  in  a  friendly  knot 

With  England's  Rose,  and  a'  that ; 
The  Shamrock  shall  not  be  forgot, 

For  Wellington  made  braw  that. 
The  Thistle,  though  her  leaf  be  rude, 

Yet  faith  we'll  no  misca'  that, 
She  shelter'd  in  her  solitude 

The  Fleur-de-lis,  for  a'  that. 

The  Austrian  Vine,  the  Prussian  Pine 

(For  Blucher's  sake,  hurrah  that), 
The  Spanish  Olive,  too,  shall  join, 

And  bloom  in  peace  for  a'  that. 

1  Sung  at  the  first  meeting  of  the  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland,  and 
published  in  the  Scots  Magazine  for  July,  1814. 


640 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Stout  Russia's  Hemp,  so  surely  twined 
Around  our  wreath  we'll  draw  that, 

And  he  that  would  the  cord  unbind, 
Shall  have  it  for  his  gra-vat ! 

Or,  if  to  choke  sae  puir  a  sot, 

Your  pity  scorn  to  thraw  that, 
The  Devil's  elbow  be  his  lot, 

Where  he  may  sit  and  claw  that. 
In  spite  of  slight,  in  spite  of  might, 

In  spite  of  brags,  an'  a'  that, 
The  lads  that  battled  for  the  right 

Have  won  the  day,  an'  a'  that! 

There's  ae  bit  spot  I  had  forgot, 

America  they  ca'  that ! 
A  coward  plot  her  rats  had  got 

Their  father's  flag  to  gnaw  that : 
Now  see  it  fly  top-gallant  high, 

Atlantic  winds  shall  blaw  that, 
And  Yankee  loon,  beware  your  croun, 

There's  kames  in  hand  to  claw  that  I 

For  on  the  land,  or  on  the  sea, 
Where'er  the  breezes  blaw  that, 

The  British  Flag  shall  bear  the  grie, 
And  win  the  day  for  a'  that ! 


Song, 

FOE  THE  ANNIVERSARY  MEETING  OF  THE  PITT  CLUB 
OF  SCOTLAND. 


1814. 


Oh,  dread  was  the  time,  and  more  dreadful  the  omen, 

When  the  brave  on  Marengo  lay  slaughter'd  in  vain, 
And  beholding  broad  Europe  bow'd  down  by  her  foe- 
men, 

Pitt  closed  in  his  anguish  the  map  of  her  reign ! 
Not  the  fate  of  broad  Europe  could  bend  his  brave 
spirit 

To  take  for  his  country  the  safety  of  shame ; 
Oh  then  in  her  triumph  remember  his  merit, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Round  the  husbandman's  head,  while  he  traces  the 
furrow, 
The  mists  of  the  winter  may  mingle  with  rain, 


>  "On  the  30th  of  July,  1814,  Mr.  Hamilton,*  Mr.  Erskine.t 
and  Mr.  Duff.J;  commissioners,  along  with  Mr.  (now  Sir) 
Walter  Scott,  and  the  writer,  visited  the  lighthouse,  the 
commissioners  being  then  on  one  of  their  voyages  of  in- 
spection, noticed  in  the  introduction.  They  breakfasted  in 
the  library,  when  Sir  Walter,  at  the  entreaty  of  the  party, 
upon  inscribing  his  name  in  the  album,  added  these  inter- 
esting lines." — Stevenson's  Account  of  the  Bell-Rock  LiylU- 


II  c  may  plough  it  with  labor,  and  sow  it  in  sorrow, 
And  sigh  while  he  fears  he  has  sow'd  it  in  vain ; 
He  may  die  ere  his  children  shall  reap  in  their  glad- 
ness, 
But  the  blithe  harvest-home  shall  remember  his 
claim ; 
Anil  their  jubilee-shout  shall  be  soften'd  with  sadness, 
While  they  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Though  anxious  and  timeless  his  life  was  expended, 

In  toils  for  our  country  preserved  by  his  care, 
Though  he  died  ere  one  ray  o'er  the  nations  ascended, 

To  light  the  long  darkness  of  doubt  and  despair; 
The  storms  he  endured  in  our  Britain's  December, 

The  perils  his  wisdom  foresaw  and  o'ercame, 
In  her  glory's  rich  harvest  shall  Britain  remember, 

And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his  name. 

Nor  forget  His  gray  head  who,  all  dark  in  affliction, 

Is  deaf  to  the  tale  of  our  victories  won, 
And  to  sounds  the  most  dear  to  paternal  affection, 

The  shout  of  his  people  applauding  his  Son  ; 
By  his  firmness  unmoved  in  success  and  disaster, 

By  his  long  reign  of  virtue,  remember  his  claim ! 
With  our  tribute  to  Pitt  join  the  praise  of  his  Master, 

Though  a  tear  stain  the  goblet  that  flows  to  his 
name. 

Yet  again  fill  the  wine-cup,  and  change  the  sad  mea- 
sure ; 
The  rites  of  our  grief  and  our  gratitude  paid, 
To  our  Prince,  to  our  Heroes,  devote  the  bright  trea- 
sure, 
The  wisdom  that  plann'd,  and  the  zeal  that  obey'd. 
Fill  Wellington's  cup  till  it  beam  like  his  glory, 

Forget  not  our  own  brave  Dalhousie  and  GRiEME; 
A  thousand  years  hence  hearts  shall  bound  at  their 
story, 
And  hallow  the  goblet  that  flows  to  their  fame. 


^Jfjarois  tUquitur.* 

Far  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep, 

O'er  these  wild  shelves  my  watch  I  keep ; 

A  ruddy  gem  of  changeful  light, 

Bound  on  the  dusky  brow  of  night, 

The  seaman  bids  my  lustre  hail, 

And  scorns  to  strike  his  timorous  sail. 


house,  1S24.    Scott's  Diary  of  the  Voyage  is  now  published  in 
the  fourth  volume  of  his  Life. 

*  The  late  Robert  Hamilton,  Esq.,  advocate,  long  Sheriff- Depute  of  La- 
narkshire, and  afterwards  one  of  the  Principal  Clerks  of  Session  in  Scot- 
land.   Died  in  1831. 

t  Afterwards  Lord  Kinnedder. 

}  The  late  Adam  Duff,  Esq.,  Sheriff-Depute  of  the  county  of  Edinburgh. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


641 


Itinrs,1 


ADDRESSED  TO  RANALD   MACDONALD,   ESQ.,  OF 
STAFFA.2 


1814. 


Staffa,  sprung  from  high  Macdonald, 
Worthy  branch  of  old  Clan-Ranald ! 
Staffa !  king  of  all  kind  fellows ! 
Well  befall  thy  hills  and  valleys, 
Lakes  and  inlets,  deeps  and  shallows — 
Cliffs  of  darkness,  caves  of  wonder, 
Echoing  the  Atlantic  thunder ; 
Mountains  which  the  gray  mist  covers, 
Where  the  chieftain  spirit  hovers, 
Pausing  while  his  pinions  quiver, 
Stretch'd  to  quit  our  land  for  ever ! 
Each  kind  influence  reign  above  thee ! 
Warmer  heart,  'twixt  this  and  Staffa, 
Beats  not,  than  in  heart  of  Stafla ! 


lUtter  in  Vmt 

ON  THE  VOYAGE  WITH  THE  COMMISSIONERS  OF 
NORTHERN  LIGHTS. 

"Of  the  letters  which  Scott  wrote  to  his  friends 
during  those  happy  six  weeks,  I  have  recovered  only 
one,  and  it  is,  thanks  to  the  leisure  of  the  yacht,  in 
verse.  The  strong  and  easy  heroics  of  the  first  sec- 
tion prove,  I  think,  that  Mr.  Canning  did  not  err 
when  he  told  him  that  if  he  chose  he  might  emulate 
even  Drydeu's  command  of  that  noble  measure ;  and 
the  dancing  anapaests  of  the  second  show  that  he 
could  with  equal  facility  have  rivalled  the  gay  graces 
of  Cotton,  Anstey,  or  Moore." — Lockhart.  Life, 
vol.  iv.  p.  372. 


TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCCLEUCH, 
&c.  &c.  &c. 

Lighthouse  Yacht  in  the  Sound  of  Lerwick, 
Zetland,  8th  August,  1814. 

Health  to  the  chieftain  from  his  clansman  true ! 
From  her  true  minstrel,  health  to  fair  Buccleuch ! 
Health  from  the  isles  where  dewy  Morning  weaves 
Her  chaplet  with  the  tints  that  Twilight  leaves ; 
Where  late  the  sun  scarce  vanish'd  from  the  sight, 
And  his  bright  pathway  graced  the  short-lived  night, 
Though  darker  now  as  autumn's  shades  extend, 
The  north  winds  whistle  and  the  mists  ascend ! 


1  These  lines  were  written  in  the  album  kept  at  the  Sound 
of  Ulva  Inn,  in  the  month  of  August,  1814. 

2  Afterwards  Sir  Reginald  Macdonald  Stewart  Seton  of 
Staffa,  Allanton,  and  Touch,  baronet.    He  died  16th  April, 

41 


Health  from  the  lands  where  eddying  whirlwinds  toss 
The  storm-rock'd  cradle  of  the  Cape  of  Noss ; 
On  outstretch'd  cords  the  giddy  engine  slides, 
His  own  strong  arm  the  bold  adventurer  guides, 
And  he  that  lists  such  desperate  feat  to  try, 
May,  like  the  sea-mew,  skim  'twixt  surf  and  sky, 
And  feel  the  mid-air  gales  around  him  blow, 
And  see  the  billows  rage  five  hundred  feet  below. 

Here,  by  each  stormy  peak  and  desert  shore, 
The  hardy  islesman  tugs  the  daring  oar, 
Practiced  alike  his  venturous  course  to  keep, 
Through  the  white  breakers  or  the  pathless  deep, 
By  ceaseless  peril  and  by  toil  to  gain 
A  wretched  pittance  from  the  niggard  main. 
And  when  the  worn-out  drudge  old  ocean  leaves, 
What  comfort  greets  him,  and  what  hut  receives? 
Lady !  the  worst  your  presence  ere  has  cheer'd 
(When  want  and  sorrow  fled  as  you  appear'd) 
Were  to  a  Zetlander  as  the  high  dome 
Of  proud  Drumlanrig  to  my  humble  home. 
Here  rise  no  groves,  and  here  no  gardens  blow, 
Here  even  the  hardy  heath  scarce  dares  to  grow ; 
But  rocks  on  rocks,  in  mist  and  storm  array 'd, 
Stretch  far  to  sea  their  giant  colonnade. 
With  many  a  cavern  seam'd,  the  di-eary  haunt 
Of  the  dun  seal  and  swarthy  cormorant. 
Wild  round  their  rifted  brows,  with  frequent  cry 
As  of  lament,  the  gulls  and  gannets  fly, 
And  from  their  sable  base,  with  sullen  sound, 
In  sheets  of  whitening  foam  the  waves  rebound. 

Yet  even  these  coasts  a  touch  of  envy  gain 
From  those  whose  land  has  known  oppression's  chain; 
For  here  the  industrious  Dutchman  comes  once  more 
To  moor  his  fishing  craft  by  Bressay's  shore  ; 
Greets  every  former  mate  and  brother  tar, 
Marvels  how  Lerwick  'scaped  the  rage  of  war, 
Tells  many  a  tale  of  Gallic  outrage  done, 
And  ends  by  blessing  God  and  Wellington. 
Here  too  the  Greenland  tar,  a  fiercer  guest, 
Claims  a  brief  hour  of  riot,  not  of  rest ; 
Proves  each  wild  frolic  that  in  wine  has  birth, 
And  wakes  the  land  with  brawls  and  boisterous  mirth. 
A  sadder  sight  on  yon  poor  vessel's  prow 
The  captive  Norseman  sits  in  silent  woe, 
And  eyes  the  flags  of  Britain  as  they  flow. 
Hard  fate  of  war,  which  bade  her  terrors  sway 
His  destined  course,  and  seize  so  mean  a  prey ; 
A  bark  with  planks  so  warp'd  and  seams  so  riven, 
She  scarce  might  face  the  gentlest  airs  of  heaven : 
Pensive  he  sits,  and  questions  oft  if  none 
Can  list  his  speech,  and  understand  his  moan ; 
In  vain — no  islesman  now  can  use  the  tongue 
Of  the  bold  Norse,  from  whom  their  lineage  sprung. 


1838,  in  his  sixty-first  year.  The  reader  will  find  a  warm 
tribute  to  Staffa's  character  as  a  Highland  landlord  in  Scott's 
article  on  Sir  John  Carr's  Caledonian  Sketches. — Miscellaneous 
Prose  Works,  vol.  xix. 


642 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Not  thus  of  old  the  Norsemen  hither  came, 

Won  by  the  love  of  clanger  or  of  fame ; 

On  every  storm-beat  cape  a  shapeless  tower 

Tells  of  their  wars,  their  conquests,  and  their  power; 

For  ne'er  for  Grecia's  vales,  nor  Latian  land, 

Was  fiercer  strife  than  for  this  barren  strand  ; 

A  race  severe — the  isle  and  ocean  lords 

Loved  for  its  own  delight  the  strife  of  swords ; 

With  scornful  laugh  the  mortal  pang  defied, 

And  blest  their  gods  that  they  in  battle  died. 

Such  were  the  sires  of  Zetland's  simple  race, 
And  still  the  eye  may  faint  resemblance  trace 
In  the  blue  eye,  tall  form,  proportion  fair, 
The  limbs  athletic,  and  the  long  light  hair 
(Such  was  the  mien,  as  Scald  and  Minstrel  sings, 
Of  fair-hair'd  Harold,  first  of  Norway's  Kings) ; 
But  their  high  deeds  to  scale  these  crags  confined, 
Their  only  warfare  is  with  waves  and  wind. 

Why  should  I  talk  of  Mousa's  castled  coast  ? 
Why  of  the  horrors  of  the  Sumburgh  Rost? 
May  not  these  bald  disjointed  lines  suffice, 
Penn'd  while  my  comrades  whirl  the  rattling  dice — 
While  down  the  cabin  skylight  lessening  shine 
The  rays,  and  eve  is  chased  with  mirth  and  wine  ? 
Imagined,  while  down  Mousa's  desert  bay 
Our  well-trimm'd  vessel  urged  her  nimble  way, 
While  to  the  freshening  breeze  she  lean'd  her  side, 
And  bade  her  bowsprit  kiss  the  foamy  tide  ? 

Such  are  the  lays  that  Zetland  Isles  supply ; 
Drench'd  with  the  drizzly  spray  and  dropping  sky, 
Weary  and  wet,  a  sea-sick  minstrel  I. W.  Scott. 

POSTSCRIPTUM. 

Kirkwall,  Orkney,  Aug.  13,  1814. 

In   respect  that  your  Grace  has  commission'd  a 

Kraken, 
You  will  please  be  inform'd  that  they  seldom  are  taken ; 
It  is  January  two  years,  the  Zetland  folks  say, 
Since  they  saw  the  last  Kraken  in  Scalloway  bay; 
He  lay  in  the  offing  a  fortnight  or  more, 
But  the  devil  a  Zetlander  put  from  the  shore, 
Though  bold  in  the  seas  of  the  North  to  assail 
The  morse  and  the  sea-horse,  the  grampus  and  whale. 
If  your  Grace  thinks  I'm  writing  the  thing  that  is  not, 
You  may  ask  at  a  namesake  of  ours,  Mr.  Scott 
(He's  not  from  our  clan,  though  his  merits  deserve  it, 
But  springs,  I'm  inform'd,  from  the  Scotts  of  Scot- 

starvet) ;  * 
He  question'd  the  folks  who  beheld  it  with  eyes, 
But  they  differ'd  confoundedly  as  to  its  size. 
For  instance,  the  modest  and  diffident  swore 
That  it  seem'd  like  the  keel  of  a  ship,  and  no  more — 


1  The  Scotts  of  Scotstarvet,  and  other  families  of  the  name 
in  Fife  and  elsewhere,  claim  no  kindred  with  the  great  clan 
of  the  Border,  and  their  armorial  bearings  are  different. 


Those  of  eyesight  more  clear,  or  of  fancy  more  high, 
Said  it  rose  like  an  island  'twist  ocean  and  sky — 
But  all  of  the  hulk  had  a  steady  opinion 
That  'twas  sure  a  live  subject  of  Neptune's  dominion — 
And   I   think,  my  Lord  Duke,  your   Grace    hardly 

would  wish, 
To  cumber  your  house,  such  a  kettle  of  fish. 
Had  your  order  related  to  night-caps  or  hose, 
Or  mittens  of  worsted,  there's  plenty  of  those; 
Or  would  you  be  pleased  but  to  fancy  a  whale  ? 
And  direct  me  to  send  it — by  sea  or  by  mail  ? 
The  season,  I'm  told,  is  nigh  over,  but  still 
I  could  get  you  one  fit  for  the  lake  at  Bowhill. 
Indeed,  as  to  whales,  there's  no  need  to  be  thrifty, 
Since  one  day  last  fortnight  two  hundred  and  fifty, 
Pursued  by  seven  Orkneymen's  boats  and  no  more, 
Betwixt  Trufihess  and  Luffness  were  drawn  on  the 

shore ! 
You'll  ask  if  I  saw  this  same  wonderful  sight ; 
I  own  that  I  did  not,  but  easily  might — 
For  this  mighty  shoal  of  leviathans  lay 
On  our  lee-beam  a  mile,  in  the  loop  of  the  bay, 
And  the  islesmen  of  Sanda  were  all  at  the  spoil, 
And  flinching  (so  term  it)  the  blubber  to  boil ; 
(Ye  spirits  of  lavender,  drown  the  reflection 
That  awakes  at  the  thoughts  of  this  odorous  dissection ! ) 
To  see  this  huge  marvel  full  fain  would  we  go, 
But  Wilson,  the  wind,  and  the  current,  said  no. 
We  have  now  got  to  Kirkwall,  and  needs  I  must  stare 
When  I  think  that  inverse  I  have  once  call'd  it  fair; 
'Tis  a  base  little  borough,  both  dirty  and  mean — 
There  is  nothing  to  hear,  and  there's  nought  to  be  seen 
Save  a  church,  where,  of  old  times,  a  prelate  harangued, 
And  a  palace  that's  built  by  an  earl  that  was  hang'd. 
But,  farewell  to  Kirkwall — aboard  we  are  going, 
The  anchor's  a-peak,  and  the  breezes  are  blowing; 
Our  commodore  calls  all  his  band  to  their  places, 
And  'tis  time  to  release  you — good  night  to  your 

Graces ! 


"fcJerscs  from  SHatalcg. 


1814. 


"  The  following  song,  which  has  been  since  borrowed 
by  the  worshipful  author  of  the  famous  '  History  of 
Fryar  Bacon,'  has  been  with  difficulty  deciphered. 
It  seems  to  have  been  sung  on  occasion  of  carrying 
home  the  bride." 

(1.)— BRIDAL  SONG. 

To  the  tune  of  "  I  have  been  a  Fiddler,"  &c. 

And  did  ye  not  hear  of  a  mirth  befell 
The  morrow  after  a  wedding  day, 

And  carrying  a  bride  at  home  to  dwell  ? 
And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away  1 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


643 


The  quintain  was  set,  and  the  garlands  were  made, 
Tis  pity  old  customs  should  ever  decay ; 

And  woe  be  to  him  that  was  horsed  on  a  jade, 
For  he  carried  no  credit  away,  away. 

We  met  a  concert  of  fiddle-de-dees ; 

We  set  them  a  cockhorse,  and  made  them  play 
The  winning  of  Bullen,  and  Upsey-frees, 

And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away ! 

There  was  ne'er  a  lad  in  all  the  parish 

That  would  go  to  the  plough  that  day ;  . 

But  on  his  fore-horse  his  wench  he  carries, 

And  away  to  Tewin,  away,  away ! 

The  butler  was  quick,  and  the  ale  he  did  tap, 
The  maidens  did  make  the  chamber  full  gay ; 

The  servants  did  give  me  a  fuddling  cup, 
And  I  did  carry't  away,  away. 

The  smith  of  the  town  his  liquor  so  took, 
That  he  was  persuaded  that  the  ground  look'd 
blue ; 

And  I  dare  boldly  be  sworn  on  a  book, 
Such  smiths  as  he  there's  but  a  few. 

A  posset  was  made,  and  the  women  did  sip, 
And  simpering  said,  they  could  eat  no  more ; 

Full  many  a  maiden  was  laid  on  the  lip, — 
I'll  say  no  more,  but  give  o'er,  (give  o'er.) 

Appendix  to  the  General  Preface, 


(2.)— WAVERLEY. 

"  On  receiving  intelligence  of  his  commission  as 
captain  of  a  troop  of  horse  in  Colonel  Gardiner's  regi- 
ment, his  tutor,  Mr.  Pembroke,  picked  up  about  Ed- 
ward's room  some  fragments  of  irregular  verse,  which 
he  appeared  to  have  composed  under  the  influence  of 
the  agitating  feelings  occasioned  by  this  sudden  page 
being  turned  up  to  him  in  the  book  of  life." 

Late,  when  the  autumn  evening  fell 
On  Mirkwood-Mere's  romantic  dell, 
The  lake  return'd,  in  chasten'd  gleam, 
The  purple  cloud,  the  golden  beam : 
Reflected  in  the  crystal  pool, 
Headland  and  bank  lay  fair  and  cool ; 
The  weather-tinted  rock  and  tower, 
Each  drooping  tree,  each  fairy  flower, 
So  true,  so  soft,  the  mirror  gave, 
As  if  there  lay  beneath  the  wave, 
Secure  from  trouble,  toil,  and  care, 
A  world  than  earthly  world  more  fair. 

But  distant  winds  began  to  wake, 
And  roused  the  Genius  of  the  Lake ! 


He  heard  the  groaning  of  the  oak, 

And  doim'd  at  once  his  sable  cloak, 

As  warrior,  at  the  battle  cry, 

Invests  him  with  his  panoply : 

Then,  as  the  whirlwind  nearer  press'd, 

He  'gan  to  shake  his  foamy  crest 

O'er  furrow'd  brow  and  blacken'd  cheek, 

And  bade  his  surge  in  thunder  speak. 

In  wild  and  broken  eddies  whirl'd, 

Flitted  that  fond  ideal  world  ; 

And,  to  the  shore  in  tumult  tost, 

The  realms  of  fairy  bliss  were  lost. 

Yet,  with  a  stern  delight  and  strange, 
I  saw  the  spirit-stirring  change. 
As  warr'd  the  wind  with  wave  and  wood, 
Upon  the  ruin'd  tower  I  stood, 
And  felt  my  heart  more  strongly  bound, 
Responsive  to  the  lofty  sound, 
While,  joying  in  the  mighty  roar, 
I  mourn'd  that  tranquil  scene  no  more. 

So,  on  the  idle  dreams  of  youth 
Breaks  the  loud  trumpet-call  of  truth, 
Bids  each  fair  vision  pass  away, 
Like  landscape  on  the  lake  that  lay, 
As  fair,  as  flitting,  and  as  frail, 
As  that  which  fled  the  autumn  gale — 
For  ever  dead  to  fancy's  eye 
Be  each  gay  form  that  glided  by, 
While  dreams  of  love  and  lady's  charms 
Give  place  to  honor  and  to  arms ! 

Chap.  v. 


(3.)-DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

"  He  (Daft  Davie  Gellatley)  sung  with  great  earnest- 
ness, and  not  without  some  taste,  a  fragment  of  an  old 
Scotch  ditty : " 

False  love,  and  hast  thou  play'd  me  this 

In  summer  among  the  flowers? 
I  will  repay  thee  back  again 

In  winter  among  the  showers. 
Unless  again,  again,  my  love, 

Unless  you  turn  again  ; 
As  you  with  other  maidens  rove, 

I'll  smile  on  other  men. 

"This  is  a  genuine  ancient  fragment,  with  some 
alteration  in  the  last  two  lines." 


" The  questioned  party  replied,— and,  like  the 

witch  of  Thalaba,  '  still  his  speech  was  song.'  " 


644 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


THE  Knight's  to  the  mountain 

His  bugle  to  wind ; 
The  Lady's  to  greenwood 

Her  garland  to  bind. 
The  bower  of  Burd  Ellen 

Has  moss  on  the  floor, 
That  the  step  of  Lord  William 

Be  silent  and  sure. 


Chap.  ix. 


(4.)— SCENE 

IN  LTTCKIE  MACLEARY'S  TAVERN. 

"  In  the  middle  of  this  din,  the  Baron  repeatedly 
implored  silence;  and  when  at  length  the  instinct  of 
polite  discipline  so  far  prevailed  that  for  a  moment 
he  obtained  it,  he  hastened  to  beseech  their  attention 
'  unto  a  military  ariette,  which  was  a  particular  favor- 
ite of  the  Marechal  Due  de  Berwick ;'  then,  imitating, 
as  well  as  he  could,  the  manner  and  tone  of  a  French 
musquetaire,  he  immediately  commenced," 

Mon  cceur  volage,  dit-elle, 

N'est  pas  pour  vous,  garcon, 
Est  pour  un  homme  de  guerre, 

Qui  a  barbe  au  menton. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

Qui  porte  chapeau  a  plume, 

Soulier  a  rouge  talon, 
Qui  joue  de  la  flute, 

Aussi  de  violon. 

Lon,  Lon,  Laridon. 

"  Balmawhapple  could  hold  no  longer,  but  break 
in  with  what  he  called  a  d — d  good  song,  composed 
by  Gibby  Gaethrowit,  the  Piper  of  Cupar ;  and,  with- 
out wasting  more  time,  struck  up — " 

It's  up  Glenbarchan's  braes  I  gaed, 
And  o'er  the  bent  of  Killiebraid, 
And  mony  a  weary  cast  I  made, 
To  cuittle  the  moor-fowl's  tail. 

If  up  a  bonny  black-cock  should  spring, 
To  whistle  him  down  wi'  a  slug  in  his  wing, 
And  strap  him  on  to  my  lunzie  string, 
Bight  seldom  would  I  fail. 

Chap.  xi. 


(5.)— "HIE  AWAY,   HIE  AWAY." 

"The  stamping  of  horses  was  now  heard  in  the 
court,  and  Davie  Gellatley's  voice  singing  to  the  two 
large  deer  greyhounds," 


Hie  away,  hie  away, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Where  the  copsewood  is  the  greenest, 
Where  the  fountains  glisten  sheenest, 
Where  the  lady-fern  grows  strongest, 
Where  the  morning  dew  lies  longest, 
Where  the  black-cock  sweetest  sips  it, 
Where  the  fairy  latest  trips  it : 
Hie  to  haunts  right  seldom  seen, 
Lovely,  lonesome,  cool,  and  green, 
Over  bank  and  over  brae, 
Hie  away,  hie  away. 

Chap.  xii. 


(6.)— ST.  SWITHIN'S  CHAIR. 

"  The  view  of  the  old  tower,  or  fortalice,  introduced 
some  family  anecdotes,  and  tales  of  Scottish  chivalry, 
which  the  Baron  told  with  great  enthusiasm.  The 
projecting  peak  of  an  impending  crag,  which  rose  near 
it,  had  acquired  the  name  of  St.  Swithin's  Chair.  It 
was  the  scene  of  a  peculiar  superstition,  of  which  Mr. 
Rubrick  mentioned  some  curious  particulars,  which 
reminded  Waverley  of  a  rhyme  quoted  by  Edgar  in 
King  Lear ;  and  Rose  was  called  upon  to  sing  a  little 
legend,  in  which  they  had  been  interwoven  by  some 
village  poet, 

Who,  noteless  as  the  race  from  which  he  sprung, 
Saved  others'  names,  but  left  his  own  unsung. 

"  The  sweetness  of  her  voice,  and  the  simple  beauty 
of  her  music,  gave  all  the  advantage  which  the  min- 
strel could  have  desired,  and  which  his  poetry  so  much 

wanted." 

On  Hallow-Mass  Eve,  ere  you  boune  ye  to  rest, 
Ever  beware  that  your  couch  be  bless'd ; 
Sign  it  with  cross,  and  sain  it  with  bead, 
Sing  the  Ave,  and  say  the  Creed. 

For  on  Hallow-Mass  Eve  the  Night-Hag  will  ride, 
And  all  her  nine-fold  sweeping  on  by  her  side, 
Whether  the  wind  sing  lowly  or  loud, 
Sailing  through  moonshine  or  swath'd  in  the  cloud. 

The  Lady  she  sat  in  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
The  dew  of  the  night  has  damp'd  her  hair : 
Her  cheek  was  pale — but  resolved  and  high 
Was  the  word  of  her  lip  and  the  glance  of  her  eye. 

She  mutter'd  the  spell  of  Swithin  bold, 
When  his  naked  foot  traced  the  midnight  wold, 
When  he  stopp'd  the  Hag  as  she  rode  the  night, 
And  bade  her  descend,  and  her  promise  plight. 

He  that  dare  sit  on  St.  Swithin's  Chair, 
When  the  Night-Hag  wings  the  troubled  air, 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


645 


Questions  three,  when  he  speaks  the  spell, 
He  may  ask,  and  she  must  tell. 

The  Baron  has  been  with  King  Robert  his  liege, 
These  three  long  years  in  battle  and  siege  $ 
News  are  there  none  of  his  weal  or  his  woe, 
And  fain  the  Lady  his  fate  would  know. 

She  shudders  and  stops  as  the  charm  she  speaks  ;— 
Is  it  the  moody  owl  that  shrieks  ? 
Or  is  that  sound,  betwixt  laughter  and  scream, 
The  voice  of  the  Demon  who  haunts  the  stream  ? 

The  moan  of  the  wind  sunk  silent  and  low, 
And  the  roaring  torrent  had  ceased  to  flow ; 
The  calm  was  more  dreadful  than  raging  storm, 
When  the  cold  gray  mist  brought  the  ghastly  form ! 

*  *  ■*  *  *  •:;:■ 

Chap.  xiii. 


(7.)— DAVIE  GELLATLEY'S  SONG. 

"The  next  day  Edward  arose  betimes,  and  in  a 
morning  walk  around  the  house  and  its  vicinity,  came 
suddenly  upon  a. small  court  in  front  of  the  dog-kennel, 
where  his  friend  Davie  was  employed  about  his  four- 
footed  charge.  One  quick  glance  of  his  eye  recognized 
Waverley,  when,  instantly  turning  bis  back,  as  if  he 
had  not  observed  him,  he  began  to  sing  part  of  an 
old  ballad." 

Young  men  will  love  thee  more  fair  and  more  fast ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  f. 
Old  men's  love  the  longest  will  last, 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The  young  man's  wrath  is  like  light  straw  on  fire ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing .' 
But  like  red-hot  steel  is  the  old  man's  ire, 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

The  young  man  will  brawl  at  the  evening  board ; 

Heard  ye  so  merry  the  little  bird  sing  f 
But  the  old  man  will  draw  at  the  dawning  the  sword, 

And  the  throstle-cock's  head  is  under  his  wing. 

[The  song  has  allusion  to  the  Baron  of  Braidwar- 
dine's  personal  encounter  with  Balmawhapple  early 
next  morning,  after  the  evening  quarrel  betwixt  the 
latter  and  Waverley.] 

Chap.  xiv. 


All  those  idle  thoughts  and  phantasies, 

Devices,  dreams,  opinions  unsound, 
Shows,  visions,  soothsays,  and  prophecies, 
And  all  that  feigned  is,  as  leasings,  tales,  and  lies. 

Chap.  xiii. 


(8.)— JANET  GELLATLEY'S  ALLEGED 
WITCHCRAFT. 

:  This  anecdote  led  into  a  long  discussion  of" 


(9.)— FLORA  MACIVOR'S  SONG. 

"  Flora  had  exchanged  the  measured  and  monoto- 
nous recitative  of  the  bard  for  a  lofty  and  uncommon 
Highland  air,  which  had  been  a  battle-song  in  former 
ages.  A  few  irregular  strains  introduced  a  prelude 
of  a  wild  and  peculiar  tone,  which  harmonized  well 
with  the  distant  water-fall,  and  the  soft  sigh  of  the 
evening  breeze  in  the  rustling  leaves  of  an  aspen 
which  overhung  the  seat  of  the  fair  harpress.  The 
following  verses  convey  but  little  idea  of  the  feelings 
with  which,  so  sung  and  accompanied,  they  were 
heard  by  Waverley :" 

There  is  mist  on  the  mountain,  and  night  on  the  vale, 
But  more  dark  is  the  sleep  of  the  sons  of  the  Gael. 
A  stranger  commanded — it  sunk  on  the  land, 
It  has  frozen  each  heart,  and  benumb'd  every  hand ! 

The  dirk  and  the  target  lie  sordid  with  dust, 
The  bloodless  claymore  is  but  redden'd  with  rust ; 
On  the  hill  or  the  glen  if  a  gun  should  appear, 
It  is  only  to  war  with  the  heath-cock  or  deer. 

The  deeds  of  our  sires  if  our  bards  should  rehearse, 
Let  a  blush  or  a  blow  be  the  meed  of  their  verse ! 
Be  mute  every  string,  and  be  hush'd  every  tone, 
That  shall  bid  us  remember  the  fame  that  is  flown. 

But  the  dark  hours  of  night  and  of  slumber  are  past, 
The  morn  on  our  mountains  is  dawning  at  last ; 
Glenaladale's  peaks  are  illumed  with  the  rays, 
And  the  streams  of  Gleiitinuau  leap  bright  in  the 
blaze. 

Oh,  high-minded  Moray! — the  exiled — the  dear! — 
In  the  blush  of  the  dawning  the  Standard  uprear ! 
Wide,  wide  on  the  winds  of  the  north  let  it  fly, 
Like  the  sun's  latest  flash  when  the  tempest  is  nigh! 

Ye  sons  of  the  strong,  when  that  dawning  shall  break, 
Need  the  harp  of  the  aged  remind  you  to  wake  ? 
That  dawn  never  beam'd  on  your  forefathers'  eye, 
But  it  roused  each  high  chieftain  to  vanquish  or  die. 

Oh  sprung  from  the  Kings  who  in  IsJay  kept  state, 
Proud  chiefs  of  Clan-Ranald,  Glengary,  and  Sleat! 
Combine  like  three  streams  from  one  mountain  of 

snow, 
And  resistless  in  union  rush  down  on  the  foe  I 


646 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


True  son  of  Sir  Evan,  undaunted  Lochiel, 
Place  thy  targe  on  thy  shoulder,  and  burnish  thy  steel ! 
Rough  Keppoch,  give  breath  to  thy  bugle's  bold  swell, 
Till  far  Coryarrick  resound  to  the  knell ! 

Stern  son  of  Lord  Kenneth,  high  chief  of  Kintail, 
Let  the  stag  in  thy  standard  bound  wild  in  the  gale ! 
May  the  race  of  Clan-Gillian,  the  fearless  and  free, 
Remember  Glenlivat,  Harlaw,  and  Dundee ! 

Let  the  clan  of  gray  Fingon,  whose  offspring  has  given 
Such  heroes  to  earth,  and  such  martyrs  to  heaven, 
Unite  with  the  race  of  renown'd  Rorri  More, 
To  launch  the  long  galley,  and  stretch  to  the  oar ! 

How  MacShimei  will  joy  when  their  chief  shall  display 
The  yew-crested  bonnet  o'er  tresses  of  gray ! 
How  the  race  of  wrong'd  Alpine  and  murder'd  Glencoe 
Shall  shout  for  revenge  when  they  pour  on  the  foe ! 

Ye  sons  of  brown  Dermid,  who  slew  the  wild  boar, 
Resume  the  pure  faith  of  the  great  Callum-More ! 
MacNiel  of  the  Islands,  and  Moy  of  the  Lake, 
For  honor,  for  freedom,  for  vengeance  awake ! 

Awake  on  your  hills,  on  your  islands  awake, 
Brave  sons  of  the  mountain,  the  frith,  and  the  lake ! 
'Tis  the  bugle — but  not  for  the  chase  is  the  call; 
'Tis  the  pibroch's  shrill  summons — but  not  to  the  hall. 

'Tis  the  summons  of  heroes  for  conquest  or  death, 
When  the  banners  are  blazing  on  mountain  and  heath ; 
They  call  to  the  dirk,  the  claymore,  and  the  targe, 
To  the  march  and  the  muster,  the  line  and  the  charge. 

Be  the  brand  of  each  chieftain  like  Fin's  in  his  ire ! 
May  the  blood  through  his  veins  flow  like  currents  of 

fire! 
Burst  the  base  foreign  yoke  as  your  sires  did  of  yore ! 
Or  die,  like  your  sires,  and  endure  it  no  more ! 

"As  Flora  concluded  her  song,  Fergus  stood  before 
them,  and  immediately  commenced  with  a  theatrical 
air," 

O  Lady  of  the  desert,  hail ! 
That  lovest  the  harping  of  the  Gael, 
Through  fair  and  fertile  regions  borne, 
Where  never  yet  grew  grass  or  corn. 

"  But  English  poetry  will  never  succeed  under  the 
influence  of  a  Highland  Helicon — Allans,  courage" — 

O  vous,  qui  buvez  a  tasse  pleine, 

A  cette  heureuse  fontaine, 
Oil  on  ne  voit  sur  le  rivage 

Que  quelques  vilains  troupeaiix, 
Suivis  de  nymphes  de  village, 

Qui  les  escortent  sans  sabots 

Chap.  xxii. 


(10.)— LINES  ON  CAPTAIN  WOGAN. 

"  The  letter  from  the  Chief  contained  Flora's  lines 
on  the  fate  of  Captain  Wogan,  whose  enterprising 
character  is  so  well  drawn  by  Clarendon.  He  had 
originally  engaged  in  the  service  of  the  Parliament, 
but  had  abjured  that  party  upon  the  execution  of 
Charles  I. ;  and  upon  hearing  that  the  royal  standard 
was  set  up  by  the  Earl  of  Glencairn  and  General  Mid- 
dleton  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  took  leave  of 
Charles  II.,  who  was  then  at  Paris,  passed  into  Eng- 
land, assembled  a  body  of  cavaliers  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  London,  and  traversed  the  kingdom,  which 
had  been  so  long  under  domination  of  the  usurper,  by 
marches  conducted  with  such  skill,  dexterity,  and 
spirit,  that  he  safely  united  his  handful  of  horsemen 
with  the  body  of  Highlanders  then  in  arms.  After 
several  months  of  desultory  warfare,  in  which  Wogan's 
skill  and  courage  gained  him  the  highest  reputation, 
he  had  the  misfortune  to  be  wounded  in  a  dangerous 
manner,  and  no  surgical  assistance  being  within  reach, 
he  terminated  his  short  but  glorious  career." 

The  verses  were  inscribed, 


TO  AN  OAK  TREE, 


IN  THE  CHURCHYARD  OF 


-,  IN  THE  HIGHLANDS 
OF  SCOTLAND,  SAID  TO  MARK  THE  GRAVE  OF 
CAPTAIN  WOGAN,  KILLED  IN  1649. 

Emblem  of  England's  ancient  faith, 
Full  proudly  may  thy  branches  wave, 

Where  loyalty  lies  low  in  death, 
And  valor  fills  a  timeless  grave. 

And  thou,  brave  tenant  of  the  tomb ! 

Repine  not  if  our  clime  deny, 
Above  thine  honor'd  sod  to  bloom, 

The  flow'rets  of  a  milder  sky. 

These  owe  their  birth  to  genial  May ; 

Beneath  a  fiercer  sun  they  pine, 
Before  the  winter  storm  decay — 

And  can  their  worth  be  type  of  thine  ? 

No !  for,  'mid  storms  of  Fate  opposing, 
Still  higher  swell'd  thy  dauntless  heart, 

And,  while  Despair  the  scene  was  closing, 
Commenced  thy  brief  but  brilliant  part. 

'Twas  then  thou  sought'st  on  Albyn's  hill 
(When  England's  sons  the  strife  resign'd) 

A  rugged  race  resisting  still, 
And  unsubdued  though  unrefined. 

Thy  death's  hour  heard  no  kindred  wail, 

No  holy  knell  thy  requiem  rung ; 
Thy  mourners  were  the  plaided  Gael, 

Thy  dirge  the  clamorous  pibroch  sung. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


647 


Yet  who,  in  Fortune's  summer-shine 
To  waste  life's  longest  term  away, 

Would  change  that  glorious  dawn  of  thine, 
Though  darken'd  ere  its  noontide  day  ? 

Be  thine  the  Tree  whose  dauntless  houghs 
Brave  summer's  drought  and  winter's  gloom ! 

Rome  bound  with  oak  her  patriots'  brows, 
As  Albyn  shadows  Wogan's  tomb. 

Chap.  xxix. 

(11.)—"  FOLLOW  ME,  FOLLOW  ME." 

" '  Who  are  dead  V  said  Waverley,  forgetting  the 
incapacity  of  Davie  to  hold  any  connected  discourse. 

" '  Baron — and  Baillie — and  Sanders  Sanderson — 
and  Lady  Rose,  that  sang  sae  sweet — A'  dead  and 
gane — dead  and  gane,'  (said  Davie) — 

But  follow,  follow  me, 

While  the  glow-worms  light  the  lea, 

I'll  show  ye  where  the  dead  should  be — 

Each  in  his  shroud, 

While  winds  pipe  loud, 

And  the  red  moon  peeps  dim  through  the  cloud. 

Follow,  follow  me ; 
Brave  should  he  be 
That  treads  by  the  night  the  dead  man's  lea." 

Chap,  lxiii. 


Cfje  autfjor  of  fcffiiabwleg*? 

["  I  AM  not  able  to  give  the  exact  date  of  the  follow- 
ing reply  to  one  of  John  Ballantyne's  expostulations 
on  the  subject  of  the  secret:" — Life,  vol.  iv.  p.  179.] 

"  No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book — 

I  won't,  you  Piccaroon. 
When  next  I  try  St.  Grubby's  brook, 
The  A.  of  Wa —  shall  bait  the  hook — 

And  flat-fish  bite  as  soon, 
As  if  before  them  they  had  got 
The  worn-out  wriggler 

Walter  Scott." 


^aretodl  to  Jtfadun?it>, 

HIGH  CHIEF  OF  KINTAIL. 
FBOM  THE  GAELIC. 


1815.— JET.  44. 


The  original  verses  are  arranged  to  a  beautiful  Gaelic 
air,  of  which  the  chorus  is  adapted  to  the  double  pull 

1  Bonail  or  Bonallez,  the  old  Scottish  phrase  for  a  feast  at 
parting  with  a  friend. 

2  These  verses  were  written  shortly  after  the  death  of  Lord 
Seaforth,  the  last  male  representative  of  his  illustrious  house. 


upon  the  oars  of  a  galley,  and  which  is  therefore  dis- 
tinct from  the  ordinary  jorrams  or  boat-songs.  They 
were  composed  by  the  family  bard  upon  the  departure 
of  the  Earl  of  Seaforth,  who  was  obliged  to  take  refuge 
in  Spain,  after  an  unsuccessful  effort  at  insurrection 
in  favor  of  the  Stuart  family,  in  the  year  1718. 


Farewell  to  Mackenneth,  great  Earl  of  the  North, 
The  Lord  of  Lochcarron,  Gleushiel,  and  Seaforth ; 
To  the  Chieftain  this  morning  his  course  who  began, 
Launching  forth  on  the  billows  his  bark  like  a  swan. 
For  a  far  foreign  land  he  has  hoisted  his  sail, 
Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Oh  swift  be  the  galley,  and  hardy  her  crew, 
May  her  captain  be  skillful,  her  mariners  true, 
In  danger  undaunted,  unwearied  by  toil, 
Though  the  whirlwind  should  rise,  and  the  ocean 

should  boil ; 
On  the  brave  vessel's  gunnel  I  drank  his  bonail,1 
And  farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Awake  in  thy  chamber,  thou  sweet  Southland  gale ! 
Like  the  sighs  of  his  people,  breathe  soft  on  his  sail  ; 
Be  prolong'd  as  regret,  that  his  vassals  must  know, 
Be  fair  as  their  faith,  and  sincere  as  their  woe ; 
Be  so  soft,  and  so  fair,  and  so  faithful,  sweet  gale, 
Wafting  onward  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 

Be  his  pilot  experienced,  and  trusty,  and  wise, 
To  measure  the  seas  and  to  study  the  skies : 
May  he  hoist  all  his  canvas  from  streamer  to  deck, 
But  oh !  crowd  it  higher  when  wafting  him  back — 
Till  the  cliffs  of  Skooroora,  and  Conan's  glad  vale, 
Shall  welcome  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail ! 


IMITATION  OF  THE  PRECEDING  SONG.2 

So  sung  the  old  Bard,  in  the  grief  of  his  heart, 
When  he  saw  his  loved  Lord  from  his  people  depart. 
Now  mute  on  thy  mountains,  O  Albyn,  are  heard 
Nor  the  voice  of  the  song,  nor  the  harp  of  the  bard ; 
Or  its  strings  are  but  waked  by  the  stern  winter  gale, 
As  they  mourn  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

From  the  far  Southland  Border  a  Minstrel  came  forth, 
And  waited  the  hour  that  some  bard  of  the  north 
His  hand  on  the  harp  of  the  ancient  should  cast, 
And  bid  its  wild  numbers  mix  high  with  the  blast; 
But  no  bard  was  there  left  in  the  land  of  the  Gael, 
To  lament  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  shalt  thou  then  sleep,  did  the  Minstrel  exclaim, 
Like  the  son  of  the  lowly,  unnoticed  by  fame  ? 

He  was  a  nobleman  of  extraordinary  talents,  who  must  have 
made  for  himself  a  lasting  reputation  had  not  his  political  ex- 
ertions been  checked  by  the  painful  natural  infirmities  alluded 
to  in  the  fourth  stanza.    See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  18,  19. 


648 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


No,  son  of  Fitzgerald !  in  accents  of  woe, 
The  song  thou  hast  loved  o'er  thy  coffin  shall  flow, 
And  teach  thy  wild  mountains  to  join  in  the  wail 
That  laments  for  Mackenzie,  last  Chief  of  Kintail. 

In  vain,  the  bright  course  of  thy  talents  to  wrong, 

Fate  deaden'd  thine  ear  and  imprison'd  thy  tongue; 

For  brighter  o'er  all  her  obstructions  arose 

The  glow  of  the  genius  they  could  not  oppose ; 

And  who  in  the  land  of  the  Saxon  or  Gael 

Might  match  with  Mackenzie,  High  Chief  of  Kintail  ? 

Thy  sons  rose  around  thee  in  light  and  in  love, 

All  a  father  could  hope,  all  a  friend  could  approve  ; 

What  'vails  it  the  tale  of  thy  sorrow  to  tell  ? — 

In  the  spring-time  of  youth  and  of  promise  they  fell! 

Of  the  line  of  Fitzgerald  remains  not  a  male 

To  bear  the  proud  name  of  the  Chief  of  Kintail. 

And  thou,  gentle  Dame,  who  must  bear,  to  thy  grief, 
For  thy  clan  and  thy  country  the  cares  of  a  Chief, 
Whom  brief  rolling  moons  in  six  changes  have  left 
Of  thy  husband,  and  father,  and  brethren  bereft, 
To  thine  ear  of  affection  how  sad  is  the  hail 
That  salutes  thee  the  Heir  of  the  line  of  Kintail  I1 


Wlaxz&onQ  of  ILadjlan, 

HIGH   CHIEF  OF  MACLEAN. 
FROM  THE  GAELIC. 


1815. 


This  song  appears  to  be  imperfect,  or,  at  least,  like 
many  of  the  early  Gaelic  poems,  makes  a  rapid  tran- 
sition from  one  subject  to  another ;  from  the  situation, 
namely,  of  one  of  the  daughters  of  the  clan,  who  opens 
the  song  by  lamenting  the  absence  of  her  lover,  to  an 
eulogiam  over  the  military  glories  of  the  chieftain. 
The  translator  has  endeavored  to  imitate  the  abrupt 
style  of  the  original. 


A  weary  month  has  wander'd  o'er 
Since  last  we  parted  on  the  shore  ; 
Heaven !  that  I  saw  thee,  Love,  once  more, 

Safe  on  that  shore  again  ! — 
'Twas  valiant  Lachlan  gave  the  word, — 
Lachlan,  of  many  a  galley  lord: 
He  call'd  his  kindred  hands  on  board, 

And  launch'd  them  on  the  main. 


1  The  Honorable  Lady  Hood,  daughter  of  the  last  Lord  Soa- 
forth,  widow  of  Admiral  Sir  Samuel  Hood,  now  Mrs.  Stewart 
Mackenzie  of  Seaforth  and  Glaaserton.     1833. 


Clan-Gillian2  is  to  ocean  gone, 
Clan-Gillian,  fierce  in  foray  known, 
Rejoicing  in  the  glory  won 

In  many  a  bloody  broil : 
For  wide  is  heard  the  thundering  fray, 
The  rout,  the  ruin,  the  dismay, 
When  from  the  twilight  glens  away 

Clan-Gillian  drives  the  spoil. 

Woe  to  the  hills  that  shall  rebound 

Our  banner'd  bag-pipes'  maddening  sound ; 

Clan-Gillian's  onset  echoing  round 

Shall  shake  their  inmost  cell. 
Woe  to  the  bark  whose  crew  shall  gaze 
Where  Lachlan's  silken  streamer  plays! 
The  fools  might  face  the  lightning's  blaze 

As  wisely  and  as  well ! 


Saint  €lourj. 

[Paris,  5th  September,  1815.] 

Soft  spread  the  southern  summer  night 

Her  veil  of  darksome  blue ; 
Ten  thousand  stars  combined  to  light 

The  terrace  of  Saint  Cloud. 

The  evening  breezes  gently  sigh'd, 

Like  breath  of  lover  true, 
Bewailing  the  deserted  pride 

And  wreck  of  sweet  Saint  Cloud. 

The  drum's  deep  roll  was  heard  afar, 

The  bugle  wildly  blew 
Good-night  to  Hulan  and  Hussar, 

That  garrison  Saint  Cloud. 

The  startled  Naiads  from  the  shade 

With  broken  urns  withdrew, 
And  silenced  was  that  proud  cascade, 

The  glory  of  Saint  Cloud. 

We  sat  upon  its  steps  of  stone, 

Nor  could  its  silence3  rue, 
When  waked,  to  music  of  our  own, 

The  echoes  of  Saint  Cloud. 

Slow  Seine  might  hear  each  lovely  note 

Fall  light  as  summer  dew, 
While  through  the  moonless4  air  they  float, 

Prolong'd  from  fair  Saint  Cloud. 

And  sure  a  melody  more  sweet 

His  waters  never  knew, 
Though  music's  self  was  wont  to  meet 

With  princes  at  Saint  Cloud. 

2  i.  e.,  The  clan  of  Maclean,  literally  the  race  of  Gillian. 

8  MS. :  "  absence." 

*  MS.:  "midnight." 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


649 


Nor  then,  with  more  delighted  ear, 

The  circle  round  her  drew, 
Than  ours,  when  gathered  round  to  hear 

Our  songstress1  at  Saint  Cloud. 

Few  happy  hours  poor  mortals  pass, — 
Then  give  those  hours  their  due, 

And  rank  among  the  foremost  class 
Our  evenings  at  Saint  Cloud. 


Cfje  Bance  of  Beatf).5 


1815. 


Night  and  morning3  were  at  meeting 

Over  Waterloo ; 
Cocks  had  sung  their  earliest  greeting ; 

Faint  and  low  they  crew, 
For  no  paly  beam  yet  shone 
On  the  heights  of  Mount  Saint  John ; 
Tempest-clouds  prolong'd  the  sway 
Of  timeless  darkness  over  day  ; 
Whirlwind,  thunder-clap,  and  shower, 
Mark'd  it  a  predestined  hour. 
Broad  and  frequent  through  the  night 
Flash'd  the  sheets  of  levin-light; 
Muskets,  glancing  lightnings  back, 
Show'd  the  dreary  bivouac 

Where  the  soldier  lay, 
Chill  and  stiff,  and  drench'd  with  rain, 
Wishing  dawn  of  morn  again, 

Though  death  should  come  with  day. 

II. 
'Tis  at  such  a  tide  and  hour, 
Wizard,  witch,  and  fiend  have  power, 
And  ghastly  forms  through  mist  and  shower 

Gleam  on  the  gifted  ken ; 
And  then  the  affrighted  prophet's  ear 
Drinks  whispers  strange  of  fate  and  fear, 
Presaging  death  and  ruin  near 

Among  the  sons  of  men  ; — 
Apart  from  Albyn's  war  array, 
'Twas  then  gray  Allan  sleepless  lay ; 
Gray  Allan,  who,  for  many  a  day, 

Had  follow'd  stout  and  stern, 

1  These  lines  were  written  after  an  evening  spent  at  Saint 
Cloud  with  the  late  Lady  Alvanley  and  her  daughters,  one  of 
whom  was  the  songstress  alluded  to  in  the  text. 

2  Originally  published  in  1815,  in  the  Edinburgh  Annual 
Register,  vol.  v. 


Where,  through  battle's  rout  and  reel, 
Storm  of  shot  and  hedge  of  steel, 
Led  the  grandson  of  Lochiel, 

Valiant  Fassiefern. 
Through  steel  and  shot  he  leads  no  more, 
Low  laid  'mid  friends'  and  foemen's  gore — 
But  long  his  native  lake's  wild  shore, 
And  Sunart  rough,  and  high  Ardgower, 

And  Morven  long  shall  tell, 
And  proud  Bennevis  hear  with  awe, 
How,  upon  bloody  Quatre-Bras, 
Brave  Cameron  heard  the  wild  hurrah 

Of  conquest  as  he  fell.4 

III. 

'Lone  on  the  outskirts  of  the  host, 

The  weary  sentinel  held  post, 

And  heard,  through  darkness  far  aloof, 

The  frequent  clang5  of  courser's  hoof, 

Where  held  the  cloak'd  patrol  their  course, 

And  spurr'd  'gainst  storm  the  swerving  horse ; 

But  there  are  sounds  in  Allan's  ear 

Patrol  nor  sentinel  may  hear, 

And  sights  before  his  eye  aghast 

Invisible  to  them  have  pass'd, 

When  down  the  destined  plain, 
'Twixt  Britain  and  the  bands  of  France, 
Wild  as  marsh-born  meteor's  glance, 
Strange  phantoms  wheel'd  a  revel  dance, 

And  doom'd  the  future  slain. — 
Such  forms  were  seen,  such  sounds  were  heard, 
When  Scotland's  James  his  march  prepared 

For  Flodden's  fatal  plain  ;6 
Such,  when  he  drew  his  ruthless  sword, 
As  Choosers  of  the  Slain,  adored 

The  yet  unchristen'd  Dane. 
An  indistinct  and  phantom  band, 
They  wheel'd  their  ring-dance  hand  in  hand, 

With  gestures  wild  and  dread ; 
The  Seer,  who  watch'd  them  ride  the  storm, 
Saw  through  their  faint  and  shadowy  form 

The  lightning's  flash  more  red; 
And  still  their  ghastly  roundelay 
Was  of  the  coming  battle-fray, 

And  of  the  destined  dead. 

IV. 

Sono[. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

8  MS. :  "  Dawn  and  darkness." 
*  See  note,  ante,  p.  505. 

5  MS. :  "  Oft  came  the  clang,"  &c. 

6  See  ante,  "Marmion,"  canto  v.,  stanzas  24,  25,  26,  and  Ap- 
pendix, Note  4  A,  p.  165. 


650 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Our  airy  feet, 
So  light  and  fleet, 

They  do  not  bend  the  rye 
That  sinks  its  head  when  whirlwinds  rave, 
And  swells  again  in  eddying  wave, 

As  each  wild  gust  blows  by ; 
But  still  the  corn, 
At  dawn  of  morn 

Our  fatal  steps  that  bore, 
At  eve  lies  waste, 
A  trampled  paste 

Of  blackening  mud  and  gore. 

V. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Wheel  the  wild  dance ! 
Brave  sons  of  France, 

For  you  our  ring  makes  room  ; 
Make  space  full  wide 
For  martial  pride, 

For  banner,  spear,  and  plume. 
Approach,  draw  near, 
Proud  cuirassier ! 

Room  for  the  men  of  steel ! 
Through  crest  and  plate 
The  broadsword's  weight 

Both  head  and  heart  shall  feel. 

VI. 
"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Sons  of  the  spear !  * 

You  feel  us  near 

In  many  a  ghastly  dream  ; 
With  fancy's  eye 
Our  forms  you  spy, 

And  hear  our  fatal  scream. 
With  clearer  sight 
Ere  falls  the  night, 

Just  when  to  weal  or  woe 
Your  disembodied  souls  take  flight 
On  trembling  wing — each  startled  sprite 

Our  choir  of  death  shall  know. 


1  This  ballad  appeared  in  1815,  in  PauP.i  Jitters,  and  in  the 
Edinburgh  Annual  Register.  It  has  since  been  set  to  music 
by  G.  F.  Graham,  Esq.,  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Select  Melodies,  &c. 

8  The  original  romance, 


VII. 

"  Wheel  the  wild  dance 
While  lightnings  glance, 

And  thunders  rattle  loud, 
And  call  the  brave 
To  bloody  grave, 

To  sleep  without  a  shroud. 

Burst,  ye  clouds,  in  tempest  showers, 
Redder  rain  shall  soon  be  ours — 

See,  the  east  grows  wan — 
Yield  we  place  to  sterner  game, 
Ere  deadlier  bolts  and  direr  flame 
Shall  the  welkin's  thunders  shame. 
Elemental  rage  is  tame 

To  the  wrath  of  man." 

VIII. 

At  morn,  gray  Allan's  mates  with  awe 
Heard  of  the  vision'd  sights  he  saw, 

The  legend  heard  him  say ; 
But  the  Seer's  gifted  eye  was  dim, 
Deafen'd  his  ear,  and  stark  his  limb, 

Ere  closed  that  bloody  day. 
He  sleeps  far  from  his  Highland  heath, — 
But  often  of  the  Dance  of  Death 

His  comrades  tell  the  tale, 
On  picket-post,  when  ebbs  the  night, 
And  waning  watch-fires  glow  less  bright, 

And  dawn  is  glimmering  pale. 


l\omanre  of  Sunois. 


FKOM   THE   FRENCH. 


1815. 


The  original  of  this  little  romance  makes  part  of  a 
manuscript  collection  of  French  songs,  probably  com- 
piled by  some  young  officer,  which  was  found  on  the 
field  of  Waterloo,  so  much  stained  with  clay  and  with 
blood  as  sufficiently  to  indicate  the  fate  of  its  late 
owner.  The  song  is  popular  in  France,  and  is  rather 
a  good  specimen  of  the  style  of  composition  to  which 
it  belongs.    The  translation  is  strictly  literal.2 


It  was  Dunois,  the  young  and  brave,  was  bound  for 

Palestine, 
But  first  he  made  his  orisons  before  St.  Mary's  shrine : 


"  Partant  pour  la  Syrie, 

Le  jeune  et  brave  Dunois,"  Ac, 

was  written,  and  set  to  music  also,  by  Hortense  Beauharnois, 
Duchesse  de  St.  Leu,  ex-Queen  of  Holland. 


LYEICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


651 


"And  grant,  immortal  Queen  of  Heaven,"  was  still 

the  soldier's  prayer, 
"  That  I  may  prove  the  bravest  knight,  and  love  the 

fairest  fair." 

His  oath  of  honor  on  the  shrine  he  graved  it  with  his 
sword,  [Lord ; 

And  follow'd  to  the  Holy  Land  the  banner  of  his 

Where,  faithful  to  his  noble  vow,  his  war-cry  fill'd 
the  air, 

"  Be  honor'd  aye  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 
fairest  fair." 

They  owed  the  conquest  to  his  arm,  and  then  his 

Liege-Lord  said, 
"  The  heart  that  has  for  honor  beat  by  bliss  must  be 

repaid. — 
My  daughter  Isabel  and  thou  shall  be  a  wedded  pair, 
For  thou  art  bravest  of  the  brave,  she  fairest  of  the 

fair." 

And  then  they  bound  the  holy  knot  before  Saint  Mary's 

shrine, 
That  makes  a  paradise  on  earth,  if  hearts  and  hands 

combine ;  [there, 

And  every  lord  and  lady  bright,  that  were  in  chapel 
Cried,  "  Honor'd  be  the  bravest  knight,  beloved  the 

fairest  fair !" 


Cf)e  Croutoour.1 


FEOM   THE  SAME  COLLECTION. 


1815. 


Glowing  with  love,  on  fire  for  fame, 

A  Troubadour  that  hated  sorrow 
Beneath  his  Lady's  window  came, 

And  thus  he  sang  his  last  good-morrow : 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  true-love's  bower ; 
Gayly  for  love  and  fame  to  fight 

Befits  the  gallant  Troubadour." 

And  while  he  march'd  with  helm  on  head 

And  harp  in  hand,  the  descant  rung, 
As,  faithful  to  his  favorite  maid, 

The  minstrel  burden  still  he  sung : 
"  My  arm  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 
Resolved  for  love  and  fame  to  fight, 

I  come,  a  gallant  Troubadour." 


1  The  original  of  this  ballad  also  was  written  and  com- 
posed by  the  Duchesse  de  St.  Leu.  The  translation  has  been 
set  to  music  by  Mr.  Thomson.  See  his  Collection  of  Scottish 
Songs.    1826. 

2  This  trifle  also  is,  from  the  French  collection  found  at 
Waterloo.    See  Paul's  Letters. 


Even  when  the  battle-roar  was  deep, 

With  dauntless  heart  he  hew'd  his  way, 
'Mid  splintering  lance  and  falchion-sweep, 

And  still  was  heard  his  warrior-lay : 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 
For  love  to  die,  for  fame  to  fight, 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 

Alas !  upon  the  bloody  field 

He  fell  beneath  the  foeman's  glaive, 
But  still  reclining  on  his  shield, 

Expiring  sung  the  exulting  stave  : 
"  My  life  it  is  my  country's  right, 

My  heart  is  in  my  lady's  bower ; 
For  love  and  fame  to  fall  in  fight 

Becomes  the  valiant  Troubadour." 


dFrcm  tfje  jfmxtl).* 


1815. 


It  chanced  that  Cupid  on  a  season, 
By  Fancy  urged,  resolved  to  wed, 

But  could  not  settle  whether  Reason 
Or  Folly  should  partake  his  bed. 

What  does  he  then  ? — Upon  my  life, 
'Twas  bad  example  for  a  deity — 

He  takes  me  Reason  for  a  wife, 
And  Folly  for  his  hours  of  gayety. 

Though  thus  he  dealt  in  petty  treason, 
He  loved  them  both  in  equal  measure ; 

Fidelity  was  born  of  Reason, 
And  Folly  brought  to  bed  of  Pleasure. 


Song, 

ON  THE  LIFTING  OF  THE  BANNER  OF  THE 

HOUSE  OF   BUCCLEUCH,   AT  A  GREAT  FOOT-BALL 

MATCH  ON  CARTERHAUGH.3 


1815. 


From  the  brown  crest  of  Newark  its  summons  ex- 
tending, 
Our  signal  is  waving  in  smoke  and  in  flame ; 

3  This  song  appears  with  music  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Col- 
lection— 1826.  The  foot-ball  match  on  which  it  was  written 
took  place  on  December  5,  1815,  and  was  also  celebrated  by 
the  Ettrick  Shepherd.  See  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  v.  pp.  112, 
116-122. 


652 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


And  each  forester  blithe,  from  his  mountain  descending, 
Bounds  light  o'er  the  heather  to  join  in  the  game. 

CHORUS. 

Tin  n  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more; 
In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 

With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 

When  the  Southern  invader  spread  waste  and  disorder, 
At  the  glance  of  her  crescents  he  paused  and  with- 
drew, 
For  around  them  were  marshall'd  the  pride  of  the 
Border, 
The  Flowers  of  the   Forest,   the  Bands  of  Buc- 
CLEUCH. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

A  Stripling's  weak  hand1  to  our  revel  has  borne  her, 
No  mail-glove  has  grasp'd  her,  no  spearmen  sur- 
round ; 
But  ere  a  bold  foeman  should  scathe  or  should  scorn 
her, 
A  thousand  true  hearts  would  be  cold  on  the  ground. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

We  forget  each  contention  of  civil  dissension, 
And  hail,  like  our  brethren,  Home,  Douglas,  and 
Car: 
And  Elliot  and  Pringle  in  pastime  shall  mingle, 
As  welcome  in  peace  as  their  fathers  in  war. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

Then  strip,  lads,  and  to  it,  though  sharp  be  the  wea- 
ther, 
And  if,  by  mischance,  you  should  happen  to  fall, 
There  are  worse  things  iu  life  than  a  tumble  on  hea- 
ther, 
And  life  is  itself  but  a  game  at  foot-ball. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

And  when  it  is  over,  we'll  drink  a  blithe  measure 

To  each  Laird  and  each  Lady  that  witness'd  our  fun, 
And  to  every  blithe  heart  that  took  part  in  our  plea- 
sure, 
To  the  lads  that  have  lost  and  the  lads  that  have 
won. 
Then  up  with  the  Banner,  &c. 

May  the  Forest  still  nourish,  both  Borough  and  Land- 
ward, 
From  the  hall  of  the  Peer  to  the  ITerd's  ingle-nook ; 
And  huzza!  my  brave  hearts,  for  Buccleuch  and  his 
standard, 
For  the  King  and  the  Country,  the  Clan  and  the 
Duke! 


1  The  bearer  of  the  standard  was  the  author's  eldest  son. 
5  "Sleep  on  till  day."    These  words,  adapted  to  a  melody 
somewhat  different  from  the  original,  are  sung  in  my  friend 


Then  up  with  the  Banner,  let  forest  winds  fan  her, 
She  has  blazed  over  Ettrick  eight  ages  and  more; 

In  sport  we'll  attend  her,  in  battle  defend  her, 

With  heart  and  with  hand,  like  our  fathers  before. 


iLullaog  of  an  Enfant  <£J)ttf. 


Air — "Cadul  gu  lo."2 


1815. 


Oh  hush  thee,  my  babie,  thy  sire  was  a  knight, 

Thy  mother  a  lady,  both  lovely  and  bright; 

The  woods  and  the  glens,  from  the  towers  which  we 

see, 
They  all  are  belonging,  dear  babie,  to  thee. 

Oh  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  cadul  gu  lo, 

Oh  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

II. 

Oh  fear  not  the  bugle,  though  loudly  it  blows, 
It  calls  but  the  warders  that  guard  thy  repose ; 
Their  bows  would  be  bended,  their  blades  would  be 

red, 
Ere  the  step  of  a  foeman  draws  near  to  thy  bed. 
Oh  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 

III. 

Oh  hush  thee,  my  babie,  the  time  will  soon  come 
When  thy  sleep  shall  be  broken  by  trumpet  and  drum ; 
Then  hush  thee,  my  darling,  take  rest  while  you  may, 
For  strife  comes  with  manhood,  and  waking  with  day. 
Oh  ho  ro,  i  ri  ri,  &c. 


YtT$t$  from  <&ug  fHannermg. 


1815. 


(1.)  SONGS  OF  MEG   MERRILIES. 


NATIVITY  OF  HARRY  BERTRAM. 

Canny  moment,  lucky  fit; 
Is  the  lady  lighter  yet? 


Mr.  Terry's  drama  of  Gup  Mannering.  The  "Lullaby"  was 
first  printed  in  Mr.  Terry's  drama ;  it  was  afterwards  set  to 
music  in  Thomson's  CuUection.    1822. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


653 


Be  it  lad,  or  be  it  lass, 

Sign  wi'  cross,  and  sain  wi'  mass. 

Trefoil,  vervain,  John's-wort,  dill, 
Hinders  witches  of  their  will ; 
Weel  is  them,  that  weel  may 
Fast  upon  St.  Andrew's  day. 

Saint  Bride  and  her  brat, 
Saint  Colme  and  her  cat, 
Saint  Michael  and  his  spear, 
Keep  the  house  frae  reif  and  wear. 

Chap.  iii. 


"TWIST  YE,  TWINE  YE." 

Twist  ye,  twine  ye !  even  so, 
Mingle  shades  of  joy  and  woe, 
Hope,  and  fear,  and  peace,  and  strife, 
In  the  thread  of  human  life. 

While  the  mystic  twist  is  spinning, 
And  the  infant's  life  beginning, 
Dimly  seen  through  twilight  bending, 
Lo,  what  varied  shapes  attending ! 

Passions  wild,  and  follies  vain, 
Pleasures  soon  exchanged  for  pain, 
Doubt,  and  jealousy,  and  fear, 
In  the  magic  dance  appear. 

Now  they  wax,  and  now  they  dwindle, 
Whirling  with  the  whirling  spindle. 
Twist  ye,  twine  ye !  even  so, 
Mingle  human  bliss  and  woe. 

Ibid. 


THE  DYING  GIPSY  SMUGGLER. 

Wasted,  weary,  wherefore  stay, 
Wrestling  thus  with  earth  and  clay  ? 
From  the  body  pass  away ; — 

Hark !  the  mass  is  singing. 

From  thee  doff  thy  mortal  weed, 
Mary  Mother  be  thy  speed, 
Saints  to  help  thee  at  thy  need  ; — 

Hark !  the  knell  is  ringing. 

Fear  not  snow-drift  driving  fast, 
Sleet,  or  hail,  or  levin  blast ; 
Soon  the  shroud  shall  lap  thee  fast, 
And  the  sleep  be  on  thee  cast 

That  shall  ne'er  know  waking. 


Haste  thee,  haste  thee,  to  be  gone, 
Earth  flits  fast,  and  time  draws  on, — 
Gasp  thy  gasp,  and  groan  thy  groan, 
Day  is  near  the  breaking. 

"  The  songstress  paused,  and  was  answered  by  one 
or  two  deep  and  hollow  groans,  that  seemed  to  pro- 
ceed from  the  very  agony  of  the  mortal  strife.  '  It 
will  not  be,'  she  muttered  to  herself.  '  He  cannot 
pass  away  with  that  on  his  mind ;  it  tethers  him  here. 

Heaven  cannot  abide  it ; 
Earth  refuses  to  hide  it. 

I  must  open  the  door.' 
" She  lifted  the  latch,  saying, 

'Open  locks,  end  strife, 
Come  death,  and  pass  life.' " 

Chap,  xxvii. 


THE  PROPHECY. 

The  dark  shall  be  light, 

And  the  wrong  made  right, 

When  Bertram's  right  and  Bertram's  might 

Shall  meet  on  Ellangowan's  height. 

Chap.  xli. 


(2. 


SONGS    OF    DIRK    HATTERAICK    AND 
GLOSSIN. 


" '  And  now  I  have  brought  you  some  breakfast,' 
said  Glossin,  producing  some  cold  meat  and  a  flask  of 
spirits.  The  latter  Hatteraick  eagerly  seized  upon, 
and  applied  to  his  mouth ;  and  after  a  hearty  draught, 
he  exclaimed  with  great  rapture,  '  Das  schmeckt ! — 
That  is  good — that  warms  the  liver!'— Then  broke 
into  the  fragment  of  a  High-Dutch  song  :" — 

Saufen  bier,  und  brante-wein, 

Schmeissen  alle  die  fenstern  ein ; 

Ich  ben  liederlich, 

Du  bist  liederlich, 

Sind  wir  nicht  liederlich  leute  a. 

"'Well  said,  my  hearty  Captain!'  cried  Glossin, 
endeavoring  to  catch  the  tone  of  revelry," — 

Gin  by  pailfuls,  wine  in  rivers, 

Dash  the  window-glass  to  shivers ! 

For  three  wild  lads  were  we,  brave  boys, 

And  three  wild  lads  were  we ; 

Thou  on  the  land,  and  I  on  the  sand, 

And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree ! 

Chap,  xxxiv. 


654 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 

2TJ)e  l&etunt  to  Ulster.1 


1816. 


Once  again — but  bow  changed  since  my  wand'rings 

began ! — 
I  have  heard  the  deep  voice  of  the  Lagan  and  Bann, 
And  the  pines  of  Claubrassil  resound  to  the  roar 
That  wearies  the  echoes  of  fair  Tullaraore. 
Alas  !  my  poor  bosom,  and  why  shouldst  thou  burn  ? 
With  the  scenes  of  my  youth  can  its  raptures  return  ? 
Can  I  live  the  dear  life  of  delusion  again, 
That  flow'd  when  these  echoes  first  mix'd  with  my 

strain  ? 

It  was  then  that  around  me,  though  poor  and  un- 
known, 
High  spells  of  mysterious  enchantment  were  thrown; 
The  streams  were  of  silver,  of  diamond  the  dew, 
The  land  was  an  Eden,  for  fancy  was  new. 
I  had  heard  of  our  bards,  and  my  soul  was  on  fire 
At  the  rush  of  their  verse,  and  the  sweep  of  their 

lyre: 
To  me  'twas  not  legend,  nor  tale  to  the  ear, 
But  a  vision  of  noontide,  distinguish'd  and  clear. 

Ultonia's  old  heroes  awoke  at  the  call, 

And  renew'd  the  wild  pomp  of  the  chase  and  the 

hall ; 
And  the  standard  of  Fion  flash'd  fierce  from  on  high, 
Like  a  burst  of  the  sun  when  the  tempest  is  nigh.2 
It  seem'd  that  the  harp  of  green  Erin  once  more 
Could  renew  all  the  glories  she  boasted  of  yore. — 
Yet  why  at  remembrance,  fond  heart,  shouldst  thou 

burn  ? 
They  were  days  of  delusion,  and  cannot  return. 

But  was  she,  too,  a  phantom,  the  Maid  who  stood  by, 
And  listed  my  lay,  while  she  turn'd  from  mine  eye? 
Was  she,  too,  a  vision,  just  glancing  to  view, 
Then  dispersed  in  the  sunbeam,  or  melted  to  dew  ? 
Oh,  would  it  had  been  so! — oh,  would  that  her  eye 
Had  been  but  a  star-glance  that  shot  through  the 

sky, 
And  her  voice,  that  was  moulded  to  melody's  thrill, 
Had  been  but  a  zephyr,  that  sigh'd  and  was  still ! 

Oh,  would  it  had  been  so ! — not  then  this  poor  heart 
Had  learn'd  the  sad  lesson,  to  love  and  to  part; 
To  bear,  unassisted,  its  burthen  of  care, 
While  I  toil'd  for  the  wealth  I  had  no  one  to  share. 
Not  then  had  I  said,  when  life's  summer  was  done, 
And  the  hours  of  her  autumn  were  fast  speeding  on, 


1  First  published  in  Mr.  G.  Thomson's  Collection  of  Irish 
Airs.    181C. 


"  Take  the  fame  and  the  riches  ye  brought  in   your 

train, 
And  restore  me  the  dream  of  my  spring-tide  again." 


3Jork  of  ^a^cltiean. 

Air — A  Border  Melody. 


1816. 


The  first  stanza  of  this  ballad  is  ancient.  The  others 
were  written  for  Mr.  Campbell's  Albyn's  Anthology. 


"  Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide,  ladie  ? 

Why  weep  ye  by  the  tide  ? 
I'll  wed  ye  to  my  youngest  son, 

And  ye  sail  be  his  bride  : 
And  ye  sail  be  his  bride,  ladie, 

Sae  comely  to  be  seen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

II. 

"Now  let  this  willfu'  grief  be  done, 

And  dry  that  cheek  so  pale  ; 
Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington, 

And  lord  of  Langley-dale ; 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha', 

His  sword  in  battle  keen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

III. 

"  A  chain  of  gold  ye  sail  not  lack, 

Nor  braid  to  bind  your  hair ; 
Nor  mettled  hound,  nor  managed  hawk, 

Nor  palfrey  fresh  and  fair ; 
And  you,  the  foremost  o'  them  a', 

Shall  ride  our  forest  queen  " — 
But  aye  she  loot  the  tears  down  fa' 

For  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 

IV. 

The  kirk  was  deck'd  at  morning  tide, 

The  tapers  glimmer'd  fair; 
The  priest  and  bridegroom  wait  the  bride, 

And  dame  and  knight  are  there. 
They  sought  her  baith  by  bower  and  ha' ; 

The  ladie  was  not  seen ! 
She's  o'er  the  Border,  and  awa' 

Wi'  Jock  of  Hazeldean. 


2  In  ancient  Irish  poetry,  the  standard  of  Fion,  or  Fingal, 
is  called  the  Sun-burst,  an  epithet  feebly  rendered  by  the  Sun- 
beam of  Macpherson. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


655 


fJi&rorf)  of  lionalo  lUfju. 

AlK — "  Piobair  of  Donuil  Dhuidh."1 


1816. 


This  is  a  very  ancient  pibroch  belonging  to  Clan 
MacDonald,  and  supposed  to  refer  to  the  expedition  of 
Donald  Balloch,  who,  in  1431,  launched  from  the  Isles 
with  a  considerable  force,  invaded  Lochaber,  and  at 
Inverlochy  defeated  and  put  to  flight  the  Earls  of 
Mar  and  Caithness,  though  at  the  head  of  an  army 
superior  to  his  own.  The  words  of  the  set,  theme,  or 
melody,  to  which  the  pipe  variations  are  applied,  run 
thus  in  Gaelic : — 

Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil ; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil ; 
Piobaireachd  Dhonuil  Dhuidh,  piobaireachd  Dhonuil ; 
Piob  agus  bratach  air  faiehe  Inverlochi. 
The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  pipe-summons  of  Donald  the  Black, 
The  war-pipe  and  the  pennon  are  on  the  gathering-place  at 
Inverlochy.2 


Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Pibroch  of  Donuil, 
Wake  thy  wild  voice  anew, 

Summon  Clan-Conuil. 
Come  away,  come  away, 

Hark  to  the  summons ! 
Come  in  your  war  array, 

Gentles  and  commons. 

Come  from  deep  glen,  and 

From  mountain  so  rocky, 
The  war-pipe  and  pennon 

Are  at  Inverlochy. 
Come  every  hill-plaid,  and 

True  heart  that  wears  one, 
Come  every  steel  blade,  and 

Strong  hand  that  bears  one. 

Leave  untended  the  herd, 

The  flock  without  shelter ; 
Leave  the  corpse  uninterr'd, 

The  bride  at  the  altar ; 
Leave  the  deer,  leave  the  steer, 

Leave  nets  and  barges : 
Come  with  your  fighting  gear, 

Broadswords  and  targes. 


1  "  The  pibroch  of  Donald  the  Black."  This  song  was  writ- 
ten for  Campbell's  Albyn's  Anthology,  1816.  It  may  also  be 
seen,  set  to  music,  in  Thomson's  Collection.    1830. 


Come  as  the  winds  come  when 

Forests  are  rended, 
Come  as  the  waves  come  when 

Navies  are  stranded : 
Faster  come,  faster  come, 

Faster  and  faster, 
Chief,  vassal,  page  and  groom, 

Tenant  and  master. 

Fast  they  come,  fast  they  come ; 

See  how  they  gather ! 
Wide  waves  the  eagle  plume, 

Blended  with  heather. 
Cast  your  plaids,  draw  your  blades, 

Forward  each  man  set! 
Pibroch  of  Donuil  Dhu, 

Knell  for  the  onset ! 


bora's  Voto. 


Air — "  Cha  leid  rati  a  chaoklh."3 
WRITTEN  FOR  ALBYN'S  ANTHOLOGY.* 


1816. 


In  the  original  Gaelic,  the  lady  makes  protestations 
that  site  will  not  go  with  the  Red  Earl's  son,  until  the 
swan  should  build  in  the  clifl',  and  the  eagle  in  the 
lake — until  one  mountain  should  change  places  with 
another,  and  so  forth.  It  is  but  fair  to  add  that  there 
is  no  authority  for  supposing  that  she  altered  her 
mind — except  the  vehemence  of  her  protestation. 


Hear  what  Highland  Nora  said, — 
"  The  Earlie's  son  I  will  not  wed, 
Should  all  the  race  of  nature  die, 
And  none  be  left  but  he  and  I. 
For  all  the  gold,  for  all  the  gear, 
And  all  the  lands  both  far  and  near, 
That  ever  valor  lost  or  won, 
I  would  not  wed  the  Earlie's  son." — 

II. 

"A  maiden's  vows,"  old  Galium  spoke, 
"  Are  lightly  made  and  lightly  broke ; 
The  heather  on  the  mountain's  height 
Begins  to  bloom  in  purple  light ; 


2  Compare  this  with  the  gathering-song  in  the  third  canto 
of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  ante. 

3  "  I  will  never  go  with  him." 

*  See  also  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection.    1822. 


656 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  frost-wind  soon  shall  sweep  away 
That  lustre  deep  from  glen  and  brae ; 
Yet  Nora,  ere  its  bloom  be  gone, 
May  blithely  wed  the  Earlie's  son." — 

III. 
"  The  swan,"  she  said,  "  the  lake's  clear  breast 
May  barter  for  the  eagle's  nest ; 
The  Awe's  fierce  stream  may  backward  turn, 
Ben-Cruaichan  fall,  and  crush  Kilehurn; 
Our  kilted  clans,  when  blood  is  high, 
Before  their  foes  may  turn  and  fly ; 
But  I,  were  all  these  marvels  done, 
Would  never  wed  the  Earlie's  son." 

IV. 

Still  in  the  water-lily's  shade 

Her  wonted  nest  the  wild-swan  made ; 

Ben-Cruaichan  stands  as  fast  as  ever, 

Still  downward  foams  the  Awe's  fierce  river ; 

To  shun  the  clash  of  foeman's  steel 

No  Highland  brogue  has  turn'd  the  heel ; 

But  Nora's  heart  is  lost  and  won, 

— She's  wedded  to  the  Earlie's  son ! 


J$ac<£tesor'0  (Satfjermg. 


Air — "  Thaiv!  a  Grigalach."'1 


WRITTEN  FOR  ALBYN'S  ANTHOLOGY. 


1816. 


These  verses  are  adapted  to  a  very  wild  yet  lively 
gathering-tune  used  by  the  MacGregors.  The  severe 
treatment  of  this  clan,  their  outlawry,  and  the  proscrip- 
tion of  their  very  name,  are  alluded  to  in  the  ballad.2 


The  moon's  on  the  lake,  and  the  mist's  on  the  brae, 
And  the  clan  has  a  name  that  is  nameless  by  day ; 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach  ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 

Our  signal  for  fight,  that  from  monarchs  we  drew, 
Must  be  heard  but  by  night  in  our  vengeful  halloo! 

Then  halloo,  Grigalach  !  halloo,  Grigalach  ! 

Halloo,  halloo,  halloo,  Grigalach,  &c. 


1  "  The  MacGregor  is  come." 

*  For  the  history  of  the  clan,  see  introduction  to  "  Rob 
Roy,"  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  vii. 

3  "  Rob  Roy  MacGregor's  own  designation  was  of  Inner- 
snaid ;  but  he  appears  to  have  acquired  a  right  of  some  kind 


Glen  Orchy's  proud  mountains,  Coalchuirn  and  her 

towers, 
Glenstrae  and  Glenlyon  no  longer  are  ours ; 

We're  landless,  landless,  landless,  Grigalach  ! 

Landless,  landless,  landless,  &c. 

But  doom'd  and  devoted  by  vassal  and  lord, 
MacGregor  has  still  both  his  heart  and  his  sword ! 

Then  courage,  courage,  courage,  Grigalach  ! 

Courage,  courage,  courage,  &c. 

If  they  rob  us  of  name,  and  pursue  us  with  beagles, 
Give  their  roofs  to  the  flame,  and  their  flesh  to  the 
eagles ! 
Then  vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  Griga- 
lach ! 
Vengeance,  vengeance,  vengeance,  &c. 

While  there's  leaves  in  the  forest,  and  foam  on  the 
river, 

MacGregor,  despite  them,  shall  flourish  for  ever ! 

Come  then,  Grigalach,  come  then,  Grigalach, 
Come  then,  come  then,  come  then,  &c. 

Through  the  depths  of  Loch  Katrine  the  steed  shall 

career, 
O'er  the  peak  of  Ben-Lomond  the  galley  shall  steer, 
And  the  rocks  of  Craig-Royston3  like  icicles  melt, 
Ere  our  wrongs  be  forgot,  or  our  vengeance  unfelt ! 

Then  gather,  gather,  gather,  Grigalach ! 

Gather,  gather,  gather,  &c. 


COMPOSED  FOR  THE  OCCASION,  ADAPTED  TO 
HAYDN'S  AIR, 

"  God  Save  the  Emperor  Francis," 

AND  SUNG  BY   A  SELECT  BAND  AFTER  THE   DINNER   GIVEN 
BY  THE   LORD   PROVOST  OF  EDINBURGH  TO  THE 

GRAND-DUKE  NICHOLAS  OF  RUSSIA, 

AND   HIS  SUITE,  19TH   DECEMBER,    1816. 

God  protect  brave  Alexander, 
Heaven  defend  the  noble  Czar, 
Mighty  Russia's  high  commander, 
First  in  Europe's  banded  war; 
For  the  realms  he  did  deliver 
From  the  tyrant  overthrown, 


or  nlher  lo  the  property  or  possession  of  Craig-Royston,  a  domain 
of  rock  and  forest,  lying  on  the  east  side  of  Loch  Lomond, 
where  that  beautiful  lake  stretches  into  the  dusky  mountains 
Of  Glenfalloch." — Introduction  to  "Hob  Hoy,"  Waverley  Novels, 
vol.  vii.  p.  31. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


657 


Thou,  of  every  good  the  Giver, 
Grant  him  long  to  bless  his  own ! 
Bless  him,  'mid  his  land's  disaster, 
For  her  rights  who  battled  brave, 
Of  the  land  of  foemen  master, 
Bless  him  who  their  wrongs  forgave. 

O'er  his  just  resentment  victor, 
Victor  over  Europe's  foes, 
Late  and  long  supreme  director, 
Grant  in  peace  his  reign  may  close. 
Hail !  then,  hail !  illustrious  stranger ! 
Welcome  to  our  mountain  strand  ; 
Mutual  interests,  hopes,  and  danger, 
Link  us  with  thy  native  land. 
Foemen's  force,  or  false  beguiling, 
Shall  that  union  ne'er  divide, 
Hand  in  hand  while  peace  is  smiling, 
And  in  battle  side  by  side.1 


jf  torn  tije  &ttttquarg. 


1816. 


(1.)— TIME. 

"  The  window  of  a  turret,  which  projected  at  an 
angle  with  the  wall,  and  thus  came  to  be  very  near 
Lovel's  apartment,  was  half  open,  and  from  that 
quarter  he  heard  again  the  same  music  which  had 
probably  broken  short  his  dream.  With  its  visionary 
character  it  had  lost  much  of  its  charms — it  was  now 
nothing  more  than  an  air  on  the  harpsichord,  tolerably 
well  performed — such  is  the  caprice  of  imagination 
as  affecting  the  fine  arts.  A  female  voice  sung,  with 
some  taste  and  great  simplicity,  something  between  a 
Bong  and  a  hymn,  in  words  to  the  following  effect :" — 

"  Why  sitt'st  thou  by  that  ruin'd  hall, 

Thou  aged  carle  so  stern  and  gray  ? 
Dost  thou  its  former  pride  recall, 

Or  ponder  how  it  pass'd  away  ?" — 

"  Know'st  thou  not  me  ?"  the  Deep  Voice  cried ; 

"  So  long  enjoy'd,  so  oft  misused — 
Alternate,  in  thy  fickle  pride, 

Desired,  neglected,  and  accused ! 

"  Before  my  breath,  like  blazing  flax, 

Man  and  his  marvels  pass  away ! 
And  changing  empires  wane  and  wax, 

Are  founded,  flourish,  and  decay. 


1  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  the  Lord  Provost 
of  Edinburgh,  who  had  the  honor  to  entertain  the  grand- 
duke,  now  Emperor  of  Russia,  was  a  personal  friend  of  Sir 
42 


"  Redeem  mine  hours — the  space  is  brief — 
While  in  my  glass  the  sand-grains  shiver, 

And  measureless  thy  joy  or  grief, 
When  Time  and  thou  shall  part  for  ever !" 

Chap.  x. 


(2.)— EPITAPH  ON  JON  O'  YE  GIRNELL. 

"  Beneath  an  old  oak-tree,  upon  a  hillock,  lay  a 
moss-grown  stone,  and,  in  memory  of  the  departed 
worthy,  it  bore  an  inscription,  of  which,  as  Mr.  Old- 
buck  affirmed  (though  many  doubted),  the  departed 
characters  could  be  distinctly  traced  to  the  following 
effect  :"— 

Heir  lyeth  Jon  o'  ye  Girnell. 
Erth  has  ye  nit  and  heuen  ye  kirnell. 
In  hys  tyme  ilk  wyfe's  hennis  clokit, 
Ilka  gud  mannis  herth  wi'  bairnis  was  stokit, 
He  deled  a  boll  o'  bear  in  firlottis  fyve, 
Four  for  ye  halie  kirke  and  ane  for  pure  mennis  wy vis. 

Chap.  xi. 


(3.)— ELSPETH'S  BALLAD. 

"As  the  Antiquary  lifted  the  latch  of  the  hut,  he 
was  surprised  to  hear  the  shrill  tremulous  voice  of 
Elspeth  chanting  forth  an  old  ballad  in  a  wild  and 
doleful  recitative :" — 

The  herring  loves  the  merry  moonlight, 

The  mackerel  loves  the  wind, 
But  the  oyster  loves  the  dredging  sang, 

For  they  come  of  a  gentle  kind. 

Now  haud  your  tongue,  baith  wife  and  carle, 

And  listen,  great  and  sma', 
And  I  will  sing  of  Glenallan's  Earl 

That  fought  on  the  red  Harlaw. 

The  cronach's  cried  on  Bennachie, 

And  doun  the  Don  and  a', 
And  hieland  and  lawland  may  mournfu'  be 

For  the  sair  field  of  Harlaw. 

They  saddled  a  hundred  milk-white  steeds, 

They  hae  bridled  a  hundred  black, 
With  a  chafron  of  steel  on  each  horse'a-head,. 

And  a  good  knight  upon  his  back- 

The  hadna  ridden  a  mile,  a  mile, 
A  mile,  but  barely  ten, 


Walter  Scott ;  and  these  verses,  with  their  heading,  are  now 
given  from  the  newspapers  of  1816. 


658 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


When  Donald  came  branking  down  the  brae 
Wi'  twenty  thousand  men. 

Their  tartans  they  were  waving  wide, 
Their  glaives  were  glancing  clear, 

The  pibrochs  rung  frae  side  to  side, 
Would  deafen  ye  to  hear. 

The  great  Earl  in  his  stirrups  stood, 

That  Highland  host  to  see : 
"  Now  here  a  knight  that's  stout  and  good 

May  prove  a  jeopardie: 

"  What  wouldst  thou  do,  my  squire  so  gay, 

That  rides  beside  my  reyne, 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl  the  day, 

And  I  were  Roland  Cheyne  ? 

"  To  turn  the  rein  were  sin  and  shame, 
To  fight  were  wond'rous  peril, — 

What  would  ye  do  now,  Roland  Cheyne, 
Were  ye  Glenallan's  Earl  ?" — 

"  Were  I  Glenallan's  Earl  this  tide, 

And  ye  were  Roland  Cheyne, 
The  spear  should  be  in  my  horse's  side, 

And  the  bridle  upon  his  mane. 

"  If  they  hae  twenty  thousand  blades, 

And  we  twice  ten  times  ten, 
Yet  they  hae  but  their  tartan  plaids, 

And  we  are  mail-clad  men. 

"  My  horse  shall  ride  through  ranks  sae  rude, 
As  through  the  moorland  fern, — 

Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 
Grow  cauld  for  Highland  kerne." 


Be  turn'd  him  right  and  round  again, 

Said,  Scorn  na  at  my  mither ; 
Light  loves  I  may  get  mony  a  ane, 

But  minnie  ne'er  anither. 

Chap.  xl. 


MOTTOES  IN  THE  ANTIQUARY. 

""  The  scraps  of  poetry  which  have  been  in  most  cases 
tacked  to  the  beginning  of  chapters  in  these  Novels 
are  sometimes  quoted  either  from  reading  or  from 
memory,  but,  in  the  general  case,  are  pure  invention. 
I  found  it  too  troublesome  to  turn  to  the  collection  of 
the  British  Poets  to  discover  apposite  mottoes,  and,  in 
the  situation  of  the  theatrical  mechanist,  who,  when  the 
white  paper  which  represented  his  shower  of  snow  was 
exhausted,  continued  the  shower  by  snowing  brown,  I 
drew  on  my  memory  as  long  as  I  could,  and  when  that 


failed,  eked  it  out  with  invention.  I  believe  that  in 
some  cases,  where  actual  names  are  affixed  to  the  sup- 
posed quotations,  it  would  be  to  little  purpose  to  seek 
them  in  the  works  of  the  authors  referred  to.  In 
some  cases,  I  have  been  entertained  when  Dr.  Watts 
and  other  graver  authors  have  been  ransacked  in  vain 
for  stanzas  for  which  the  novelist  alone  was  responsi- 
ble."— Introduction  to  Chronicles  of  the  Canongate. 


I  knew  Anselmo.    He  was  shrewd  and  prudent, 

Wisdom  and  cunning  had  their  shares  of  him ; 

But  he  was  shrewish  as  a  wayward  child, 

And  pleased  again  by  toys  which  childhood  please ; 

As — book  of  fables  graced  with  print  of  wood, 

Or  else  the  jingling  of  a  rusty  medal, 

Or  the  rare  melody  of  some  old  ditty, 

That  first  was  sung  to  please  King  Pepin's  cradle. 

(2.)— Chap.  ix. 
"  Be  brave,"  she  cried,  "  you  yet  may  be  our  guest. 
Our  haunted  room  was  ever  held  the  best : 
If,  then,  your  valor  can  the  fight  sustain 
Of  rustling  curtains,  and  the  clinking  chain ; 
If  your  courageous  tongue  have  powers  to  talk, 
When  round  your  bed  the  horrid  ghost  shall  walk ; 
If  you  dare  ask  it  why  it  leaves  its  tomb, 
I'll  see  your  sheets  well  air'd,  and  show  the  room." 

True  Story. 

(3.)— Chap.  xi. 
Sometimes  he  thinks  that  Heaven  this  vision  sent, 
And  order'd  all  the  pageants  as  they  went ; 
Sometimes  that  only  'twas  wild  Fancy's  play, — 
The  loose  and  scatter'd  relics  of  the  day. 

(4.)— Chap.  xii. 
Beggar ! — the  only  freemen  of  your  Commonwealth ; 
Free  above  Scot-free,  that  observe  no  laws, 
Obey  no  governor,  use  no  religion 
But  what  they  draw  from  their  own  ancient  customs, 
Or  constitute  themselves,  yet  they  are  no  rebels. 

Brome. 

(5.)— Chap.  xix. 
Here  has  been  such  a  stormy  encounter, 
Betwixt  my  cousin  Captain  and  this  soldier, 
About  I  know  not  what ! — nothing,  indeed ; 
Competitions,  degrees,  and  comparatives 

Of  soldiership ! 

A  Faire  Quarrel. 

(6.)— Chap.  xx. 
If  you  fail  honor  here, 


Never  presume  to  serve  her  any  more ; 

Bid  farewell  to  the  integrity  of  arms, 

And  the  honorable  name  of  soldier 

Fall  from  you,  like  a  shiver'd  wreath  of  laucel 

By  thunder  struck  from  a  desertless  forehead. 

A  Faire  Quarrel. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


659 


(7.)— Chap.  xxi. 
The  Lord  Abbot  had  a  soul 


Subtile  and  quick,  and  searching  as  the  fire : 
By  magic  stairs  he  went  as  deep  as  hell, 
And  if  in  devils'  possession  gold  be  kept, 
He  brought  some  sure  from  thence — 'tis  hid  in 
caves, 

Known,  save  to  me,  to  none 

The  Wonder  of  a  Kingdome. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
Many  great  ones 


Would  part  with  half  their  states,  to  have  the  plan 
And  credit  to  beg  in  the  first  style. — 

Beggar's  Bush. 

(9.)— Chap.  xxx. 
Who  is  he  ? — One  that  for  the  lack  of  land 
Shall  fight  upon  the  water — he  hath  challenged 
Formerly  the  grand  whale ;  and  by  his  titles 
Of  Leviathan,  Behemoth,  and  so  forth. 
He  tilted  with  a  sword-fish — Marry,  sir, 
Th'  aquatic  had  the  best — the  argument 
Still  galls  our  champion's  breech. 

Old  Play. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
Tell  me  not  of  it,  friend — when  the  young  weep, 
Their  tears  are  lukewarm  brine ; — from  our  old  eyes 
Sorrow  falls  down  like  hail-drops  of  the  North, 
Chilling  the  furrows  of  our  wither'd  cheeks, 
Cold  as  our  hopes,  and  harden'd  as  our  feeling — 
Theirs,  as  they  fall,  sink  sightless — ours  recoil, 
Heap  the  fair  plain,  and  Weaken  all  before  us. 

Old  Play. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Eemorse — she  ne'er  forsakes  us ! — 
A  blood-hound  stanch,  she  tracks  our  rapid  step 
Through  the  wild  labyrinth  of  youthful  frenzy, 
Unheard,  perchance,  until  old  age  hath  tamed  us ; 
Then  in  our  lair,  when  Time  hath  chill'd  our  joints, 
And  maim'd  our  hope  of  combat  or  of  flight, 
We  hear  her  deep-mouth'd  bay,  announcing  all 
Of  wrath  and  woe  and  punishment  that  bides  us. 

Old  Play. 

(12.)— Chap,  xxxiv. 
Still  in  his  dead  hand  clench'd  remain  the  strings 
That  thrill  his  father's  heart — e'en  as  the  limb, 
Lopp'd  off  and  laid  in  grave,  retains,  they  tell  us, 
Strange  commerce  with  the  mutilated  stump, 
Whose  nerves  are  twinging  still  in  maim'd  existence. 

Old  Play. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxxv. 

Life,  with  you, 

Glows  in  the  brain  and  dances  in  the  arteries ; 
'Tis  like  the  wine  some  joyous  guest  hath  quafFd, 
That  glads  the  heart  and  elevates  the  fancy : — 


Mine  is  the  poor  residuum  of  the  cup, 
Vapid,  and  dull,  and  tasteless,  only  soiling 
With  its  base  dregs  the  vessel  that  contains  it. 

Old  Play. 

(14.)— Chap,  xxxvii. 
Yes !  I  love  Justice  well — as  well  as  you  do — 
But,  since  the  good  dame's  blind,  she  shall  excuse 

me, 
If,  time  and  reason  fitting,  I  prove  dumb ; — 
The  breath  I  utter  now  shall  b#  no  means 
To  take  away  from  me  my  breath  in  future. 

Old  Play. 

(15.)— Chap,  xxxviii. 
Well,  well,  at  worst,  'tis  neither  theft  nor  coinage, 
Granting  I  knew  all  that  you  charge  me  with. 
What  tho'  the  tomb  hath  borne  a  second  birth, 
And  given  the  wealth  to  one  that  knew  not  on't, 
Yet  fair  exchange  was  never  robbery, 
Far  less  pure  bounty Old  Play. 

(16.)— Chap.  xl. 
Life  ebbs  from  such  old  age,  unmark'd  and  silent, 
As  the  slow  neap-tide  leaves  yon  stranded  galley. — 
Late  she  rock'd  merrily  at  the  least  impulse 
That  wind  or  wave  could  give ;  but  now  her  keel 
Is  settling  on  the  sand,  her  mast  has  ta'en 
An  angle  with  the  sky,  from  which  it  shifts  not. 
Each  wave  receding  shakes  her  less  and  less, 
Till,  bedded  on  the  strand,  she  shall  remain 
Useless  as  motionless. 

Old  Play. 

(17.)— Chap.  xli. 
So,  while  the  Goose,  of  whom  the  fable  told, 
Incumbent,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs  of  gold, 
With  hand  outstretch'd,  impatient  to  destroy, 
Stole  on  her  secret  nest  the  cruel  Boy, 
Whose  gripe  rapacious  changed  her  splendid  dream, 
For  wings  vain  fluttering,  and  for  dying  scream. 
The  Loves  of  the  Sea-  Weeds. 

(18.)— Chap.  xlii. 
Let  those  go  see  who  will— I  like  it  not — 
For,  say  he  was  a  slave  to  rank  and  pomp, 
And  all  the  nothings  he  is  now  divorced  from 
By  the  hard  doom  of  stern  necessity ; 
Yet  is  it  sad  to  mark  his  alter'd  brow, 
Where  Vanity  adjusts  her  flimsy  veil 
O'er  the  deep  wrinkles  of  repentant  Anguish. 

Old  Play. 

(19.)— Chap,  xliii. 
Fortune,  you  say,  flies  from  us — She  but  circles, 
Like  the  fleet  sea-bird  round  the  fowler's  skiff, — 
Lost  in  the  mist  one  moment,  and  the  next 
Brushing  the  white  sail  with  her  whiter  wing, 
As  if  to  court  the  aim.— Experience  watches, 
And  has  her  on  the  wheel. Old  Play. 


660 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


(20.)— Chap.  xliv. 
Nay,  if  she  love  me  not,  I  care  not  for  her : 
Shall  I  look  pale  because  the  maiden  blooms  ? 
Or  sigh  because  she  smiles — and  smiles  on  others? 
Not  I,  by  heaven ! — I  hold  my  peace  too  dear, 
To  let  it,  like  the  plume  upon  her  cap, 
Shake  at  each  nod  that  her  caprioe  shall  dictate. 

Old  Play. 

["  It  may  be  worth  noting  that  it  was  in  correcting 
the  proof-sheets  of  '^The  Antiquary'  that  Scott  first 
took  to  equipping  his  chapters  with  mottoes  of  his 
own  fabrication.  On  one  occasion  he  happened  to  ask 
John  Ballantyne,  who  was  sitting  by  him,  to  hunt  for 
a  particular  passage  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher.  John 
did  as  he  was  bid,  but  did  not  succeed  in  discovering 
the  lines.  '  Hang  it,  Johnnie,'  cried  Scott, '  I  believe 
I  can  make  a  motto  sooner  than  you  will  find  one.' 
He  did  so  accordingly ;  and  from  that  hour,  when- 
ever memory  failed  to  suggest  an  appropriate  epi- 
graph, he  had  recourse  to  the  inexhaustible  mines  of 
'old play'  or  'old  ballad,'  to  which  we  owe  some  of 
the  most  exquisite  verses  that  ever  flowed  from  his 
pen." — Life,  vol.  v.  p.  145.] 


^jFnrnt  tfje  ISlacfc  Btoart. 


1816. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
The  bleakest  rock  upon  the  loneliest  heath 
Feels,  in  its  barrenness,  some  touch  of  spring ; 
And,  in  the  April  dew,  or  beam  of  May, 
Its  moss  and  lichen  freshen  and  revive ; 
And  thus  the  heart,  most  sear'd  to  human  pleasure, 
Melts  at  the  tear,  joys  in  the  smile  of  woman. 

Beaumont. 

(2.)— Chap.  xvi. 
'Twas  time  and  griefs 


That  framed  him  thus :  Time,  with  his  fairer  hand, 
Offering  the  fortunes  of  his  former  days, 
The  former  man  may  make  him — Bring  us  to  him, 
And  chance  it  as  it  may. 

Old  Play. 


jfrom  ©to  jftlortalttj). 


1816. 


(1.)— MAJOR  BELLENDEN'S  SONG. 

And  what  though  winter  will  pinch  severe 
Through  locks  of  gray  and  a  cloak  that's  old, 


Yet  keep  up  thy  heart,  bold  cavalier, 
For  a  cup  of  sack  shall  fence  the  cold. 

For  time  will  rust  the  brightest  blade, 
And  years  will  break  the  strongest  bow ; 

Was  never  wight  so  starkly  made, 
But  time  and  years  would  overthrow. 


Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— VERSES  FOUND  IN  BOTHWELL'S 
POCKET-BOOK. 

"  With  these  letters  was  a  lock  of  hair  wrapped  in 
a  copy  of  verses,  written  obviously  with  a  feeling 
which  atoned,  in  Morton's  opinion,  for  the  roughness 
of  the  poetry,  and  the  conceits  with  which  it  abounded, 
according  to  the  taste  of  the  period :" — 

Thy  hue,  dear  pledge,  is  pure  and  bright, 
As  in  that  well-remember'd  night 
When  first  thy  mystic  braid  was  wove, 
And  first  my  Agnes  whisper'd  love. 

Since  then  how  often  hast  thou  press'd 
The  torrid  zone  of  this  wild  breast, 
Whose  wrath  and  hate  have  sworn  to  dwell 
With  the  first  sin  which  peopled  hell : 
A  breast  whose  blood's  a  troubled  ocean, 
Each  throb  the  earthquake's  wild  commotion  1 — 
Oh,  if  such  clime  thou  canst  endure, 
Yet  keep  thy  hue  unstain'd  and  pure, 
What  conquest  o'er  each  erring  thought 
Of  that  fierce  realm  had  Agnes  wrought ! 
I  had  not  wander'd  wild  and  wide, 
With  such  an  angel  for  my  guide ; 
Nor  heaven  nor  earth  could  then  reprove  me, 
If  she  had  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Not  then  this  world's  wild  joys  had  been 
To  me  one  savage  hunting  scene, 
My  sole  delight  the  headlong  race, 
And  frantic  hurry  of  the  chase ; 
To  start,  pursue,  and  bring  to  bay, 
Rush  in,  drag  down  and  rend  my  prey, 
Then — from  the  carcass  turn  away ! 
Mine  ireful  mood  had  sweetness  tamed, 
And  soothed  each  wound  which  pride  inflamed! 
Yes,  God  and  man  might  now  approve  me, 
If  thou  hadst  lived,  and  lived  to  love  me. 

Chap.  xxii. 


(3.)-EPITAPH  ON  BALFOUR  OF  BURLEY. 

"  Gentle  reader,  I  did  request  of  mine  honest  friend 
Peter  Proudfoot,  travelling  merchant,  known  to  many 
of  this  land  for  his  faithful  and  just  dealings,  as  well 
in  muslins  and  cambrics  as  in  small  wares,  to  procure 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


661 


me,  on  his  next  peregrinations  to  that  vicinage,  a  copy 
of  the  Epitaphion  alluded  to.  And  according  to  his 
report,  which  I  see  no  ground  to  discredit,  it  runneth 
thus  :"— 

Here  lyes  ane  saint  to  prelates  surly, 

Being  John  Balfour,  sometime  of  Burley, 

Who,  stirred  up  to  vengeance  take, 

For  Solemn  League  and  Cov'nant's  sake, 

Upon  the  Magus-Moor,  in  Fife, 

Did  tak'  James  Sharpe  the  apostate's  life ; 

By  Dutchman's  hands  was  hacked  and  shot, 

Then  drowned  in  Clyde  near  this  saam  spot. 

Cliap.  xliv. 


MOTTOES. 


(1.)— Chap.  v. 
Arouse  thee,  youth  ! — it  is  no  common  call, — 
God's  Church  is  leaguer'd — haste  to  man  the  wall ; 
Haste  where  the  Red-Cross  banners  wave  on  high, 
Signals  of  honor'd  death  or  victory. 

James  Duff. 

(2.)— Chap.  xiv. 
My  hounds  may  a'  rin  masterless, 

My  hawks  may  fly  frae  tree  to  tree, 
My  lord  may  grip  my  vassal  lands, 
For  there  again  maun  I  never  be ! 

Old  Ballad. 

(3.)— Chap,  xxxiv. 
Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife ! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 
Is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

Anonymous. 


Cfje  ifcearcf)  after  ^apphusa  ;* 

OR, 

THE  QUEST  OF  SULTAUN   SOLIMAUN. 


1817. 


Oh  for  a  glance  of  that  gay  Muse's  eye 
That  lighten'd  on  Bandello's  laughing  tale, 
And  twinkled  with  a  lustre  shrewd  and  sly, 
When  Giam  Battista  bade  her  vision  hail ! — 2 


1  First  published  in  "  The  Sale  Room,"  No.  V.,  February  1, 
1817. 


Yet  fear  not,  ladies,  the  naive  detail 
Given  by  the  natives  of  that  land  canorous ; 
Italian  license  loves  to  leap  the  pale, 
We  Britons  have  the  fear  of  shame  before  us, 
And,  if  not  wise  in  mirth,  at  least  must   be    de- 
corous. 

II. 

In  the  far  eastern  clime,  no  great  while  since, 
Lived  Sultaun  Solimaun,  a  mighty  prince, 
Whose  eyes,  as  oft  as  they  perform'd  their  round, 
Beheld  all  others  fix'd  upon  the  ground ; 
Whose  ears  received  the  same  unvaried  phrase, 
"  Sultaun !  thy  vassal  hears,  and  he  obeys !" 
All  have  their  tastes — this  may  the  fancy  strike 
Of  such  grave  folks  as  pomp  and  grandeur  like  ; 
For  me,  I  love  the  honest  heart  and  warm 
Of  monarch  who  can  amble  round  his  farm, 
Or,  when  the  toil  of  state  no  more  annoys, 
In  chimney  corner  seek  domestic  joys — 
I  love  a  prince  will  bid  the  bottle  pass, 
Exchanging  with  his  subjects  glance  and  glass ; 
In  fitting  time,  can,  gayest  of  the  gay, 
Keep  up  the  jest,  and  mingle  in  the  lay — 
Such  monarchs  best  our  free-born  humors  suit, 
But  despots  must  be  stately,  stern,  and  mute. 

III. 
This  Solimaun,  Serendib  had  in  sway — 
And  where's  Serendib?  may  some  critic  say. — 
Good  lack,  mine  honest  friend,  consult  the  chart, 
Scare  not  my  Pegasus  before  I  start ! 
If  Rennell  has  it  not,  you'll  find,  mayhap, 
The  isle  laid  down  on  Captain  Sindbad's  map, — 
Famed  mariner !  whose  merciless  narrations 
Drove  every  friend  and  kinsman  out  of  patience, 
Till,  fain  to  find  a  guest  who  thought  them  shorter, 
He  deign'd  to  tell  them  over  to  a  porter — 3 
The  last  edition  see,  by  Long  and  Co., 
Bees,  Hurst,  and  Orme,  our  fathers  in  the  Row. 

IV. 

Serendib  found,  deem  not  my  tale  a  fiction — 
This  Sultaun,  whether  lacking  contradiction — 
(A  sort  of  stimulant  which  hath  its  uses, 
To  raise  the  spirits  and  reform  the  juices, 
— Sovereign  specific  for  all  sorts  of  cures 
In  my  wife's  practice,  and  perhaps  in  yours), 
The  Sultaun  lacking  this  same  wholesome  bitter, 
Or  cordial  smooth  for  prince's  palate  fitter — 
Or  if  some  Mollah  had  hag-rid  his  dreams 
With  Degial,  Ginnistan,  and  such  wild  themes 
Belonging  to  the  Mollah's  subtle  craft, 
I  wot  not — but  the  Sultaun  never  laugh'd, 
Scarce  ate  or  drank,  and  took  a  melancholy 
That  scorn'd  all  remedy — profane  or  holy ; 


2  The  hint  of  the  following  tale  is  taken  from  La  Camiscia 
Magica,  a  novel  of  Giain  Battista  Casti. 
8  See  the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments. 


iHi'2 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Iu  his  long  list  of  melancholies,  mad, 

Or  mazed,  or  dumb,  hath  Burton  none  so  bad.1 


Physicians  soon  arrived,  sage,  ware,  and  tried, 
As  e'er  scrawl'd  jargon  in  a  darken'd  room  ; 
With  heedful  glance  the  Sultaun's  tongue  they  eyed, 
Peep'd  in  his  bath,  and  God  knows  where  beside, 

And  then  in  solemn  accent  spoke  their  doom, 
"  His  majesty  is  very  far  from  well." 
Then  each  to  work  with  his  specific  fell : 
The  Hakim  Ibrahim  instanter  brought 
His  unguent  Mahazzim  al  Zerdukkaut, 
While  Roompot,  a  practitioner  more  wily, 
Relied  on  his  Munaskif  al  fillfily.2 
More  and  yet  more  in  deep  array  appear, 
And  some  the  front  assail,  and  some  the  rear ; 
Their  remedies  to  reinforce  and  vary, 
Came  surgeon  eke,  and  eke  apothecary ; 
Till  the  tired  Monarch,  though  of  words  grown  chary, 
Yet  dropt,  to  recompense  their  fruitless  labor, 
Some  hint  about  a  bowstring  or  a  sabre. 
There  lack'd,  I  promise  you,  no  longer  speeches 
To  rid  the  palace  of  those  learned  leeches. 

VI. 

Then  was  the  Council  call'd — by  their  advice 
(They  deem'd  the  matter  ticklish  all,  and  nice, 

And  sought  to  shift  it  off  from  their  own  shoulders), 
Tartars  and  couriers  in  all  speed  were  sent, 
To  call  a  sort  of  Eastern  Parliament 

Of  feudatory  chieftains  and  freeholders — 
Such  have  the  Persians  at  this  very  day, 
My  gallant  Malcolm  calls  them  couroultai; — 3 
I'm  not  prepared  to  show  in  this  slight  song 
That  to  Serendib  the  same  forms  belong, — 
E'en  let  the  learn'd  go  search,  and  tell  me  if  I'm 
wrong. 

VII. 
The  Omrahs,4  each  with  hand  on  scimitar, 
Gave,  like  Semproniue,  still  their  voice  for  war — 
"  The  sabre  of  the  Sultaun  in  its  sheath 
Too  long  has  slept,  nor  own'd  the  work  of  death ; 
Let  the  Tambourgi  bid  his  signal  rattle, 
Bang  the  loud  gong,  and  raise  the  shout  of  battle ! 
This  dreary  cloud  that  dims  our  sovereign's  day 
Shall  from  his  kindled  bosom  flit  away, 
When  the  bold  Lootie  wheels  his  courser  round, 
And  the  arm'd  elephant  shall  shake  the  ground. 
Each  noble  pants  to  own  the  glorious  summons — 
And  for  the  charges — Lo !  your  faithful  Commons !" 
The  Riots  who  attended  in  their  places 

(Serendib  language  calls  a  farmer  Riot) 
Look'd  ruefully  in  one  another's  faces, 

From  this  oration  auguring  much  disquiet, 


1  See  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

2  For  these  hard  words  see  D'Herbelot,  or  the  learned 
editor  of  the  Recipes  of  Avicenna. 


Double  assessment,  forage,  and  free  quarters ; 
And  fearing  these  as  Chinamen  the  Tartars, 
Or  as  the  whisker'd  vermin  fear  the  mousers, 
Each  fumbled  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers. 

VIII. 

And  next  came  forth  the  reverend  Convocation, 

Bald  heads,  white  beards,  and  many  a  turban  green, 
Imaum  and  Mollah  there  of  every  station, 

Santon,  Fakir,  and  Calendar  were  seen. 
Their  votes  were  various — some  advised  a  Mosque 

With  fitting  revenues  should  be  erected, 
With  seemly  gardens  and  with  gay  Kiosque, 

To  recreate  a  band  of  priests  selected ; 
Others  opined  that  through  the  realms  a  dole 

Be  made  to  holy  men,  whose  prayers  might  profit 
The  Sultaun's  weal  in  body  and  in  soul. 

But  their  long-headed  chief,  the  Sheik  Ul-Sofit, 
More    closely  touch'd    the    point: — "Thy   studious 

mood," 
Quoth  he,  "  O  Prince !  hath  thicken'd  all  thy  blood, 
And  dull'd  thy  brain  with  labor  beyond  measure ; 
Wherefore  relax  a  space  and  take  thy  pleasure, 
And  toy  with  beauty,  or  tell  o'er  thy  treasure ; 
From  all  the  cares  of  state,  my  Liege,  enlarge  thee, 
And  leave  the  burden  to  thy  faithful  clergy." 

IX. 

These  counsels  sage  availed  not  a  whit, 

And  so  the  patient  (as  is  not  uncommon 
Where  grave  physicians  lose  their  time  and  wit) 

Resolved  to  take  advice  of  an  old  woman ; 
His  mother  she,  a  dame  who  once  was  beauteous, 
And  still  was  called  so  by  each  subject  duteous. 
Now,  whether  Fatima  was  witch  in  earnest, 

Or  only  made  believe,  I  cannot  say — 
But  she  profess'd  to  cure  disease  the  sternest, 

By  dint  of  magic  amulet  or  lay ; 
And,  when  all  other  skill  in  vain  was  shown, 
She  deem'd  it  fitting  time  to  use  her  own. 

X. 

" Sympathia  marjica  hath  wonders  done" 

(Thus  did  old  Fatima  bespeak  her  son), 

"  It  works  upon  the  fibres  and  the  pores, 

And  thus,  insensibly,  our  health  restores, 

And  it  must  help  us  here. — Thou  must  endure 

The  ill,  my  son,  or  travel  for  the  cure. 

Search  land  and  sea,  and  get,  where'er  you  can, 

The  inmost  vesture  of  a  happy  man, 

I  mean  his  shirt,  my  son ;  which,  taken  warm 

And  fresh  from  off  his  back,  shall  chase  your  harm, 

Bid  every  current  of  your  veins  rejoice, 

And  your  dull  heart  leap  light  as  shepherd-boy's." 

Such  was  the  counsel  from  his  mother  came ; — 

I  know  not  if  she  had  some  under-game, 

8  See  Sir  John  Malcolm's  admirable  History  of  Persia. 
*  Nobility. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


663 


As  doctors  have,  who  bid  their  patients  roam 
And  live  abroad,  when  sure  to  die  at  home  ; 
Or  if  she  thought  that,  somehow  or  another, 
Queen-Regent  sounded  better  than  Queen-Mother ; 
But,  says  the  Chronicle  (who  will  go  look  it) 
That  such  was  her  advice — the  Sultaun  took  it. 

XI. 

All  are  on  board — the  Sultaun  and  his  train, 
In  gilded  galley  prompt  to  plough  the  main. 

The  old  Rais1   was  the  first  who  questioned, 
"Whither?" 
They  paused — "  Arabia,"  thought  the  pensive  Prince, 
"  Was  call'd  The  Happy  many  ages  since — 

For  Mokha,  Rais." — And  they  came  safely  thither. 
But  not  in  Araby,  with  all  her  balm, 
Not  where  Judea  weeps  beneath  her  palm, 
Not  in  rich  Egypt,  not  in  Nubian  waste, 
Could  there  the  step  of  happiness  be  traced. 
One  Copt  alone  profess'd  to  have  seen  her  smile, 
When  Bruce  his  goblet  fill'd  at  infant  Nile : 
She  bless'd  the  dauntless  traveller  as  he  quaflfd, 
But  vanish'd  from  him  with  the  ended  draught. 

XII. 

"  Enough  of  turbans,"  said  the  weary  King, 

"These  dolimans  of  ours  are  not  the  thing; 

Try  we  the  Giaours,  these  men  of  coat  and  cap,  I 

Incline  to  think  some  of  them  must  be  happy  ; 

At  least,  they  have  as  fair  a  cause  as  any  can, 

They  drink  good  wine  and  keep  no  Ramazan. 

Then  northward,  ho !" — The  vessel  cuts  the  sea, 

And  fair  Italia  lies  upon  her  lee. — 

But  fair  Italia,  she  who  once  unfurl'd 

Her  eagle  banners  o'er  a  conquer'd  world, 

Long  from  her  throne  of  domination  tumbled, 

Lay,  by  her  quondam  vassals,  sorely  humbled ; 

The  Pope  himself  look'd  pensive,  pale,  and  lean, 

And  was  not  half  the  man  he  once  had  been. 

"  While  these  the  priest  and  those  the  noble  fleeces, 

Our  poor  old  boot,"2  they  said,  "  is  torn  to  pieces. 

Its  tops3  the  vengeful  claws  of  Austria  feel, 

And  the  Great  Devil  is  rending  toe  and  heel.4 

If  happiness  you  seek,  to  tell  you  truly, 

We  think  she  dwells  with  one  Giovanni  Bulli  ; 

A  tramontane,  a  heretic, — the  buck, 

Poflaredio  !  still  has  all  the  luck ; 

By  land  or  ocean  never  strikes  his  flag — 

And  then — a  perfect  walking  money-bag." 

Off  set  our  Prince  to  seek  John  Bull's  abode, 

But  first  took  France — it  lay  upon  the  road. 

XIII. 
Monsieur  Baboon,  after  much  late  commotion, 
Was  agitated  like  a  settling  ocean, 

1  Master  of  the  vessel. 

2  The  well-known  resemblance  of  Italy  in  the  map. 
8  Florence,  Venice,  &c. 

4  The  Calabrias,  infested  by  bands  of  assassins.    One  of  the 
leaders  was  called  Fra  Diavolo,  i.  e.,  Brother  Devil. 


Quite  out  of  sorts,  and  could  not  tell  what  ail'd  him, 
Only  the  glory  of  his  house  had  fail'd  him ; 
Besides,  some  tumors  on  his  noddle  biding 
Gave  indication  of  a  recent  hiding.5 
Our  Prince,  though  Sultauns  of  such  things  are  heed- 
less, 
Thought  it  a  thing  indelicate  and  needless 

To  ask  if  at  that  moment  he  was  happy. 
And  Monsieur,  seeing  that  he  was  comme  ilfaut,  a 
Loud  voice  mustered  up,  for  "  Vive  le  Hoi !" 

Then  whisper'd,  "Ave  you  any  news  of  Nappy?" 
The  Sultaun  answer'd  him  with  a  cross  question, — 

"  Pray,  can  you  tell  me  aught  of  one  John  Bull, 

That  dwells  somewhere  beyond  your  herring-pool?" 
The  query  seem'd  of  difficult  digestion, 
The  party  shrugg'd,  and  grinn'd,  and  took  his  snuff, 
And  found  his  whole  good  breeding  scarce  enough. 

XIV. 

Twitching  his  visage  into  as  many  puckers 

As  damsels  wont  to  put  into  their  tuckers 

(Ere  liberal  Fashion  damn'd  both  lace  and  lawn, 

And  bade  the  veil  of  modesty  be  drawn), 

Replied  the  Frenchman,  after  a  brief  pause, 

"  Jean  Bool ! — I  vas  not  know  him — Yes,  I  vas — 

I  vas  remember  dat,  von  year  or  two, 

I  saw  him  at  von  place  call'd  Vaterloo — 

Ma  foi !  il  s'est  tres  joliment  battu, 

Dat  is  for  Englishman, — m'entendez-vous? 

But  den  he  had  wit  him  one  damn  son-gun, 

Rogue  I  no  like — dey  call  him  Vellington." 

Monsieur's  politeness  could  not  hide  his  fret, 

So  Solimaun  took  leave,  and  cross'd  the  strait. 

XV. 

John  Bull  was  in  his  very  worst  of  moods, 
Raving  of  sterile  farms  and  unsold  goods ; 
His  sugar-loaves  and  bales  about  he  threw, 
And  on  his  counter  beat  the  devil's  tattoo. 
His  wars  were  ended,  and  the  victory  won, 
But  then,  'twas  reckoning-day  with  honest  John ; 
And  authors  vouch,  'twas  still  this  Worthy's  way 
"  Never  to  grumble  till  he  came  to  pay ; 
And  then  he  always  thinks,  his  temper's  such, 
The  work  too  little,  and  the  pay  too  much."6 

Yet,  grumbler  as  he  is,  so  kind  and  hearty, 
That  when  his  mortal  foe  was  on  the  floor, 
And  past  the  power  to  harm  his  quiet  more, 

Poor  John  had  wellnigh  wept  for  Bonaparte ! 
Such  was  the  wight  whom  Solimaun  salam'd, — 
"  And  who  are  you,"  John  answer'd,  "  and  be  d — d?" 

XVI. 
"  A  stranger,  come  to  see  the  happiest  man, — 
So,  signior,  all  avouch,— in  Frangistan." — T 

6  Or  drubbing ;  so  called  in  the  Slang  Dictionary. 

6  See  the  True-Born  Englishma*.  by  Daniel  De  Foe. 

i  Europe. 


664 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


"  Happy  ?  my  tenants  breaking  on  my  hand ; 
Unstock'd  my  pastures,  and  untill'd  my  land  ; 
Sugar  and  rum  a  drug,  and  mice  and  moths 
The  sole  consumers  of  my  good  broadcloths — 
Happy  ? — Why,  cursed  war  and  racking  tax 
Have  left  us  scarcely  raiment  to  our  backs." — 
"In  that  case,  signior,  I  may  take  my  leave; 

I  come  to  ask  a  favor — but  I  grieve  " 

"  Favor?"  said  John,  and  eyed  the  Sultaun  hard, 
"  It's  my  belief  you  come  to  break  the  yard ! — 
But,  stay,  you  look  like  some  poor  foreign  sinner, — 
Take  that  to  buy  yourself  a  shirt  and  dinner." — 
With  that  he  chuck'd  a  guinea  at  his  head; 
But,  with  due  dignity,  the  Sultaun  said, 
"  Permit  me,  sir,  your  bounty  to  decline ; 
A  shirt  indeed  I  seek,  but  none  of  thine. 
Signior,  I  kiss  your  hands,  so  fare  you  well." — 
"  Kiss  and  be  d — d,"  quoth  John,  "  and  go  to  hell !" 

XVII. 

Next  door  to  John  there  dwelt  his  sister  Peg, 
Once  a  wild  lass  as  ever  shook  a  leg 
When  the  blithe  bagpipe  blew — but,  soberer  now, 
She  doucely  span  her  flax  and  milk'd  her  cow. 
And  whereas  erst  she  was  a  needy  slattern, 
Nor  now  of  wealth  or  cleanliness  a  pattern, 
Yet  once  a  month  her  house  was  partly  swept, 
And  once  a  week  a  plenteous  board  she  kept. 
And  whereas,  eke,  the  vixen  used  her  claws 

And  teeth,  of  yore,  on  slender  provocation, 
She  now  has  grown  amenable  to  laws, 

A  quiet  soul  as  any  in  the  nation ; 
The  sole  remembrance  of  her  warlike  joys 
Was  in  old  songs  she  sang  to  please  her  boys. 
John  Bull,  whom,  in  their  years  of  early  strife, 
She  wont  to  lead  a  cat-and-doggish  life, 
Now  found  the  woman,  as  he  said,  a  neighbor, 
Who  look'd  to  the  main  chance,  declined  no  labor, 
Loved  a  long  grace,  and  spoke  a  northern  jargon, 
And  was  d — d  close  in  making  of  a  bargain. 

XVIII. 
The  Sultaun  enter'd,  and  lie  made  his  leg, 
And  with  decorum  curtey'd  sister  Peg; 
(She  loved  a  book,  and  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
And  guess'd  at  once  with  whom  she  had  to  do.) 
She  bade  him  "  Sit  into  the  fire,"  and  took 
Her  dram,  her  cake,  her  kebbuck  from  the  nook; 
Ask'd  him  "about  the  news  from  Eastern  parts; 
And  of  her  absent  bairns,  pair  Highland  hearts! 
If  peace  brought  down  the  price  of  tea  and  pepper, 
And  if  the  nitmugs  were  grown  ony  cheaper; — 
Were  there  nae  speerincjs  of  our  Mungo  Park — 
Ye'll  be  the  gentleman  that  wants  the  sark  ? 
If  ye  wad  buy  a  web  o'  auld  wife's  spinnin', 
I'll  warrant  ye  it's  a  weel-wearing  linen." 

XIX. 
Then  up  got  Peg,  and  round  the  house  'gan  scuttle 
In  search  of  gooas  her  customer  to  nail, 


Until  the  Sultaun  strain'd  his  princely  throttle, 
And  hollo'd,  "  Ma'am,  that  is  not  what  I  ail. 
Pray,  are  you  happy,  ma'am,  in  this  snug  glen?" — 
"  Happy  ?"  said  Peg ;  "  what  for  d'ye  want  to  ken  ? 
Besides,  just  think  upon  this  by-gane  year, 

Grain  wadna  pay  the  yoking  of  the  pleugh." — 
"What   say   you   to   the   present?" — "Meal's   sae 
dear, 
To   mak'   their   brose  my   bairns   have   scarce 
aneugh." — 
"  The  devil  take  the  shirt !"  said  Solimaun, 
"  I  think  my  quest  will  end  as  it  began. — 

Farewell,  ma'am;  nay,  no  ceremony,  I  beg" 

"  Ye'll  no  be  for  the  linen  then  ?"  said  Peg. 

XX. 

Now  for  the  land  of  verdant  Erin, 

The  Sultaun's  royal  bark  is  steering, 

The  Emerald  Isle,  where  honest  Paddy  dwells, 

The  cousin  of  John  Bull,  as  story  tells. 

For  a  long  space  had  John,  with  words  of  thunder, 

Hard  looks,  and  harder  knocks,  kept  Paddy  under, 

Till  the  poor  lad,  like  boy  that's  flogg'd  unduly, 

Had  gotten  somewhat  restive  and  unruly. 

Hard  was  his  lot  and  lodging,  you'll  allow, 

A  wigwam  that  would  hardly  serve  a  sow ; 

His  landlord,  and  of  middle-men  two  brace, 

Had  screw'd  his  rent  up  to  the  starving-place; 

His  garment  was  a  top-coat,  and  an  old  one, 

His  meal  was  a  potato,  and  a  cold  one ; 

But  still  for  fun  or  frolic,  and  all  that, 

In  the  round  world  was  not  the  match  of  Pat. 

XXI. 

The  Sultaun  saw  him  on  a  holiday, 
Which  is  with  Paddy  still  a  jolly  day: 
When  mass  is  ended,  and  his  load  of  sins 
Confess'd,  and  Mother  Church  hath  from  her 

binns 
Dealt  forth  a  bonus  of  imputed  merit, 
Then  is  Pat's  time  for  fancy,  whim,  and  spirit ! 
To  jest,  to  sing,  to  caper  fair  and  free, 
And  dance  as  light  as  leaf  upon  the  tree. 
"  By  Mahomet,"  said  Sultaun  Solimaun, 
"  That  ragged  fellow  is  our  very  man ! 
Rush  in  and  seize  him — do  not  do  him  hurt, 
But,  will  he  nill  he,  let  me  have  his  shirt." — 

XXII. 
Shilela  their  plan  was  wellnigh  after  balking 
(Much  less  provocation  will  set  it  a-walking), 
But  the  odds  that  foil'd   Hercules  foil'd   Paddy 

Whack ; 
They  seized,  and  they  floor'd,  and  they  stripp'd  him— 

Alack  1 
Up-bubboo!    Paddy  had    not a    shirt    to    his 

back ! ! ! 
And    the    King,  disappointed,   with    sorrow  and 

shame, 
Went  back  to  Serendib  as  sad  as  he  came. 


LYKICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


665 


Mt.  MtmMt'ts  dFatetoell  aaoress,1 

ON  TAKING  LEAVE  OF  THE  EDINBUKGH  STAGE. 


1817. 


As  the  worn  war-horse,  at  the  trumpet's  sound, 

Erects  his  mane,  and  neighs,  and  paws  the  ground, 

Disdains  the  ease  his  generous  lord  assigns, 

And  longs  to  rush  on  the  embattled  lines, — 

So  I,  your  plaudits  ringing  on  mine  ear, 

Can  scarce  sustain  to  think  our  parting  near ; 

To  think  my  scenic  hour  for  ever  past, 

And  that  these  valued  plaudits  are  my  last. 

Why  should  we  part,  while  still  some  powers  remain, 

That  in  your  service  strive  not  yet  in  vain  ? 

Cannot  high  zeal  the  strength  of  youth  supply, 

And  sense  of  duty  fire  the  fading  eye ; 

And  all  the  wrongs  of  age  remain  subdued 

Beneath  the  burning  glow  of  gratitude  ? 

Ah,  no !  the  taper,  wearing  to  its  close, 

Oft  for  a  space  in  fitful  lustre  glows ; 

But  all  too  soon  the  transient  gleam  is  past, 

It  cannot  be  renew'd,  and  will  not  last; 

Even  duty,  zeal,  and  gratitude,  can  wage 

But  short-lived  conflict  with  the  frosts  of  age. 

Yes !  It  were  poor,  remembering  what  I  was, 

To  live  a  pensioner  on  your  applause, 

To  drain  the  dregs  of  your  endurance  dry, 

And  take,  as  alms,  the  praise  I  once  could  buy ; 

Till  every  sneering  youth  around  inquires, 

"Is  this  the  man  who  once  could  please  our  sires?" 

And  scorn  assumes  compassion's  doubtful  mien, 

To  warn  me  off  from  the  encumber'd  scene. 

This  must  not  be ; — and  higher  duties  crave 

Some  space  between  the  theatre  and  the  grave, 

That,  like  the  Roman  in  the  Capitol, 

I  may  adjust  my  mantle  ere  I  fall : 

My  life's  brief  act  in  public  service  flown, 

The  last,  the  closing  scene,  must  be  my  own. 


1  These  lines  first  appeared  April  5, 1817,  in  a  weekly  sheet 
called  "  The  Sale  Room,"  conducted  and  published  by  Messrs. 
Ballantyne  &  Co.,  at  Edinburgh.  In  a  note  prefixed,  Mr. 
James  Ballantyne  says : — "  The  character  fixed  upon,  with 
happy  propriety,  for  Kemble's  closing  scene,  was  Macbeth, 
in  which  he  took  his  final  leave  of  Scotland  on  the  evening 
of  Saturday,  the  29th  March,  1817.  He  had  labored  under  a 
severe  cold  for  a  few  days  before,  but  on  this  memorable 
night  the  physical  annoyance  yielded  to  the  energy  of  his 
mind.  'He  was,'  he  said  in  the  green-room,  immediately 
before  the  curtain  rose,  '  determined  to  leave  behind  him  the 
most  perfect  specimen  of  his  art  which  he  had  ever  shown ;' 
and  his  success  was  complete.  At  the  moment  of  the  tyrant's 
death  the  curtain  fell  by  the  universal  acclamation  of  the 
audience.  The  applauses  were  vehement  and  prolonged; 
they  ceased — were  resumed — rose  again — were  reiterated — 
and  again  were  hushed.  In  a  few  minutes  the  curtain  as- 
cended, and  Mr.  Kemble  came  forward  in  the  dress  of  Mac- 
beth (the  audience  by  a  consentaneous  movement  rising  to 


Here,  then,  adieu !  while  yet  some  well-graced  parts 
May  fix  an  ancient  favorite  in  your  hearts, 
Not  quite  to  be  forgotten,  even  when 
You  look  on  better  actors,  younger  men : 
And  if  your  bosoms  own  this  kindly  debt 
Of  old  remembrance,  how  shall  mine  forget — 
Oh,  how  forget! — how  oft  I  hither  came 
In  anxious  hope,  how  oft  return'd  with  fame ! 
How  oft  around  your  circle  this  weak  hand 
Has  waved  immortal  Shakspeare's  magic  wand, 
Till  the  full  burst  of  inspiration  came, 
And  I  have  felt,  and  you  have  fann'd,  the  flame ! 
By  mem'ry  treasured,  while  her  reign  endures, 
Those  hours  must  live — and  all  their  charms  are  yours. 

O  favor'd  land !  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms, 
Could  this  full  bosom  prompt  the  sinking  line, 
What  fervent  benedictions  now  were  thine ! 
But  my  last  part  is  play'd,  my  knell  is  rung, 
When  e'en  your  praise  falls  faltering  from  my  tongue ; 
And  all  that  you  can  hear,  or  I  can  tell, 
Is — Friends  and  Patrons,  hail,  and  fake  YOU  well. 


Hints* 

WRITTEN  FOR  MISS  SMITH. 


1817. 


WHEN  the  lone  pilgrim  views  afar 
The  shrine  that  is  his  guiding  star, 
With  awe  his  footsteps  print  the  road 
Which  the  loved  saint  of  yore  has  trode. 
As  near  he  draws,  and  yet  more  near, 
His  dim  eye  sparkles  with  a  tear ; 
The  Gothic  fane's  unwonted  show, 
The  choral  hymn,  the  tapers'  glow, 
Oppress  his  soul  while  they  delight, 
And  chasten  rapture  with  affright. 


receive  him),  to  deliver  his  farewell."  ....  "Mr.  Kemble 
delivered  these  lines  with  exquisite  beauty,  and  with  an 
effect  that  was  evidenced  by  the  tears  and  sobs  of  many  of 
the  audience.  His  own  emotions  were  very  conspicuous. 
When  his  farewell  was  closed,  he  lingered  long  on  the  stage, 
as  if  unable  to  retire.  The  house  again  stood  up,  and  cheered 
him  with  the  waving  of  hats  and  long  shouts  of  applause. 
At  length  he  finally  retired,  and,  in  so  far  as  regards  Scot- 
land, the  curtain  dropped  upon  his  professional  life  for 
ever." 

2  These  lines  were  first  printed  in  "The  Forget-Me-Not" 
for  1834.  They  were  written  for  recitation  by  the  distin- 
guished actress,  Miss  Smith,  now  Mrs.  Bartley,  on  the  night 
of  her  benefit  at  the  Edinburgh  Theatre,  in  1817,  but  reached 
her  too  late  for  her  purpose.  In  a  letter  which  enclosed  them 
the  poet  intimated  that  they  were  written  on-the  morning 
of  the  day  on  which  they  were  sent — that  he  thought  the  idea 
better  than  the  execution,  and  forwarded  them  with  the  hope 
of  their  adding  perhaps  "a  little  salt  to  the  bill." 


666 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


No  longer  dare  he  think  his  toil 
Can  merit  aught  his  patron's  smile; 
Too  light  appears  the  distant  way, 
The  chilly  eve,  the  sultry  day — 
All  these  endured  no  favor  claim, 
But  murmuring  forth  the  sainted  name, 
He  lays  his  little  offering  down, 
And  only  deprecates  a  frown. 

We  too,  who  ply  the  Thespian  art, 
Oft  feel  such  hodings  of  the  heart, 
And,  when  our  utmost  powers  are  strain'd, 
Dare  hardly  hope  your  favor  gain'd. 
She,  who  from  sister  climes  has  sought 
The  ancient  land  where  Wallace  fought; — 
Land  long  renown'd  for  arms  and  arts, 
And  conquering  eyes  and  dauntless  hearts ;- 
She,  as  the  flutterings  here  avow, 
Feels  all  the  pilgrim's  terrors  now; 
Yet  sure  on  Caledonian  plain 
The  stranger  never  sued  in  vain. 
'Tis  yours  the  hospitable  task 
To  give  the  applause  she  dare  not  ask ; 
And  they  who  bid  the  pilgrim  speed, 
The  pilgrim's  blessing  be  their  meed. 


&f)e  jfcun  upon  tfje  MJrirtilato  Plttl. 


1817. 


["Scott's  enjoyment  of  his  new  territories  was, 
however,  interrupted  by  various  returns  of  his  cramp, 
and  the  depression  of  spirit  which  always  attended, 
in  his  case,  the  use  of  opium,  the  only  medicine  that 
seemed  to  have  power  over  the  disease.  It  was  while 
struggling  with  such  languor,  on  one  lovely  evening 
of  this  autumn,  that  he  composed  the  following  beau- 
tiful verses.  They  mark  the  very  spot  of  their  birth, 
— namely,  the  then  naked  height  overhanging  the 
northern  side  of  the  Cauldshiels  Loch,  from  which 
Melrose  Abbey  to  the  eastward,  and  the  hills  of  Ettrick 
and  Yarrow  to  the  west,  are  now  visible  over  a  wide 
range  of  rich  woodland, — all  the  work  of  the  poet's 
hand."— Life,  vol.  v.  p.  237.] 

AlK — "  Rimhin  aluin  'stu  mo  run." 


The  air  composed  by  the  editor  of  Alhyn's  Anthology ;-  the 
words  written  for  Mr.  George  Thomson's  Scottish  Melodies. 
1822. 


The  sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill, 
In  Ettrick's  vale,  is  sinking  sweet; 

1  "O  favor'd  land!  renown'd  for  arts  and  arms, 
For  manly  talent,  and  for  female  charms." 

Lines  written  for  Mr.  J.  Kerable. 


The  westland  wind  is  hush  and  still, 
The  lake  lies  sleeping  at  my  feet. 

Yet  not  the  landscape  to  mine  eye 

Bears  those  bright  hues  that  once  it  bore  ; 

Though  evening,  with  her  richest  dye, 
Flames  o'er  the  hills  of  Ettrick's  shore. 

With  listless  look  along  the  plain, 

I  see  Tweed's  silver  current  glide, 
And  coldly  mark  the  holy  fane 

Of  Melrose  rise  in  ruin'd  pride. 
The  quiet  lake,  the  balmy  air, 

The  hill,  the  stream,  the  tower,  the  tree, — 
Are  they  still  such  as  once  they  were  ? 

Or  is  the  dreary  change  in  me  ? 

Alas,  the  warp'd  and  broken  board, 

How  can  it  bear  the  painter's  dye ! 
The  harp  of  strain'd  and  tuneless  chord, 

How  to  the  minstrel's  skill  reply ! 
To  aching  eyes  each  landscape  lowers, 

To  feverish  pulse  each  gale  blows  chill ; 
And  Araby's  or  Eden's  bowers 

Were  barren  as  his  moorland  hill. 


Ws>i  Jftonfcs  of  Bangor's  Uflarcf). 

Air — "  Ymdaith  Mionge." 

WRITTEN   FOR  MR.   GEORGE  THOMSON'S  WELSH 
MELODIES. 


1817. 


Ethelfrid  or  Olfrid,  King  of  Northumberland, 
having  besieged  Chester  in  613,  and  Brockmael,  a 
British  prince,  advancing  to  relieve  it,  the  religious 
of  the  neighboring  Monastery  of  Bangor  marched  in 
procession,  to  pray  for  the  success  of  their  countrymen. 
But  the  British  being  totally  defeated,  the  heathen 
victor  put  the  monks  to  the  sword,  and  destroyed  their 
monastery.  The  tune  to  which  these  verses  are  adapt- 
ed is  called  the  Monks'  March,  and  is  supposed  to 
have  been  played  at  their  ill-omened  procession. 


When  the  heathen  trumpet's  clang 
Round  beleaguer'd  Chester  rang, 
Veiled  nun  and  friar  gray 
March'd  from  Bangor's  fair  Abbaye ; 
High  their  holy  anthem  sounds, 
Cestria's  vale  the  hymn  rebounds, 
Floating  down  the  sylvan  Dee, 

O  miserere,  Domine  ! 


2  "  Nathaniel  Gow  told  me  that  he  got  the  air  from  an  old 
gentleman,  a  Mr.  Oalrymple  of  Orangefield  (he  thinks),  who 
had  it  from  a  friend  in  the  Western  Isles,  as  an  old  Highland 
air."— Geokge  Thomsojt. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


667 


On  the  long  procession  goes, 
Glory  round  their  crosses  glows, 
And  the  Virgin-mother  mild 
In  their  peaceful  banner  smiled ; 
Who  could  think  such  sainted  band 
Doom'd  to  feel  unhallow'd  hand  ? 
Such  was  the  Divine  decree, 

0  miserere,  Domine  ! 

Bands  that  masses  only  sung, 
Hands  that  censers  only  swung, 
Met  the  northern  bow  and  bill, 
Heard  the  war-cry  wild  and  shrill ; 
Woe  to  Brockmael's  feeble  hand,  , 
Woe  to  Olfrid's  bloody  brand, 
Woe  to  Saxon  cruelty, 

O  miserere,  Domine  ! 

Weltering  amid  warriors  slain, 
Spurn'd  by  steeds  with  bloody  mane, 
Slaughter'd  down  by  heathen  blade, 
Bangor's  peaceful  monks  are  laid : 
Word  of  parting  rest  unspoke, 
Mass  unsung,  and  bread  unbroke ; 
For  their  souls  for  charity, 

Sing,  0  miserere,  Domine  ! 

Bangor !  o'er  the  murder  wail ! 
Long  thy  ruins  told  the  tale, 
Shatter'd  towers  and  broken  arch 
Long  recall'd  the  woeful  march  j1 
On  thy  shrines  no  tapers  burn, 
Never  shall  thy  priests  return ; 
The  pilgrim  sighs  and  sings  for  thee, 

0  miserere,  Domine  I 


[Sir  Walter's  companion  on  this  excursion  was  Cap- 
tain, now  Sir  Adam  Ferguson.  See  Life,  vol.  v.  p. 
234.] 


%ttttv 

TO  HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  BUCCLEUCH, 
DRUMLANRIG  CASTLE, 

Sanquhar,  2  o'clock,  July  30,  1817. 

From  Ross,  where  the  clouds  on  Benlomond  are 
sleeping — 

From  Greenock,  where  Clyde  to  the  Ocean  is  sweep- 
ing— 

From  Largs,  where  the  Scotch  gave  the  Northmen  a 
drilling — 

From  Ardrossan,  whose  harbor  cost  many  a  shil- 
ling— 

From  old  Cumnock,  where  beds  are  as  hard  as  a 
plank,  sir — 

From  a  chop  and  green  pease,  and  a  chicken  in 
Sanquhar, 

This  eve,  please  the  Fates,  at  Drumlanrig  we  anchor. 

W.  S. 


1  William  of  Malmsbury  says  that  in  his  time  the  extent 
of  the  ruins  of  the  monastery  bore  ample  witness  to  the  des- 
olation occasioned  by  the  massacre : — "  tot  semiruti  parietes 


jFrom  l&ofc  Hog. 


1817. 


(1.)— TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  EDWARD  THE 
BLACK  PRINCE. 

"  A  blotted  piece  of  paper  dropped  out  of  the  book, 
and,  being  taken  up  by  my  father,  he  interrupted  a 
hint  from  Owen,  on  the  propriety  of  securing  loose 
memoranda  with  a  little  paste,  by  exclaiming,  'To  the 
memory  of  Edward  the  Black  Prince — What's  all 
this? — verses! — By  heaven,  Frank,  you  are  a  greater 
blockhead  than  I  supposed  you !' " 

Oh,  for  the  voice  of  that  wild  horn, 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne, 

The  dying  hero's  call, 
That  told  imperial  Charlemagne 
How  Paynim  sons  of  swarthy  Spain 

Had  wrought  his  champion's  fall. 

"  'Fontarabian  echoes!'  continued  my  father,  inter- 
rupting himself;  'the  Fontarabian  Fair  would  have 
been  more  to  the  purpose. — Paynim  f — What's  Pay- 
nim ? — Could  you  not  say  Pagan  as  well,  and  write 
English,  at  least,  if  you  must  needs  write  nonsense  ?' " — 

Sad  over  earth  and  ocean  sounding, 
And  England's  distant  cliffs  astounding, 

Such  are  the  notes  should  say 
How  Britain's  hope,  and  France's  fear, 
Victor  of  Cressy  and  Poitier, 

In  Bourdeaux  dying  lay. 

"  '  Poitiers,  by  the  way,  is  always  spelled  with  an  s, 
and  I  know  no  reason  why  orthography  should  give 
place  to  rhyme.' " 

"  Raise  my  faint  head,  my  squires,"  he  said, 
"  And  let  the  casement  be  display'd, 

That  I  may  see  once  more 
The  splendor  of  the  setting  sun 
Gleam  on  thy  mirror'd  wave,  Garonne, 

And  Blaye's  empurpled  shore." 

"  '  Garonne  and  sun  is  a  bad  rhyme.  Why,  Frank, 
you  do  not  even  understand  the  beggarly  trade  you 
have  chosen.' " 

ecclesiarum,  tot  anfractus  porticum,  tanta  turba  ruderum 
quantum  vix  alibi  cernas." 


€68 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  Like  me,  he  sinks  to  Glory's  sleep, 
His  fall  the  dews  of  evening  steep, 

As  if  in  sorrow  shed. 
So  soft  shall  fall  the  trickling  tear, 
When  England's  maids  and  matrons  hear 

Of  their  Black  Edward  dead. 

"  And  though  my  sun  of  glory  set, 
Nor  France  nor  England  shall  forget 

The  terror  of  my  name ; 
And  oft  shall  Britain's  heroes  rise, 
New  planets  in  these  southern  skies, 

Through  clouds  of  blood  and  flame." 

" '  A  cloud  of  flame  is  something  new — Good-mor- 
row, my  masters  all,  and  a  merry  Christmas  to  you ! — 
Why,  the  bellman  writes  better  lines.'  " 

Chap.  ii. 


(2.)— TRANSLATION  FROM  ARIOSTO. 


1817. 


"  Miss  Vernon  proceeded  to  read  the  first  stanza, 
which  was  nearly  to  the  following  purpose :" — 

Ladies,  and  knights,  and  arms,  and  love's  fair 
flame, 

Deeds  of  emprise  and  courtesy,  I  sing ; 
What  time  the  Moors  from  sultry  Africk  came, 

Led  on  by  Agramant,  their  youthful  king — 
He  whom  revenge  and  hasty  ire  did  bring 

O'er  the  broad  wave,  in  France  to  waste  and  war ; 
Such  ills  from  old  Trojano's  death  did  spring, 

Which  to  avenge  he  came  from  realms  afar, 
And  menaced  Christian  Charles,  the  Roman  emperor. 

Of  dauntless  Roland,  too,  my  strain  shall  sound, 
In  import  never  known  in  prose  or  rhyme, 

How  he,  the  chief  of  judgment  deem'd  profound, 
For  luckless  love  was  crazed  upon  a  time — 

" '  There  is  a  great  deal  of  it,'  said  she,  glancing 
along  the  paper,  and  interrupting  the  sweetest  sounds 
which  mortal  ears  can  drink  in  ;  those  of  a  youthful 
poet's  verses,  namely,  read  by  the  lips  which  are 
dearest  to  them." 

Chap.  xvi. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  x. 
In  the  wide  pile,  by  others  heeded  not, 
Hers  was  one  sacred  solitary  spot, 
Whose  gloomy  aisles  and  bending  shelves  contain, 
For  moral  hunger  food,  and  cures  for  moral  pain. 

Anonymous. 


"The  library  at  Osbaldistone  Hall  was  a  gloomy 
room,"  &c. 

(2.)— Chap.  xiii. 
Dire  was  his  thought,  who  first  in  poison  steep'd 
The  weapon  form'd  for  slaughter — direr  his, 
And  worthier  of  damnation,  who  instill'd 
The  mortal  venom  in  the  social  cup, 
To  fill  the  veins  with  death  instead  of  life. 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  xxii. 
Look  round  thee,  young  Astolpho :    Here's  the 

place 
Which  men  (for  being  poor)  are  sent  to  starve  in, — 
Rude  remedy,  I  trow,  for  sore  disease. 
Within  these  walls,  stifled  by  damp  and  stench, 
Doth  Hope's  fair  torch  expire ;  and  at  the  snuff, 
Ere  yet  'tis  quite  extinct,  rude,  wild,  and  wayward, 
The  desperate  reveries  of  wild  despair, 
Kindling  their  hell-born  cressets,  light  to  deeds 
That  the  poor  captive  would  have  died  ere  prac- 
ticed, 
Till  bondage  sunk  his  soul  to  his  condition. 

The  Prison,  scene  iii.  act  i. 


(4.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  no  tree  was  seen, 
Earth,  clad  in  russet,  scorn'd  the  lively  green ; 
No  birds,  except  as  birds  of  passage,  flew ; 
No  bee  was  heard  to  hum,  no  dove  to  coo ; 
No  streams,  as  amber  smooth,  as  amber  clear, 
Were  seen  to  glide,  or  heard  to  warble  here. 

Prophecy  of  Famine. 


(5.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
"Woe  to  the  vanquish'd!"    was  stern  Brenno's 

word, 
When  sunk  proud  Rome  beneath  the  Gallic  sword — 
"  Woe  to  the  vanquish'd  !"  when  his  massive  blade 
Bore  down  the  scale  against  her  ransom  weigh'd, 
And  on  the  field  of  foughten  battle  still, 
Who  knows  no  limit  save  the  victor's  will. 

The  Gaulliad. 

(6.)— Chap,  xxxii. 
And  be  he  safe  restored  ere  evening  set, 
Or,  if  there's  vengeance  in  an  injured  heart, 
And  power  to  wreak  it  in  an  arm'd  hand, 
Your  land  shall  ache  for't. 

Old  Play. 

(7.)— Chap,  xxxvi. 
Farewell  to  the  land  where  the  clouds  love  to  rest, 
Like  the  shroud  of  the  dead  on  the  mountain's  cold 

breast ; 
To  the  cataract's  roar  where  the  eagles  reply, 
And  the  lake  her  lone  bosom  expands  to  the  sky. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


669 


Epilogue  to  fyt  appeal.1 

spoken  by  mrs.  henry  siddons, 
Feb.  16,  1818. 

A  CAT  of  yore  (or  else  old  ^Esop  lied) 

Was  changed  into  a  fair  and  blooming  bride, 

But  spied  a  mouse  upon  her  marriage-day, 

Forgot  her  spouse,  and  seized  upon  her  prey ; 

Even  thus  my  bridegroom  lawyer,  as  you  saw, 

Threw  off  poor  me,  and  pounced  upon  papa. 

His  neck  from  Hymen's  mystic  knot  made  loose, 

He  twisted  round  my  sire's  the  literal  noose. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  our  dramatic  labor 

Since  the  New  Jail  became  our  next-door  neighbor.2 

Yes,  times  are  changed ;  for,  in  your  fathers'  age, 
The  lawyers  were  the  patrons  of  the  stage ; 
However  high  advanced  by  future  fate, 
There  stands  the  bench  (points  to  the  Pit)  that  first 

received  their  weight. 
The  future  legal  sage  'twas  ours  to  see 
Doom  though  unwigg'd,  and  plead  without  a  fee. 

But  now,  astounding  each  poor  mimic  elf, 
Instead  of  lawyers  comes  the  law  herself; 
Tremendous  neighbor,  on  our  right  she  dwells, 
Builds  high  her  towers  and  excavates  her  cells ; 
While  on  the  left  she  agitates  the  town 
With  the  tempestuous  question,  Up  or  down  ?3 
'Twixt  Scylla  and  Charybdis  thus  stand  we, 
Law's  final  end,  and  law's  uncertainty. 
But,  soft !  who  lives  at  Rome  the  Pope  must  flatter, 
And  jails  and  lawsuits  are  no  jesting  matter. 
Then — just  farewell !     We  wait  with  serious  awe 
Till  your  applause  or  censure  gives  the  law, 
Trusting  our  humble  efforts  may  assure  ye, 
We  hold  you  Court  and  Counsel,  Judge  and  Jury. 


JKacfcrimmon's  ILament. 


1818. 


Air—"  Cha  till  mi  luille."f> 

Mackrimmon,  hereditary  piper  to  the  Laird  of 
Macleod,  is  said  to  have  composed  this  lament  when 


1  The  Appeal,  a  tragedy,  by  John  Gait,  the  celebrated  author 
of  the  Annals  of  the  Parish,  and  other  novels,  was  played  for 
four  nights  at  this  time  in  Edinburgh. 

2  It  is  necessary  to  mention  that  the  allusions  in  this  piece 
are  all  local,  and  addressed  only  to  the  Edinburgh  audience. 
The  new  prisons  of  the  city,  on  the  Calton  Hill,  are  not  far 
from  the  theatre. 

3  At  this  time  the  public  of  Edinburgh  was  much  agitated 


the  clan  was  about  to  start  upon  a  distant  and  danger- 
ous expedition.  The  minstrel  was  impressed  with  a 
belief,  which  the  event  verified,  that  he  was  to  be  slain 
in  the  approaching  feud ;  and  hence  the  Gaelic  words, 
"  Cha  till  mi  tuille ;  ged  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mack- 
rimmon"— "  I  shall  never  return ;  although  Macleod 
returns,  yet  Mackrimmon  shall  never  return !"  The 
piece  is  but  too  well  known,  from  its  being  the  strain 
with  which  the  emigrants  from  the  West  Highlands 
and  Isles  usually  take  leave  of  their  native  shore. 


Macleod's  wizard  flag  from  the  gray  castle  sallies, 

The  rowers  are  seated,  unmoor'd  are  the  galleys ; 

Gleam  war-axe  and  broadsword,  clang  target  and 
quiver, 

As  Mackrimmon  sings,  "Farewell  to  Dunvegan  for 
ever! 

Farewell  to  each  cliff,  on  which  breakers  are  foam- 
ing; 

Farewell,  each  dark  glen,  in  which  red-deer  are  roam- 
ing; 

Farewell,  lonely  Skye,  to  lake,  mountain,  and  river  ; 

Macleod  may  return,  but  Mackrimmon  shall  never ! 

"Farewell  the  bright  clouds  that  on  Quillan  are 
sleeping ; 

Farewell  the  bright  eyes  in  the  Dun  that  are  weep- 
ing; 

To  each  minstrel  delusion  farewell ! — and  for  ever — 

Mackrimmon  departs,  to  return  to  you  never ! 

The  Banshee's  wild  voice  sings  the  death-dirge  before 
me,6 

The  pall  of  the  dead  for  a  mantle  hangs  o'er  me ; 

But  my  heart  shall  not  flag,  and  my  nerves  shall  not 
shiver, 

Though  devoted  I  go — to  return  again  never ! 

"Too  oft  shall  the  notes  of  Mackrimmon's  bewail- 
ing 
Be  heard  when  the  Gael  on  their  exile  are  sailing ; 
Dear  land!    to  the  shores,  whence  unwilling  we 

sever, 
Return — return — return  shall  we  never! 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Cha  till,  cha  till,  cha  till  sin  tuille, 

Gea  thillis  Macleod,  cha  till  Mackrimmon !" 

by  a  lawsuit  betwixt  the  magistrates  and  many  of  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  city  concerning  a  range  of  new  buildings  on  the 
western  side  of  the  North  Bridge,  which  the  latter  insisted 
should  be  removed  as  a  deformity. 

*  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology. 

6  "  We  return  no  more." 

6  See  a  note  on  Banshee,  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  ante,  p.  242. 


670 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Donalo  ©airti'a  (Come  Ugatn.1 


Aib — "  Malcolm  Caird's  come  again."* 


1818. 


CHORUS. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again/ 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  lilt  and  sing, 
Blithely  dance  the  Hieland  fling, 
Drink  till  the  gudeman  be  blind, 
Fleech  till  the  gudewife  be  kind ; 
Hoop  a  leglin,  clout  a  pan, 
Or  crack  a  pow  wi'  ony  man ; 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  wire  a  maukin, 
Kens  the  wiles  o'  dun-deer  staukin', 
Leisters  kipper,  makes  a  shift 
To  shoot  a  muir-fowl  in  the  drift ; 
Water-bailiffs,  rangers,  keepers, 
He  can  wauk  when  they  are  sleepers ; 
Not  for  bountith  or  reward 
Dare  ye  mell  wi'  Donald  Caird. 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 
Gar  the  bagpipes  hum  amain, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

Donald  Caird  can  drink  a  gill 
Fast  as  hostler-wife  can  fill ; 
Ilka  ane  that  sells  gude  liquor 
Kens  how  Donald  bends  a  bicker ; 
When  he's  fou  he's  stout  and  saucy, 
Keeps  the  cantle  o'  the  cawsey ; 
Hieland  chief  and  Lawland  laird 
Maun  gie  room  to  Donald  Caird  I 

Donald  Caird's  come  again! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  1 
Tell  the  news  in  brugh  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

1  Written  for  Albyn's  Anthology,  vol.  ii.,  1818,  and  set  to 
music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Collection,  in  1822. 

2  Caird  signifies  tinker. 

3  Mr.  I>.  Thomson,  of  Galashiels,  produced  a  parody  on  this 
song  at  an  annual  dinner  of  the  manufacturers  there,  which 
Sir  Walter  Scott  usually  attended;  and  the  poet  was  highly 


Steek  the  amrie,  lock  the  kist, 
Else  some  gear  may  weel  be  mis't ; 
Donald  Caird  finds  orra  things 
Where  Allan  Gregor  fand  the  tings ; 
Dunts  of  kebbuck,  taits  o'  wo.,, 
Whiles  a  hen  and  whiles  a  sow, 
Webs  or  duds  frae  hedge  or  yard — 
'Ware  the  wuddie,  Donald  Caird ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Dinna  let  the  Shirra  ken 
Donald  Caird's  come  again. 

On  Donald  Caird  the  doom  was  stern, 
Craig  to  tether,  legs  to  aim ; 
But  Donald  Caird,  wi'  mickle  study, 
Caught  the  gift  to  cheat  the  wuddie ; 
Rings  of  aim,  and  bolts  of  steel, 
Fell  like  ice  frae  hand  and  heel ! 
Watch  the  sheep  in  fauld  and  glen, 
Donald  Caird's  come  again ! 

Donald  Caird's  come  again  I 
Donald  Caird's  come  again  ! 
Dinna  let  the  Justice  ken 
Donald  Caird's  come  again? 


J^rom  tfte  ^mxt  of  fflfc 
Eotijian. 


1818. 


(1.)— MADGE  WILDFIRE'S  SONGS. 

When  the  gledd's  in  the  blue  cloud, 

The  lavrock  lies  still ; 
When  the  hound's  in  the  greenwood, 

The  hind  keeps  the  hill. 

Oh  sleep  ye  sound,  Sir  James,  she  said, 

When  ye  suld  rise  and  ride  ? 
There's  twenty  men,  wi'  bow  and  blade, 

Are  seeking  where  ye  hide. 

Hey  for  cavaliers,  ho  for  cavaliers, 

Dub  a  dub,  dub  a  dub  ; 

Have  at  old  Beelzebub,- 
Oliver's  running  for  fear. — 

amused  with  a  sly  allusion  to  his  twofold  character  of  Sher- 
iff of  Selkirkshire  and  author-suspect  of  "  Rob  Roy ,"  in  the 
chorus, — 

"  Think  ye,  does  the  Shirra  ken 
Sob  M' Gregor' s  come  again  f" 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


671 


I  glance  like  the  wildfire  through  country  and  town ; 
I'm  seen  on  the  causeway — I'm  seen  on  the  down ; 
The  lightning  that  flashes  so  bright  and  so  free 
Is  scarcely  so  blithe  or  so  bonny  as  me. 

What  did  ye  wi'  the  bridal  ring — bridal  ring — bridal 

ring? 
What  did  ye  wi'  your  wedding  ring,  ye  little  cutty 

quean,  O  ? 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  a  sodger,  a  sodger, 
I  gied  it  till  a  sodger,  an  auld  true  love  o'  mine,  O. 

Good  even,  good  fair  moon,  good  even  to  thee ; 
I  prithee,  dear  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  form  and  the  features,  the  speech  and  degree, 
Of  the  man  that  true  lover  of  mine  shall  be. 

It  is  the  bonny  butcher  lad, 
That  wears  the  sleeves  of  blue, 

He  sells  the  flesh  on  Saturday, 
On  Friday  that  he  slew. 

There's  a  blood-hound  ranging  Tinwald  Wood, 

There's  harness  glancing  sheen ; 
There's  a  maiden  sits  on  Tinwald  brae, 

And  she  sings  loud  between. 

Up  in  the  air, 

On  my  bonny  gray  mare, 

And  I  see,  and  I  see,  and  I  see  her  yet. 

In  the  bonny  cells  of  Bedlam, 

Ere  I  was  ane  and  twenty, 
I  had  hempen  bracelets  strong, 
And  merry  whips,  ding-dong, 

And  prayer  and  fasting  plenty. 

My  banes  are  buried  in  yon  kirk-yard 

Sae  far  ayont  the  sea, 
And  it  is  but  my  blithesome  ghaist 

That's  speaking  now  to  thee. 

I'm  Madge  of  the  country,  I'm  Madge  of  the  town, 
And  I'm  Madge  of  the  lad  I  am  blithest  to  own — 
The  Lady  of  Beever  in  diamonds  may  shine, 
But  has  not  a  heart  half  so  lightsome  as  mine. 

I  am  Queen  of  the  Wake,  and  I'm  Lady  of  May, 
And  I  lead  the  blithe  ring  round  the  May-pole  to- 
day; 
The  wildfire  that  flashes  so  fair  and  so  free 
Was  never  so  bright  or  so  bonny  as  me. 

He  that  is  down  need  fear  no  fall, 

He  that  is  low  no  pride ; 
He  that  is  humble  ever  shall 

Have  God  to  be  his  guide. 

Fullness  to  such  a  burthen  is 
That  go  on  pilgrimage ; 


Here  little,  and  hereafter  bliss, 
Is  best  from  age  to  age. 

"  As  Jeanie  entered,  she  heard  the  first  air,  and  then 
a  part  of  the  chorus  and  words,  of  what  had  been, 
perhaps,  the  song  of  a  jolly  harvest-home :" — 

Our  work  is  over — over  now, 
The  gudeman  wipes  his  weary  brow, 
The  last  long  wain  wends  slow  away, 
And  we  are  free  to  sport  and  play. 

The  night  comes  on  when  sets  the  sun, 
And  labor  ends  when  day  is  done. 
When  autumn's  gone,  and  winter's  come, 
We  hold  our  jovial  harvest-home. 

"  The  attendant  on  the  hospital  arranged  her  in  her 
bed  as  she  desired,  with  her  face  to  the  wall,  and  her 
back  to  the  light.  So  soon  as  she  was  quiet  in  this 
new  position,  she  began  again  to  sing  in  the  same  low 
and  modulated  strains,  as  if  she  was  recovering  the 
state  of  abstraction  which  the  interruption  of  her  vis- 
itants had  disturbed.  The  strain,  however,  was  dif- 
ferent, and  rather  resembled  the  music  of  the  Meth- 
odist hymns,  though  the  measure  of  the  song  was 
similar  to  that  of  the  former :" — 

When  the  fight  of  grace  is  fought, — 
When  the  marriage  vest  is  wrought, — 
When  Faith  has  chased  cold  Doubt  away, 
And  Hope  but  sickens  at  delay, — 
When  Charity,  imprison'd  here, 
Longs  for  a  more  expanded  sphere, — 
Doff  thy  robs  of  sin  and  clay ; 
Christian,  rise,  and  come  away. 

"  Her  next  seemed  to  be  the  fragment  of  some  old 
ballad  :"— 

Cauld  is  my  bed,  Lord  Archibald, 

And  sad  my  sleep  of  sorrow: 
But  thine  sail  be  as  sad  and  cauld, 

My  fause  true-love !  to-morrow. 

And  weep  ye  not,  my  maidens  free, 
Though  death  your  mistress  borrow; 

For  he  for  whom  I  die  to-day, 
Shall  die  for  me  to-morrow. 

"Again  she  changed  the  tune  to  one  wilder,  less 
monotonous,  and  less  regular.  But  of  the  words  only 
a  fragment  or  two  could  be  collected  by  those  who 
listened  to  this  singular  scene :" — 

Proud  Maiste  is  in  the  wood, 

Walking  so  early ; 
Sweet  Robin  sits  on  the  bush, 

Singing  so  rarely. 


672 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"Tell  me,  thou  bonny  bird, 

When  shall  I  marry  me?" — 
"  When  six  braw  gentlemen 

Kirkward  shall  carry  ye." 

"  Who  makes  the  bridal  bed, 

Birdie,  say  truly  ?" — 
"  The  gray-headed  sexton 

That  delves  the  grave  duly. 

"  The  glow-worm  o'er  grave  and  stone 

Shall  light  thee  steady. 
The  owl  from  the  steeple  sing, 

'  Welcome,  proud  lady.' " 

"Her  voice  died  away  with  the  last  notes,  and  she 
fell  into  a  slumber,  from  which  the  experienced  at- 
tendant assured  them  that  she  would  never  awake  at 
all,  or  only  in  the  death  agony. 

"Her  first  prophecy  was  true.  The  poor  maniac 
parted  with  existence  without  again  uttering  a  sound 
of  any  kind." 

Chaps,  xv.-xxxviii.  passim. 


(2.)-MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  xix. 
To  man,  in  this  his  trial  state, 

The  privilege  is  given, 
When  lost  by  tides  of  human  fate, 
To  anchor  fast  in  heaven. 

Watts'  Hymns. 

(2.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
Law,  take  thy  victim ! — May  she  find  the  mercy 
In  you  mild  heaven  which  this  hard  world  denies 
her! 

(3.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
And  Need  and  Misery,  Vice  and  Danger,  bind 
In  sad  alliance  each  degraded  mind. 

(4.)— Chap.  xxxv. 

I  beseech  you — 

These  tears  beseech  you,  and  these  chaste  hands 

woo  you, 
That  never  yet  were  heaved  but  to  things  holy — 
Things  like  yourself — You  are  a  God  above  us; 
Be  as  a  God,  then,  full  of  saving  mercy ! 

The  Bloody  Brother. 

(5.)— Chap.  xlvi. 
Happy  thou  art !  then  happy  be, 

Nor  envy  me  my  lot ; 
Thy  happy  state  I  envy  thee, 
And  peaceful  cot. 

Lady  C C 1. 


jFrom  t})e  3i$rttre  of  Hammer^ 


moor. 


1819. 


(1.)— LUCY  ASHTON'S   SONG. 

"The  silver  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  voice  mingled 
with  the  accompaniment  in  an  ancient  air,  to  which 
some  one  had  adapted  the  following  words : — 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming, — 
Sit  thou  still  when  kings  are  arming, — 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens, — 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens, — 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer, — 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finger, — 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die. 

Chap.  iii. 


(2.)— NORMAN  THE  FORESTER'S  SONG. 

"  And  humming  his  rustic  roundelay,  the  yeoman 
went  on  his  road,  the  sound  of  his  rough  voice  gradu- 
ally dying  away  as  the  distance  betwixt  them  in- 
creased." 

The  monk  must  arise  when  the  matins  ring, 
The  abbot  may  sleep  to  their  chime ; 

But  the  yeoman  must  start  when  the  bugles  sing, 
'Tis  time,  my  hearts,  'tis  time. 

There's  bucks  and  raes  on  Billhope  braes, 
There's  a  herd  on  Shortwood  Shaw ; 

But  a  lily-white  doe  in  the  garden  gaes, 
She's  fairly  worth  them  a'. 

Chap.  iii. 


(3.)— THE  PROPHECY. 

"  With  a  quivering  voice,  and  a  cheek  pale  with  ap- 
prehension, Caleb  faltered  out  the  following  lines :" — 

When  the  last  Laird  of  Ravcnswood  to  Ravenswood 

shall  ride, 
And  woo  a  dead  maiden  to  be  his  bride, 
He  shall  stable  his  steed  in  the  kelpie's  flow, 
And  his  name  shall  be  lost  for  evermoe  ! 

Chap,  xviii. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  viii. 
The  hearth  in  hall  was  black  and  dead, 
No  board  was  dight  in  bower  within, 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


673 


Nor  merry  bowl  nor  welcome  bed  ; 
"  Here's  sorry  cheer,"  quoth  the  Heir  of  Linne. 
Old  Ballad, 
[Altered  from  the  "Heir  of  Linne."] 

(2.)— Chap.  xiv. 
As,  to  the  autumn  breeze's  bugle-sound, 
Various  and  vague  the  dry  leaves  dance  their  round  : 
Or,  from  the  garner-door,  on  ether  borne, 
The  chaff  flies  devious  from  the  winnow'd  corn ; 
So  vague,  so  devious,  at  the  breath  of  heaven, 
From  their  fix'd  aim  are  mortal  counsels  driven. 

Anonymous, 

(3.)— Chap.  xvn. 

Here  is  a  father  now, 

Will  truck  his  daughter  for  a  foreign  venture, 
Make  her  the  stop-gap  to  some  canker'd  feud, 
Or  fling  her  o'er,  like  Jonah,  to  the  fishes 
To  appease  the  sea  at  highest. 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— Chap,  xviii. 
Sir,  stay  at  home  and  take  an  old  man's  counsel : 
Seek  not  to  bask  you  by  a  stranger's  hearth  ; 
Our  own  blue  smoke  is  warmer  than  their  fire. 
Domestic  food  is  wholesome,  though  'tis  homely, 
And  foreign  dainties  poisonous,  though  tasteful. 
The  French  Courtesan. 

(5.)— Chap.  xxv. 
True-love,  an'  thou  be  true, 

Thou  has  ane  kittle  part  to  play, 
For  fortune,  fashion,  fancy,  and  thou 

Maun  strive  for  mony  a  day. 

I've  kenn'd  by  mony  friend's  tale, 

Far  better  by  this  heart  of  mine, 
What  time  and  change  of  fancy  avail, 

A  true  love-knot  to  untwine. 

Hendcrsoun. 

(6.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
Why,  now  I  have  Dame  Fortune  by  the  forelock, 
And  if  she  'scapes  my  grasp,  the  fault  is  mine  ; 
He  that  hath  buffeted  with  stern  adversity 
Best  knows  to  shape  his  course  to  favoring  breezes. 

Old  Play. 


jfrom  &  lUgenfc  of  JJftontrose. 


(1.)— ANCIENT  GAELIC  MELODY. 

"So  saying,  Annot  Lyle  sat  down  at  a  little  dis- 
tance upon  the  bench  on  which  Allan  MAulay  was 
placed,  and  tuning  her  clairshach,  a  small  harp,  about 
43 


thirty  inches  in  height,  she  accompanied  it  with  her 
voice.  The  air  was  an  ancient  Gaelic  melody,  and  the 
words,  which  were  supposed  to  be  very  old,  were  in 
the  same  language ;  but  we  subjoin  a  translation  of 
them,  by  Secundus  M'Pherson,  Esq.,  of  Glenforgen  ; 
which,  although  submitted  to  the  fetters  of  English 
rhythm,  we  trust  will  be  found  nearly  as  genuine  as 
the  version  of  Ossian  by  his  celebrated  namesake :" — 

1. 

Birds  of  omen  dark  and  foul, 
Night-crow,  raven,  bat,  and  owl, 
Leave  the  sick  man  to  his  dream — 
All  night  long  he  heard  you  scream. 
Haste  to  cave  and  ruin'd  tower, 
Ivy  tod,  or  dingled  bower, 
There  to  wink  and  mop,  for,  hark ! 
In  the  mid  air  sings  the  lark. 

2. 
Hie  to  moorish  gills  and  rocks, 
Prowling  wolf  and  wily  fox, — 
Hie  ye  fast,  nor  turn  your  view, 
Though  the  lamb  bleats  to  the  ewe. 
Couch  your  trains,  and  speed  your  flight, 
Safety  parts  with  parting  night  ; 
And  on  distant  echo  borne, 
Comes  the  hunter's  early  horn. 

3. 
The  moon's  wan  crescent  scarcely  gleams, 
Ghost-like  she  fades  in  morning  beams ; 
Hie  hence,  each  peevish  imp  and  fay 
That  scare  the  pilgrim  on  his  way. — 
Quench,  kelpie!  quench,  in  bog  and  fen, 
Thy  torch,  that  cheats  benighted  men ; 
Thy  dance  is  o'er,  thy  reign  is  done, 
For  Benyieglo  hath  seen  the  sun. 

4. 
Wild  thoughts,  that,  sinful,  dark,  and  deep, 
O'erpower  the  passive  mind  in  sleep, 
Pass  from  the  slumberer's  soul  away, 
Like  night-mists  from  the  brow  of  day  : 
Foul  hag,  whose  blasted  visage  grim 
Smothers  the  pulse,  unnerves  the  limb, 
Spur  thy  dark  palfrey,  and  begone  ! 
Thou  darest  not  face  the  godlike  sun. 

Chap.  vi. 


(2.)— THE  ORPHAN  MAID. 

"  Tuning  her  instrument,  and  receiving  an  assenting 
look  from  Lord  Monteith  and  Allan,  Annot  Lyle  exe- 
cuted the  following  ballad,  which  our  friend,  Mr. 
Secundus  M'Pherson,  whose  goodness  we  had  before 


674 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


to  acknowledge,  has  thus  translated  into  the  English 
tongue :" — 

November's  hail-cloud  drifts  away, 

November's  sunbeam  wan 
Looks  coldly  on  the  castle  gray, 

When  forth  comes  Lady  Anne. 

The  orphan  by  the  oak  was  set, 

Her  arms,  her  feet,  were  bare ; 
The  hail-drops  had  not  melted  yet 

Amid  her  raven  hair. 

"  And,  dame,"  she  said,  "  by  all  the  ties 

That  child  and  mother  know, 
Aid  one  who  never  knew  these  joys, — 

Relieve  an  orphan's  woe." 

The  lady  said,  "An  orphan's  state 

Is  hard  and  sad  to  bear; 
Yet  worse  the  widow'd  mother's  fate, 

Who  mourns  both  lord  and  heir. 

"  Twelve  times  the  rolling  year  has  sped, 
Since,  while  from  vengeance  wild 

Of  fierce  Strathallan's  chief  I  fled, 
Forth's  eddies  whelm'd  my  child." — 

"  Twelve  times  the  year  its  course  has  borne," 

The  wandering  maid  replied, 
"  Since  fishers  on  St.  Bridget's  morn 

Drew  nets  on  Campsie  side. 

"  St.  Bridget  sent  no  scaly  spoil ; 

An  infant,  wellnigh  dead, 
They  saved,  and  rear'd  in  want  and  toil, 

To  beg  from  you  her  bread." 

That  orphan  maid  the  lady  kiss'd, — 

"  My  husband's  looks  you  bear; 
St.  Bridget  and  her  morn  be  bless'd  ! 

You  are  his  widow's  heir." 

They've  robed  that  maid,  so  poor  and  pale, 

In  silk  and  sandals  rare ; 
And  pearls,  for  drops  of  frozen  hail, 

Are  glistening  in  her  hair. 

Chap.  ix. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  x. 

Dark  on  their  journey  lower'd  the  gloomy  day, 
Wild  were  the  hills,  and  doubtful  grew  the  way ; 
More  dark,  more  gloomy,  and  more  doubtful,  show'd 
The  mansion  which  received  them  from  the  road. 
The  Travellers,  a  Romance. 


(2.)— Chap.  xi. 
Is  this  thy  castle,  Baldwin?     Melancholy 
Displays  her  sable  banner  from  the  donjon, 
Dark'ning  the  foam  of  the  whole  surge  beneath. 
Were  I  a  habitant,  to  see  this  gloom 
Pollute  the  face  of  nature,  and  to  hear 
The  ceaseless  sound  of  wave  and  sea-bird's  scream, 
I'd  wish  me  in  the  hut  that  poorest  peasant 
E'er  framed  to  give  him  temporary  shelter. 

Browne. 

(3.)— Chap.  xiv. 
This  was  the  entry,  then,  these  stairs — but  whither 

after? 
Yet  he  that's  sure  to  perish  on  the  land 
May  quit  the  nicety  of  card  and  compass, 
And  trust  the  open  sea  without  a  pilot. 

Tragedy  of  Brennovalt. 


(1.)— THE  CRUSADER'S  RETURN. 

1. 
High  deeds  achieved  of  knightly  fame, 
From  Palestine  the  champion  came ; 
The  cross  upon  his  shoulders  borne, 
Battle  and  blast  had  dimm'd  and  torn. 
Each  dint  upon  his  batter'd  shield 
Was  token  of  a  foughten  field ; 
And  thus,  beneath  his  lady's  bower, 
He  sung,  as  fell  the  twilight  hour : 


"  Joy  to  the  fair ! — thy  knight  behold, 
Return'd  from  yonder  land  of  gold ; 
No  wealth  he  brings,  nor  wealth  can  need, 
Save  his  good  arms  and  battle-steed  ; 
His  spurs  to  dash  against  a  foe, 
His  lance  and  sword  to  lay  him  low ; 
Such  all  the  trophies  of  his  toil, 
Such — and  the  hope  of  Tekla's  smile ! 


"  Joy  to  the  fair ! — whose  constant  knight 
Her  favor  fired  to  feats  of  might ! 
Unnoted  shall  she  not  remain 
Where  meet  the  bright  and  noble  train ; 
Minstrel  shall  sing,  and  herald  tell — 
'  Mark  yonder  maid  of  beauty  well, 
'Tis  she  for  whose  bright  eyes  was  won 
The  listed  field  of  Ascalon ! 


"  '  Note  well  her  smile ! — it  edged  the  blade 
Which  fifty  wives  to  widows  made, 


LYKICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


675 


When,  vain  his  strength  and  Mahound's  spell, 
Iconium's  turban'd  Soldan  fell. 
Seest  thou  her  locks,  whose  sunny  glow 
Half  shows,  half  shades,  her  neck  of  snow  ? 
Twines  not  of  them  one  golden  thread, 
But  for  its  sake  a  Paynini  bled.' 


"  Joy  to  the  fair !  my  name  unknown, 
Each  deed,  and  all  its  praise,  thine  own ; 
Then,  oh !  unbar  this  churlish  gate, 
The  night-dew  falls,  the  hour  is  late. 
Inured  to  Syria's  glowing  breath, 
I  feel  the  north  breeze  chill  as  death ; 
Let  grateful  love  quell  maiden  shame, 
And  grant  him  bliss  who  brings  thee  fame." 

Chap,  xviii. 


(2.)— THE  BAREFOOTED  FRIAR. 

1. 
I'll  give  thee,  good  fellow,  a  twelvemonth  or  twain, 
To  search  Europe  through  from  Byzantium  to  Spain ; 
But  ne'er  shall  you  find,  should  you  search  till  you 

tire, 
So  happy  a  man  as  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

2. 
Your  knight  for  his  lady  pricks  forth  in  career, 
And  is  brought  home  at  even-song  prick'd  through 

with  a  spear ; 
I  confess  him  in  haste — for  his  lady  desires 
No  comfort  on  earth  save  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 


Your  monarch ! — Pshaw !  many  a  prince  has  been 

known 
To  barter  his  robes  for  our  cowl  and  our  gown ; 
But  which  of  us  e'er  felt  the  idle  desire 
To  exchange  for  a  crown  the  gray  hood  of  a  Friar  ? 

4. 
The  Friar  has  walk'd  out,  and  where'er  he  has  gone, 
The  land  and  its  fatness  is  mark'd  for  his  own  ; 
He  can  roam  where  he  lists,  he  can  stop  where  he 

tires, 
For  every  man's  house  is  the  Barefooted  Friar's. 


He's  expected  at  noon,  and  no  wight,  till  he  comes, 
May  profane  the    great  chair,  or  the    porridge  of 

plums ; 
For  the  best  of  the  cheer,  and  the  seat  by  the  fire, 
Is  the  undenied  right  of  the  Barefooted  Friar. 


He's  expected  at  night,  and  the  pasty's  made  hot, 
They  broach  the  brown  ale,  and  they  fill  the  black 
pot; 


And  the  goodwife  would  wish  the  goodman  in  the 

mire, 
Ere  he  lack'd  a  soft  pillow,  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

7. 
Long  flourish  the  sandal,  the  cord,  and  the  cope, 
The  dread  of  the  devil  and  trust  of  the  Pope ! 
For  to  gather  life's  roses,  unscathed  by  the  briar, 
Is  granted  alone  to  the  Barefooted  Friar. 

Chap,  xviii. 


(3.)— SAXON  WAR-SONG. 

"  The  fire  was  spreading  rapidly  through  all  parts 
of  the  castle,  when  Ulrica,  who  had  first  kindled  it, 
appeared  on  a  turret,  in  the  guise  of  one  of  the  an- 
cient furies,  yelling  forth  a  war-song,  such  as  was  of 
yore  chanted  on  the  field  of  battle  by  the  yet  heathen 
Saxons.  Her  long  dishevelled  gray  hair  flew  back 
from  her  uncovered  head ;  the  inebriating  delight  of 
gratified  vengeance  contended  in  her  eyes  with  the 
fire  of  insanity ;  and  she  brandished  the  distaff  which 
she  held  in  her  hand,  as  if  she  had  been  one  of  the 
Fatal  Sisters,  who  spin  and  abridge  the  thread  of 
human  life.  Tradition  has  preserved  some  wild 
strophes  of  the  barbarous  hymn  which  she  chanted 
wildly  amid  that  scene  of  fire  and  slaughter :" — 

1. 
Whet  the  bright  steel, 
Sons  of  the  White  Dragon ! 
Kindle  the  torch, 
Daughter  of  Hengist ! 

The  steel  glimmers  not  for  the  carving  of  the  ban- 
quet, 
It  is  hard,  broad,  and  sharply  pointed ; 
The  torch  goeth  not  to  the  bridal  chamber, 
It  steams  and  glitters  blue  with  sulphur. 
Whet  the  steel,  the  raven  croaks ! 
Light  the  torch,  Zernebock  is  yelling ! 
Whet  the  steel,  sons  of  the  Dragon ! 
Kindle  the  torch,  daughter  of  Hengist ! 


The  black  clouds  are  low  over  the  thane's  castle : 

The  eagle  screams — he  rides  on  their  bosom. 

Scream  not,  gray  rider  of  the  sable  cloud, 

Thy  banquet  is  prepared ! 

The  maidens  of  Valhalla  look  forth, 

The  race  of  Hengist  will  send  them  guests. 

Shake  your  black  tresses,  maidens  of  Valhalla ! 

And  strike  your  loud  timbrels  for  joy ! 

Many  a  haughty  step  bends  to  your  halls, 

Many  a  helmed  head. 

3. 
Dark  sits  the  evening  upon  the  thane's  castle, 
The  black  clouds  gather  round  ; 
Soon  shall  they  be  red  as  the  blood  of  the  valiant ! 


676 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  destroyer  of  forests  shall  shake  his  red  crest 
against  them ; 

He,  the  bright  consumer  of  palaces, 

Broad  waves  he  his  blazing  banner, 

Red,  wide,  and  dusky, 

Over  the  strife  of  the  valiant ; 

His  joy  is  in  the  clashing  swords  and  broken  buck- 
lers; 

He  loves  to  lick  the  hissing  blood  as  it  bursts  warm 
from  the  wound ! 

4. 
All  must  perish ! 
The  sword  cleaveth  the  helmet  ; 
The  strong  armor  is  pierced  by  the  lance : 
Fire  devoureth  the  dwelling  of  princes, 
Engines  break  down  the  fences  of  the  battle. 
All  must  perish ! 
The  race  of  Hengist  is  gone — 
The  name  of  Horsa  is  no  more ! 
Shrink  not  then  from  your  doom,  sons  of  the  sword ! 
Let  your  blades  drink  blood  like  wine ; 
Feast  ye  in  the  banquet  of  slaughter, 
By  the  light  of  the  blazing  halls ! 
Strong  be  your  swords  while  your  blood  is  warm. 
And  spare  neither  for  pity  nor  fear, 
For  vengeance  hath  but  an  hour ; 
Strong  hate  itself  shall  expire  I 
I  also  must  perish. 


Note. — "  It  will  readily  occur  to  the  antiquary  that 
these  verses  are  intended  to  imitate  the  antique 
poetiy  of  the  Scalds — the  minstrels  of  the  old  Scan- 
dinavians— the  race,  as  the  Laureate  so  happily  terms 
them, 

"  Stern  to  inflict,  and  stubborn  to  endure, 

Who  smiled  in  death." 

The  poetry  of  the  Anglo-Saxons,  after  their  civiliza- 
tion and  conversion,  was  of  a  different  and  softer  char- 
acter; but,  in  the  circumstances  of  Ulrica,  she  may 
be  not  unnaturally  supposed  to  return  to  the  wild 
strains  which  animated  her  forefathers  during  the 
times  of  Paganism  and  untamed  ferocity." 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(4.)-REBECCA'S  HYMN. 

"  It  was  in  the  twilight  of  the  day  when  her  trial, 
if  it  could  be  called  such,  had  taken  place,  that  a  low 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  Rebecca's  prison 
chamber.  It  disturbed  not  the  inmate,  who  was  then 
engaged  in  the  evening  prayer  recommended  by  her 
religion,  and  which  concluded  with  a  hymn,  which 
we  have  ventured  thus  to  translate  into  English :" — 

When  Israel,  of  the  Lord  beloved, 
Out  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 

Her  fathers'  God  before  her  moved, 
An  awful  guide  in  smoke  and  flame. 


By  day,  along  the  astonish'd  lands 

The  cloudy  pillar  glided  slow ; 
By  night,  Arabia's  crimson'd  sands 

Return'd  the  fiery  column's  glow. 

There  rose  the  choral  hymn  of  praise, 

And  trump  and  timbrel  answer'd  keen, 
And  Zion's  daughters  pour'd  their  lays, 

With  priest's  and  warrior's  voice  between. 
No  portents  now  our  foes  amaze, 

Forsaken  Israel  wanders  lone : 
Our  fathers  would  not  know  Thy  ways, 

And  Thou  hast  left  them  to  their  own. 

But  present  still,  though  now  unseen ! 

When  brightly  shines  the  prosperous  day, 
Be  thoughts  of  Thee  a  cloudy  screen 

To  temper  the  deceitful  ray. 
And  oh,  when  stoops  on  Judah's  path 

In  shade  and  storm  the  frequent  night, 
Be  Thou,  long-suffering,  slow  to  wrath, 

A  burning  and  a  shining  light ! 

Our  harps  we  left  by  Babel's  streams, 

The  tyrant's  jest,  the  Gentile's  scorn ; 
No  censer  round  our  altar  beams, 

And  mute  are  timbrel,  harp,  and  horn. 
But  Thou  hast  said,  The  blood  of  goat, 

The  flesh  of  rams,  I  will  not  prize ; 
A  contrite  heart,  a  humble  thought, 

Are  mine  accepted  sacrifice. 

Chap.  xl. 

(5.)— THE  BLACK  KNIGHT'S  SONG. 

"AT  the  point  of  their  journey  at  which  we  take 
them  up,  this  joyous  pair  were  engaged  in  singing  a 
virelai,  as  it  was  called,  in  which  the  clown  bore  a  stiff 
and  mellow  burthen  to  the  better  instructed  Knight 
of  the  Fetterlock.    And  thus  ran  the  ditty :" — 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  is  the  sun, 

Anna-Marie,  love,  morn  is  begun, 

Mists  are  dispersing,  love,  birds  singing  free, 

Up  in  the  morning,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie,  love,  up  in  the  morn, 

The  hunter  is  winding  blithe  sounds  on  his  horn, 

The  echo  rings  merry  from  rock  and  from  tree, 

'Tis  time  to  arouse  thee,  love,  Anna-Marie. 

WAMBA. 

Oh,  Tybalt,  love,  Tybalt,  awake  me  not  yet, 
Around  my  soft  pillow  while  softer  dreams  flit ; 
For  what  are  the  joys  that  in  waking  we  prove, 
Compared  with  these  visions,  oh,  Tybalt!  my  love? 
Let  the  birds  to  the  rise  of  the  mist  carol  shrill, 
Let  the  hunter  blow  out  his  loud  horn  on  the  hill, 
Softer  sounds,  softer  pleasures,  in  slumber  I  prove, 
But  think  not  I  dream'd  of  thee,  Tybalt,  my  love. 

Chap.  xli. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


677 


(6.)— SONG. 

THE  BLACK.  KNIGHT  AND  WAMBA. 

"  The  Jester  next  struck  into  another  carol,  a  sort 
of  comic  ditty,  to  which  the  Knight,  catching  up  the 
tune,  replied  in  the  like  manner." 

KNIGHT  AND  WAMBA. 

There  came  three  merry  men  from  south,  west,  and 
north, 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
To  win  the  Widow  of  Wycombe  forth, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  them  nay  ? 

The  first  was  a  knight,  and  from  Tynedale  he  came, 

Ever  more  sing  the  roundelay ; 
And  his  fathers,  God  save  us,  were  men  of  great  fame, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay  ? 

Of  his  father  the  laird,  of  his  uncle  the  squire, 
He  boasted  in  rhyme  and  in  roundelay ; 

She  bade  him  go  bask  by  his  sea-coal  fire, 
For  she  was  the  widow  would  say  him  nay. 

WAMBA. 

The  next  that  came  forth  swore  by  blood  and  by  nails, 

Merrily  sing  the  roundelay  ; 
Hur's  a  gentleman,  God  wot,  and  hur's  lineage  was  of 
Wales, 

And  where  was  the  widow  might  say  him  nay  ? 

Sir  David  ap  Morgan  ap  Griffith  ap  Hugh 
Ap  Tudor  ap  Rhice,  quoth  his  roundelay ; 

She  said  that  one  willow  for  so  many  was  too  few, 
And  she  bade  the  Welshman  wend  his  way. 

But  then  next  came  a  yeoman,  a  yeoman  of  Kent, 

Jollily  singing  his  roundelay  ; 
He  spoke  to  the  widow  of  living  and  rent, 

And  where  was  the  widow  could  say  him  nay  ? 

BOTH. 

So  the  knight  and  the  squire  were  both  left  in  the  mire, 

There  for  to  sing  their  roundelay ; 
For  a  yeoman  of  Kent,  with  his  yearly  rent, 

There  ne'er  was  a  widow  could  say  him  nay. 

Chap.  xli. 


(7.)— FUNERAL  HYMN. 

"  Four  maidens,  Rowena  leading  the  choir,  raised 
a  hymn  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased,  of  which  we  have 
only  been  able  to  decipher  two  or  three  stanzas :" — 

Dust  unto  dust, 
To  this  all  must ; 

The  tenant  hath  resign'd 
The  faded  form 
To  waste  and  worm — 

Corruption  claims  her  kind. 


Through  paths  unknown 
Thy  soul  hath  flown, 

To  seek  the  realms  of  woe, 
Where  fiery  pain 
Shall  purge  the  stain 

Of  actions  done  below. 

In  that  sad  place, 
By  Mary's  grace, 

Brief  may  thy  dwelling  be ! 
Till  prayers  and  alms, 
And  holy  psalms, 

Shall  set  the  captive  free. 


Chap,  xliii. 


(8.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  xix. 
Away  !  our  journey  lies  through  dell  and  dingle, 
Where  the  blithe  fawn  trips  by  its  timid  mother, 
Where  the  broad  oak,  with  intercepting  boughs, 
Chequers  the  sunbeam  in  the  greensward  alley — 
Up  and  away ! — for  lovely  paths  are  these 
To  tread,  when  the  glad  sun  is  on  his  throne : 
Less  pleasant,  and  less  safe,  when  Cynthia's 

lamp 
With  doubtful  glimmer  lights  the  dreary  forest. 

Ettrick  Forest. 

(2.)— Chap.  xxi. 
When  autumn  nights  were  long  and  drear, 

And  forest  walks  were  dark  and  dim, 
How  sweetly  on  the  pilgrim's  ear 

Was  wont  to  steal  the  hermit's  hymn ! 

Devotion  borrows  Music's  tone, 

And  Music  took  Devotion's  wing, 
And,  like  the  bird  that  hails  the  sun, 

They  soar  to  heaven,  and  soaring  sing. 

The  Hermit  of  St.  Clement's  Well. 

(3.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
The  hottest  horse  will  oft  be  cool, 

The  dullest  will  show  fire ; 
The  friar  will  often  play  the  fool, 
The  fool  will  play  the  friar. 

Old  Song. 

(4.)— Chap.  xxix. 
This  wandering  race,  sever'd  from  other  men, 
Boast  yet  their  intercourse  with  human  arts; 
The  seas,  the  woods,  the  deserts  which  they  haunt, 
Find  them  acquainted  with  their  secret  treasures ; 
And  unregarded  herbs,  and  flowers,  and  blossoms, 
Display  undream'd-of  powers  when  gather'd  by 
them. 

The  Jew. 


678 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


(5.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
Approach  the  chamber,  look  upon  his  bed. 
His  is  the  passing  of  no  peaceful  ghost, 
Which,  as  the  lark  arises  to  the  sky, 
'Mid  morning's  sweetest  breeze  and  softest  dew, 
Is  wing'd  to  heaven  by  good  men's  sighs  and  tears ! 
Auselm  parts  otherwise. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Trust  me,  each  state  must  have  its  policies : 
Kingdoms  have  edicts,  cities  have  their  charters ; 
Even  the  wild  outlaw,  in  his  forest  walk, 
Keeps  yet  some  touch  of  civil  discipline. 
For  not  since  Adam  wore  his  verdant  apron 
Hath  man  with  man  in  social  union  dwelt, 
But  laws  were  made  to  draw  that  union  closer. 

Old  Play. 

(7.)— Chap,  xxxvi. 
Arouse  the  tiger  of  Hyrcanian  deserts, 
Strive  with  the  half-starved  lion  for  his  prey ; 
Lesser  the  risk,  than  rouse  the  slumbering  fire 
Of  wild  Fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxxvii. 
Say  not  my  art  is  fraud — all  live  by  seeming ; 
The  beggar  begs  with  it,  and  the  gay  courtier 
Gains  land  and  title,  rank  and  rule,  by  seeming : 
The  clergy  scorn  it  not,  and  the  bold  soldier 
Will  eke  with  it  his  service.    All  admit  it, 
All  practice  it ;  and  he  who  is  content 
With  showing  what  he  is,  shall  have  small  credit 
In  church,  or  camp,  or  state.    So  wags  the  world. 

Old  Play. 

(9.)— Chap,  xxxviii. 
Stern  was  the  law  which  bade  its  vot'ries  leave 
At  human  woes  with  human  hearts  to  grieve  ; 
Stern  was  the  law  which  at  the  winning  wile 
Of  frank  and  harmless  mirth  forbade  to  smile ; 
But  sterner  still,  when  high  the  iron  rod 
Of  tyrant  power  she  shook,  and  call'd  that  power 
of  God. 

The  Middle  Ages. 


(ffpttapf)  on  Jte.  dfwftme.1 


1819. 


Plain,  as  her  native  dignity  of  mind, 
Arise  the  tomb  of  her  we  have  resign'd ; 


1  Mrs.  Euphemia  Robison,  wife  of  William  Erskine,  Esq. 
(afterwards  Lord  ELinnedder),  died  September,  1819,  and  was 


Unflaw'd  and  stainless  be  the  marble  scroll, 
Emblem  of  lovely  form  and  candid  soul. — 
But,  oh !  what  symbol  may  avail  to  tell 
The  kindness,  wit,  and  sense,  we  loved  so  well! 
What  sculpture  show  the  broken  ties  of  life, 
Here  buried  with  the  parent,  friend,  and  wife ! 
Or  on  the  tablet  stamp  each  title  dear, 
By  which  thine  urn,  Euphemia,  claims  the  tear! 
Yet  taught,  by  thy  meek  sufferance,  to  assume 
Patience  in  anguish,  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Resign'd,  though  sad,  this  votive  verse  shall  flow, 
And  brief,  alas !  as  thy  brief  span  below. 


jfrom  tf)e  Jftonasterg. 


1820. 


(1.)— SONGS   OF   THE  WHITE   LADY  OF 
AVENEL. 


ON  TWEED  RIVER. 


1. 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 

Both  current  and  ripple  are  dancing  in  light. 

We  have  roused  the  night  raven,  I  heard  him  croak, 

As  we  plashed  along  beneath  the  oak 

That  flings  its  broad  branches  so  far  and  so  wide, 

Their  shadows  are  dancing  in  midst  of  the  tide. 

"  Who  wakens  my  nestlings,"  the  raven  he  said, 

"  My  beak  shall  ere  morn  in  his  blood  be  red ! 

For  a  blue  swollen  corpse  is  a  dainty  meal, 

And  I'll  have  my  share  with  the  pike  and  the  eel." 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 

There's  a  golden  gleam  on  the  distant  height : 

There's  a  silver  shower  on  the  alders  dank, 

And  the  drooping  willows  that  wave  on  the  bank. 

I  see  the  Abbey,  both  turret  and  tower, 

It  is  all  astir  for  the  vesper  hour ; 

The  monks  for  the  chapel  are  leaving  each  cell, 

But  where's  Father  Philip  should  toll  the  bell? 


Merrily  swim  we,  the  moon  shines  bright, 
Downward  we  drift  through  shadow  and  light. 
Under  yon  rock  the  eddies  sleep, 
Calm  and  silent,  dark  and  deep. 
The  kelpie  has  risen  from  the  fathomless  pool, 
He  has  lighted  his  candle  of  death  and  of  dool : 
Look,  Father,  look,  and  you'll  laugh  to  see 
How  he  gapes  and  glares  with  his  eyes  on  thee ! 


buried  at  Saline,  in  the  county  of  Fife,  where  these  lines  are 
inscribed  on  the  tombstone. 


LYRICAL    AND   MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


679 


Good  luck  to  your  fishing,  whom  watch  ye   to- 
night? 

A  man  of  mean  or  a  man  of  might  ? 

Is  it  layman  or  priest  that  must  float  in  your  cove, 

Or  lover  who  crosses  to  visit  his  love  ? 

Hark !  heard  ye  the  kelpie  reply  as  we  pass'd, — 

"  God's  blessing  on   the   warder,   he  lock'd  the 
bridge  fast! 

All  that  come  to  my  cove  are  sunk, 

Priest  or  layman,  lover  or  monk." 

Landed — landed!  the  blaek  book  hath  won, 
Else  had  you  seen  Berwick  with  morning  sun ! 
Sain  ye,  and  save  ye,  and  blithe  mot  ye  be, 
For  seldom  they  land  that  go  swimming  with  me. 

Chap.  v. 


TO  THE  SUB-PRIOR. 

GOOD  evening,  Sir  Priest,  and  so  late  as  you  ride, 
With  your  mule  so  fair,  and  your  mantle  so  wide ; 
But  ride  you  through  valley,  or  ride  you  o'er  hill, 
There  is  one  that  has  warrant  to  wait  on  you  still. 

Back,  back, 

The  volume  black ! 
I  have  a  warrant  to  carry  it  back. 

What,  ho !  Sub-Prior,  and  came  you  but  here 
To  conjure  a  book  from  a  dead  woman's  bier  ? 
Sain  you,  and  save  you,  be  wary  and  wise, 
Ride  back  with  the  book,  or  you'll  pay  for  your 
prize. 

Back,  back, 

There's  death  in  the  track ! 
In  the  name  of  my  master,  I  bid  thee  bear  back. 

"  In  the  name  of  MY  Master,"  said  the  astonished 
Monk,  "  that  name  before  which  all  things  created 
tremble,  I  conjure  thee  to  say  what  thou  art  that 
hauntest  me  thus  ?" 

The  same  voice  replied, — 

That  which  is  neither  ill  nor  well, 
That  which  belongs  not  to  heaven  nor  to  hell, 
A  wreath  of  the  mist,  a  bubble  of  the  stream, 
'Twixt  a  waking  thought  and  a  sleeping  dream  ;'■-■ 

A  form  that  men  spy 

With  the  half-shut  eye 
In  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  am  I. 

Vainly,  Sir  Prior,  wouldst  thou  bar  me  my  right ! 
Like  the  star  when  it  shoots,  I  can  dart  through  the 

night ; 
I  can  dance  on  the  torrent,  and  ride  on  the  air, 
And  travel  the  world  with  the  bonny  nightmare. 

Again,  again, 

At  the  crook  of  the  glen, 
Where  bickers  the  burnie,  I'll  meet  thee  again. 


Men  of  good  are  bold  as  sackless,1 

Men  of  rude  are  wild  and  reckless. 
Lie  thou  still 
In  the  nook  of  the  hill, 

For  those  be  before  thee  that  wish  thee  ill. 

Chap.  ix. 


HALBERT'S  INCANTATION. 

Thrice  to  the  holly  brake — 

Thrice  to  the  well : — 
I  bid  thee  awake, 

White  Maid  of  Avenel. 

Noon  gleams  on  the  Lake — 
Noon  glows  on  the  Fell — 

Wake  thee,  oh  wake, 
White  Maid  of  Avenel. 


TO   HALBERT. 

Youth  of  the  dark  eye,  wherefore  didst  thou  call  me  ? 
Wherefore  art  thou  here,  if  terrors  can  appall  thee  ? 
He  that  seeks  to  deal  with  us  must  know  nor  fear  nor 

failing ; 
To  coward  and  churl  our  speech  is  dark,  our  gifts  are 

unavailing. 
The  breeze  that  brought  me  hither  now  must  sweep 

Egyptian  ground, 
The  fleecy  cloud  on  which  I  ride  for  Araby  is  bound ; 
The  fleecy  cloud  is  drifting  by,  the  breeze  sighs  for  my 

stay, 
For  I  must  sail  a  thousand  miles  before  the  close  of 

day. 

What  I  am  I  must  not  show — 
What  I  am  thou  couldst  not  know — 
Something  betwixt  heaven  and  hell- 
Something  that  neither  stood  nor  fell — 
Something  that  through  thy  wit  or  will 
May  work  thee  good — may  work  thee  ill, 
Neither  substance  quite,  nor  shadow, 
Haunting  lonely  moor  and  meadow, 
Dancing  by  the  haunted  spring, 
Riding  on  the  whirlwind's  wing  ; 
Aping  in  fantastic  fashion 
Every  change  of  human  passion, 
While  o'er  our  frozen  minds  they  pass, 
Like  shadows  from  the  mirror'd  glass. 
Wayward,  fickle,  is  our  mood, 
Hovering  betwixt  bad  and  good, 
Happier  than  brief-dated  man, 
Living  ten  times  o'er  his  span ; 
Far  less  happy,  for  we  have 
Help  nor  hope  beyond  the  grave ! 

1  Sackless,  innocent. 


680 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Man  awakes  to  joy  or  sorrow ; 
Ours  the  sleep  that  knows  no  morrow. 
This  is  all  that  I  can  show — 
This  is  all  that  thou  may'st  know. 

Ay !  and  I  taught  thee  the  word  and  the  spell 
To  waken  me  here  by  the  Fairies'  Well. 
But  thou  hast  loved  the  heron  and  hawk 
More  than  to  seek  my  haunted  walk ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  lance  and  the  sword 
More  than  good  text  and  holy  word ; 
And  thou  hast  loved  the  deer  to  track 
More  than  the  lines  and  the  letters  black; 
And  thou  art  a  ranger  of  moss  and  wood, 
And  scornest  the  nurture  of  gentle  blood. 

Thy  craven  fear  my  truth  accused, 

Thine  idlehood  my  trust  abused ; 

He  that  draws  to  harbor  late 

Must  sleep  without,  or  burst  the  gate. 

There  is  a  star  for  thee  which  burn'd, 

Its  influence  wanes,  its  course  is  turn'd ; 

Valor  and  constancy  alone 

Can  bring  thee  back  the  chance  that's  flown. 

Within  that  awful  volume  lies 
The  mystery  of  mysteries ! 
Happiest  they  of  human  race 
To  whom  God  has  granted  grace 
To  read,  to  fear,  to  hope,  to  pray, 
To  lift  the  latch,  and  force  the  way : 
And  better  had  they  ne'er  been  born, 
Who  read  to  doubt,  or  read  to  scorn. 

Many  a  fathom  dark  and  deep 
I  have  laid  the  book  to  sleep ; 
Ethereal  fires  around  it  glowing — 
Ethereal  music  ever  flowing — 

The  sacred  pledge  of  Heav'n 
All  things  revere, 
Each  in  his  sphere, 

Save  man  for  whom  'twas  giv'n : 
Lend  thy  hand,  and  thou  shalt  spy 
Things  ne'er  seen  by  mortal  eye. 

Fearest  thou  to  go  with  me  ? 
Still  it  is  free  to  thee 

A  peasant  to  dwell ; 
Thou  may'st  drive  the  dull  steer, 
And  chase  the  king's  deer, 
But  never  more  come  near 

This  haunted  well. 

Here  lies  the  volume  thou  boldly  hast  sought ; 
Touch  it,  and  take  it,  'twill  dearly  be  bought. 

Rash  thy  deed, 
Mortal  weed 
To  immortal  flames  applying ; 


Rasher  trust 

Has  thing  of  dust, 
On  his  own  weak  worth  relying : 
Strip  thee  of  such  fences  vain, 
Strip,  and  prove  thy  luck  again. 

Mortal  warp  and  mortal  woof 
Cannot  brook  this  charmed  roof; 
All  that  mortal  art  hath  wrought 
In  our  cell  returns  to  nought. 
The  molten  gold  returns  to  clay, 
The  polish'd  diamond  melts  away  ; 
All  is  altered,  all  is  flown, 
Nought  stands  fast  but  truth  alone. 
Not  for  that  thy  quest  give  o'er : 
Courage !  prove  thy  chance  once  more. 

Alas!  alas! 

Not  ours  the  grace 

These  holy  characters  to  trace : 

Idle  forms  of  painted  air, 

Not  to  us  is  given  to  share 
The  boon  bestow'd  on  Adam's  race. 

With  patience  bide, 

Heaven  will  provide 
The  fitting  time,  the  fitting  guide. 


Chap.  xii. 


HALBERT'S  SECOND  INTERVIEW  WITH  THE 
WHITE  LADY  OF  AVENEL. 

"She  spoke,  and  her  speech  was  still  song,  or 
rather  measured  chant;  but  if,  as  now,  more  familiar, 
it  flowed  occasionally  in  modulated  blank-verse,  and, 
at  other  times,  in  the  lyrical  measure  which  she  had 
used  at  their  former  meeting." 

This  is  the  day  when  the  fairy  kind 

Sit  weeping  alone  for  their  hopeless  lot, 

And  the  wood-maiden  sighs  to  the  sighing  wind, 

And  the  mermaiden  weeps  in  her  crystal  grot ; 

For  this  is  a  day  that  the  deed  was  wrought, 

In  which  we  have  neither  part  nor  share, 

For  the  children  of  clay  was  salvation  bought, 

But  not  for  the  forms  of  sea  or  air ! 

And  ever  the  mortal  is  most  forlorn 

Who  meeteth  our  race  on  the  Friday  morn. 

Daring  youth  !  for  thee  it  is  well, 
Here  calling  me  in  haunted  dell, 
That  thy  heart  has  not  quail'd, 
Nor  thy  courage  fail'd, 
And  that  thou  couldst  brook 
The  angry  look 
Of  her  of  Avenel. 
Did  one  limb  shiver, 
Or  an  eyelid  quiver, 
Thou  wert  lost  for  ever. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


681 


Though  I  am  form'd  from  the  ether  blue, 
And  my  blood  is  of  the  unfallen  dew, 
And  thou  art  framed  of  mud  and  dust, 
'Tis  thine  to  speak,  reply  I  must. 

A  mightier  wizard  far  than  I 
Wields  o'er  the  universe  his  power; 
Him  owns  the  eagle  in  the  sky, 
The  turtle  in  the  bower. 
Changeful  in  shape,  yet  mightiest  still, 
He  wields  the  heart  of  man  at  will, 
From  ill  to  good,  from  good  to  ill, 
In  cot  and  castle  tower. 

Ask  thy  heart,  whose  secret  cell 
Is  fill'd  with  Mary  Avenel ! 
Ask  thy  pride  why  scornful  look 
In  Mary's  view  it  will  not  brook ! 
Ask  it  why  thou  seek'st  to  rise 
Among  the  mighty  and  the  wise, — 
Why  thou  spurn'st  thy  lowly  lot, — 
Why  thy  pastimes  are  forgot, — 
Why  thou  wouldst  in  bloody  strife 
Mend  thy  luck  or  lose  thy  life ! 
Ask  thy  heart,  and  it  shall  tell, 
Sighing  from  its  secret  cell, 
'Tis  for  Mary  Avenel. 

Do  not  ask  me ; 

On  doubts  like  these  thou  canst  not  task  me. 

We  only  see  the  passing  show 

Of  human  passions'  ebb  and  flow ; 

And  view  the  pageant's  idle  glance 

As  mortals  eye  the  northern  dance, 

When  thousand  streamers,  flashing  bright, 

Career  it  o'er  the  brow  of  night, 

And  gazers  mark  their  changeful  gleams, 

But  feel  no  influence  from  their  beams. 

By  ties  mysterious  link'd,  our  fated  race 
Holds  strange  connection  with  the  sons  of  men. 
The  star  that  rose  upon  the  House  of  Avenel, 
When  Norman  Ulric  first  assumed  the  name, 
That  star,  when  culminating  in  its  orbit, 
Shot  from  its  sphere  a  drop  of  diamond  dew, 
And  this  bright  font  received  it — and  a  Spirit 
Hose  from  the  fountain,  and  her  date  of  life 
Hath  coexistence  with  the  House  of  Avenel, 
And  with  the  star  that  rules  it. 

Look  on  my  girdle — on  this  thread  of  gold : 
'Tis  fine  as  web  of  lightest  gossamer, 
And,  but  there  is  a  spell  on't,  would  not  bind, 
Light  as  they  are,  the  folds  of  my  thin  robe. 
But  when  'twas  donn'd,  it  was  a  massive  chain, 
Such  as  might  bind  the  champion  of  the  Jews, 
Even  when  his  locks  were  longest ;  it  hath  dwindled, 
Hath  'minish'd  in  its  substance  and  its  strength, 
As  sunk  the  greatness  of  the  House  of  Avenel. 
When  this  frail  thread  gives  way,  I  to  the  elements 


Resign  the  principles  of  life  they  lent  me. 
Ask  me  no  more  of  this ! — the  stars  forbid  it. 

Dim  burns  the  once  bright  star  of  Avenel, 

Dim  as  the  beacon  when  the  morn  is  nigh, 

And  the  o'er-wearied  warder  leaves  the  lighthouse ; 

There  is  an  influence  sorrowful  and  fearful, 

That  dogs  its  downward  course.    Disastrous  passion, 

Fierce  hate  and  rivalry,  are  in  the  aspect 

That  lowers  upon  its  fortunes. 

Complain  not  on  me,  child  of  clay, 
If  to  thy  harm  I  yield  the  way. 
We,  who  soar  thy  sphere  above, 
Know  not  aught  of  hate  or  love ; 
As  will  or  wisdom  rules  thy  mood, 
My  gifts  to  evil  turn  or  good. 

When  Piercie  Shafton  boasteth  high, 
Let  this  token  meet  his  eye, 
The  sun  is  westering  from  the  dell, 
Thy  wish  is  granted — fare  thee  well ! 

Chap.  ivii. 


THE  WHITE  LADY  TO  MARY  AVENEL. 

Maiden,  whose  sorrows  wail  the  Living  Dead, 

Whose  eyes  shall  commune  with  the  Dead  Alive, 
Maiden,  attend !     Beneath  my  foot  lies  hid 

The  Word,  the  Law,  the  Path  which  thou  dost  strive 
To  find,  and  canst  not  find.    Could  Spirits  shed 

Tears  for  their  lot,  it  were  my  lot  to  weep, 
Showing  the  road  which  I  shall  never  tread, 

Though  my  foot  points  it. — Sleep,  eternal  sleep, 
Dark,  long,  and  cold  forgetfulness  my  lot ! — 

But  do  not  thou  at  human  ills  repine ; 
Secure  there  lies  full  guerdon  in  this  spot 

For  all  the  woes  that  wait  frail  Adam's  line ; 
Stoop  then  and  make  it  yours — I  may  not  make  it 
mine! 

Chap.  xxx. 


THE   WHITE    LADY  TO  EDWARD   GLEN- 
DINNING. 

Thou  who  seek'st  my  fountain  lone, 

With  thoughts  and  hopes  thou  dar'st  not  own ; 

Whose  heart  within  leap'd  wildly  glad, 

When  most  his  brow  seem'd  dark  and  sad, — 

Hie  thee  back,  thou  findst  not  here 

Corpse  or  coffin,  grave  or  bier ; 

The  Dead  Alive  is  gone  and  fled — 

Go  thou  and  join  the  Living  Dead! 

The  Living  Dead,  whose  sober  brow 
Oft  shrouds  such  thoughts  as  thou  hast  now, 
Whose  hearts  within  are  seldom  cured 
Of  passions  by  their  vows  abjured ; 


682 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Where,  under  sad  and  solemn  show, 
Vain  hopes  are  nursed,  wild  wishes  glow. 
Seek  the  convent's  vaulted  room, 
Prayer  and  vigil  be  thy  doom ; 
Doff  the  green,  and  don  the  gray, 
To  the  cloister  hence  away ! 

Chap,  xxxii. 


THE    WHITE    LADY'S    FAREWELL. 

Fare  thee  well,  thou  Holly  green ! 

Thou  shalt  seldom  now  be  seen, 

With  all  thy  glittering  garlands  bending, 

As  to  greet  my  slow  descending, 

Startling  the  bewilder'd  hind, 

Who  sees  thee  wave  without  a  wind. 

Farewell,  Fountain !  now  not  long 
Shalt  thou  murmur  to  my  song, 
While  thy  crystal  bubbles  glancing 
Keep  the  time  in  mystic  dancing, 
Rise  and  swell,  are  burst  and  lost, 
Like  mortal  schemes  by  fortune  cross'd. 

The  knot  of  fate  at  length  is  tied, 
The  Churl  is  Lord,  the  Maid  is  Bride ! 
Vainly  did  my  magic  sleight 
Send  the  lover  from  her  sight. 
Wither  bush,  and  perish  well, 
Fall'n  is  lofty  Avenel ! 

Chap,  xxxvii. 


(2.)— BORDER  BALLAD. 

1. 
March,  march,  Ettrick  and  Teviotdale! 

Why  the  deil  dinna  ye  march  forward  in  order? 
March,  march,  Eskdale  and  Liddesdale ! 
All  the  Blue  Bonnets  are  bound  for  the  Border. 
Many  a  banner  spread 
Flutters  above  your  head, 
Many  a  crest  that  is  famous  in  story ; 
Mount  and  make  ready  then, 
Sons  of  the  mountain  glen, 
Fight  for  the  Queen  and  our  old  Scottish  glory. 


Come  from  the  hills  where  your  hirsels  are  grazing, 

Come  from  the  glen  of  the  buck  and  the  roe ; 
Come  to  the  crag  where  the  beacon  is  blazing, 
Come  with  the  buckler,  the  lance,  and  the  bow. 
Trumpets  are  sounding, 
War-steeds  are  bounding, 
Stand  to  your  arms,  and  march  in  good  order; 
England  shall  many  a  day 
Tell  of  the  bloody  fray, 
When  the  Blue  Bonnets  came  over  the  Border. 

Chap.  xxv. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  i. 
Oh  ay!    the  Monks,  the  Monks,  they  did  the 

mischief! 
Theirs  all  the  grossness,  all  the  superstition, 
Of  a  most  gross  and  superstitious  age. 
May   He  be  praised  that  sent  the   healthful 

tempest, 
And  scatter'd  all  these  pestilential  vapors ! 
But  that  we  owed  them  all  to  yonder  Harlot 
Throned  on  the  seven  hills  with  her  cup  of  gold, — 
I  will  as  soon  believe,  with  kind  Sir  Roger, 
That  old  Moll  White  took  wing  with  cat  and 

broomstick, 
And  raised  the  last  night's  thunder. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  ii. 
In  yon  lone  vale  his  early  youth  was  bred. 
Not  solitary  then — the  bugle-horn 
Of  fell  Alecto  often  waked  its  windings, 
From  where  the  brook  joins  the  majestic  river, 
To  the  wild  northern  bog,  the  curlew's  haunt, 
Where  oozes  forth  its  first  and  feeble  streamlet. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 
A  priest,  ye  cry,  a  priest ! — lame  shepherds  they, 
How  shall  they  gather  in  the  straggling  flock  ? 
Dumb  dogs  which  bark  not,  how  shall  they  con^el 
The  loitering  vagrants  to  the  Master's  fold  ? 
Fitter  to  bask  before  the  blazing  fire, 
And  snuff  the  mess  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses, 
Than  on  the  snow-wreath  battle  with  the  wolf. 

Reformation. 

(4.)— Chap.  vi. 
Now  let  us  sit  in  conclave.     That  these  weeds 
Be  rooted  from  the  vineyard  of  the  Church, 
That  these  foul  tares  be  sever'd  from  the  wheat, 
We  are,  I  trust,  agreed.     Yet  how  to  do  this, 
Nor  hurt  the  wholesome  crop  and  tender  vine- 
plants, 
Craves  good  advisement. 

The  Reformation. 

(5.)— Chap.  viii. 
Nay,  dally  not  with  time,  the  wise  man's  treasure, 
Though  fools  are  lavish  on't — the  fatal  Fisher 
Hooks  souls,  while  we  waste  moments. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xi. 
You  call  this  education,  do  you  not? 
Why,  'tis  the  forced  march  of  a  herd  of  bullocks 
Before  a  shouting  drover.     The  glad  van 
Move  on  at  ease,  and  pause  a  while  to  snatch 
A  passing  morsel  from  the  dewy  greensward ; 
While  all  the  blows,  the  oaths,  the  indignation, 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


683 


Fall  on  the  croupe  of  the  ill-fated  laggard 
That  cripples  in  the  rear. 

Old  Play. 

(7.)— Chap.  xii. 
There's  something  in  that  ancient  superstition, 
Which,  erring  as  it  is,  our  fancy  loves. 
The  spring  that,  with  its  thousand  crystal  bubbles, 
Bursts  from  the  bosom  of  some  desert  rock 
In  secret  solitude,  may  well  be  deem'd 
The  haunt  of  something  purer,  more  refined, 
And  mightier  than  ourselves. 

Old  Play. 

(8.)— Chap.  xiv. 
Nay,  let  me  have  the  friends  who  eat  my  victuals 
As  various  as  my  dishes.    The  feast's  nought, 
Where  one  huge  plate  predominates. — John  Plain- 
text, 
He  shall  be  mighty  beef,  our  English  staple  ; 
The  worthy  Alderman,  a  butter'd  dumpling ; 
Yon  pair  of  whisker'd  Cornets,  ruffs  and  rees ; 
Their  friend  the  Dandy,  a  green  goose  in  sippets. 
And  so  the  board  is  spread  at  once  and  fill'd 
On  the  same  principle — Variety. 

New  Play. 

(9.)— Chap.  xv. 
He  strikes  no  coin,  'tis  true,  but  coins  new  phrases, 
And  vends   them    forth    as    knaves  vend   gilded 

counters, 
Which  wise  men  scorn,  and  fools  accept  in  payment. 

Old  Play. 

(10.)— Chap.  xvi. 
A  courtier  extraordinary,  who  by  diet 
Of  meats  and  drinks,  his  temperate  exercise, 
Choice  music,  frequent  bath,  his  horary  shifts 
Of  shirts  and  waistcoats,  means  to  immortalize 
Mortality  itself,  and  makes  the  essence 
Of  his  whole  happiness  the  trim  of  court. 

Magnetic  Lady. 

(11.)— Chap.  xix. 
Now  choose  thee,  gallant,  betwixt  wealth  and  honor  ; 
There  lies  the  pelf,  in  sum  to  bear  thee  through 
The  dance  of  youth,  and  the  turmoil  of  manhood, 
Yet  leave  enough  for  age's  chimney-corner; 
But  an  thou  grasp  to  it,  farewell  Ambition ! 
Farewell  each  hope  of  bettering  thy  condition, 
And  raising  thy  low  rank  above  the  churls 
That  till  the  earth  for  bread  ! 

Old  Play. 

(12.)— Chap.  xxi. 
Indifferent,  but  indifferent — pshaw !  he  doth  it  not 
Like  one  who  is  his  craft's  master — ne'ertheless 
I  have  seen  a  clown  confer  a  bloody  coxcomb 
On  one  who  was  a  master  of  defence. 

Old  Play. 


(13.)— Chap.  xxii. 
Yes,  life  hath  left  him — every  busy  thought, 
Each  fiery  passion,  every  strong  affection, 
The  sense  of  outward  ill  and  inward  sorrow, 
Are  fled  at  once  from  the  pale  trunk  before  me ; 
And  I  have  given  that  which  spoke  and  moved, 
Thought,  acted,  sufier'd,  as  a  living  man, 
To  be  a  ghastly  form  of  bloody  clay, 
Soon  the  foul  food  for  reptiles. 

Old  Play. 

(14.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
'Tis  when  the  wound  is  stiffening  with  the  cold, 
The  warrior  first  feels  pain — 'tis  when  the  heat 
And  fiery  fever  of  his  soul  is  past, 
The  sinner  feels  remorse. 

Old  Play. 

(15.)— Chap.  xxiv. 
I'll  walk  on  tiptoe ;  arm  my  eye  with  caution, 
My  heart  with  courage,  and  my  hand  with  weapon, 
Like  him  who  ventures  on  a  lion's  den. 

Old  Play. 

(16.) — Chap,  xxvii. 

Now,  by  Our  Lady,  Sheriff,  'tis  hard  reckoning, 
That  I,  with  every  odds  of  birth  and  barony, 
Should  be  detain'd  here  for  the  casual  death 
Of  a  wild  forester,  whose  utmost  having 
Is  but  the  brazen  buckle  of  the  belt 
In  which  he  sticks  his  hedge-knife. 

Old  Play. 

(17.)— Chap.  xxx. 
You  call  it  an  ill  angel — it  may  be  so ; 
But  sure  I  am,  among  the  ranks  which  fell, 
'Tis  the  first  fiend  e'er  counsell'd  man  to  rise, 
And  win  the  bliss  the  sprite  himself  had  forfeited. 

Old  Play. 

(18.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
At  school  I  knew  him — a  sharp-witted  youth, 
Grave,  thoughtful,  and  reserved  amongst  his  mates, 
Turning  the  hours  of  sport  and  food  to  labor, 
Starving  his  body  to  inform  his  mind. 

Old  Play. 

(19.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Now  on  my  faith  this  gear  is  all  entangled, 
Like  to  the  yarn-clew  of  the  drowsy  knitter, 
Dragg'd  by  the  frolic  kitten  through  the  cabin, 
While  the  good  dame  sits  nodding  o'er  the  fire — 
Masters,  attend ;  'twill  crave  some  skill  to  clear  it. 

Old  Play. 

(20.)— Chap,  xxxiv. 
It  is  not  texts  will  do  it— Church  artillery 
Are  silenced  soon  by  real  ordnance, 
And  canons  are  but  vain  opposed  to  cannon. 
Go,  coin  your  crosier,  melt  your  church  plate  down, 


684 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Bid  the  starved  soldier  banquet  in  your  halls, 

And  quaff  your  long-saved  hogsheads — Turn  them  out 

Thus  primed  with  your  good  cheer,  to  guard  your  wall, 

And  they  will  venture  for't. 

Old  Play. 


Jfrom  tje  abbot 


1820. 


(1.)— THE  PARDONER'S  ADVERTISEMENT. 

"At  length  the  pardoner  pulled  from  his  scrip  a 
small  vial  of  clear  water,  of  which  he  vaunted  the 
quality  in  the  following  verses :" — 

Listneth,  gode  people,  everiche  one, 
For  in  the  londe  of  Babylone, 
Far  eastward  I  wot  it  lyeth, 
And  is  the  first  londe  the  sonne  espieth, 
Ther,  as  he  cometh  fro  out  the  se ; 
In  this  ilk  londe,  as  thinketh  me, 
Right  as  holie  legendes  tell, 
Snottreth  from  a  roke  a  well, 
And  falleth  into  ane  bath  of  ston, 
Wher  chast  Susanne  in  times  long  gon 
Was  wont  to  wash  her  bodie  and  lim — 
Mickle  vertue  hath  that  streme, 
As  ye  shall  se  er  that  ye  pas, 
Ensample  by  this  little  glas — 
Through  nightes  cold  and  dayes  hote, 
Hiderward  I  have  it  brought; 
Hath  a  wife  made  slip  or  slide, 
Or  a  maiden  stepp'd  aside ; 
Putteth  this  water  under  her  nese, 
Wold  she  nold  she,  she  shall  snese. 

Chap,  xxvii. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
-In  the  wild  storm, 


The  seaman  hews  his  mast  down,  and  the  merchant 
Heaves  to  the  billows  wares  he  once  deem'd  pre- 
cious : 
So  prince  and  peer,  'mid  popular  contentions, 
Cast  off  their  favorites. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  vi. 
Thou  hast  each  secret  of  the  household,  Francis. 
I  dare  be  sworn  thou  hast  been  in  the  buttery 
Steeping  thy  curious  humor  in  fat  ale, 
And  in  the  butler's  tattle — ay,  or  chatting 


With  the  glib  waiting-woman  o'er  her  comfits — 
These  bear  the  key  to  each  domestic  mystery. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  viii. 
The  sacred  tapers'  lights  are  gone, 
Gray  moss  has  clad  the  altar  stone, 
The  holy  image  is  o'erthrown, 

The  bell  has  ceased  to  toll. 
The  long  ribb'd  aisles  are  burst  and  shrunk, 
The  holy  shrines  to  ruin  sunk, 
Departed  is  the  pious  monk, 

God's  blessing  on  his  soul ! 

Rediviva. 

(4.)— Chap.  xi. 
Life  hath  its  May,  and  all  is  mirthful  then : 
The  woods  are  vocal,  and  the  flowers  all  odor ; 
Its  very  blast  has  mirth  in't,  — and  the  maidens, 
The  while   they  don  their  cloaks  to  screen  their 

kirtles, 
Laugh  at  the  rain  that  wets  them.  Old  Play. 

(5.)— Chap.  xii. 
Nay,  hear  me,  brother — I  am  elder,  wiser, 
And  holier  than  thou ;  and  age,  and  wisdom, 
And  holiness,  have  peremptory  claims, 
And  will  be  listen'd  to.  Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xiv. 
Not  the  wild  billow,  when  it  breaks  its  barrier — 
Not  the  wild  wind,  escaping  from  its  cavern — 
Not  the  wild  fiend,  that  mingles  both  together, 
And  pours  their  rage  upon  the  ripening  harvest, 
Can  match  the  wild  freaks  of  this  mirthful  meeting — 
Comic,  yet  fearful — droll,  and  yet  destructive. 

The  Conspiracy. 

(7.)— Chap.  xvi. 
Youth !  thou  wear'st  to  manhood  now, 
Darker  lip  and  darker  brow, 
Statelier  step,  more  pensive  mien, 
In  thy  face  and  gait  are  seen: 
Thou  must  now  brook  midnight  watches, 
Take  thy  food  and  sport  by  snatches! 
For  the  gambol  and  the  jest 
Thou  wert  wont  to  love  the  best, 
Graver  follies  must  thou  follow, 
But  as  senseless,  false,  and  hollow. 

Life,  a  Poem. 

(8.)— Chap.  xix. 
It  is  and  is  not — 'tis  the  thing  I  sought  for, 
Have  kneel'd  for,  pray'd  for,  risk'd  my  fame  and  life 

for, 
And  yet  it  is  not — no  more  than  the  shadow 
Upon  the  hard,  cold,  flat,  and  polish'd  mirror, 
Is  the  warm,  graceful,  rounded,  living  substance 
Which  it  presents  in  form  and  lineament. 

Old  Play. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


685 


(9.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
Give  me  a  morsel  on  the  greensward  rather, 
Coarse    as    you   will   the    cooking — let   the  fresh 

spring 
Bubble  beside  my  napkin — and  the  free  birds, 
Twittering  and  chirping,  hop  from  bough  to  bough, 
To  claim  the  crumbs  I  leave  for  perquisites— 
Your  prison-feasts  I  like  not. 

The  Woodman,  a  Drama. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxiv. 

'Tis  a  weary  life  this 

Vaults  overhead,  and  grates  and  bars  around  me, 
And  my  sad  hours  spent  with  as  sad  companions, 
Whose  thoughts  are  brooding  o'er  their  own  mis- 
chances, 
Far,  far  too  deeply  to  take  part  in  mine. 

The  Woodman. 

(11.)— Chap.  xxv. 
And  when  Love's  torch  hath  set  the  heart  in  flame, 
Comes  Signor  Reason,  with  his  saws  and  cautions, 
Giving  such  aid  as  the  old  gray-beard  sexton, 
Who  from  the  church-vault  drags  his  crazy  engine, 
To  ply  its  dribbling  ineffectual  streamlet 
Against  a  conflagration. 

Old  Play. 

(12.)— Chap,  xxviii. 
Yes,  it  is  she  whose  eyes  look'd  on  thy  childhood, 
And  watch'd  with   trembling  hope  thy  dawn  of 

youth, 
That  now,  with  these  same  eye-balls,  dimm'd  with 

age, 
And  dimmer  yet  with  tears,  sees  thy  dishonor. 

Old  Play. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxx. 
In  some  breasts  passion  lies  conceal'd  and  silent, 
Like  war's  swart  powder  in  a  castle  vault, 
Until  occasion,  like  the  linstock,  lights  it ; 
Then  comes  at  once  the  lightning  and  the  thunder, 
And  distant  echoes  tell  that  all  is  rent  asunder. 

Old  Play. 

(14.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Death  distant? — No,  alas!  he's  ever  with  us, 
And  shakes  the  dart  at  us  in  all  our  actings : 
He  lurks  within  our  cup,  while  we're  in  health ; 
Sits  by  our  sick-bed,  mocks  our  medicines ; 
We  cannot  walk,  or  sit,  or  ride,  or  travel, 
But  Death  is  by  to  seize  us  when  he  lists. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(15.)— Chap,  xxxiv. 
Ay,  Pedro, — Come  you  here  with  mask  and  lantern, 
Ladder  of  ropes,  and  other  moonshine  tools — 
Why,  youngster,  thou  may'st  cheat  the  old  Duenna, 
Flatter  the  waiting-woman,  bribe  the  valet; 
But  know,  that  I  her  father  play  the  Gryphon, 


Tameless  and  sleepless,  proof  to  fraud  or  bribe, 
And  guard  the  hidden  treasure  of  her  beauty. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(16.)— Chap.  xxxv. 
It  is  a  time  of  danger,  not  of  revel, 
When  churchmen  turn  to  masquers. 

The  Spanish  Father. 

(17.) — Chap,  xxxvii. 
Ay,  sir — our  ancient  crown,  in  these  wild  times, 
Oft  stood  upon  a  cast — the  gamester's  ducat, 
So  often  staked,  and  lost,  and  then  regain'd, 
Scarce  knew  so  many  hazards. 

The  Spanish  Father. 


jfrom  l&cniltoorti), 


1821. 


(1.)— GOLDTHRED'S  SONG. 

"After  some  brief  interval,  Master  Goldthred,  at 
the  earnest  instigation  of  mine  host,  and  the  joyous 
concurrence  of  his  guests,  indulged  the  company  with 
the  following  morsel  of  melody :" — 

Of  all  the  birds  on  bush  or  tree, 

Commend  me  to  the  owl, 
Since  he  may  best  ensample  be 
To  those  the  cup  that  trowl. 
For  when  the  sun  hath  left  the  west, 
He  chooses  the  tree  that  he  loves  the  best, 
And  he  whoops  out  his  song,  and  he  laughs  at  his 

jest. 
Then,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  foul, 
We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny  owl. 

The  lark  is  but  a  bumpkin  fowl, 
He  sleeps  in  his  nest  till  morn ; 
But  my  blessing  upon  the  jolly  owl, 
That  all  night  blows  his  horn. 
Then  up  with  your  cup  till  you  stagger  in  speech, 
And  match  me  this  catch,  till  you  swagger  and 

screech, 
And  drink  till  you  wink,  my  merry-men  each ; 
For,  though  hours  be  late,  and  weather  be  foul, 
We'll  drink  to  the  health  of  the  bonny,  bonny  owl. 

Chap.  ii. 


(2.)— SPEECH  OF  THE  PORTER  AT 
KENILWORTH. 

"At  the  approach  of  the  Queen,  upon  sight  of 
whom,  as  struck  by  some  heavenly  vision,  the  gigan- 


686 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


tic  warder  dropped  his  club,  resigned  his  keys,  and 
gave  open  way  to  the  Goddess  of  the  night,  and  all 
her  magnificent  train." 

What  stir,  what  turmoil,  have  we  for  the  nones? 
Stand  back,  my  masters,  or  beware  your  bones! 
Sirs,  I'm  a  warder,  and  no  man  of  straw ; 
My  voice  keeps  order,  and  my  club  gives  law. 

Yet  soft — nay  stay — what  vision  have  we  here? 
What  dainty  darling's  this — what  peerless  peer? 
What  loveliest  face,  that  loving  ranks  enfold, 
Like  brightest  diamond  chased  in  purest  gold  ? 
Dazzled  and  blind,  mine  office  I  forsake, 
My  club,  my  key,  my  knee,  my  homage  take. 
Bright  paragon,  pass  on  in  joy  and  bliss ; — 
Beshrew  the  gate  that  opes  not  wide  at  such  a  sight 
as  this  I1 

Chap.  xxx. 

(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  iv. 

Not  serve  two  masters? — Here's  a  youth  will  try  it — 
Would  fain  serve  God,  yet  give  the  devil  his  due  ; 
Says  grace  before  he  doth  a  deed  of  villainy, 
And  returns  his  thanks  devoutly  when  'tis  acted. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  v. 
He  was  a  man 


Versed  in  the  world  as  pilot  in  his  compass. 
The  needle  pointed  ever  to  that  interest 
Which  was  his  loadstar,  and  he  spread  his  sails 
With  vantage  to  the  gale  of  others'  passion. 

The  Deceiver,  a  Tragedy. 

(3.)— Chap.  vii. 

This  is  He 

Who  rides  on  the  court  gale ;  controls  its  tides; 
Knows  all  their  secret  shoals  and  fatal  eddies; 
Whose  frown  abases,  and  whose  smile  exalts. 
He  shines  like  any  rainbow — and,  perchance, 
His  colors  are  as  transient.  Old  Piny. 

(4.)— Chap.  xiv. 
This  is  rare  news  thou  tell'st  me,  my  good  fellow; 
There  are  two  bulls  fierce  battling  on  the  green 
For  one  fair  heifer — if  the  one  goes  down, 
The  dale  will  be  more  peaceful,  and  the  herd, 
Which  have  small  interest  in  their  brulzkment, 
May  pasture  there  in  peace.  Old  Play. 

(5.)— Chap.  xvii. 
Well,  then,  our  course  is  chosen;  spread  the  sail, — 
Heave  off  the  lead,  and  mark  the  soundings  well; 


1  This  is  an  imitation  of  Gascoigne's  verses,  spoken  by  the 
Herculean  porter,  as  mentioned  in  the  text  [of  the  novel]. 
The  original   may  be   found  in  the  republication  of  the 


Look  to  the  helm,  good  master ;  many  a  shoal 
Murks  this  stern  coast,  and  rocks  where  sits  the  siren, 
Who,  like  ambition,  lures  men  to  their  ruin. 

The  Shipwreck. 

(6.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
Now  God  be  good  to  me  in  this  wild  pilgrimage ! 
All  hope  in  human  aid  I  cast  behind  me. 
Oh,  who  would  be  a  woman  ?  who  that  fool, 
A  weeping,  pining,  faithful,  loving  woman  ? 
She  hath  hard  measure  still  where  she  hopes  kindest, 
And  all  her  bounties  only  make  ingrates. 

Love's  Pilgrimage. 

(7.)— Chap.  xxv. 
Hark !  the  bells  summon,  and  the  bugle  calls, 
But  she  the  fairest  answers  not ;  the  tide 
Of  nobles  and  of  ladies  throngs  the  halls, 
But  she  the  loveliest  must  in  secret  hide. 
What  eyes  were  thine,  proud  Prince,  which  in  the 

gleam 
Of  yon  gay  meteors  lost  that  better  sense, 
That  o'er  the  glow-worm  doth  the  star  esteem, 
And  merit's  modest  blush  o'er  courtly  insolence? 

The  Glass  Slipper. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxviii. 
What,  man,  ne'er  lack  a  draught,  when  the  full  can 
Stands  at  thine  elbow,  and  craves  emptying ! — 
Nay,  fear  not  me,  for  I  have  no  delight 
To  watch  men's  vices,  since  I  have  myself 
Of  virtue  nought  to  boast  of. — I'm  a  striker, 
Would  have  the  world  strike  with  me,  pell-mell,  all. 

PamdcBm&nium. 

(9.)— Chap.  xxix. 
Now  fare  thee  well,  my  master !  if  true  service 
Be  guerdon'd  with  hard  looks,  e'en  cut  the  tow-line, 
And  let  our  barks  across  the  pathless  flood 
Hold  different  courses. 

Shipwreck, 

(10.)— Chap.  xxx. 
Now  bid  the  steeple  rock — she  comes,  she  comes ! 
Speak  for  us,  bells !  speak  forus,shrill-tongued  tuckets! 
Stand  to  the  linstock,  gunner;  let  thy  cannon 
Play  such  a  peal,  as  if  a  Paynim  foe 
Came  stretch'd  in  turban'd  ranks  to  storm  the  ram- 
parts. 
We  will  have  pageants  too ;  but  that  craves  wit, 
And  I'm  a  rough-hewn  soldier. 

The  Virgin  Queen,  a  Tragi- Comedy. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxxii. 
The  wisest  sovereigns  err  like  private  men, 
And  royal  hand  has  sometimes  laid  the  sword 


"  Princely  Pleasures  of  Kenilworth,"  by  the  same  author,  in 
the  History  of  Kenilworth.    Chiswick,  1821. 


LYKICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


687 


Of  chivalry  upon  a  worthless  shoulder, 
Which  better  had  been  branded  by  the  hangman. 
"What  then  ?    Kings  do  their  best,— and  they  and  we 
Must  answer  for  the  intent,  and  not  the  event. 

Old  Play. 

(12.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Here  stands  the  victim — there  the  proud  betrayer, 
E'en  as  the  hind  pull'd  down  by  straggling  dogs 
Lies  at  the  hunter's  feet,  who  courteous  proffers 
To  some  high  dame,  the  Dian  of  the  chase, 
To  whom  he  looks  for  guerdon,  his  sharp  blade, 
To  gash  the  sobbing  throat. 

The  Woodman. 

(13.)— Chap.  xl. 
High  o'er  the  eastern  steep  the  sun  is  beaming, 
And  darkness  flies  with  her  deceitful  shadows ; 
So  truth  prevails  o'er  falsehood. 

Old  Play. 


jfrom  tf)c  pirate. 


1821. 


(1.)— THE  SONG  OF  THE  TEMPEST. 

"  A  Norwegian  invocation,  still  preserved  in  the 
island  of  Unst,  under  the  name  of  the  Song  of  the 
Reim-kennar,  though  some  call  it  the  Song  of  the 
Tempest.  The  following  is  a  free  translation,  it  being 
impossible  to  render  literally  many  of  the  elliptical 
and  metaphorical  terms  of  expression  peculiar  to  the 
ancient  Northern  poetry :" — 


Stern  eagle  of  the  far  northwest, 
Thou  that  bearest  in  thy  grasp  the  thunderbolt, 
Thou  whose  rushing  pinions  stir  ocean  to  madness, 
Thou  the  destroyer  of  herds,  thou  the  scatterer  of 

navies, 
Amidst  the  scream  of  thy  rage, 
Amidst  the  rushing  of  thy  onward  wings, 
Though  thy  scream  be  loud  as  the  cry  of  a  perishing 

nation, 
Though  the  rushing  of  thy  wings  be  like  the  roar  of 

ten  thousand  waves, 
Yet  hear,  in  thine  ire  and  thy  haste, 
Hear  thou  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 


Thou  hast  met  the  pine-trees  of  Drontheim, 
Their  dark-green  heads  lie  prostrate  beside  their  up- 
rooted stems ; 
Thou  hast  met  the  rider  of  the  ocean, 
The  tall,  the  strong  bark  of  the  fearless  rover, 


And  she  has  struck  to  thee  the  topsail 

That  she  had  not  veil'd  to  a  royal  armada ; 

Thou  hast  met  the  tower  that  bears  its  crest  among 

the  clouds, 
The  battled  massive  tower  of  the  Jarl  of  former  days, 
And  the  cope-stone  of  the  turret 
Is  lying  upon  its  hospitable  hearth ; 
But  thou  too  shalt  stoop,  proud  compeller  of  clouds, 
When  thou  hearest  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar. 


There  are  verses  that  can  stop  the  stag  in  the  forest, 
Ay,  and  when  the  dark-color'd  dog  is  opening  on  his 

track ; 
There  are  verses  can  make  the  wild  hawk  pause  on  the 

wing, 
Like  the  falcon  that  wears  the  hood  and  the  jesses, 
And  who  knows  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  fowler. 
Thou  who  canst  mock  at  the  scream  of  the  drowning 

mariner, 
And  the  crash  of  the  ravaged  forest, 
And  the  groan  of  the  overwhelmed  crowds, 
When  the  church  has  fallen  in  the  moment  of  prayer  ; 
There  are  sounds  which  thou  also  must  list, 
When  they  are  chanted  by  the  voice  of  the  Reim- 
kennar. 


Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  ocean, 
The  widows  wring  their  hands  on  the  beach ; 
Enough  of  woe  hast  thou  wrought  on  the  land, 
The  husbandman  folds  his  arms  in  despair; 
Cease  thou  the  waving  of  thy  pinions, 
Let  the  ocean  repose  in  her  dark  strength ; 
Cease  thou  the  flashing  of  thine  eye, 
Let  the  thunderbolt  sleep  in  the  armory  of  Odin ; 
Be  thou  still  at  my  bidding,  viewless  racer  of  the  north- 
western heaven, — 
Sleep  thou  at  the  voice  of  Noma  the  Reim-kennar. 

5. 
Eagle  of  the  far  northwestern  waters, 
Thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  Reim-kennar, 
Thou  hast  closed  thy  wide  sails  at  her  bidding, 
And  folded  them  in  peace  by  thy  side. 
My  blessing  be  on  thy  retiring  path  ; 
When  thou  stoopest  from  thy  place  on  high, 
Soft  be  thy  slumbers  in  the  caverns  of  the  unknown 

ocean, 
Rest  till  destiny  shall  again  awaken  thee ; 
Eagle  of  the  northwest,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of 

the  Reim-kennar. 

Chap.  vi. 


(2.)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  SONG. 

MARY. 

Farewell  to  Northmaven, 
Gray  Hillswicke,  farewell ! 


688 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


To  the  calms  of  thy  haven, 

The  storms  on  thy  fell- 
To  each  breeze  that  can  vary 

The  mood  of  thy  main, 
And  to  thee,  bonny  Mary  ! 

We  meet  not  again  ! 

Farewell  the  wild  ferry, 

Which  Hacon  could  brave, 
When  the  peaks  of  the  Skerry 

Were  white  in  the  wave. 
There's  a  maid  may  look  over 

These  wild  waves  in  vain, 
For  the  skiff  of  her  lover — 

He  comes  not  again ! 

The  vows  thou  hast  broke, 

On  the  wild  currents  fling  them ; 
On  the  quicksand  and  rock 

Let  the  mermaidens  sing  them. 
New  sweetness  they'll  give  her 

Bewildering  strain ; 
But  there's  one  who  will  never 

Believe  them  again. 

Oh  were  there  an  island, 

Though  ever  so  wild, 
Where  woman  could  smile,  and 

No  man  be  beguiled — 
Too  tempting  a  snare 

To  poor  mortals  were  given ; 
And  the  hope  would  fix  there 

That  should  anchor  in  heaven. 

Chap.  xii. 


(3.)— THE  SONG  OF  HAROLD  HARFAGER. 

The  sun  is  rising  dimly  red, 
The  wind  is  wailing  low  and  dread ; 
From  his  cliff  the  eagle  sallies, 
Leaves  the  wolf  his  darksome  valleys ; 
In  the  mist  the  ravens  hover, 
Peep  the  wild  dogs  from  the  cover, 
Screaming,  croaking,  baying,  yelling, 
Each  in  his  wild  accents  telling, 
"  Soon  we  feast  on  dead  and  dying, 
Fair-hair'd  Harold's  flag  is  flying." 

Many  a  crest  on  air  is  streaming, 
Many  a  helmet  darkly  gleaming, 
Many  an  arm  the  axe  uprears, 
Doom'd  to  hew  the  wood  of  spears. 
All  along  the  crowded  ranks 
Horses  neigh  and  armor  clanks ; 
Chiefs  are  shouting,  clarions  ringing, 
Louder  still  the  bard  is  singing, 
"  Gather,  footmen,  gather,  horsemen, 
To  the  field,  ye  valiant  Norsemen ! 


"  Halt  ye  not  for  food  or  slumber, 
View  not  vantage,  count  not  number ; 
Jolly  reapers,  forward  still, 
Grow  the  crop  on  vale  or  hill, 
Thick  or  scatter'd,  stiff  or  lithe, 
It  shall  down  before  the  scythe. 
Forward  with  your  sickles  bright, 
Reap  the  harvest  of  the  fight. — 
Onward,  footmen,  onward,  horsemen, 
To  the  charge,  ye  gallant  Norsemen ! 

"  Fatal  Choosers  of  the  Slaughter, 
O'er  you  hovers  Odin's  daughter ; 
Hear  the  choice  she  spreads  before  ye, — 
Victory,  and  wealth,  and  glory ; 
Or  old  Valhalla's  roaring  hail, 
Her  ever-circling  mead  and  ale, 
Where  for  eternity  unite 
The  joys  of  wassail  and  of  fight. 
Headlong  forward,  foot  and  horsemen, 
Charge  and  fight,  and  die  like  Norsemen !" 

Chap.  xv. 


(4.)— SONG   OF  THE   MERMAIDS   AND 
MERMEN. 

MERMAID. 
Fathoms  deep  beneath  the  wave, 

Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl, 
Singing  the  achievements  brave 

Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl ; 
Dwelling  where  the  tempest's  raving 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  ear 
As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear, 
Children  of  wild  Thule,  we, 
From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea, 
As  the  lark  springs  from  the  lea, 
Hither  come  to  share  your  glee. 

MERMAN. 
From  reining  of  the  water-horse, 

That  bounded  till  the  waves  were  foaming, 
Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course, 

Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming  ; 
From  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell, 

When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel, 
Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell, 

When  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel ; 
Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 
Have  plough'd  such  furrows  on  the  sea 
As  the  steer  draws  on  the  lea, 
And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 

MERMAIDS  AND   MERMEN. 
We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below, 
For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves, 

That  drown  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


689 


Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well  ; 
Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

Dance,  and  song,  and  sounding  shell. 
Children  of  dark  Thule,  know, 
Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 
Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 
Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 

Chap. 


(5.)— NORNA'S   SONG. 

FOR  leagues  along  the  watery  way, 

Through  gulf  and  stream  my  course  has  been ; 
The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, 

And  smooth  their  crests  to  silent  green. 

The  billows  know  my  Runic  lay, — 
The  gulf  grows  smooth,  the  stream  is  still  ; 

But  human  hearts,  more  wild  than  they, 
Know  but  the  rule  of  wayward  will. 

One  hour  is  mine,  in  all  the  year, 

To  tell  my  woes, — and  one  alone ; 
When  gleams  this  magic  lamp,  'tis  here, — 

When  dies  the  mystic  light,  'tis  gone. 

Daughter  of  northern  Magnus,  hail ! 

The  lamp  is  lit,  the  flame  is  clear ; 
To  you  I  come  to  tell  my  tale, — 

Awake,  arise,  my  tale  to  hear ! 

Chap.  xix. 


(6.)— CLAUD  HALCRO  AND  NORNA. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 
Mother  darksome,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  on  the  Fitful-head, 
Thou  canst  see  what  deeds  are  done 
Under  the  never-setting  sun. 
Look  through  sleet,  and  look  through  frost, 
Look  to  Greenland's  caves  and  coast : 
By  the  iceberg  is  a  sail 
Chasing  of  the  swarthy  whale ; 
Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Tell  us,  has  the  good  ship  sped  ? 

NORNA. 
The  thought  of  the  aged  is  ever  on  gear, — 
On  his  fishing,  his  furrow,  his  flock,  and  his  steer ; 
But  thrive  may  his  fishing,  flock,  furrow,  and  herd, 
While  the  aged  for  anguish  shall  tear  his  gray  beard. 
The  ship,  well  laden  as  bark  need  be, 
Lies  deep  in  the  furrow  of  the  Iceland  sea ; — 
The  breeze  for  Zetland  blows  fair  and  soft, 
And  gayly  the  garland  is  fluttering  aloft : 
Seven  good  fishes  have  spouted  their  last, 
And  their  jawbones  are  hanging  to  yard  and  mast; 
Two  are  for  Lerwick,  and  two  for  Kirkwall, — 
Three  for  Burgh  Westra,  the  choicest  of  all. 
44 


CLAUD  HALCRO. 
Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Thou  hast  conn'd  full  many  a  rhyme 
That  lives  fipon  the  surge  of  time : 
Tell  me,  shall  my  lays  be  sung, 
Like  Hacon's  of  the  golden  tongue, 
Long  after  Halcro's  dead  and  gone  ? 
Or  shall  Hialtland's  minstrel  own 
One  note  to  rival  glorious  John  ? 

NORNA. 
The  infant  loves  the  rattle's  noise ; 
Age,  double  childhood,  hath  its  toys ; 
But  different  far  the  descant  rings, 
As  strikes  a  different  hand  the  strings. 
The  eagle  mounts  the  polar  sky — 
The  Imber-goose,  unskill'd  to  fly, 
Must  be  content  to  glide  along 
Where  seal  and  sea-dog  list  his  song. 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 
Be  mine  the  Imber-goose  to  play, 
And  haunt  lone  cave  and  silent  bay ; 
The  archer's  aim  so  shall  I  shun, 
So  shall  I  'scape  the  levell'd  gun — 
Content  my  verses'  tuneless  jingle 
With  Thule's  sounding  tides  to  mingle, 
While,  to  the  ear  of  wondering  wight, 
Upon  the  distant  headland's  height, 
Soften'd  by  murmur  of  the  sea, 
The  rude  sounds  seem  like  harmony ! 
*  *  •*  *  *  * 

Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
A  gallant  bark  from  far  abroad, 
Saint  Magnus  hath  her  in  his  road, 
With  guns  and  firelocks  not  a  few, 
A  silken  and  a  scarlet  crew, 
Deep  stored  with  precious  merchandise, 
Of  gold,  and  goods  of  rich  device — 
What  interest  hath  our  comrade  bold 
In  bark  and  crew,  in  goods  and  gold  ? 

NORNA. 
Gold  is  ruddy,  fair,  and  free, 
Blood  is  crimson,  and  dark  to  see. — 
I  look'd  out  on  Saint  Magnus  Bay,. 
And  I  saw  a  falcon  that  struck  her  prey;- 
A  gobbet  of  flesh  in  her  beak  she  bore, 
And  talons  and  singles  are  dripping  with  gore; — 
Let  him  that  asks  after  them  look  on  his  hand, 
And  if  there  is  blood  on't,  he's  one  of  their, 
band. 

• 

CLAUD  HALCRO. 
Mother  doubtful,  Mother  dread, 
Dweller  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Well  thou  know'st  it  is  thy  task 
To  tell  what  Beauty  will  not. ask; — 


690 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Then  steep  thy  words  in  wine  and  milk, 
And  weave  a  doom  of  gold  and  silk, — 
For  we  would  know,  shall  Brenda  prove 
In  love,  and  happy  in  her  love  ? 

NORNA. 
Untouch'd  hy  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest, 
High  seated  in  the  middle  sky, 
In  bright  and  barren  purity  ; 
But  by  the  sunbeam  gently  kiss'd, 
Scarce  by  the  gazing  eye  'tis  miss'd, 
Ere,  down  the  lonely  valley  stealing, 
Fresh  grass  and  growth  its  course  revealing, 
It  cheers  the  flock,  revives  the  flower, 
And  decks  some  happy  shepherd's  bower. 

MAGNUS  TROIL. 
Mother,  speak,  and  do  not  tarry : 
Here's  a  maiden  fain  would  marry. 
Shall  she  marry,  ay  or  not  ? 
If  she  marry,  what's  her  lot  ? 

NORNA. 
Untouch'd  by  love,  the  maiden's  breast 
Is  like  the  snow  on  Rona's  crest, — 
So  pure,  so  free  from  earthy  dye, 
It  seems,  whilst  leaning  on  the  sky, 
Part  of  the  heaven  to  which  'tis  nigh ; 
But  passion,  like  the  wild  March  rain, 
May  soil  the  wreath  with  many  a  stain. 
We  gaze — the  lovely  vision's  gone — 
A  torrent  fills  the  bed  of  stone, 
That,  hurrying  to  destruction's  shock, 
Leaps  headlong  from  the  lofty  rock. 

Chap,  x: 


■(7.)— SONG   OF   TnE   ZETLAND   FISHERMEN. 

"  While  they  were  yet  within  hearing  of  the  shore, 
they  chanted  an  ancient  Norse  ditty,  appropriate  to 
the  occasion,  of  which  Claud  Halcro  had  executed  the 
following  literal  translation :" — 

Farewell,  merry  maidens,  to  song  and  to  laugh, 
For  the  brave  ,lads  of  Westra  are  bound  to  the  Haaf ; 
And  we  must  have  labor,  and  hunger,  and  pain, 
Ere  we  dance  with  the  maids  of  Dunrossness  again. 

For  now,  in  our  trim  boats  of  Noroway  deal, 

We  must  dance  .on  the  waves  with  the  porpoise  and 

seal ; 
The  breeze  it  shall  pipe,  so  it  pipe  not  too  hiph, 
And  the  gull  be  our  songstress  wlffene'er  she  flits  by. 

Sing  on,  my  brave  bird,  while  we  follow,  like  thee, 
By  bank,  shoal,  and  quicksand,  the  swarms  of  the  sea ; 
And  when  twenty-score  fishes  are  straining  our  line, 
Sing  louder,  brave  bird,  for  their  spoils  shall  be  thine. 


We'll  sing  while  we  bait,  and  we'll  sing  while  we 

haul, 
For  the  deeps  of  the  Haaf  have  enough  for  us  all ; 
There  is  torsk  for  the  gentle,  and  skate  for  the  carle, 
And  there's  wealth  for  bold  Magnus,  the  son  of  the 

earl. 

Huzza !  my  brave  comrades,  give  way  for  the  Haaf, 
We  shall  sooner  come  back  to  the  dance  and  the 

laugh ; 
For  light  without  mirth  is  a  lamp  without  oil, — 
Then  mirth  and  long  life  to  the  bold  Magnus  Troil ! 

Chap.  xxii. 


(8.)— CLEVELAND'S   SONGS. 

1. 

Love  wakes  and  weeps 

While  Beauty  sleeps ! 
Oh  for  Music's  softest  numbers, 

To  prompt  a  theme 

For  Beauty's  dream, 
Soft  as  the  pillow  of  her  slumbers ! 

2. 

Through  groves  of  palm 

Sigh  gales  of  balm, 
Fireflies  on  the  air  are  wheeling  ; 

While  through  the  gloom 

Comes  soft  perfume, 
The  distant  beds  of  flowers  revealing. 

3. 

Oh  wake  and  live ! 

No  dream  can  give 
A  shadow'd  bliss,  the  real  excelling; 

No  longer  sleep, — 

From  lattice  peep, 
And  list  the  tale  that  Love  is  telling. 

Farewell !  farewell !  the  voice  you  hear 
Has  left  its  last  soft  tone  with  you, — 

Its  next  must  join  the  seaward  cheer, 
And  shout  among  the  shouting  crew. 

The  accents  which  I  scarce  could  form 
Beneath  your  frown's  controlling  check 

Must  give  the  word,  above  the  storm, 
To  cut  the  mast,  and  clear  the  wreck. 

The  timid  eye  I  dared  not  raise, 

The  hand  that  shook  when  press'd  to  thine, 
Must  point  the  guns  upon  the  chase, 

Must  bid  the  deadly  cutlass  shine. 

To  all  I  love,  or  hope,  or  fear, 

Honor,  or  own,  a  long  adieu ! 
To  all  that  life  has  soft  and  dear 

Farewell !  save  memory  of  you ! 

Chap,  xxiii. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


691 


(9,)— CLAUD  HALCRO'S  VERSES. 

And  you  shall  deal  the  funeral  dole ; 

Ay,  deal  it,  mother  mine, 
To  weary  body,  and  to  heavy  soul, 

The  white  bread  and  the  wine. 

And  you  shall  deal  my  horses  of  pride ; 

Ay,  deal  them,  mother  mine ; 
And  you  shall  deal  my  lands  so  wide, 

And  deal  my  castles  nine. 

But  deal  not  vengeance  for  the  deed, 

And  deal  not  for  the  crime ; 
The  body  to  its  place,  and  the  soul  to  Heaven's 
grace, 

And  the  rest  in  God's  own  time. 

Saint  Magnus  control  thee,  that  martyr  of  treason  ; 
Saint  Ronan  rebuke  thee,  with   rhyme  and  with 

reason ; 
By  the  mass  of  Saint  Martin,  the  might  of  Saint 

Mary, 
Be  thou  gone,  or  thy  weird  shall  be  worse  if  thou 

tarry ! 
If  of  good,  go  hence  and  hallow  thee ; — 
If  of  ill,  let  the  earth  swallow  thee ; — 
If  thou'rt  of  air,  let  the  gray  mist  fold  thee ; — 
If  of  earth,  let  the  swart  mine  hold  thee ; — 
If  a  Pixie,  seek  thy  ring ; — 
If  a  Nixie,  seek  thy  spring; — 
If  on  middle  earth  thou'st  been 
Slave  of  sorrow,  shame,  and  sin, 
Hast  eat  the  bread  of  toil  and  strife, 
And  dree'd  the  lot  which  men  call  life, — 
Begone  to  thy  stone !   for  thy  coffin  is  scant  of 

thee, 
The  worm,  thy  play-fellow,  wails  for  the  want  of 

thee : 
Hence,  houseless  ghost !  let  the  earth  hide  thee, 
Till   Michael  shall  blow  the  blast,  see  that  there 

thou  bide  thee ! — 
Phantom,  fly  hence  !  take  the  Cross  for  a  token, 
Hence  pass  till  Hallowmass ! — my  spell  is  spoken. 

Where  corpse-light 

Dances  bright, 

Be  it  by  day  or  night, 

Be  it  by  light  or  dark, 

There  shall  corpse  lie  stiff  and  stark. 

Menseful  maiden  ne'er  should  rise, 
Till  the  first  beam  tinge  the  skies  ; 
Silk-fringed  eyelids  still  should  close, 
Till  the  sun  has  kiss'd  the  rose  ; 
Maiden's  foot  we  should  not  view, 
Mark'd  with  tiny  print  on  dew, 
Till  the  opening  flowerets  spread 
Carpet  meet  for  beauty's  tread. 

Chap,  xxiii. 


(10.)— NORNA'S  INCANTATIONS. 

Champion,  famed  for  warlike  toil, 
Art  thou  silent,  Ribolt  Troil  ? 
Sand,  and  dust,  and  pebbly  stones, 
Are  leaving  bare  thy  giant  bones. 
Who  dared  touch  the  wild  bear's  skin 
Ye  slumber'd  on,  while  life  was  in  ? — 
A  woman  now,  or  babe,  may  come 
And  cast  the  covering  from  thy  tomb. 

Yet  be  not  wrathful,  Chief,  nor  blight 

Mine  eyes  or  ears  with  sound  or  sight! 

I  come  not,  with  unhallow'd  tread, 

To  wake  the  slumbers  of  the  dead, 

Or  lay  thy  giant  reliques  bare  ; 

But  what  I  seek  thou  well  canst  spare. 

Be  it  to  my  hand  allow'd 

To  shear  a  merk's  weight  from  thy  shroud ; 

Yet  leave  thee  sheeted  lead  enough 

To  shield  thy  bones  from  weather  rough. 

See,  I  draw  my  magic  knife — 

Never,  while  thou  wert  in  life, 

Laidst  thou  still  for  sloth  or  fear, 

When  point  and  edge  were  glittering  near; 

See,  the  cerements  now  I  sever — 

Waken  now,  or  sleep  for  ever ! 

Thou  wilt  not  wake — the  deed  is  done ! 

The  prize  I  sought  is  fairly  won. 

Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks, — for  this  the  sea 
Shall  smooth  its  ruffled  crest  for  thee — 
And  while  afar  its  billows  foam, 
Subside  to  peace  near  Ribolt's  tomb. 
Thanks,  Ribolt,  thanks — for  this  the  might 
Of  wild  winds  raging  at  their  height, 
When  to  thy  place  of  slumber  nigh, 
Shall  soften  to  a  lullaby. 

She,  the  dame  of  doubt  and  dread, 
Noma  of  the  Fitful-head, 
Mighty  in  her  own  despite, — 
Miserable  in  her  might ; 
In  despair  and  frenzy  great, 
In  her  greatness  desolate  ; 
Wisest,  wickedest  who  lives, — 
Well  can  keep  the  word  she  gives. 

Chap.  xxv. 

[AT  INTERVIEW  WITH  MINNA.] 

Thou,  so  needful,  yet  so  dread, 
With  cloudy  crest,  and  wing  of  red ; 
Thou,  without  whose  genial  breath 
The  North  would  sleep  the  sleep  of  death ; 
Who  deign'st  to  warm  the  cottage  hearth, 
Yet  hurls  proud  palaces  to  earth, — 
Brightest,  keenest  of  the  Powers 
Which  form  and  rule  this  world  of  ours, 


692 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  my  rhyme  of  Runic,  I 
Thank  thee  for  thy  agency. 

Old  Reim-kennar,  to  thy  art 
Mother  Hertha  sends  her  part; 
She,  whose  gracious  bounty  gives 
Needful  food  for  all  that  lives. 
From  the  deep  mine  of  the  North 
Came  the  mystic  metal  forth, 
Doom'd,  amidst  disjointed  stones, 
Long  to  cere  a  champion's  bones 
Disinhumed  my  charms  to  aid — 
Mother  Earth,  my  thanks  are  paid. 

Girdle  of  our  islands  dear, 
Element  of  Water,  hear ! 
Thou  whose  power  can  overwhelm 
Broken  mounds  and  ruin'd  realm 

On  the  lowly  Belgian  strand ; 
All  thy  fiercest  rage  can  never 
Of  our  soil  a  furlong  sever 

From  our  rock -defended  land ; 
Play  then  gently  thou  thy  part, 
To  assist  old  Noma's  art. 

Elements,  each  other  greeting, 

Gifts  and  power  attend  your  meeting. 

Thou,  that  over  billows  dark 
Safely  sendst  the  fisher's  bark, — 
Giving  him  a  path  and  motion 
Through  the  wilderness  of  ocean ; 
Thou,  that  when  the  billows  brave  ye, 
O'er  the  shelves  canst  drive  the  navy, — 
Didst  thou  chafe  as  one  neglected, 
While  thy  brethren  were  respected? 
To  appease  thee,  see,  I  tear 
This  full  grasp  of  grizzled  hair; 
Oft  thy  breath  hath  through  it  sung, 
Softening  to  my  magic  tongue, — 
Now,  'tis  thine  to  bid  it  fly 
Through  the  wide  expanse  of  sky, 
'Mid  the  countless  swarms  to  sail 
Of  wild-fowl  wheeling  on  thy  gale ; 
Take  thy  portion  and  rejoice, — 
Spirit,  thou  hast  heard  my  voice! 

She  who  sits  by  haunted  well 

Is  subject  to  the  Nixies'  spell  ; 

She  who  walks  on  lonely  beach, 

To  the  Mermaid's  charmed  speech ; 

She  who  walks  round  ring  of  green, 

Offends  the  peevish  Fairy  Queen ; 

And  she  who  takes  rest  in  the  Dwarfie's  cave, 

A  weary  weird  of  woe  shall  have. 

By  ring,  by  spring,  by  cave,  by  shore, 
Minna  Troil  has  braved  all  this  and  more ; 
And  yet  hath  the  root  of  her  sorrow  and  ill 
A  source  that's  more  deep  and  more  mystical  still. 


Thou  art  within  a  demon's  hold, 

More  wise  than  Heims,  more  strong  than  Trolld; 

No  siren  sings  so  sweet  as  he, — 

No  fay  springs  lighter  on  the  lea ; 

No  elfin  power  hath  half  the  art 

To  soothe,  to  move,  to  wring  the  heart, — 

Life-blood  from  the  cheek  to  drain, 

Drench  the  eye,  and  dry  the  vein. 

Maiden,  ere  we  farther  go, 

Dost  ihou  note  me,  ay  or  no  ? 

MINNA. 

I  mark  thee,  my  mother,  both  word,  look,  and 

sign; 
Speak  on  with  thy  riddle — to  read  it  be  mine. 

NORNA. 
Mark  me !  for  the  word  I  speak 
Shall  bring  the  color  to  thy  cheek. 
This  leaden  heart,  so  light  of  cost, 
The  symbol  of  a  treasure  lost, 
Thou  shalt  wear  in  hope  and  in  peace,        [cease, 
That  the  cause  of  your  sickness  and  sorrow  may 
When  crimson  foot  meets  crimson  hand 
In  the  Martyr's  aisle,  and  in  Orkney  land. — 

Be  patient,  be  patient ;  for  Patience  hath  power 

To  ward  us  in  danger,  like  mantle  in  shower ; 

A  fairy  gift  you  best  may  hold 

In  a  chain  of  fairy  gold ; — 

The  chain  and  the  gift  are  each  a  true  token 

That  not  without  warrant  old  Noma  has  spoken ; 

But  thy  nearest  and  dearest  must  never  behold 

them, 
Till  time  shall  accomplish  the  truths  I  have  told 

them.  Chap,  xxviii. 


(11.)— BRYCE  SNAILSFOOT'S  ADVERTISE- 
MENT. 

Poor  sinners  whom  the  snake  deceives 
Are  fain  to  cover  them  with  leaves. 
Zetland  hath  no  leaves,  'tis  true, 
Because  that  trees  are  none,  or  few ; 
But  we  have  flax  and  taits  of  woo', 
For  linen  cloth  and  wadmaal  blue ; 
And  we  have  many  of  foreign  knacks 
Of  finer  weft  than  woo'  or  flax. 
Ye  gallanty  Lambmas  lads,  appear, 
And  bring  your  Lambmas  sisters  here ; 
Bryce  Snailsfoot  spares  not  cost  or  care 
To  pleasure  every  gentle  pair. 

Chap,  xxxii. 


(12.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
'Tis  not  alone  the  scene — the  man,  Anselmo, 
The  man  finds  sympathies  in  these  wild  wastes. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


693 


And  roughly  tumbling  seas,  which  fairer  views 
And  smoother  waves  deny  him. 

Ancient  Drama. 

(2.)— Chap.  vii. 
She  does  no  work  by  halves,  yon  raving  ocean  ; 
Engulfing  those  she  strangles,  her  wild  womb 
Affords  the  mariners  whom  she  hath  dealt  on 
Their  death  at  once  and  sepulchre. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  ix. 
This  is  a  gentle  trader,  and  a  prudent — 
He's  no  Autolycus,  to  blear  your  eye 
With  quips  of  worldly  gauds  and  gamesomeness ; 
But  seasons  all  his  glittering  merchandise 
With  wholesome  doctrine  suited  to  the  use, 
As  men  sauce  goose  with  sage  and  rosemary. 

Old  Play. 

(4.)— Chap.  xi. 

All  your  ancient  customs, 

And  long-descended  usages,  I'll  change. 
Ye  shall  not  eat,  nor  drink,  nor  speak,  nor  move, 
Think,  look,  or  walk,  as  ye  were  wont  to  do ; 
Even  your  marriage-beds  shall  know  mutation  ; 
The  bride  shall   have  the  stock,  the  groom  the 

wall; 
For  all  old  practice  will  I  turn  and  change, 
And  call  it  reformation — marry,  will  I ! 

'Tis  Even  that  we're  at  Odds. 

(5.)— Chap.  xiv. 
We'll  keep  our  customs — what  is  law  itself, 
But  old  establish'd  custom  ?    What  religion 
(I  mean,  with  one-half  of  the  men  that  use  it), 
Save  the  good  use  and  wont  that  carries  them 
To  worship   how  and   where  their  fathers  wor- 

shipp'd  ? 
All  things  resolve  in  custom — we'll  keep  ours. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xxv. 
I  do  love  these  ancient  ruins ! 


We  never  tread  upon  them  but  we  set 
Our  foot  upon  some  reverend  history, 
And  questionless,  here  in  this  open  court 
(Which  now  lies  naked  to  the  injuries 
Of  stormy  weather)  some  men  lie  interr'd, 
Loved  the  Church  so  well,  and  gave  so  largely  to  it, 
They  thought  it  should  have  canopied  their  bones 
Till  doomsday; — but  all  things  have  their  end — 
Churches  and  cities,  which  have  diseases  like  to 

men, 
Must  have  like  death  which  we  have. 

Duchess  of  Malfy. 

(7.)— Chap.  xxix. 
See  yonder  woman,  whom  our  swains  revere, 
And  dread  in  secret,  while  they  take  her  counsel 


When  sweetheart  shall   be   kind,   or  when  cross 

dame  shall  die ; 
Where  lurks  the  thief  who  stole  the  silver  tankard, 
And  how  the  pestilent  murrain  may  be  cured  ; — 
This  sage  adviser's  mad,  stark  mad,  my  friend ; 
Yet,  in  her  madness,  hath  the  art  and  cunning 
To  wring  fools'  secrets  from  their  inmost  bosoms, 
And  pay  inquirers  with  the  coin  they  gave  her. 

Old  Play. 

(8.)— Chap.  xxx. 
What  ho,  my  jovial  mates !  come  on !  we'll  frolic  it 
Like  fairies  frisking  in  the  merry  moonshine, 
Seen  by  the  curtal  friar,  who,  from  some  christening, 
Or  some  blithe  bridal,  hies  belated  cellward — 
He  starts,  and  changes  his  bold  bottle  swagger 
To  churchman's  pace  professional, — and,  ransack- 
ing 
His  treacherous  memory  for  some  holy  hymn, 
Finds  but  the  roundel  of  the  midnight  catch. 

Old  Play. 

(9.)— Chap,  xxxii. 
I  strive  like  to  the  vessel  in  the  tide-way, 
Which,   lacking  favoring  breeze,   hath  not  the 

power 
To  stem  the  powerful  current. — Even  so, 
Resolving  daily  to  forsake  my  vices, 
Habit,  strong  circumstance,  renew'd  temptation, 
Sweep  me  to  sea  again. — Oh,  heavenly  breath, 
Fill  thou  my  sails,  and  aid  the  feeble  vessel, 
Which   ne'er  can  reach  the  blessed  port  without 

thee! 

'Tis  Odds  when  Evens  meet. 

(10.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Parental  love,  my  friend,  has  power  o'er  wisdom, 
And  is  the  charm  which,  like  the  falconer's  lure, 
Can  bring  from  heaven  the  highest  soaring  spirits. — 
So,  when  famed  Prosper  doff 'd  his  magic  robe, 
It  was  Miranda  pluck'd  it  from  his  shoulders. 

Old  Play. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxxiv. 
Hark  to  the  insult  loud,  the  bitter  sneer, 
The  fierce  threat  answering  to  the  brutal  jeer ; 
Oaths  fly  like  pistol-shots,  and  vengeful  words 
Clash  with  each  other  like  conflicting  swords. — 
The  robber's  quarrel  by  such  sounds  is  shown, 
And  true  men  have  some  chance  to  gain  their  own. 

Captivity,  a  Poem. 

(12.)— Chap,  xxxvii. 
Over  the  mountains  and  under  the  waves, 
Over  the  fountains  and  under  the  graves, 
Over  floods  that  are  deepest, 

Which  Neptune  obey, 
Over  rocks  that  are  steepest, 
Love  will  find  out  the  way. 

Old  Song. 


694 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


©n  mtxick  dforcst's  JHountatns  Bun.1 


1822. 


On  Ettrick  Forest's  mountains  dun, 
'Tis  blithe  to  hear  the  sportsman's  gun, 
And  seek  the  heath-frequenting  brood 
Far  through  the  noonday  solitude ; 
By  many  a  cairn  and  trenched  mound, 
Where  chiefs  of  yore  sleep  lone  and  sound, 
And  springs,  where  gray-hair'd  shepherds  tell 
That  still  the  fairies  love  to  dwell. 

Along  the  silver  streams  of  Tweed, 
'Tis  blithe  the  mimic  fly  to  lead, 
When  to  the  hook  the  salmon  springs, 
And  the  line  whistles  through  the  rings ; 
The  boiling  eddy  see  him  try, 
Then  dashing  from  the  current  high, 
Till  watchful  eye  and  cautious  hand 
Have  led  his  wasted  strength  to  land. 

Tis  blithe  along  the  midnight  tide 

With  stalwart  arm  the  boat  to  guide;  • 

On  high  the  dazzling  blaze  to  rear, 

And  heedful  plunge  the  barbed  spear ; 

Rock,  wood,  and  scaur,  emerging  bright, 

Fling  on  the  stream  their  ruddy  light, 

And  from  the  bank  our  band  appears 

Like  Genii  armed  with  fiery  spears.2 

'Tis  blithe  at  eve  to  tell  the  tale 
How  we  succeed,  and  how  we  fail, 
Whether  at  Alwyn's3  lordly  meal, 
Or  lowlier  board  at  Ashestiel  ;* 
While  the  gay  tapers  cheerly  shine, 
Bickers  the  fire,  and  flows  the  wine — 
Days  free  from  thought,  and  nights  from  care, 
My  blessing  on  the  Forest  fair ! 


jFatttorll  to  tije  Mmi.: 


1N22. 


Enchantress,  farewell,  who  so  oft  has  decoy'd  me 
At  the  close  of  the  evening  through  woodlands  to 
roam, 

1  Written  after  a  week's  shooting  and  fishing,  in  which  the 
poet  had  been  engaged  with  some  friends.  The  reader  may 
see  these  verses  set  to  music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Mel- 
odies for  1822. 

2  See  the  famous  salmon-spearing  scene  in  "Guy  Manner- 
ing"  —  Waverley  Novels,  vol.  iii.  pp.  259-63. 

3  Alwyn,  the  seat  of  the  Lord  Somerville,— now,  alas !  un- 


Where  the  forester,  lated,  with  wonder  espied  me 

Explore  the  wild  scenes  he  was  quitting  for  home. 
Farewell,  and  take  with  thee  thy  numbers  wild  speak- 
ing 
The  language  alternate  of  rapture  and  woe : 
Oh !   none  but  some   lover,  whose  heart-strings  are 
breaking, 
The  pang  that  I  feel  at  our  parting  can  know. 

Each  joy  thou  couldst  double,  and  when  there  came 
sorrow 
Or  pale  disappointment  to  darken  my  way, 
What  voice  was  like  thine,  that  could  sing  of  to-mor- 
row, 
Till  forgot  in  the  strain  was  the  grief  of  to-day ! 
But  when  friends  drop  around  us  in   life's  weary 
waning, 
The  grief,  Queen  of  Numbers,  thou  canst  not  as- 
suage ; 
Nor  the  gradual  estrangement  of  those  yet  remaining, 
The  languor  of  pain,  and  the  dullness  of  age. 

'Twas  thou  that  once  taught  me,  in  accents  bewailing, 

To  sing  how  a  warrior  lay  stretch'd  on  the  plain, 
And  a  maiden  hung  o'er  him  with  aid  unavailing, 

And  held  to  his  lips  the  cold  goblet  in  vain ; 
As  vain  thy  enchantments,  O  Queen  of  wild  Numbers, 

To  a  bard  when  the  reign  of  his  fancy  is  o'er, 
And  the  quick  pulse  of  feeling  in  apathy  slumbers — 

Farewell,  then,  Enchantress !  I  meet  thee  no  more ! 


CJk  iHaitJ  of  fosla. 

Air—"  The  Maid  of  Isla." 

WRITTEN  FOR  MR.   GEORGE  THOMSON'S  SCOTTISH 
MELODIES. 


1822. 


Oh,  maid  of  Isla,  from  the  cliff, 

That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skiff 

Contend  with  ocean  gallantly  ? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 

And  steep'd  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge  ? — 

Oh,  Isla's  maid,  she  seeks  her  home. 

tenanted,  by  the  lamented  death  of  that  kind  and  hospitable 
nobleman,  the  author's  nearest  neighbor  and  intimate  friend. 
Lord  8.  died  in  February,  1819. 

*  Ashestiel,  the  poet's  residence  at  that  time. 

6  Written,  during  illness,  for  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  col- 
lection, and  first  published  in  1822,  united  to  an  air  composed 
by  George  Kinloch  of  Kinloch,  Esq. 


LYRICAL   AND    MISCELLANEOUS    PIECES. 


695 


Oh,  Ma's  maid,  yon  sea-bird  mark : 

Her  white  wing  gleams  through  mist  and  spray, 
Against  the  storm-cloud,  lowering  dark, 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away ; — 
Where  clouds  are  dark  and  billows  rave, 

Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff  exposed  to  wind  and  wave? — 

Oh,  maid  of  Isla,  'tis  her  home ! 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 

Thou'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring, 
And  cold  as  is  yon  wintry  cliff, 

Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 
Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 

Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come ; 
For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  grave, 

Must  Allan  Vourich  find  his  home. 


Carle,  noto  tfje  living's  Come.1 

BEING    NEW    WORDS    TO    AN    AULD    SPRING. 


1822. 


The  news  has  flown  frae  mouth  to  mouth, 
The  North  for  ance  has  bang'd  the  South ; 
The  deil  a  Scotsman's  die  o'  drouth, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

CHORUS. 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Thou  shalt  dance,  and  I  will  sing, 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Auld  England  held  him  lang  and  fast, 

And  Ireland  had  a  joyfu'  cast; 

But  Scotland's  turn  is  come  at  last — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Auld  Reekie,  in  her  rokelay  gray, 
Thought  never  to  have  seen  the  day ; 
He's  been  a  weary  time  away — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

1  This  imitation  of  an  old  Jacobite  ditty  was  written  on 
the  appearance,  in  the  Frith  of  Forth,  of  the  fleet  which  con- 
veyed his  Majesty  King  George  IV.  to  Scotland,  in  August, 
1822 ;  and  was  published  as  a  broadside. 

2  Lord  Montagu,  uncle  and  guardian  to  the  young  Duke 
of  Buccleuch,  placed  his  Grace's  residence  of  Dalkeith  at  his 
Majesty's  disposal  during  his  visit  to  Scotland. 

8  Charles,  the  tenth  Earl  of  Haddington,  died  in  1828. 

*  The  Duke  of  Hamilton,  as  Earl  of  Angus,  carried  the  an- 
cient royal  crown  of  Scotland  on  horseback  in  King  George's 
procession,  from  Holyrood  to  the  Castle. 


She's  skirling  frae  the  Castle  hill ; 
The  Carline's  voice  is  grown  sae  shrill, 
Ye'll  hear  her  at  the  Canon-mill — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Up,  bairns !"  she  cries,  "  baith  grit  and  sma', 
And  busk  ye  for  the  weapon-shaw ! 
Stand  by  me,  and  we'll  bang  them  a' — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  from  Newbattle's  ancient  spires, 
Bauld  Lothian,  with  your  knights  and  squirea, 
And  match  the  mettle  of  your  sires — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  You're  welcome  hame,  my  Montagu ! 
Bring  in  your  hand  the  young  Buccleuch ; 
I'm  missing  some  that  I  may  rue — ■ 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come!2 

"  Come,  Haddington,  the  kind  and  gay, 
You've  graced  my  causeway  mony  a  day ; 
I'll  weep  the  cause  if  you  should  stay — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  !3 

"  Come,  premier  Duke,4  and  carry  douu 
Frae  yonder  craig5  his  ancient  croun ; 
It's  had  a  lang  sleep  and  a  soun' — 

But,  Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  Athole,  from  the  hill  and  wood 
Bring  down  your  clansmen  like  a  clud ; 
Come,  Morton,  show  the  Douglas  blood — 6 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"Come,  Tweeddale,  true  as  sword  to  sheath; 
Come,  Hopetoun,  fear'd  on  fields  of  death ; 
Come,  Clerk,7  and  give  your  bugle  breath ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  Wemyss,  who  modest  merit  aids ; 
Come,  Rosebery,  from  Dalmeny  shades; 
Breadalbane,  bring  your  belted  plaids ; 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come,  stately  Niddrie,  auld  and  true, 
Girt  with  the  sword  that  Minden  knew ; 
We  have  o'er  few  such  lairds  as  you — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

5  The  Castle. 

6  MS.:  "Come,  Athole,  from  your  hills  and  woods 

Bring  down  your  Hielandmen  in  cluds, 
With  bannet,  brogue,  and  tartan  duds." 
J  Sir  George  Clerk  of  Pennycuik,  Bart.  The  Baron  of 
Pennycuik  is  bound  by  his  tenure,  whenever  the  king  come* 
to  Edinburgh,  to  receive  him  at  the  Harestone  (in  which  the 
standard  of  James  IV.  was  erected  when  his  army  encamped 
on  the  Boroughmuir,  before  his  fatal  expedition  to  England), 
now  built  into  the  park  wall  at  the  end  of  Tipperlin  Lone, 
near  the  Boroughmuir-head,  and,  standing  thereon,  to  give 
three  blasts  on  a  horn. 


696 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


"  King  Arthur's  grown  a  common  crier, 
He's  heard  in  Fife  and  far  Kintire, — 
'  Fie,  lads,  behold  my  crest  of  fire  I'1 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Saint  Abb  roars  out,  '  I  see  him  pass, 
Between  Tantallon  and  the  Bass!' 
Calton,  get  out  your  keeking-glass — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come !" 

The  Carline  stopp'd ;  and,  sure  I  am, 
For  very  glee  had  ta'en  a  dwam, 
But  Oman2  help'd  her  to  a  dram — 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 

Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 
I'se  be  fou'  and  ye's  be  toom,3 
Cogie,  now  the  King's  come ! 


CARLE,  NOW  THE   KING'S   COME. 


PART  SECOND. 


A  Hawick  gill  of  mountain  dew 
Heised  up  Auld  Reekie's  heart,  I  trow ; 
It  minded  her  of  Waterloo — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  I 

Again  I  heard  her  summons  swell, 
For  sic  a  dirdum  and  a  yell, 
It  drown'd  Saint  Giles's  jowing  bell — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  My  trusty  Provost,  tried  and  tight, 
Stand  forward  for  the  Good  Town's  right ; 
There's  waur  than  you  been  made  a  knight — * 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

1  M8. :  "Brave  Arthur's  Seat's  a  story  higher; 
Saint  Abb  is  shouting  to  Kintire, — 
'  You  lion,  light  up  a  crest  of  fire.' " 
As  seen  from  the  west,  the  ridge  of  Arthur's  Seat  bears  a 
marked  resemblance  to  a  lion  couchant. 

s  Mr.  Oman,  landlord  of  the  Waterloo  Hotel.      3  Empty. 

4  The  Lord  Provost  had  the  BgTO  able  surprise  to  hear  his 
health  proposed,  at  the  civic  banquet  given  to  George  IV.  in 
the  Parliament  House,  as  "Sir  William  Arbuthnot,  Bart." 

6  The  Blue  Blanket  is  the  standard  of  the  incorporated 
trades  of  Edinburgh,  and  is  kept  by  their  convener,  "  at 
whose  appearance  therewith,"  observes  Maitland,  "'da  said 
that  not  only  the  artificers  of  Edinburgh  are  obliged  to  re- 
pair to  it,  but  all  the  artificers  or  craftsmen  within  Scotland 
are  bound  to  follow  it,  and  fight  under  the  convener  of  Edin- 
burgh as  aforesaid."  According  to  an  old  tradition,  this 
standard  was  used  in  the  Holy  Wars  by  a  body  of  crusading 
citizens  of  Edinburgh,  and  was  the  first  that  was  planted  on 
the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  when  that  city  was  stormed  by  the 
Christian  army  under  the  famous  Godfrey.  But  the  real 
history  of  it  seems  to  be  this :— James  III.,  a  prince  who  had 


"  My  reverend  Clergy,  look  ye  say 
The  best  of  thanksgiving  ye  ha'e, 
And  warstle  for  a  sunny  day — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come  I 

"  My  Doctors,  look  that  you  agree, 
Cure  a'  the  town  without  a  fee ; 
My  Lawyers,  dinna  pike  a  plea — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  forth,  each  sturdy  Burgher's  bairn, 
That  dints  on  wood  or  clanks  on  aim, 
That  fires  the  o'en  or  winds  the  pirn — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Come  forward  with  the  Blanket  Blue  ;5 
Your  sires  were  loyal  men  and  true, 
As  Scotland's  foemen  oft  might  rue — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Scots  downa  loup,  and  rin,  and  rave ; 
We're  steady  folks,  and  something  grave : 
We'll  keep  the  causeway  firm  and  brave — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Sir  Thomas,6  thunder  from  your  rock,7 
Till  Pentland  dinnles  wi'  the  shock, 
And  lace  wi'  fire  my  snood  o'  smoke — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  I 

"  Melville,  bring  out  your  bands  of  blue, 
A'  Louden  lads,  baith  stout  and  true, 
With  Elcho,  Hope,  and  Cockburn  too — 8 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  And  you,  who  on  yon  bluidy  braes 
Compell'd  the  vanquish'd  Despot's  praise, 
Rank  out,  rank  out,  my  gallant  Grays — • 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Cock  o'  the  North,  my  Huntly  bra', 
Where  are  you  with  the  Forty-twa  ?10 

virtues  which  the  rude  age  in  which  he  lived  could  not  ap- 
preciate, having  been  detained  for  nine  months  in  the  Castle 
of  Edinburgh  by  his  factious  nobles,  was  relieved  by  the  cit- 
izens of  Edinburgh,  who  assaulted  the  Castle  and  took  it  by 
surprise;  on  which  occasion  James  presented  the  citizens 
with  this  banner,  "with  a  power  to  display  the  same  in  de- 
fence of  their  king,  country,  and  their  own  rights." — Note  to 
this  stanza  in  the  "Account  of  the  lung's  Visit"  Ac.    8vo,  1822. 

6  Sir  Thomas  Bradford,  then  commander  of  the  forces  in 
Scotland.  7  Edinburgh  Castle. 

8  Lord  Melville  was  colonel  of  the  Mid-Lothian  Yeomanry 
Cavalry;  Sir  John  Hope  of  Pinkie,  Bart.,  major;  and  Robert 
Cockburn,  Esq.,  and  Lord  Elcho,  were  captains  in  the  same 
corps,  to  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  had  formerly  belonged. 

9  The  Scotts  Grays,  headed  by  their  gallant  colonel,  Gen- 
eral Sir  James  Stewart  of  Coltness,  Bart.,  were  on  duty  at 
Edinburgh  during  the  king's  visit.  Bonaparte's  exclama- 
tion at  Waterloo  is  well  known: — "Ces  beaux  chevaux  gris, 
oomme  ils  travaillent!" 

10  Marquis  of  Huntly,  who  since  became  the  last  Duke  of 
Gordon,  was  colonel  of  the  42d  Regiment,  and  died  in  1836. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


697 


Ah !  wae's  my  heart  that  ye're  awa' — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  1 

"  But  yonder  come  my  canty  Celts, 
With  dirk  and  pistols  at  their  belts ; 
Thank  God,  we've  still  some  plaids  and  kilts — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Lord,  how  the  pibrochs  groan  and  yell! 
Macdonell's1  ta'en  the  field  himsell, 
Macleod  comes  branking  o'er  the  fell — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come  ! 

"  Bend  up  your  bow,  each  Archer  spark, 
For  you're  to  guard  him  light  and  dark ; 
Faith,  lads,  for  ance  ye've  hit  the  mark — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Young  Errol,2  take  the  sword  of  state, 
The  sceptre,  Panie-Morarchate  ;3 
Knight  Mareschal,*  see  ye  clear  the  gate — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Kind  cummer,  Leith,  ye've  been  mis-set, 
But  dinna  be  upon  the  fret — 
Ye'se  hae  the  handsel  of  him  yet, 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  My  daughters,  come  with  een  sae  blue, 
Your  garlands  weave,  your  blossoms  strew ; 
He  ne'er  saw  fairer  flowers  than  you — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  What  shall  we  do  for  the  propine — 
We  used  to  offer  something  fine, 
But  ne'er  a  groat's  in  pouch  of  mine — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come! 

"  Deil  care — for  that  I'se  never  start, 
We'll  welcome  him  with  Highland  heart ; 
Whate'er  we  have  he's  get  a  part — 

Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  I'll  show  him  mason-work  this  day — 
Nane  of  your  bricks  of  Babel  clay, 


1  Colonel  Ronaldson  Macdonell  of  Glengarry,  who  died  in 
January,  1828. 

2  The  Earl  of  Errol  is  hereditary  Lord  High  Constable  of 
Scotland. 

3  In  more  correct  Gaelic  orthography,  Banamhorar-Chal, 
or  the  Great  Lady  (literally,  Female  Lord  of  the  Chatte),  the 
Celtic  title  of  the  Countess  of  Sutherland.  "  Evin  unto  this 
day,  the  countrey  of  Sutherland  is  yet  called  Cattey,  the  in- 
habitants Catteigh,  and  the  Earl  of  Sutherland  Morweir  Cat- 
tey, in  old  Scottish  or  Irish ;  which  language  the  inhabitants 
of  this  countrey  doe  still  use." — Gordon's  Genealogical  His- 
tory of  the  Earls  of  Sutherland,  p.  18.  It  was  determined  by 
his  Majesty  that  the  right  of  carrying  the  sceptre  lay  with 
this  noble  family ;  and  Lord  Francis  Leveson  Gower  (now 
Egerton),  second  son  of  the  Countess  (afterwards  Duchess)  of 


But  towers  shall  stand  till  Time's  away — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  I'll  show  him  wit,  I'll  show  him  lair, 
And  gallant  lads  and  lasses  fair, 
And  what  wad  kind  heart  wish  for  mair? 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come ! 

"  Step  out,  Sir  John,5  of  projects  rife, 
Come  win  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife, 
And  bring  him  health  and  length  of  life — 
Carle,  now  the  King's  come !" 


jfrom  tije  jf ortunes  of  Nigel. 


1822. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  i. 
Now  Scot  and  English  are  agreed, 
And  Saunders  hastes  to  cross  the  Tweed, 
Where,  such  the  splendors  that  attend  him, 
His  very  mother  scarce  had  kenn'd  him. 
His  metamorphosis  behold, 
From  Glasgow  frieze  to  cloth  of  gold ; 
His  backsword,  with  the  iron  hilt, 
To  rapier,  fairly  hatch'd  and  gilt ; 
Was  ever  seen  a  gallant  braver ! 
His  very  bonnet's  grown  a  beaver. 

The  Reformation. 

(2.)— Chap.  ii. 
This,  sir,  is  one  among  the  Seignory, 
Has  wealth  at  will,  and  will  to  use  his  wealth, 
And  wit  to  increase  it.     Marry,  his  worst  folly 
Lies  in  a  thriftless  sort  of  charity, 
That  goes  a-gadding  sometimes  after  objects 
Which  wise  men  will  not  see  when  thrust  upon  them. 

The  Old  Couple. 


Sutherland,  was  permitted  to  act  as  deputy  for  his  mother 
in  that  honorable  office.  After  obtaining  his  Majesty's  per- 
mission to  depart  for  Dunrobin  Castle,  his  place  was  sup- 
plied by  the  Honorable  John  M.  Stuart,  second  son  of  the 
Earl  of  Moray. — Ed. 

*  The  author's  friend  and  relation,  the  late  Sir  Alexander 
Keith,  of  Dunottar  and  Ravelstone. 

6  MS.:  "Rise  up,  Sir  John,  of  projects  rife, 

And  wuss  him  health  and  length  of  life, 
And  win  the  thanks  of  an  auld  wife." 

The  Right  Honorable  Sir  John  Sinclair,  Bart.,  author  of  The 
Code  of  Health  and  Longevity,  &c,  Ac.,— the  well-known  patron 
and  projector  of  national  and  patriotic  plans  and  improve- 
ments innumerable,— died  21st  December,  1835,  in  his  eighty- 
second  year. — Ed. 


698 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


(3.)— Chap.  iv. 
Ay,  sir,  the  clouted  shoe  hath  ofttimes  craft  in't, 
As  says  the  rustic  proverb ;  and  your  citizen, 
In's  grogram  suit,  gold  chain,  and  well-black'd  shoes, 
Bears  under  his  flat  cap  ofttimes  a  brain 
Wiser  tban  burns  beneath  the  cap  and  feather, 
Or  seethes  within  the  statesman's  velvet  nightcap. 
Mead  me  my  Riddle. 

(4.)— Chap.  v. 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court? 
Certain  'tis  the  rarest  sport; 
There  are  silks  and  jewels  glistening, 
Prattling  fools  and  wise  men  listening, 
Bullies  among  brave  men  justling, 
Beggars  amongst  nobles  bustling ; 
Low-breath'd  talkers,  minion  lispers, 
Cutting  honest  throats  by  whispers ; 
Wherefore  come  ye  not  to  court  ? 
Skelton  swears  'tis  glorious  sport. 

Skelton  Skeltonizeth. 

(5.)— Chap.  vi. 
Oh,  I  do  know  him — 'tis  the  mouldy.lemon 
Which  our  court  wits  will  wet  their  lips  withal, 
When  they  would  sauce  their  honey'd  conversation 
With  somewhat  sharper  flavor. — Marry,  sir, 
That  virtue's  wellnigh  left  him — all  the  juice 
That  was  so  sharp  and  poignant  is  squeezed  out ; 
While  the  poor  rind,  although  as  sour  as  ever, 
Must  season  soon  the  draff  we  give  our  grunters, 
For  two-legg'd  things  are  weary  on't. 

The  Chamberlain,  a  Comedy. 

(6.)— Chap.  vii. 
Things  needful  we  have  thought  on ;  but  the  thing 
Of  all  most  needful— that  which  Scripture  terms, 
As  if  alone  it  merited  regard, 
The  one  thing  needful — that's  yet  unconsider'd. 
The  Chamberlain. 

(7.)— Chap.  viii. 
Ah !  mark  the  matron  well — and  laugh  not,  Harry, 
At  her  old  steeple-hat  and  velvet  guard — 
I've  call'd  her  like  the  ear  of  Dionysius  ; 
I  mean  that  ear-form'd  vault,  built  o'er  the  dungeon, 
To  catch  the  groans  and  discontented  murmurs 
Of  hia  poor  bondsmen. — Even  so  doth  Martha 
Drink  up,  for  her  own  purpose,  all  that  passes, 
Or  is  supposed  to  pass,  in  this  wide  city — 
She  can  retail  it  too,  if  that  her  profit 
Shall  call  on  her  to  do  so ;  and  retail  it 
For  your  advantage,  so  that  you  can  make 
Your  profit  jump  with  hers. 

The  Conspiracy. 

(8.)— Chap.  x. 
Bid  not  thy  fortune  troll  upon  the  wheels 
Of  yonder  dancing  cubs  of  mottled  bone ; 
And  drown  it  not,  like  Egypt's  royal  harlot, 


Dissolving  her  rich  pearl  in  the  brimm'd  wine-cup. 
These  are  the  arts,  Lothario,  which  shrink  acres 
Into  brief  yards — bring  sterling  pounds  to  farthings, 
Credit  to  infamy ;  and  the  poor  gull, 
Who  might  have  lived  an  honor'd,  easy  life, 
To  ruin,  and  an  unregarded  grave. 

The  Changes. 

(9.)— Chap.  xii. 
This  is  the  very  barn-yard, 


Where  muster  daily  the  prime  cocks  o'  the  game, 
Ruffle  their  pinions,  crow  till  they  are  hoarse, 
And  spar  about  a  barleycorn.     Here,  too,  chickens, 
The  callow,  unfledged  brood  of  forward  folly, 
Learn  first  to  rear  the  crest,  and  aim  the  spur, 
And  tune  their  note  like  full-plumed  Chanticleer. 
The  Bear  Garden. 

(10.)— Chap.  xiii. 
Let  the  proud  salmon  gorge  the  feather'd  hook, 
Then  strike,  and  then  you  have  him. — He  will  wince ; 
Spin  out  your  line  that  it  shall  whistle  from  you 
Some  twenty  yards  or  so,  yet  you  shall  have  him — 
Marry,  you  must  have  patience — the  stout  rock 
Which  is  his  trust  hath  edges  something  sharp; 
And  the  deep  pool  hath  ooze  and  sludge  enough 
To  mar  your  fishing — 'less  you  are  more  careful. 
Albion,  or  the  Double  Kings. 

(11.)— Chap.  xvi. 
Give  way — give  way — I  must  and  will  have  justice. 
And  tell  me  not  of  privilege  and  place  ; 
Where  I  am  injured,  there  I'll  sue  redress. 
Look  to  it,  every  one  who  bars  my  access ; 
I  have  a  heart  to  feel  the  injury, 
A  hand  to  right  myself,  and  by  my  honor, 
That  hand  shall  grasp  what  gray-beard  Law  denies 
me. 

The  Chamberlain. 

(12.)— CnAP.  xvn. 
Come  hither,  young  one — Mark  me  !   Thou  art  now 
'Mongst  men  o'  the  sword,  that  live  by  reputation 
More  than  by  constant  income — Single-suited 
They  are,  I  grant  you ;  yet  each  single  suit 
Maintains,  on  the  rough  guess,  a  thousand  followers — 
And  they  be  men  who,  hazarding  their  all, 
Needful  apparel,  necessary  income, 
And  human  body,  and  immortal  soul, 
Do  in  the  very  deed  but  hazard  nothing — 
So  strictly  is  that  ALL  bound  in  reversion ; 
Clothes  to  the  broker,  income  to  the  usurer, 
And  body  to  disease,  and  soul  to  the  foul  fiend ; 
Who  laughs  to  see  Soldadoes  and  fooladoes 
Play  better  than  himself  his  game  on  earth. 

The  3Iohocks. 

(13.)— Chap,  xviii. 
Mother.  What !  dazzled  by  a  flash  of  Cupid's  mirror, 
With  which  the  boy,  as  mortal  urchins  wont, 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


699 


Flings  back  the  sunbeam  in  the  eye  of  passengers — 
Then  laughs  to  see  them  stumble ! 

Daughter.  Mother!  no — 
It  was  a  lightning-flash  which  dazzled  me, 
And  never  shall  these  eyes  see  true  again. 

Beef  and  Pudding,  an  Old  English  Comedy. 

(14.)— Chap.  xix. 
By  this  good  light,  a  wench  of  matchless  mettle ! 
This  were  a  leaguer-lass  to  love  a  soldier, 
To  bind  his  wounds,  and  kiss  his  bloody  brow, 
And  sing  a  roundel  as  she  help'd  to  arm  him, 
Though  the  rough  foeman's  drums  were  beat  so 

nigh, 
They  seem'd  to  bear  the  burden. 

Old  Play. 

(15.)— Chap.  xx. 
Credit  me,  friend,  it  hath  been  ever  thus, 
Since  the  ark  rested  on  Mount  Ararat. 
False  man  hath  sworn,  and  woman  hath  believed — 
Repented  and  reproach'd,  and  then  believed  once 
more.  The  New  World. 

(16.)— Chap.  xxi. 
Rove  not  from  pole  to  pole — the  man  lives  here 
Whose  razor's  only  equall'd  by  his  beer ; 
And  where,  in  either  sense,  the  cockney-put 
May,  if  he  pleases,  get  confounded  cut. 

On  the  Sign  of  an  Alehouse  kept  by  a  Barber. 

(17.)— Chap.  xxii. 
Chance  will  not  do  the  work — Chance  sends  the 

breeze ; 
But  if  the  pilot  slumber  at  the  helm, 
The  very  wind  that  wafts  us  towards  the  port 
May  dash  us  on  the  shelves. — The  steersman's  part 

is  vigilance, 
Blow  it  or  rough  or  smooth. 

Old  Play. 

(18.)— Chap.  xxiv. 
This  is  the  time — heaven's  maiden-sentinel 
Hath  quitted  her  high  watch — the  lesser  spangles 
Are  paling  one  by  one  ;  give  me  the  ladder 
And  the  short  lever — bid  Anthony 
Keep  with  his  carabine  the  wicket-gate  ; 
And  do  thou  bare  thy  knife  and  follow  me, 
For  we  will  in  and  do  it — darkness  like  this 
Is  dawning  of  our  fortunes. 

Old  Play. 

(19.)— Chap.  xxv. 
Death  finds  us  'mid  our  playthings — snatches  us, 
As  a  cross  nurse  might  do  a  wayward  child, 
From  all  our  toys  and  baubles.    His  rough  call 
Unlooses  all  our  favorite  ties  on  earth ; 
And  well  if  they  are  such  as  may  be  answer'd 
In  yonder  world,  where  all  is  judged  of  truly. 

Old  Play. 


(20.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
Give  us  good  voyage,  gentle  stream — we  stun  not 
Thy  sober  ear  with  sounds  of  revelry ; 
Wake  not  the  slumbering  echoes  of  thy  banks 
With  voice  of  flute  and  horn — we  do  but  seek 
On  the  broad  pathway  of  thy  swelling  bosom 
To  glide  in  silent  safety. 

The  Double  Bridal. 

(21.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
This  way  lie  safety  and  a  sure  retreat ; 
Yonder  lie  danger,  shame,  and  punishment. 
Most  welcome  danger  then — Nay,  let  me  say, 
Though  spoke  with  swelling  heart — welcome  e'en 

shame ; 
And  welcome  punishment — for,  call  me  guilty, 
I  do  but  pay  the  tax  that's  due  to  justice ; 
And  call  me  guiltless,  then  that  punishment 
Is  shame  to  those  alone  who  do  inflict  it. 

The  Tribunal. 

(22.)— Chap.  xxix. 
How  fares  the  man  on  whom  good  men  would  look 
With  eyes  where  scorn  and  censure  combated, 
But  that  kind  Christian  love  hath  taught  the  les- 
son— 
That  they  who  merit  most  contempt  and  hate, 
Do  most  deserve  our  pity Old  Play. 

(23.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
Marry,  come  up,  sir,  with  your  gentle  blood ! 
Here's  a  red  stream   beneath  this  coarse  blue 

doublet, 
That  warms  the  heart  as  kindly  as  if  drawn 
From  the  far  source  of  old  Assyrian  kings, 
Who  first  made  mankind  subject  to  their  sway. 

Old  Play. 

(24.)— Chap.  xxxv. 
We  are  not  worse  at  once — the  course  of  evil 
Begins  so  slowly,  and  from  such  slight  source, 
An  infant's  hand  might  stem  its  breach  with  clay ; 
But  let  the  stream  get  deeper,  and  philosophy, — 
Ay,  and  religion  too, — shall  strive  in  vain 
To  turn  the  headlong  torrent. 

Old  Play. 


jfrom  ^ebertl  of  tje  ^eak. 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
Why  then,  we  will  have  bellowing  of  beeves, 
Broaching  of  barrels,  brandishing  of  spigots ; 


700 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Blood  shall  flow  freely,  but  it  shall  be  gore 
Of  herds  and  flocks,  and  venison  and  poultry, 
Join'd  to  the  brave  heart's-blood  of  John-a-Barley- 
corn! 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  iv. 
No,  sir, — I  will  not  pledge — I'm  one  of  those 
Who  think  good  wine  needs  neither  bush  nor  preface 
To  make  it  welcome.     If  you  doubt  my  word, 
Fill  the  quart-cup,  and  see  if  I  will  choke  on't. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  vi. 
You  shall  have  no  worse  prison  than  my  chamber, 
Nor  jailer  than  myself. 

The  Captain. 

(4.)— Chap.  xvi. 

Ascasto.  Can  she  not  speak? 

Oswald.  If  speech  be  only  in  accented  sounds, 
Framed  by  the  tongue  and  lips,  the  maiden's  dumb ; 
But  if  by  quick  and  apprehensive  look, 
By  motion,  sign,  and  glance,  to  give  each  meaning, 
Express  as  clothed  in  language,  be  term'd  speech, 
She  hath  that  wondrous  faculty ;  for  her  eyes, 
Like  the  bright  stars  of  heaven,  can  hold  discourse, 
Though  it  be  mute  and  soundless. 

Old  Play. 

(5.)— Chap.  xvii. 
This  is  a  love  meeting?    See,  the  maiden  mourns, 
And  the  sad  suitor  bends  his  looks  on  earth. 
There's  more  hath  pass'd  between  them  than  belongs 
To  Love's  sweet  sorrows. 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xix. 
Now,  hoist  the  anchor,  mates — and  let  the  sails 
Give  their  broad  bosom  to  the  buxom  wind, 
Like  lass  that  woes  a  lover. 

Anonymous. 

(7.)— Chap.  xxii. 
lie  was  a  fellow  in  a  peasant's  garb ; 
Yet  one  could  censure  you  a  woodcock's  carving, 
Like  any  courtier  at  the  ordinary. 

The  Ordinary. 

(8.)— Chap.  xxiv. 
We  meet,  as  men  see  phantoms  in  a  dream, 
Which  L'litle  and  sigli,  and  sign,  and  move  their  lips, 
But  make  no  sound;  or,  if  they  utter  voice, 
'Tis  but  a  low  and  undistiuguish'd  moaning, 
Which  has  nor  word  nor  sense  of  utter'd  sound. 

The  Chieftain. 

(9.)— Chap.  xxv. 
The  course  of  human  life  is  changeful  still 
As  is  the  fickle  wind  and  wandering  rill ; 


Or  like  the  light  dance  which  the  wild  breeze 

weaves 
Amidst  the  faded  race  of  fallen  leaves ; 
Which  now  its  breath  bears  down,  now  tosses 

high, 
Beats  to  the  earth,  or  wafts  to  middle  sky. 
Such,  and  so  varied,  the  precarious  play 
Of  fate  with  man,  frail  tenant  of  a  day  ! 

Anonymous. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
Necessity — thou  best  of  peacemakers, 
As  well  as  surest  prompter  of  invention — 
Help  us  to  composition  1 

Anonymous. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
This  is  some  creature  of  the  elements. 


Most  like  your  sea-gull.     He  can  wheel  and  whistle 
His  screaming  song,  e'en  when  the  storm  is  loudest — 
Take  for  his  sheeted  couch  the  restless  foam 
Of  the  wild  wave-crest — slumber  in  the  calm, 
And  dally  with  the  storm.    Yet  'tis  a  gull, 
An  arrant  gull,  with  all  this. 

The  Chieftain. 

(12.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
I  fear  the  devil  worst  when  gown  and  cassock, 
Or,  in  the  lack  of  them,  old  Calvin's  cloak, 
Conceals  his  cloven  hoof. 

Anonymous. 

(13.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
'Tis  the  black  ban-dog  of  our  jail — Pray  look  on  him, 
But  at  a  wary  distance — rouse  him  not — 
He  bays  not  till  he  worries. 

The  Black  Dog  of  Newgate. 


(14.)— Chap,  xxxviii. 

"Speak  not  of  niceness,  when  there's  chance  of 
wreck," 

The  captain  said,  as  ladies  writhed  their  neck 

To  see  the  dying  dolphin  flap  the  deck : 

"  If  we  go  down,  on  us  these  gentry  sup; 

We  dine  upon  them,  if  we  haul  them  up. 

Wise  men  applaud  us  when  we  eat  the  eaters, 

As  the  devil  laughs  when  keen  folks  cheat  the  cheat- 
ers." The  Sea  Voyage. 

(15.)— Chap.  xl. 

Contentions  fierce, 

Ardent,  and  dire,  spring  from  no  petty  cause. 

Albion. 

(16.)— Chap,  xliii. 
He  came  amongst  them  like  a  new-raised  spirit, 
To  speak  of  dreadful  judgments  that  impend, 
And  of  the  wrath  to  come. 

The  Reformer. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


701 


(17.)— Chap.  xliv. 
And  some  for  safety  took  the  dreadful  leap ; 
Some  for  the  voice  of  Heaven  seem'd  calling  on  them ; 
Some  for  advancement,  or  for  lucre's  sake — 
I  leap'd  in  frolic. 

The  Dream. 

(18.)— Chap.  xlv. 
High  feasting  was  there  there — the  gilded  roofs 
Rung  to  the  wassail-health — the  dancer's  step 
Sprung  to  the  chord  responsive — the  gay  gamester 
To  fate's  disposal  flung  his  heap  of  gold, 
And  laugh'd  alike  when  it  increased  or  lessen'd : 
Such  virtue  hath  court-air  to  teach  us  patience 
Which  schoolmen  preach  in  vain. 

Why  come  ye  not  to  Court  f 

(19.)— Chap.  xlvi. 
Here  stand  I  tight  and  trim, 
Quick  of  eye,  though  little  of  limb ; 
He  who  denieth  the  word  I  have  spoken, 
Betwixt  him  and  me  shall  lances  be  broken. 

Lay  of  the  Little  John  de  Saintre. 


J^rom  (©uentin  Uurtoarir. 


1823. 


(1.)— SONG— COUNTY  GUY. 

Ah  !  County  Guy,  the  hour  is  nigh, 

The  sun  has  left  the  lea, 
The  orange  flower  perfumes  the  bower, 

The  breeze  is  on  the  sea. 
The  lark,  his  lay  who  thrill'd  all  day, 

Sits  hush'd  his  partner  nigh ; 
Breeze,  bird,  and  flower,  confess  the  hour, 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

The  village  maid  steals  through  the  shade, 

Her  shepherd's  suit  to  hear ; 
To  beauty  shy,  by  lattice  high, 

Sings  high-born  cavalier. 
The  star  of  Love,  all  stars  above, 

Now  reigns  o'er  earth  and  sky ; 
And  high  and  low  the  influence  know — 

But  where  is  County  Guy  ? 

Chap.  iv. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  xi. 
Painters  show  Cupid  blind — Hath  Hymen  eyes? 
Or  is  his  sight  warp'd  by  those  spectacles 


Which  parents,  guardians,  and  advisers,  lend  him, 
That  he  may  look  through  them  on  lands  and  man- 
sions, 
On  jewels,  gold,  and  all  such  rich  donations, 
And  see  their  value  ten  times  magnified  ? — 
Methinks  'twill  brook  a  question. 

The  Miseries  of  Enforced  Marriage. 

(2.)— Chap.  xii. 
This  is  a  lecturer  so  skill'd  in  policy 
That  (no  disparagement  to  Satan's  cunning) 
He  well  might  read  a  lesson  to  the  devil, 
And  teach  the  old  seducer  new  temptations. 

Old  Play. 

(3.)— Chap.  xiv. 
I  see  thee  yet,  fair  France — thou  favor'd  land 
Of  art  and  nature — thou  art  still  before  me ; 
Thy  sons,  to  whom  their  labor  is  a  sport, 
So  well  thy  grateful  soil  returns  its  tribute ; 
Thy  sunburnt  daughters,   with  their  laughing 

eyes 
And  glossy  raven  locks.    But,  favor'd  France, 
Thou  hast  had  many  a  tale  of  woe  to  tell, 
In  ancient  times  as  now. 

Anonymous. 

(4.)— Chap.  xv. 
He  was  a  son  of  Egypt,  as  he  told  me, 
And  one  descended  from  those  dread  magicians 
Who  waged  rash  war,  when  Israel  dwelt  in 

Goshen, 
With  Israel  and  her  Prophet — matching  rod 
With  his  the  sons  of  Levi's — and  encountering 
Jehovah's  miracles  with  incantations, 
Till  upon  Egypt  came  the  avenging  Angel, 
And  those  proud  sages  wept  for  their  first-born, 
As  wept  the  unletter'd  peasant. 

Anonymous. 

(5.)— Chap.  xxiv. 
Rescue  or  none,  Sir  Knight,  I  am  your  captive ; 
Deal  with  me  what  your  nobleness  suggests — 
Thinking  the  chance  of  war  may  one  day  place 

you 
Where  I  must  now  be  reckon'd — i'  the  roll 
Of  melancholy  prisoners. 

Anonymous. 

(6.)— Chap.  xxv. 
No  human  quality  is  so  well  wove 
In  warp  and  woof,  but  there's  some  flaw  in  it , 
I've  known  a  brave  man  fly  a  shepherd's  cur, 
A  wise  man  so  demean  him,  drivelling  idiocy 
Had  wellnigh  been  ashamed  on't.     For  your 

crafty, 
Your  worldly-wise  man,  he,  above  the  rest, 
Weaves  his  own  snares  so  fine,  he's  often  caught  in 

them. 

Old  Play. 


702 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


(7.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
When  princes  meet,  astrologers  may  mark  it 
An  ominous  conjunction,  full  of  boding, 
Like  that  of  Mars  with  Saturn. 

Old  Play. 

(8.)— Chap.  xxix. 
Thy  time  is  not  yet  out — the  devil  thou  servest 
Has  not  as  yet  deserted  thee.     He  aids 
The  friends  who  drudge  for  him,  as  the  blind  man 
Was  aided  by  the  guide,  who  lent  his  shoulder 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  until  he  reach'd  the  brink 
Of  the  fell  precipice — then  hurl'd  him  downward. 

Old  Play. 

(9.)— Chap.  xxx. 
Our  counsels  waver  like  the  unsteady  bark, 
That  reels  amid  the  strife  of  meeting  currents. 

Old  Play. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxxi. 
Hold  fast  thy  truth,  young  soldier. — Gentle  maiden, 
Keep  you  your  promise  plight — leave  age  its  subtle- 
ties, 
And  gray-hair'd  policy  its  maze  of  falsehood; 
But  be  you  candid  as  the  morning  sky, 
Ere  the  high  sun  sucks  vapors  up  to  stain  it. 

The  Trial. 


jfrom  St.  Neman's  WLtW. 


1823. 


MOTTOES. 


(1.)— Chap,  ii.- 
Quis  novus  hie  hospes  ? 


-The  Guest. 


Dido  apud  Virgilium. 


Ch'm-maid ! — The  Gemman  in  the  front  parlor ! 
Boots'  free  Translation  of  the  JEneid. 

(2.)— CnAP.  in. 
There  must  be  government  in  all  society — 
Bees  have  their  queen,  and  stag  herds  have  their 

leader ; 
Rome  had  her  Consuls,  Athens  had  her  Archons, 
And  we,  sir,  have  our  Managing  Committee. 

The  Album  of  St.  Ponan's. 

(3.)— Chap.  x. 
Come,  let  me  have  thy  counsel,  for  I  need  it; 
Thou  art  of  those  who  better  help  their  friends 
With  sage  advice,  than  usurers  with  gold, 


Or  brawlers  with  their  swords — I'll  trust  to  thee, 
For  I  ask  only  from  thee  words,  not  deeds. 

The  Devil  hath  met  his  Match. 

(4.)— Chap.  xi. 

Nearest  of  blood  should  still  be  next  in  love ; 
And  when  I  see  these  happy  children  playing, 
"While  William  gathers  flowers  for  Ellen's  ringlets, 
And  Ellen  dresses  flies  for  William's  angle, 
I  scarce  can  think  that  in  advancing  life, 
Coldness,  unkindness,  interest,  or  suspicion, 
Will  e'er  divide  that  unity  so  sacred, 
Which  Nature  bound  at  birth. 

Anonymous. 

(5.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
Oh !  you  would  be  a  vestal  maid,  I  warrant, 
The  bride  of  Heaven — Come — we  may  shake  your 

purpose : 
For  here  I  bring  in  hand  a  jolly  suitor 
Hath  ta'en  degrees  in  the  seven  sciences 
That  ladies  love  best — He  is  young  and  noble, 
Handsome  and  valiant,  gay  and  rich,  and  liberal. 

The  Nun. 

(6.)— Chap,  xxxii. 
It  comes — it  wrings  me  in  my  parting  hour, 
The  long-hid  crime — the  well-disguised  guilt. 
Bring  me  some  holy  priest  to  lay  the  spectre  ! 

Old  Play. 

(7.)— Chap.  xxxv. 
Sedet  post  equitem  atra  cur  a 


Still  though  the  headlong  cavalier, 
O'er  rough  and  smooth,  in  wild  career, 

Seems  racing  with  the  wind, 
His  sad  companion — ghastly  pale, 
And  darksome  as  a  widow's  veil, 

Care — keeps  her  seat  behind. 

Horace. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxxviii. 
What  sheeted  ghost  is  wandering  through  the 

storm? 
For  never  did  a  maid  of  middle  earth 
Choose  such  a  time  or  spot  to  vent  her  sorrows. 

Old  Play. 

(9.)— Chap,  xxxix. 

Here  come  we  to  our  close — for  that  which 
follows 

Is  but  the  tale  of  dull,  unvaried  misery. 

Steep  crags  and  headlong   linns  may   court  the 
pencil 

Like  sudden  haps,  dark  plots,  and  strange  adven- 
tures ; 

But  who  would  paint  the  dull  and  fog-wrapt  moor, 

In  its  long  tract  of  sterile  desolation? 

Old  Play. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


703 


Cije  t$annat$nz  (Slul,1 


1823. 


Assist  me,  ye  friends  of  Old  Books  and  Old  Wine, 
To  sing  in  the  praises  of  sage  Bannatyne, 
Who  left  such  a  treasure  of  old  Scottish  lore 
As  enables  each  age  to  print  one  volume  more. 

One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
We'll  ransack  old  Banny  for  one  volume  more. 

II. 

And  first,  Allan  Ramsay  was  eager  to  glean 
From  Bannatyne's  Hortus  his  bright  Evergreen ; 
Two  light  little  volumes  (intended  for  four) 
Still  leave  us  the  task  to  print  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  &c. 

III. 

His  ways  were  not  ours,  for  he  cared  not  a  pin 
How  much  he  left  out,  or  how  much  he  put  in  ; 
The  truth  of  the  reading  he  thought  was  a  bore, 
So  this  accurate  age  calls  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  &c. 

IV. 

Correct  and  sagacious,  then  came  my  Lord  Hailes, 

And  weigh'd  every  letter  in  critical  scales, 

But  left  out  some  brief  words,  which  the  prudish 

abhor, 
And  castrated  Banny  in  one  volume  more. 

One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more ; 
We'll  restore  Banny's   manhood  in  one  volume 
more. 

V. 

John  Pinkerton  next,  and  I'm  truly  concern'd 
I  can't  call  that  worthy  so  candid  as  learn'd ; 
He  rail'd  at  the  plaid  and  blasphemed  the  claymore, 
And  set  Scots  by  the  ears  in  his  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
Celt  and  Goth  shall  be  pleased  with  one  volume 
more. 

VI. 

As  bitter  as  gall,  and  as  sharp  as  a  razor, 
And  feeding  on  herbs  as  a  Nebuchadnezzar,2 


1  Sir  Walter  Scott  was  the  first  president  of  the  club,  and 
wrote  these  verses  for  the  anniversary  dinner  of  March,  1823. 
See  Life,  vol.  vii.  p.  137. 

8  In  accordance  with  his  own  regimen,  Mr.  Ritson  pub- 
lished a  volume  entitled  An  Essay  on  Abstinence  from  Animal 
Food  as  a  Moral  Duty.    1802. 

3  See  an  account  of  the  metrical  antiquarian  researches  of 


His  diet  too  acid,  his  temper  too  sour, 

Little  Ritson  came  out  with  his  two  volumes  more.3 
But  one  volume,  my  friends,  one  volume  more, 
We'll  dine  on  roast-beef  and  print  one  volume 
more. 

VII. 
The  stout  Gothic  yeditur,  next  on  the  roll,* 
With  his  beard  like  a  brush  and  as  black  as  a  coal, 
And  honest  Greysteil 5  that  was  true  to  the  core, 
Lent  their  hearts  and  their  hands  each  to  one  volume 
more. 

One  volume  more,  &c. 

VIII. 

Since  by  these  single  champions  what  wonders  were 

done, 
What  may  not  be  achieved  by  our  Thirty  and  One? 
Law,  Gospel,  and  Commerce,  we  count  in  our  corps, 
And  the  Trade  and  the  Press  join  for  one  volume  more. 
One  volume  more,  &c. 

IX. 

Ancient  libels  and  contraband  books,  I  assure  ye, 
We'll  print  as  secure  from  Exchequer  or  Jury ; 
Then  hear  your  Committee,  and  let  them  count  o'er 
The  Chiels  they  intend  in  their  three  volumes  more. 
Three  volumes  more,  &c. 

X. 

They'll  produce  you  King  Jamie,  the  sapient  and  Sext, 
And  the  Rob  of  Dumblane  and  her  Bishops  come  next; 
One  tome  miscellaneous  they'll  add  to  your  store, 
Resolving  next  year  to  print  four  volumes  more. 

Four  volumes  more,  my  friends,  four  volumes 

more; 
Pay  down  your  subscriptions  for  four  volumes 
more. 


This  club  was  instituted  in  the  year  1822,  for  the  publica- 
tion or  reprint  of  rare  and  curious  works  connected  with  the 
history  and  antiquities  of  Scotland.  It  consisted  at  first  of  a 
very  few  members, — gradually  extended  to  one  hundred,  at 
which  number  it  has  now  made  a  final  pause.  They  assume 
the  name  of  the  Bannatyne  Club  from  George  Bannatyne, 
of  whom  little  is  known  beyond  that  prodigious  effort  which 
produced  his  present  honors,  and  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  most 
singular  instances  of  its  kind  which  the  literature  of  any 
country  exhibits.  His  labors  as  an  amanuensis  were  under- 
taken during  the  time  of  pestilence,  in  1568.  The  dread  of 
infection  had  induced  him  to  retire  into  solitude,  and  under 
such  circumstances  he  had  the  energy  to  form  and  execute 


Pinkerton,  Ritson,  and  Herd,  Ac,  in  the  "Introductory  Re- 
marks on  Popular  Poetry,"  ante,  p.  537,  ei  seq. 

*  James  Sibbald,  editor  of  Scottish  Poetry,  &c.  "  The  Yed- 
itur" was  the  name  given  him  by  the  late  Lord  Eldin,  then 
Mr.  John  Clerk,  advocate.  The  description  of  him  here  is 
very  accurate. 

5  David  Herd,  editor  of  Songs  and  Historical  Ballads.  Two 
vols.  He  was  called  Greysteil  by  his  intimates,  from  having 
been  long  in  unsuccessful  quest  of  the  romance  of  that  name. 


704 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


the  plan  of  saving  the  literature  of  the  whole  nation;  and, 
undisturbed  by  the  general  mourning  for  the  dead  and  gen- 
eral fears  of  the  living,  to  devote  himself  to  the  task  of  col- 
lecting and  recording  the  triumphs  of  human  genius  in  the 
poetry  of  his  age  and  country;  thus,  amid  the  wreck  of  all 
that  was  mortal,  employing  himself  in  preserving  the  lays  by 
which  immortality  is  at  once  given  to  others  and  obtained 
for  the  writer  himself.  He  informs  us  of  some  of  the  numer- 
ous difficulties  he  had  to  contend  with  in  this  self-imposed 
task.  The  volume  containing  his  labors,  deposited  in  the 
library  of  the  Faculty  of  Advocates  at  Edinburgh,  is  no  less 
than  eight  hundred  pages  in  length,  and  very  neatly  and 
closely  written,  containing  nearly  all  the  ancient  poetry  of 
Scotland  now  known  to  exist. 

This  Caledonian  association,  which  boasts  several  names  of 
distinction  both  from  rank  and  talent,  has  assumed  rather  a 
broader  foundation  than  the  parent  society,  the  Roxburghe 
Club  in  London,  which,  in  its  plan,  being  restricted  to  the 
reprinting  of  single  tracts,  each  executed  at  the  expense  of 
an  individual  member,  it  follows  as  almost  a  necessary  con- 
sequence that  no  volume  of  considerable  size  has  emanated 
from  it,  and  its  range  has  been  thus  far  limited  in  point  of 
utility.  The  Bannatyne,  holding  the  same  system  with  re- 
spect to  the  ordinary  species  of  club  reprints,  levies,  moreover, 
a  fund  among  its  members  of  about  £500  a  year,  expressly  to 
be  applied  for  the  editing  and  printing  of  works  of  acknowl- 
edged importance,  and  likely  to  be  attended  with  expense 
beyond  the  reasonable  bounds  of  an  individual's  contribu- 
tion. In  this  way  either  a  member  of  the  club  or  a  com- 
petent person  under  its  patronage  superintends  a  particular 
volume  or  set  of  volumes.  Upon  these  occasions  a  very  mod- 
erate number  of  copies  are  thrown  off  for  general  sale ;  and 
those  belonging  to  the  club  are  only  distinguished  from  the 
others  by  being  printed  on  the  paper  and  ornamented  with 
the  decorations  peculiar  to  the  society.  In  this  way  several 
useful  and  eminently  valuable  works  have  recently  been 
given  to  the  public  for  the  first  time,  or  at  least  with  a  de- 
gree of  accuracy  and  authenticity  which  they  had  never 
before  attained. — Abridged  from  the  Quarterly  Review — Art. 
"  Pitcairn's  Ancient  Criminal  Trials."    February,  1831. 


Co  g.  <£.  Uorfctjatt,  ISsct. 


ON  THE  COMPOSITION  OF  MAIDA'S  EPITAPH. 


1824. 


"Maida?  Marmorea  dormis  sub  imagine  Maida! 
Ad  januam  domini  sit  tibi  terra  levis." 

See  Life  of  ScoU,  vol.  vii.  pp.  275-281. 

Dear  John, — I  some  time  ago  wrote  to  inform  his 
Fat  worship  of  jaws,  misprinted  for  dormis; 
But  that  several  Southrons  assured  me  the  januam 
Was  a  twitch  to  both  ears  of  Ass  Priscian's  cranium. 


1  There  is  an  excellent  story  (but  too  long  for  quotation) 
in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Somemilles  (vol.  i.  p.  240)  about  an  old 
lord  of  that  family  who,  when  he  wished  preparations  to  be 
made  for  high  feasting  at  his  castle  of  Cowthally,  used  to  send 
on  a  billet  inscribed  with  this  laconic  phrase,  "fyieales  and 
raxes,"  i.  e.  spits  and  ranges.  Upon  one  occasion  Lady  Som- 
erville  (being  newly  married,  and  not  yet  skilled  in  her  hus- 
band's hieroglyphics)  read  the  mandate  as  spears  and  jacks, 


You,  perhaps,  may  observe  that  one  Lionel  Berguer 
In  defence  of  our  blunder  appears  a  stout  arguer: 
But   at    length    I    have   settled,    I    hope,   all    these 

clatters, 
By  a  roict  in  the  papers — fine  place  for  such  matters. 
I  have,  therefore,  to  make  it  for  once  my  command, 

sir, 
That  my  gudeson  shall  leave  the  whole  thing  in  my 

band,  sir, 
And  by  no  means  accomplish  what  James  says  you 

threaten, 
Some  banter  in  Blackwood  to  claim  your  dog-Latin. 
I  have  various  reasons  of  weight,  on  my  word,  sir, 
For  pronouncing  a  step  of  this  sort  were  absurd,  sir. — 
Firstly,  erudite  sir,  'twas  against  your  advising 
I  adopted  the  lines  this  monstrosity  lies  in ; 
For  you  modestly  hinted  my  English  translation 
Would  become  better  far  such  a  dignified  station. 
Second — how,  in  God's  name,  would  my  bacon  l>e 

saved 
By  not  having  writ  what  I  clearly  engraved  ? 
On  the  contrary,  I,  on  the  whole,  think  it  better 
To  be  whipped  as  the  thief,  than  his  lousy  resetter. 
Thirdly — don't  you  perceive  that  I  don't  care  a  boddle 
Although  fifty  false  metres  were  flung  at  my  noddle, 
For  my  back  is  as  broad  and  as  hard  as  Benlomon's, 
And  I  treat  as  I  please  both  the  Greeks  and  the  Ro- 
mans ; 
Whereas  the  said  heathens  might  rather  look  serious 
At  a  kick  on  their  drum  from  the  scribe  of  Valerius. 
And,  fourthly  and  lastly — it  is  my  good  pleasure 
To  remain  the  sole  source  of  that  murderous  measure. 
So  stet  pro  ratione  voluntas — be  tractile, 
Invade  not,  I  say,  my  own  dear  little  dactyl ; 
If  you  do,  you'll  occasion  a  breach  in  our  intercourse : 
To-morrow  will  see  me  in  town  for  the  winter  course, 
But  not  at  your  door,  at  the  usual  hour,  sir, 
My  own  pye-house  daughter's  good  prog  to  devour,  sir. 
Ergo — peace! — on    your   duty,   your    squeamishness 

throttle, 
And  we'll  soothe  Priscian's  spleen  with  a  canny  third 

bottle. 
A  fig  for  all  dactyls,  a  fig  for  all  spondees, 
A  fig  for  all  dunces  and  dominie  Grundys ; 
A  fig  for  dry  thrapples,  south,  north,  east,  and  west, 

sir, 
Speates  and  raxes1  ere  five  for  a  famishing  guest,  sir ; 
And  as  Fatsman2  and  I  have  some  topic  for  haver, 

he'll 
Be  invited,  I  hope,  to  meet  me  and  Dame  Peveril, 
Upon  whom,  to  say  nothing  of  Oury  and  Anne,  you  a 
Dog  shall  be  deemed  if  you  fasten  your  Janua. 

and  sent  forth  two  hundred  armed  horsemen,  whose  appear- 
ance on  the  moors  greatly  alarmed  Lord  Somerville  and  his 
guest,  who  happened  to  be  no  less  a  person  than  King  James 
III.    See  Scott's  Miscellaneous  Prose,  vol.  xxii.  p.  312. 

2  Uttsman  was  one  of  Mr.  James  Ballantyne's  many  aliases. 
Another  (to  which  Constable  mostly  adhered)  was  Mr.  "Bas- 
ketfill"— an  allusion  to  the  celebrated  printer  Baskerville. 


LYEICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


705 


Htnes, 


ADDRESSED   TO  MONSIEUR  ALEXANDRE,1   THE   CEL- 
EBRATED VENTRILOQUIST. 


1824. 


Of  yore,  in  old  England,  it  was  not  thought  good 

To  carry  two  visages  under  one  hood ; 

What  should  folk  say  to  you?  who  have  faces  such 

plenty, 
That  from  under  one  hood  you  last  night  show'd  us 

twenty ! 
Stand  forth,  arch  deceiver,  and  tell  us  in  truth, 
Are  you  handsome  or  ugly,  in  age  or  in  youth  ? 
Man,  woman,  or  child — a  dog  or  a  mouse  ? 
Or  are  you,  at  once,  each  live  thing  in  the  house? 
Each  live  thing,  did  I  ask  ? — each  dead  implement  too — 
A  workshop  in  your  person, — saw,  chisel,  and  screw ! 
Above  all,  are  you  one  individual?    I  know 
You  must  be  at  least  Alexandre  and  Co. 
But  I  think  you're  a  troop,  an  assemblage,  a  mob, 
And  that  I,  as  the  Sheriff,  should  take  up  the  job, 
And  instead  of  rehearsing  your  wonders  in  verse, 
Must  read  you  the  Riot  Act,  and  bid  you  disperse. 
Abbotsford,  23d  April? 


(Epilogue 

TO  THE  DRAMA  FOUNDED  ON  "  ST.  RONAN'S  WELL." 


1824. 


"After  the  play  the  following  humorous  address 
(ascribed  to  an  eminent  literary  character)  was  spoken 
with  infinite  effect  by  Mr.  Mackay  in  the  character  of 
Meg  Dodds." — Edinburgh  Weekly  Journal,  9th  June, 
1824. 

1  "  When  Monsieur  Alexandre,  the  celebrated  ventriloquist, 
was  in  Scotland,  in  1824,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Abbotsford,  where 
he  entertained  his  distinguished  host,  and  the  other  visitors, 
with  his  unrivalled  imitations.  Next  morning,  when  he  was 
about  to  depart,  Sir  Walter  felt  a  good  deal  embarrassed  as 
to  the  sort  of  acknowledgment  he  should  offer ;  but  at  length, 
resolving  that  it  would  probably  be  most  agreeable  to  the 
young  foreigner  to  be  paid  in  professional  coin,  if  in  any,  he 
stepped  aside  for  a  few  minutes,  and,  on  returning,  presented 
him  with  this  epigram.  The  reader  need  hardly  be  reminded 
that  Sir  Walter  Scott  held  the  office  of  sheriff  of  the  county 
of  Selkirk." — Scotch  newspaper,  1830. 

2  The  lines,  with  this  date,  appeared  in  the  Edinburgh 
Annual  Register  of  1824. 

3  James  Laing  was  one  of  the  depute  clerks  of  the  city  of 
Edinburgh,  and  in  his  official  connection  with  the  police  and 
the  Council  Chamber,  his  name  was  a  constant  terror  to  evil 
doers.    He  died  in  February,  1806. 

«  The  Watch-hole. 

5  The  Tolbooth  of  Edinburgh— the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian— 
was  pulled  down  in  1817. 

6  The  ancient  Town  Guard.  The  reduced  remnant  of  this 
body  of  police  was  finally  disbanded  in  1817. 

45 


Enter  Meg  Dodds,  encircled  by  a  crowd  of  unruly 
boys,  whom  a  toim's-officer  is  driving  off. 

That's  right,  friend — drive  the  gaitlings  back, 
And  lend  yon  muckle  ane  a  whack ; 
Your  Embro'  bairns  are  grown  a  pack 

Sae  proud  and  saucy, 
They  scarce  will  let  an  auld  wife  walk 

Upon  your  causey. 

I've  seen  the  day  they  would  been  scaur'd 
Wi'  the  Tolbooth,  or  wi'  the  Guard, 
Or  maybe  wud  hae  some  regard 

For  Jamie  Laing  j3 
The  Water-hole4  was  right  weel  wared 

On  sic  a  gang. 

But  whar's  the  gude  Tolbooth5  gane  now  ? 
Whar's  the  auld  Claught,6  wi'  red  and  blue? 
Whar's  Jamie  Laing?  and  whar's  John  Doo?* 

And  whar's  the  Weigh-house^* 
Deil  hae't  I  see  but  what  is  new, 

Except  the  Playhouse ! 

Yoursells  are  changed  frae  head  to  heel ; 
There's  some  that  gar  the  causeway  reel 
With  clashing  hufe  and  rattling  wheel, 

And  horses  canterin', 
Wha's  fathers  daunder'd  hame  as  weel 

Wi'  lass  and  lantern. 

Mysell  being  in  the  public  line, 

I  look  for  howfs  I  kenn'd  lang  syne, 
Whar  gentles  used  to  drink  gude  wine, 

And  eat  cheap  dinners ; 
But  deil  a  soul  gangs  there  to  dine, 

Of  saints  or  sinners! 

Fortune's9  and  Hunter's10  gane,  alas ! 
And  Bayle's11  is  lost  in  empty  space ; 

'  John  Doo  or  Dhu,  a  terrific-looking  and  high-spirited 
member  of  the  Town  Guard,  and  of  whom  there  is  a  print 
by  Kay,  etched  in  1784. 

8  The  Weigh-house,  situated  at  the  head  of  the  West  Bow, 
Lawnmarket,  and  which  had  long  been  looked  upon  as  an 
incumbrance  to  the  street,  was  demolished  in  order  to  make 
way  for  the  royal  procession  to  the  Castle,  which  took  place 
on  the  22d  of  August,  1822. 

9  Fortune's  Tavern,  a  house  on  the  west  side  of  the  Old 
Stamp  Office  Close,  High  Street,  and  which  was,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  last  century,  the  mansion  of  the  Earl  of  Eglin- 
toun.  The  Lord  High  Commissioner  to  the  General  Assem- 
bly of  the  day  held  his  levees  and  dinners  in  this  tavern. 

10  Hunter's,  another  once  much-frequented  tavern,  in 
Writer's  Court,  Royal  Exchange. 

II  Bayle's  Tavern  and  Coffee-house,  originally  on  the  North 
Bridge,  east  side,  afterwards  in  Shakspeare  Square,  but  re- 
moved to  admit  of  the  opening  of  Waterloo  Place.  Such  was 
the  dignified  character  of  this  house  that  the  waiter  always 
appeared  in  full  dress,  and  nobody  was  admitted  who  had  not 
a  white  neckcloth— then  considered  an  indispensable  insig- 
niuni  of  a  gentleman. 


706 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  now  if  folk  would  splice  a  brace, 
Or  crack  a  bottle, 

They  gang  to  a  new-fangled  place 
They  ca'  a  Hottle. 

The  deevil  hottle  them  for  Meg ! 
They  are  sae  greedy  and  sae  gleg, 
That  if  ye're  served  but  wi'  an  egg 

(And  that's  puir  pickin'), 
In  comes  a  chiel  and  makes  a  leg, 

And  charges  chicken ! 

"And  wha  may  ye  be,"  gin  ye  speer, 

"  That  brings  your  auld-warld  clavers  here  ?" 

Troth,  if  there's  onybody  near 

That  kens  the  roads, 
I'll  haud  ye  Burgundy  to  beer, 

He  kens  Meg  Dodds. 

I  come  a  piece  frae  west  o'  Currie ; 
And,  since  I  see  you're  in  a  hurry, 
Your  patience  I'll  nae  langer  worry, 

But  be  sae  crouse 
As  speak  a  word  for  ane  Will  Murray,1 

That  keeps  this  house. 

Plays  are  auld-fashion'd  things,  in  truth, 
And  ye've  seen  wonders  mair  uncouth ; 
Yet  actors  shouldna  suffer  drouth, 

Or  want  of  dramock, 
Although  they  speak  but  wi'  their  mouth, 

Not  with  their  stamock. 

But  ye  tak  care  of  a'  folk's  pantry ; 

And  surely  to  hae  stooden  sentry 

Ower  this  big  house  (that's  far  frae  rent-free) 

For  a  lone  sister, 
Is  claims  as  gude's  to  be  a  ventri — 

How'st  ca'd  ? — loquister. 

Weel,  sire,  gude'en,  and  have  a  care 
The  bairns  mak  fun  o'  Meg  nae  mair; 
For  gin  they  do,  she  tells  you  fair, 

And  without  failzie, 
As  sure  as  ever  ye  sit  there, 

She'll  tell  the  Bailie. 


(PptloQue.5 


1824. 


The  sages — for  authority,  pray  look 
Seneca's  morals,  or  the  copy-book — 

1  Mr.  William  Murray  became  manager  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre  in  1815. 

3  "I  recovered  the  above  with  some  difficulty.    I  believe 


The  sages,  to  disparage  woman's  power, 

Say  beauty  is  a  fair  but  fading  dower; — 

I  cannot  tell — I've  small  philosophy — 

Yet  if  it  fades  it  does  not  surely  die, 

But  like  the  violet,  when  decay'd  in  bloom 

Survives  through  many  a  year  in  rich  perfume. 

Witness  our  theme  to-night,  two  ages  gone, 

A  third  wanes  fast,  since  Mary  fill'd  the  throne. 

Brief  was  her  bloom,  with  scarce  one  sunny  day 

'Twixt  Pinkie's  field  and  fatal  Fotheringay : 

But  when,  while  Scottish  hearts  and  blood  you' 

boast, 
Shall  sympathy  with  Mary's  woes  be  lost? 
O'er  Mary's  memory  the  learned  quarrel, 
By  Mary's  grave  the  poet  plants  his  laurel ; 
Time's  echo,  old  Tradition,  makes  her  name 
The  constant  burden  of  his  falt'ring  theme : 
In  each  old  hall  his  gray-hair'd  heralds  tell 
Of  Mary's  picture,  and  of  Mary's  cell, 
And  show — my  fingers  tingle  at  the  thought — 
The  loads  of  tapestry  which  that  poor  Queen 

wrought. 
In  vain  did  fate  bestow  a  double  dower 
Of  ev'ry  ill  that  waits  on  rank  and  power, 
Of  ev'ry  ill  on  beauty  that  attends — 
False  ministers,  false  lovers,  and  false  friends. 
Spite  of  three  wedlocks  so  completely  curst, 
They  rose  in  ill  from  bad  to  worse,  and  worst, 
In  spite  of  errora — I  dare  not  say  more, 
For  Duncan  Targe  lays  hand  on  his  claymore — 
In  spite  of  all,  however  humors  vary, 
There  is  a  talisman  in  that  word  Mary, 
That  unto  Scottish  bosoms  all  and  some 
Is  found  the  genuine  open  sesamum  ! 
In  history,  ballad,  poetry,  or  novel, 
It  charms  alike  the  castle  and  the  hovel ; 
Even  you — forgive  me — who,  demure  and  shy, 
Gorge  not  each  bait,  nor  rise  at  every  fly, 
Must  rise  to  this,  else  in  her  ancient  reign 
The  rose  of  Scotland  has  survived  in  vain. 


Jfnmt  1£  eir  gauntlet. 


1824. 

"  It  was  but  three  nights  ago  that,  worn  out 

by  the  uniformity  of  my  confinemetft,  I  had  manifest- 
ed more  symptoms  of  despondence  than  I  had  before 
exhibited,  which  I  conceive  may  have  attracted  the 
attention  of  the  domestics,  through  whom  the  circum- 
stances might  transpire.  On  the  next  morning  the 
following  lines  lay  on  my  table;  but  how  conveyed 

it  was  never  spoken,  but  written  for  some  play,  afterwards 
withdrawn,  in  which  Mrs.  H.  Siddons  was  to  have  spoken  it 
in  the  character  of  Queen  Mary ."—Extract  from  a  Letter  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott  to  Mr.  Constable,  22d  October,  1824. 


LYKICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


707 


there  I  cannot  tell.  The  hand  in  which  they  are 
written  is  a  beantiful  Italian  manuscript." — Dairsie 
Latimer's  Journal,  chap.  x. 

As  lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay, 
Fate  quits  our  toil  with  hopes  to  come, 

Which,  if  far  short  of  present  pay, 
Still  owns  a  debt  and  names  a  sum. 

Quit  not  the  pledge,  frail  sufferer,  then, 
Although  a  distant  date  be  given ; 

Despair  is  treason  towards  man, 
And  blasphemy  to  Heaven. 


jfrom  tije  13etrcitf)e&, 


1825. 


(l.)-SONG— SOLDIER,  WAKE. 

I. 

Soldier,  wake — the  day  is  peeping, 
Honor  ne'er  was  won  in  sleeping, 
Never  when  the  sunbeams  still 
Lay  unreflected  on  the  hill : 
'Tis  when  they  are  glinted  back 
From  axe  and  armor,  spear  and  jack, 
That  they  promise  future  story 
Many  a  page  of  deathless  glory. 
Shields,  that  are  the  foeman's  terror, 
Ever  are  the  morning's  mirror. 

II. 

Arm  and  up — the  morning  beam 
Hath  call'd  the  rustic  to  his  team, 
Hath  call'd  the  falc'ner  to  the  lake, 
Hath  call'd  the  huntsman  to  the  brake; 
The  early  student  ponders  o'er 
His  dusty  tomes  of  ancient  lore. 
Soldier,  wake — thy  harvest,  fame ; 
Thy  study,  conquest ;  war,  thy  game. 
Shield,  that  would  be  foeman's  terror, 
Still  should  gleam  the  morning's  mirror. 

III. 

Poor  hire  repays  the  rustic's  pain ; 
More  paltry  still  the  sportsman's  gain : 
Vainest  of  all,  the  student's  theme 
Ends  in  some  metaphysic  dream  : 
Yet  each  is  up,  and  each  has  toil'd 
Since  first  the  peep  of  dawn  has  smiled ; 
And  each  is  eagerer  in  his  aim 
Than  he  who  barters  life  for  fame. 
Up,  up,  and  arm  thee,  son  of  terror ! 
Be  thy  bright  shield  the  morning's  mirror. 

Chap.  xix. 


(2.)— SONG— THE  TRUTH  OF  WOMAN. 

I. 
Woman's  faith,  and  woman's  trust — 
Write  the  characters  in  dust; 
Stamp  them  on  the  running  stream, 
Print  them  on  the  moon's  pale  beam, 
And  each  evanescent  letter 
Shall  be  clearer,  firmer,  better, 
And  more  permanent,  I  ween, 
Than  the  thing  those  letters  mean. 

II. 

I  have  strain'd  the  spider's  thread 

'Gainst  the  promise  of  a  maid  ; 

I  have  weigh'd  a  grain  of  sand 

'Gainst  her  plight  of  heart  and  hand ; 

I  told  my  true  love  of  the  token, 

How  her  faith  proved  light,  and  her  word  was 

broken : 
Again  her  word  and  truth  she  plight, 
And  I  believed  them  again  ere  night. 

Chap.  xx. 


(3.)— SONG— I  ASK'D  OF  MY  HARP. 

"  The  minstrel  took  from  his  side  a  rote ,  and 

striking,  from  time  to  time,  a  Welsh  descant,  sung  at 
others  a  lay,  of  which  we  can  offer  only  a  few  frag- 
ments, literally  translated  from  the  ancient  language 
in  which  they  were  chanted,  premising  that  they  are 
in  that  excursive  symbolical  style  of  poetry  which 
Taliessin,  Llewarch  Hen,  and  other  bards,  had  de- 
rived perhaps  from  the  time  of  the  Druids :" — 

I  ask'd  of  my  harp,  "  Who  hath  injured  thy  chords  ?" 
And  she  replied,  "  The  crooked  finger,  which  I  mock'd 

in  my  tune." 
A  blade  of  silver  may  be  bended — a  blade  of  steel 

abideth — 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

The  sweet  taste  of  mead  passeth  from  the  lips, 

But  they  are  long  corroded  by  the  juice  of  wormwood ; 

The  lamb  is  brought  to  the  shambles,  but  the  wolf 

rangeth  the  mountain ; 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

I  ask'd  the  red-hot  iron,  when  it  glimmer'd  on  the 

anvil, 
"  Wherefore  glowest  thou  longer  than  the  firebrand  ?" 
"  I  was  born  in  the  dark  mine,  and  the  brand  in  the 

pleasant  greenwood." 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

I  ask'd  the  green  oak  of  the  assembly,  wherefore  its 
boughs  were  dry  and  sear'd  like  the  horns  of 
the  stag ; 


708 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


And  it  show'd  me  that  a  small  worm  had  gnaw'd  its 

roots. 
The  boy  who  remember'd  the  scourge,  undid  the 

wicket  of  the  castle  at  midnight. 
Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Lightning  destroyeth   temples,  though  their  spires 
pierce  the  clouds ; 

Storms  destroy  armadas,  though  their  sails  intercept 
the  gale. 

He  that  is  in  his  glory  falleth,  and  that  by  a  con- 
temptible enemy. 

Kindness  fadeth  away,  but  vengeance  endureth. 

Chap.  xxxi. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
In  Madoc's  tent  the  clarion  sounds, 

With  rapid  clangor  hurried  far ; 
Each  hill  and  dale  the  note  rebounds, 

But  when  return  the  sons  of  war ! 
Thou,  born  of  stern  Necessity, 
Dull  Peace !  the  valley  yields  to  thee, 
Aud  owns  thy  melancholy  sway. 

Welsh  Poem. 

(2.)— Chap.  vii. 
Oh  sadly  shines  the  morning  sun 

On  leaguer'd  castle  wall, 
When  bastion,  tower,  and  battlement, 
Seem  nodding  to  their  fall. 

Old  Ballad. 

(3.)— Chap.  xii. 
Now,  all  ye  ladies  of  fair  Scotland, 

And  ladies  of  England  that  happy  would  prove, 
Marry  never  for  houses,  nor  marry  for  land, 
Nor  marry  for  nothing  but  only  love. 

Family  Quarrels. 

(4.)— Chap.  xiii. 
Too  much  rest  is  rust, 

There's  ever  cheer  in  changing ; 
We  tyne  by  too  much  trust, 
So  we'll  be  up  and  ranging. 

Old  Song. 

(5.)— Chap.  xvn. 
Ring  out  the  merry  bells,  the  bride  approaches. 
The  blush  upon  her  cheek  has  shamed  the  morning 
For  that  is  dawning  palely.    Grant,  good  saints, 
These  clouds  betoken  nought  of  evil  omen ! 

Old  Play. 


Julia. 


(6.)— Chap,  xxvii. 
Gentle  sir, 


Whate'er  your  liberty  hath  known  of  pleasure. 

Roderick.  No,  fairest,  we  have  trifled  here  too  long ; 
And,  lingering  to  see  your  roses  blossom, 
I've  let  my  laurels  wither. 

Old  Play. 


jFrom  ti)e  Calteman. 


1825. 


You  are  our  captive — but  we'll  use  you  so, 

That  you  shall  think  your  prison  joys  may  match 


(1.)— AHRIMAN. 

"  So  saying,  the  Saracen  proceeded  to  chant 

verses,  very  ancient  in  the  language  and  structure, 
which  some  have  thought  derive  their  source  from  the 
worshippers  of  Arimanes,  the  Evil  Principle :" — 

Dark  Ahriman,  whom  Irak  still 
Holds  origin  of  woe  and  ill ! 

When,  bending  at  thy  shrine, 
We  view  the  world  with  troubled  eye, 
Where  see  we  'neath  the  extended  sky 

An  empire  matching  thine  ? 

H  the  Benigner  Power  can  yield 
A  fountain  in  the  desert  field, 

Where  weary  pilgrims  drink, 
Thine  are  the  waves  that  lash  the  rock, 
Thine  the  tornado's  deadly  shock, 

Where  countless  navies  sink ! 

Or  if  He  bid  the  soil  dispense 
Balsams  to  cheer  the  sinking  sense, 

How  few  can  they  deliver 
From  lingering  pains,  or  pang  intense, 
Red  Fever,  spotted  Pestilence, 

The  arrows  of  thy  quiver ! 

Chief  in  Man's  bosom  sits  thy  sway, 
And  frequent,  while  in  words  we  pray 

Before  another  throne, 
Whate'er  of  specious  form  be  there, 
The  secret  meaning  of  the  prayer 

Is,  Ahriman,  thine  own. 

Say,  hast  thou  feeling,  sense,  and  form, 
Thunder  thy  voice,  thy  garments  storm, 

As  Eastern  Magi  say, 
With  sentient  soul  of  hate  and  wrath, 
And  wings  to  sweep  thy  deadly  path, 

And  fangs  to  tear  thy  prey  ? 

Or  art  thou  mix'd  in  Nature's  source, 
An  ever-operating  force, 
Converting  good  to  ill ; 


LYRICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


709 


An  evil  principle  innate, 
Contending  with  our  better  fate, 
And  oh  !  victorious  still  ? 

Howe'er  it  be,  dispute  is  vain. 

On  all  without  thou  holdst  thy  reign, 

Nor  less  on  all  within ; 
Each  mortal  passion's  fierce  career, 
Love,  hate,  ambition,  joy,  and  fear, 

Thou  goadest  into  sin. 

Whene'er  a  sunny  gleam  appears, 
To  brighten  up  our  vale  of  tears, 

Thou  art  not  distant  far ; 
'Mid  such  brief  solace  of  our  lives, 
Thou  whett'st  our  very  banquet-knives 

To  tools  of  death  and  war. 

Thus,  from  the  moment  of  our  birth, 
Long  as  we  linger  on  the  earth, 

Thou  rul'st  the  fate  of  men ; 
Thine  are  the  pangs  of  life's  last  hour, 
And — who  dare  answer  ? — is  thy  power, 

Dark  Spirit !  ended  THEN  ? 

Chap.  iii. 


(2.)— SONG  OF  BLONDEL.— THE  BLOODY 
VEST. 

"  The  song  of  Blondel  was,  of  course,  in  the  Nor- 
man language;  but  the  verses  which  follow  express 
its  meaning  and  its  manner:" — 

'Twas  near  the  fair  city  of  Benevent, 
When  the  sun  was  setting  on  bough  and  bent, 
And  knights  were  preparing  in  bower  and  tent, 
On  the  eve  of  the  Baptist's  tournament; 
When  in  Lincoln  green  a  stripling  gent, 
Well  seeming  a  page  by  princess  sent, 
Wander'd  the  camp,  and,  still  as  he  went, 
Inquired  for  the  Englishman,  Thomas  a  Kent. 

Far  hath  he  fared,  and  farther  must  fare, 

Till  he  finds  his  pavilion,  nor  stately  nor  rare, — 

Little  save  iron  and  steel  was  there ; 

And,  as  lacking  the  coin  to  pay  armorer's  care, 

With  his  sinewy  arms  to  the  shoulders  bare, 

The  good  knight  with  hammer  and  file  did  repair 

The  mail  that  to-morrow  must  see  him  wear, 

For  the  honor  of  Saint  John  and  his  lady  fair. 

"  Thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  page  said  he, 
And  the  knight  bent  lowly  both  head  and  knee, 
"She  is  Benevent's  Princess  so  high  in  degree, 
And  thou  art  as  lowly  as  knight  may  well  be — 
He  that  would  climb  so  lofty  a  tree, 
Or  spring  such  a  gulf  as  divides  her  from  thee, 
Must  dare  some  high  deed,  by  which  all  men  may  see 
His  ambition  is  back'd  by  his  high  chivalrie. 


"  Therefore  thus  speaks  my  lady,"  the  fair  page  he  said, 
And  the  knight  lowly  louted  with  hand  and  with  head, 
"  Fling  aside  the  good  armor  in  which  thou  art  clad, 
And  don  thou  this  weed  of  her  night-gear  instead, 
For  a  hauberk  of  steel,  a  kirtle  of  thread : 
And  charge,  thus  attired,  in  the  tournament  dread, 
And  fight  as  thy  wont  is  where  most  blood  is  shed, 
And  bring  honor  away,  or  remain  with  the  dead." 

Untroubled  in  his  look,  and  untroubled  in  his  breast, 
The  knight  the  weed  hath  taken,  and  reverently  hath 

kiss'd : 
"Now  bless'd  be  the  moment,  the  messenger  be  blest! 
Much  honor'd  do  I  hold  me  in  my  lady's  high  behest; 
And  say  unto  my  lady,  in  this  dear  night-weed  dress'd, 
To  the  best  arm'd  champion  I  will  not  veil  my  crest ; 
But  if  I  live  and  bear  me  well  'tis  her  turn  to  take 

the  test." 
Here,  gentles,  ends  the  foremost  fytte  of  the  Lay  of 

the  Bloody  Vest. 


THE  BLOODY  VEST. 


FYTTE  SECOND. 


The  Baptist's  fair  morrow  beheld  gallant  feats — 
There  was  winning  of  honor,  and  losing  of  seats — 
There  was  hewing  with  falchions,  and  splintering  of 

staves, 
The  victors  won  glory,  the  vanquish'd  won  graves. 
Oh,  many  a  knight  there  fought  bravely  and  well, 
Yet  one  was  accounted  his  peers  to  excel, 
And  'twas  he  whose  sole  armor  on  body  and  breast 
Seem'd  the  weed  of  a  damsel  when  boune  for  her  rest. 

There  were  some  dealt  him  wounds  that  were  bloody 

and  sore, 
But  others  respected  his  plight,  and  forbore. 
"  It  is  some  oath  of  honor,"  they  said,  "  and  I  trow, 
'Twere  unknightly  to  slay  him  achieving  his  vow." 
Then  the  Prince,  for  his  sake,  bade  the  tournament 

cease, 
He  flung  down  his  warder,  the  trumpets  sung  peace ; 
And  the  judges  declare,  and  competitors  yield, 
That  the  Knight  of  the  Night-gear  was  first  in  the 

field. 

The  feast  it  was  nigh,  and  the  mass  it  was  nigher, 
When  before  the  fair  Princess  low  louted  a  squire, 
And  deliver'd  a  garment  unseemly  to  view, 
With  sword-cut   and    spear-thrust    all    back'd   and 

pierced  through ; 
All  rent  and  all  tatter'd,  all  clotted  with  blood, 
With  foam  of  the  horses,  with  dust,  and  with  mud, 
Not  the  point  of  that  lady's  small  finger,  I  ween, 
Could  have  rested  on  spot  was  unsullied  and  clean. 

"This  token  my  master,  Sir  Thomas  a  Kent, 
Pkestores  to  the  Princess  of  fair  Benevent ; 


710 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


He  that  climbs  the  tall  tree  has  won  right  to  the 

fruit ; 
He  that  leaps  the  wide  gulf  should  prevail  in  his 

suit; 
Through  life's  utmost  peril  the  prize  I  have  won, 
Aud  now  must  the  faith  of  my  mistress  be  shown : 
For  she  who  prompts  knight  on  such  dauger  to  ruu 
Must  avouch  his  true  service  in  front  of  the  sun. 

'"I  restore,'  says  my  master,  '  the  garment  I've  worn, 

And  I  claim  of  the  Princess  to  don  it  in  turn ; 

For  its  stains  and  its  rents  she  should  prize  it  the 

more, 
Since  by  shame  'tis  unsullied,  though  crimson'd  with 

gore.' " 
Then  deep  blush'd  the  Princess,  yet  kiss'd  she  and 

press'd 
The  blood-spotted  robe  to  her  lips  and  her  breast. 
"  Go  tell  my  true  knight,  church  and  chamber  shall 

show 
If  I  value  the  blood  on  this  garment  or  no." 

And  when  it  was  time  for  the  nobles  to  pass 
In  solemn  procession  to  minster  and  mass, 
The  first  walk'd  the  Princess  in  purple  and  pall, 
But  the  blood-besmear'd  night-robe  she  wore  over  all  ; 
And  eke  in  the  hall,  where  they  all  sat  at  dine, 
When  she  knelt  to  her  father  and  profier'd  the  wine, 
Over  all  her  rich  robes  and  state  jewels  she  wore 
That  wimple  unseemly  bedabbled  with  gore. 

Then  lords  whisperM  ladies,  as  well  you  may  think, 

And  ladies  replied  with  nod,  titter,  and  wink ; 

And  the  Prince,  who  in  anger  and  shame  had  look'd 

down, 
Turn'd  at  length  to  his  daughter,  and  spoke  with  a 

frown : 
"  Now  since  thou  hast  publish'd  thy  folly  and  guilt, 
E'en  atone  with  thy  hand  for  the  blood  thou  hast  spilt; 
Yet  sore  for  your  boldness  you  both  will  repent, 
When  you  wander  as  exiles  from  fair  Benevent." 

Then  out  spoke  stout  Thomas,  in  hall  where  he  stood, 
Exhausted  and  feeble,  but  dauntless  of  mood : 
"  The  blood  that  I  lost  for  this  daughter  of  thine, 
I  pour'd  forth  as  freely  as  flask  gives  its  wine ; 
And  if  for  my  sake  she  brooks  penance  and  blame, 
Do  not  doubt  I  will  save  her  from  suffering  and  shame ; 
And  light  will  she  reck  of  thy  princedom  and  rent, 
When  I  hail  her,  in  England,  the  Countess  of  Kent." 

Chap.  xxvi. 


(3.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ix. 
This  is  the  Prince  of  Leeches ;  fever,  plague, 
Cold  rheum,  and  hot  podagra,  do  but  look  on  him, 
And  quit  their  grasp  upon  the  tortured  sinews. 

Anonymous. 


(2.)— Chap.  xi. 
One  thing  is  certain  in  our  Northern  land : 
Allow  that  birth,  or  valor,  wealth,  or  wit, 
Give  each  precedence  to  their  possessor, 
Envy,  that  follows  on  such  eminence, 
As  comes  the  lyme-hound  on  the  roebuck's  trace, 
Shall  pull  them  down  each  one. 

Sir  David  Lindsay. 

(3.)— Chap.  xiii. 
You  talk  of  Gayety  and  Innocence ! 
The  moment  when  the  fatal  fruit  was  eaten, 
They  parted  ne'er  to  meet  again ;  and  Malice 
Has  ever  since  been  playmate  to  light  Gayety, 
From  the  first  moment  when  the  smiling  infant 
Destroys  the  flower  or  butterfly  he  toys  with, 
To  the  last  chuckle  of  the  dying  miser, 
Who  on  his  deathbed  laughs  his  last  to  hear 
His  wealthy  neighbor  has  become  a  bankrupt. 

Old  Play. 

(4.)— Chap.  xvi. 
'Tis  not  her  sense — for  sure,  in  that 

There's  nothing  more  than  common ; 
And  all  her  wit  is  only  chat, 
Like  any  other  woman. 

Song. 

(5.)— Chap.  xvii. 
Were  every  hair  upon  his  head  a  life, 
And  every  life  were  to  be  supplicated 
By  numbers  equal  to  those  hairs  quadrupled, 
Life  after  life  should  out  like  waning  stars 
Before  the  daybreak — or  as  festive  lamps, 
Which  have  lent  lustre  to  the  midnight  revel, 
Each  after  each  are  quench'd  when  guests  depart ! 

Old  Play. 

(6.)— Chap.  xix. 
Must  we  then  sheathe  our  still  victorious  sword ; 
Turn  back  our  forward  step,  which  ever  trod 
O'er  foemen's  necks  the  onward  path  of  glory ; 
Unclasp  the  mail,  which  with  a  solemn  vow, 
In  God's  own  house  we  hung  upon  our  shoulders ; 
That  vow  as  unaccomplish'd  as  the  promise 
Which  village  nurses  make  to  still  their  children, 

And  after  think  no  more  of? 

The  Crusade,  a  Tragedy. 

(7.)— Chap.  xx. 
When  beauty  leads  the  lion  in  her  toils, 
Such  are  her  charms,  he  dare  not  raise  his  mane, 
Far  less  expand  the  terror  of  his  fangs ; 
So  great  Alcides  made  his  club  a  distaff, 
And  spun  to  please  fair  Omphale. 

Anonymous. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
'Mid  these  wild  scenes  Enchantment  waves  her  hand, 
To  change  the  face  of  the  mysterious  land ; 


LYRICAL    AND    MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


711 


Till  the  bewildering  scenes  around  us  seem 
The  vain  productions  of  a  feverish  dream. 

Astolpho,  a  Romance. 


(9.)- 


-Chap.  XXIV. 

A  grain  of  dust 

Soiling  our  cup  will  make  our  sense  reject 
Fastidiously  the  draught  which  we  did  thirst 

for; 
A  rusted  nail,  placed  near  the  faithful  compass, 
Will  sway  it  from  the  truth,   and  wreck  the 

argosy. 
Even  this  small  cause  of  anger  and  disgust 
Will  break  the  bonds  of  amity  'niongst  princes, 
And  wreck  their  noblest  purposes. 

The  Crusade. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxvi. 
The  tears  I  shed  must  ever  fall ! 

I  weep  not  for  an  absent  swain, 
For  time  may  happier  hours  recall, 

And  parted  lovers  meet  again. 

I  weep  not  for  the  silent  dead  ; 

Their  pains  are  past,  their  sorrows  o'er, 
And  those  that  loved  their  steps  must  tread, 

When  death  shall  join  to  part  no  more. 

But  worse  than  absence,  worse  than  death, 
She  wept  her  lover's  sullied  fame, 

And,  fired  with  all  the  pride  of  birth, 
She  wept  a  soldier's  injured  name. 

Ballad. 


%\U  of  Napoleon 


June,  1825. 


While  Scott  was  engaged  in  writing  the  Life  of 
Napoleon,  Mr.  Lockhart  says, — "The  rapid  accumu- 
lation of  books  and  MSS.  was  at  once  flattering  and 
alarming ;  and  one  of  his  notes  to  me,  about  the  mid- 
dle of  June,  had  these  lines  by  way  of  postscript : — 

When  with  Poetry  dealing, 
Room  enough  in  a  shieling : 
Neither  cabin  nor  hovel 
Too  small  for  a  novel : 
Though  my  back  I  should  rub 
On  Diogenes'  tub, 
How  my  fancy  could  prance 
In  a  dance  of  romance ! 
But  my  house  I  must  swap 
With  some  Brobdignag  chap, 
Ere  I  grapple,  God  bless  me!  with  Emperor 
Nap." 

Life,  vol.  vii.  p.  391. 


dfrom  Wlootistotk 


1826. 


(1.)— AN  HOUB,  WITH  THEE. 

An  hour  with  thee ! — When  earliest  day 
Dapples  with  gold  the  eastern  gray, 
Oh,  what  can  frame  my  mind  to  bear 
The  toil  and  turmoil,  cark  and  care, 
New  griefs,  which  coming  hours  unfold, 
And  sad  remembrance  of  the  old  ? 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee ! — When  burning  June 
Waves  his  red  flag  at  pitch  of  noon, 
What  shall  repay  the  faithful  swain 
His  labor  on  the  sultry  plain , 
And  more  than  cave  or  sheltering  bough, 
Cool  feverish  blood,  and  throbbing  brow  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 

One  hour  with  thee ! — When  sun  is  set, 

Oh,  what  can  teach  me  to  forget 

The  thankless  labors  of  the  day ; 

The  hopes,  the  wishes,  flung  away ; 

The  increasing  wants,  and  lessening  gains, 

The  master's  pride,  who  scorns  my  pains  ? — 

One  hour  with  thee. 
Chap.  xxvi. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
Come  forth,  old  man — Thy  daughter's  side 

Is  now  the  fitting  place  for  thee : 
When  Time  hath  quell'd  the  oak's  bold  pride, 
The  youthful  tendril  yet  may  hide 

The  ruins  of  the  parent  tree. 

(2.)— Chap.  hi. 
Now,  ye  wild  blades,  that  make  loose  inns  your  stage, 
To  vapor  forth  the  acts  of  this  sad  age, 
Stout  Edgehill  fight,  the  Newberries  and  the  West, 
And  northern  clashes,  where  you  still  fought  best ; 
Your  strange  escapes,  your  dangers  void  of  fear, 
When  bullets  flew  between  the  head  and  ear, 
Whether  you  fought  by  Damme  or  the  Spirit, 
Of  you  I  speak. 

Legend  of  Captain  Jones. 

(3.)— Chap.  iv. 

Yon  path  of  greensward 

Winds  round  by  sparry  grot  and  gay  pavilion ; 
There  is  no  flint  to  gall  thy  tender  foot, 
There's  ready  shelter  from  each  breeze  or  shower. — 
But  Duty  guides  not  that  way — see  her  stand, 


712 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  wand   entwined  with    amaranth,   near  yon 

cliffs. 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  blood  must  mark  thy  foot- 
steps, 
Oft  where  she  leads  thy  head  must  bear  the  storm, 
And  thy  shrunk  form  endure  heat,  cold,  and  hun- 
ger; 
But  she  will  guide  thee  up  to  noble  heights, 
Which  he  who  gains  seems  native  of  the  sky, 
While  earthly  things  lie  streteh'd  beneath  his  feet, 

Diininish'd,  shrunk,  and  valueless 

Anonymous, 

(4.)— Chap.  v. 
My  tongue  pads  slowly  under  this  new  language, 
And  starts  and  stumbles  at  these  uncouth  phrases. 
They  may  be  great  in  worth  and  weight,  but  hang 
Upon  the  native  glibness  of  my  language 
Like  Saul's  plate-armor  on  the  shepherd  boy, 
Encumbering  and  not  arming  him. 

J.B. 

(5.)— Chap.  x. 
Here  we  have  one  head 


Upon  two  bodies — your  two-headed  bullock 

Is  but  an  ass  to  such  a  prodigy. 

These  two  have  but  one  meaning,  thought,  and 

counsel ; 
And  when  the  single  noddle  has  spoke  out, 
The  four  legs  scrape  assent  to  it. 

Old  Play. 

^  (6.)— Chap.  xiv. 
Deeds  are  done  on  earth 


Which   have  their  punishment  ere  the  earth 

closes 
Upon  the  perpetrators.    Be  it  the  working 
Of  the  remorse-stirr'd  fancy,  or  the  vision, 
Distinct  and  real,  of  unearthly  being, 
All  ages  witness  that  beside  the  couch 
Of  the  fell  homicide  oft  stalks  the  ghost 
Of  him  he  slew,  and  shows  the  shadowy  wound. 

Old  Play. 

(7.)— Chap.  xvii. 
We  do  that  in  our  zeal, 
Our  calmer  moments  are  afraid  to  answer. 

Anonymous. 

(8.)— Chap.  xxiv. 

The  deadliest  snakes  are  those  which,  twined  'mongst 
flowers, 

Blend  their  bright  coloring  with   the  varied   blos- 
soms, 

Their  fierce  eyes  glittering  like  the  spangled  dew- 
drop  ; 

In  all  so  like  what  nature  has  most  harmless, 

That  sportive  innocence,  which  dreads  no  danger, 

Is  poison'd  unawares. 

Old  Play. 


ftines  to  &ix  (Kutpert  £i)arp. 


1827. 


"Sir  Cuthbert  Sharp,  who  had  been  particu- 
larly kind  and  attentive  to  Scott  when  at  Sunderland, 
happened,  in  writing  to  him  on  some  matter  of  busi- 
ness, to  say  he  hoped  he  had  not  forgotten  his  friends 
in  that  quarter.  Sir  Walter's  answer  to  Sir  Cuthbert 
(who  had  been  introduced  to  him  by  his  old  and  dear 
friend  Mr.  Surtees  of  Mainsforth)  began  thus: — 

Forget  thee?     No !  my  worthy  fere ! 
Forget  blithe  mirth  and  gallant  cheer ! 
Death  sooner  stretch  me  on  my  bier ! 

Forget  thee  ?    No. 

Forget  the  universal  shout1 

When  "  canny  Sunderland"  spoke  out — 

A  truth  which  knaves  affect  to  doubt — 

Forget  thee  ?    No. 

Forget  you  ?    No — though  now-a-day 
I've  heard  your  knowing  people  say, 
Disown  the  debt  you  cannot  pay, 
You'll  find  it  far  the  thriftiest  way — 

But  I  ?— Oh  no. 

Forget  your  kindness  found  for  all  room, 

In  what,  though  large,  seem'd  still  a  small  room, 

Forget  my  Surtees  in  a  ball-room — 

Forget  you  ?    No. 

Forget  your  sprightly  dumpty -diddles, 
And  beauty  tripping  to  the  fiddles, 
Forget  my  lovely  friends  the  Liddells — 

Forget  you  ?    No. 

"  So  much  for  oblivion,  my  dear  Sir  C. ;  and  now, 
having  dismounted  from  my  Pegasus,  who  is  rather 
spavined,  I  charge  a-foot,  like  an  old  dragoon  as  I 
am,"  &c.  &c. — Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ix.  p.  165. 


jfrom  Chronicles  of  tije  (Eatton^ 
gate. 


1827. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)  -THE  TWO  DROVERS. 

Chap.  ii. 
Were  ever  two  such  loving  friends ! — 
How  could  they  disagree  ? 

1  An  allusion  to  the  enthusiastic  reception  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  at  Sunderland.— Ed. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


713 


Oh  thus  it  was  he  loved  him  dear, 
And  thought  how  to  requite  him, 

And  having  no  friend  left  but  he, 
He  did  resolve  to  fight  him. 

Duke  upon  Duke. 


(2.)— MY  AUNT  MARGARET'S  MIRROR. 

There  are  times 
When  Fancy  plays  her  gambols,  in  despite 
Even  of  our  watchful  senses,  when  in  sooth 
Substance  seems  shadow,  shadow  substance  seems, 
When  the  broad,  palpable,  and  marked  partition, 
'Twixt  that  which  is  and  is  not,  seems  dissolved, 
As  if  the  mental  eye  gain'd  power  to  gaze 
Beyond  the  limits  of  the  existing  world. 
Such  hours  of  shadowy  dreams  I  better  love 
Than  all  the  gross  realities  of  life. 

Anonymous. 


jfrom  ti>e  jFatr  Jftato  of  IJerti). 


1828. 


(1.)— THE  LAY  OF  POOR  LOUISES 

Ah,  poor  Louise !  the  livelong  day 
She  roams  from  cot  to  castle  gay ; 
And  still  her  voice  and  viol  say, 
Ah,  maids,  beware  the  woodland  way, 

Think  on  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise !    The  sun  was  high, 
It  smirch'd  her  cheek,  it  dimm'd  her  eye ; 
The  woodland  walk  was  cool  and  nigh, 
Where  birds  with  chiming  streamlets  vie 

To  cheer  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise !    The  savage  bear 
Made  ne'er  that  lovely  grove  his  lair; 
The  wolves  molest  not  paths  so  fair — 
But  better  far  had  such  been  there 

For  poor  Louise. 

Ah,  poor  Louise !     In  woody  wold 
She  met  a  huntsman  fair  and  bold ; 
His  baldric  was  of  silk  and  gold, 
And  many  a  witching  tale  he  told 

To  poor  Louise. 

1  This  lay  ha?  heen  set  to  beautiful  music  by  a  lady  whose 
composition,  to  say  nothing  of  her  singing,  might  make  any 


Ah,  poor  Louise !    Small  cause  to  pine 
Hadst  thou  for  treasures  of  the  mine ; 
For  peace  of  mind,  that  gift  divine. 
And  spotless  innocence,  were  thine, 

Ah,  poor  Louise ! 

Ah,  poor  Louise !    Thy  treasure's  reft ! 
I  know  not  if  by  force  or  theft, 
Or  part  by  violence,  part  by  gift ; 
But  misery  is  all  that's  left 

To  poor  Louise. 

Let  poor  Louise  some  succor  have ! 
She  will  not  long  your  bounty  crave, 
Or  tire  the  gay  with  warning  stave — 
For  Heaven  has  grace,  and  earth  a  grave, 
For  poor  Louise. 
Chap. 


(2.)— DEATH  CHANT. 

"  Ere  he  guessed  where  he  was  going,  the  leech 

was  hurried  into  the  house  of  the  late  Oliver  Proud- 
fute,  from  which  he  heard  the  chant  of  the  women,  as 
they  swathed  and  dressed  the  corpse  of  the  umquhile 
Bonnet-maker,  for  the  ceremony  of  next  morning ;  of 
which  chant  the  following  verses  may  be  received  as 
a  modern  imitation :" — 

1. 

Viewless  Essence,  thin  and  bare, 

Wellnigh  melted  into  air; 

Still  with  fondness  hovering  ngar 

The  earthly  form  thou  once  didst  wear, — 

2. 
Pause  upon  thy  pinions'  flight, 
Be  thy  course  to  left  or  right ; 
Be  thou  doom'd  to  soar  or  sink, 
Pause  upon  the  awful  brink. 


To  avenge  the  deed  expelling 
Thee  untimely  from  thy  dwelling, 
Mystic  force  thou  shalt  retain 
O'er  the  blood  and  o'er  the  brain. 

4. 
When  the  form  thou  shalt  espy 
That  darken'd  on  thy  closing  eye ; 
When  the  footstep  thou  shalt  hear 
That  thrill'd  upon  thy  dying  ear, — 

5. 
Then  strange  sympathies  shall  wake, 
The  flesh  shall  thrill,  the  nerves  shall  quake ; 
The  wounds  renew  their  clotter'd  flood, 
And  every  drop  cry  blood  for  blood. 

Chap.  xxii. 

poet  proud  of  his  verses,— Mrs.  Kobert  Arkwright,  born  Miss 
Kemble. 


714 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


(3.)-SONG  OF  THE  GLEE-MAIDEN. 

"  She  sung  a  melancholy  dirge  in  Norman  French ; 
the  words,  of  which  the  following  is  an  imitation, 
were  united  to  a  tune  as  doleful  as  they  are  them- 
selves :" — 


Yes,  thou  may'st  sigh, 
And  look  once  more  at  all  around, 
At  stream  and  bank,  and  sky  and  ground. 
Thy  life  its  final  course  has  found, 

And  thou  must  die. 


Yes,  lay  thee  down, 
And  while  thy  struggling  pulses  flutter, 
Bid  the  gray  monk  his  soul-mass  mutter, 
And  the  deep  bell  its  death-tone  utter — 

Thy  life  is  gone. 


Be  not  afraid. 
'Tis  but  a  pang,  and  then  a  thrill, 
A  fever  fit,  and  then  a  chill ; 
And  then  an  end  of  human  ill, 

For  thou  art  dead. 

Chap.  xxx. 


(4.)— MOTTOES. 

( 1 .)— Introductory. 
The  ashes  here  of  murder'd  kings 

Beneath  my  footsteps  sleep  ; 
And  yonder  lies  the  scene  of  death, 
Where  Mary  learn'd  to  weep. 

Captain  3Iarjoribanks. 

(2.)— Chap.  i. 
"  Behold  the  Tiber!"  the  vain  Roman  cried, 
Viewing  the  ample  Tay  from  Baiglie's  side ; 
But  where's  the  Scot  that  would  the  vaunt  repay, 
And  hail  the  puny  Tiber  for  the  Tay  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  xi. 
Fair  is  the  damsel,  passing  fair — 

Sunny  at  distance  gleams  her  smile! 
Approach — the  cloud  of  woeful  care 
Hangs  trembling  in  her  eye  the  while. 

Lucinda,  a  Ballad. 

1  These  stanzas,  accompanying  an  engraving  from  Mr. 
Cooper's  subject  "  The  Death  of  Kceldar,"  appeared  in  "  The 
Gem  "  of  1829,  a  literary  journal  edited  by  Thomas  Hood,  Esq. 
In  the  acknowledgment  to  his  contributors,  Mr.  Hood  says, 
'•'  To  Sir  Walter  Scott— not  merely  a  literary  feather  in  my 


(4.)— Chap.  xv. 
Oh  for  a  draught  of  power  to  steep 
The  soul  of  agony  in  sleep ! 


Bertha. 


(5.)— Chap,  xxiii. 
Lo !  where  he  lies  embalm'd  in  gore, 

His  wound  to  Heaven  cries ; 
The  floodgates  of  his  blood  implore 
For  vengeance  from  the  skies. 

Uranus  and  Psyche. 


&f)t  Bmt)  of  WeeVHat. 


1828. 


Percy  or  Percival  Rede  of  Trochend,  in  Redesdale, 
Northumberland,  is  celebrated  in  tradition  as  a  hunts- 
man and  a  soldier.  He  was,  upon  two  occasions, 
singularly  unfortunate ;  once,  when  an  arrow,  which 
he  had  discharged  at  a  deer,  killed  his  celebrated  dog 
Keeldar ;  and  again,  when,  being  on  a  hunting  party, 
he  was  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  a  clan  called  Cros- 
sar,  by  whom  he  was  murdered.  Mr.  Cooper's  paint- 
ing of  the  first  of  these  incidents  suggested  the  fol- 
lowing stanzas : — 1 

Up  rose  the  sun,  o'er  moor  and  mead ; 
Up  with  the  sun  rose  Percy  Rede ; 
Brave  Keeldar,  from  his  couples  freed, 

Career'd  along  the  lea ; 
The  palfrey  sprung  with  sprightly  bound, 
As  if  to  match  the  gamesome  hound  ; 
His  horn  the  gallant  huntsman  wound : 

They  were  a  jovial  three! 

Man,  hound,  or  horse,  of  higher  fame, 
To  wake  the  wild  deer  never  came, 
Since  Alnwick's  Earl  pursued  the  game 

On  Cheviot's  rueful  day ; 
Keeldar  was  matchless  in  his  speed, 
Than  Tarras,  ne'er  was  stancher  steed, 
A  peerless  archer,  Percy  Rede ; 

And  right  dear  friends  were  they. 

The  chase  engross'd  their  joys  and  woes; 
Together  at  the  dawn  they  rose, 
Together  shared  the  noon's  repose, 

By  fountain  or  by  stream ; 
And  oft  when  evening  skies  wer  3  red, 
The  heather  was  their  common  bed, 
Where  each,  as  wildering  fancy  lod, 

Still  hunted  in  his  dream. 

cap,  but  a  whole  plume  of  them — 1  owe,  and  w!th  the  hand  of 
my  heart  acknowledge,  a  deep  obligation.  A  poem  from  his 
pen  is  likely  to  confer  on  the  book  that  contairs  it,  if  not  per- 
petuity, at  least  a  very  Old  Mortality." — Preftce,  p.  4.  The 
original  painting  by  Cooper  remains  at  Abbotsford.— Ed. 


LYRICAL   AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


715 


Now  is  the  thrilling  moment  near 
Of  sylvan  hope  and  sylvan  fear ; 
Yon  thicket  holds  the  harbor'd  deer, 

The  signs  the  hunters  know. 
With  eyes  of  flame,  and  quivering  ears, 
The  brake  sagacious  Keeldar  nears ; 
The  restless  palfrey  paws  and  rears ; 

The  archer  strings  his  bow. 

The  game's  afoot ! — Halloo !  halloo ! 
Hunter,  and  horse,  and  hound  pursue ; — 
But  woe  the  shaft  that  erring  flew — 

That  e'er  it  left  the  string ! 
And  ill  betide  the  faithless  yew ! 
The  stag  bounds  scatheless  o'er  the  dew, 
Aud  gallant  Keeldar's  life-blood  true 

Has  drench'd  the  gray-goose  wing. 

The  noble  hound,  he  dies,  he  dies ! 
Death,  death  has  glazed  his  fixed  eyes ; 
Stiff  on  the  bloody  heath  he  lies, 

Without  a  groan  or  quiver. 
Now  day  may  break  and  bugle  sound, 
And  whoop  and  halloo  ring  around, 
And  o'er  his  couch  the  stag  may  bound, 

But  Keeldar  sleeps  for  ever. 

Dilated  nostrils,  staring  eyes, 

Mark  the  poor  palfrey's  mute  surprise ; 

He  knows  not  that  his  comrade  dies, 

Nor  what  is  death — but  still 
His  aspect  hath  expression  drear 
Of  grief  and  wonder  mix'd  with  fear, 
Like  startled  children  when  they  hear 

Some  mystic  tale  of  ill. 

But  he  that  bent  the  fatal  bow 
Can  well  the  sum  of  evil  know, 
And  o'er  his  favorite  bending  low, 

In  speechless  grief  recline ; 
Can  think  he  hears  the  senseless  clay 
In  unreproachful  accents  say, 
"  The  hand  that  took  my  life  away, 

Dear  master,  was  it  thine  ? 

"  And  if  it  be,  the  shaft  be  bless'd, 
Which  sure  some  erring  aim  address'd, 
Since  in  your  service  prized,  caress'd, 

I  in  your  service  die ; 
And  you  may  have  a  fleeter  hound, 
To  match  the  dun-deer's  merry  bound, 
But  by  your  couch  will  ne'er  be  found 

So  true  a  guard  as  I." 

And  to  his  last  stout  Percy  rued 
The  fatal  chance,  for  when  he  stood 
'Gainst  fearful  odds  in  deadly  feud, 

And  fell  amid  the  fray, 
E'en  with  his  dying  voice  he  cried, 
"  Had  Keeldar  but  been  at  my  side, 


Your  treacherous  ambush  had  been  spied — 
I  had  not  died  to-day !" 

Remembrance  of  the  erring  bow 

Long  since  had  join'd  the  tides  which  flow, 

Conveying  human  bliss  and  woe, 

Down  dark  oblivion's  river ; 
But  Art  can  Time's  stern  doom  arrest, 
And  snatch  his  spoil  from  Lethe's  breast, 
And,  in  her  Cooper's  colors  drest, 

The  scene  shall  live  for  ever. 


jfnrni  &nne  of  Srierstein, 


1829. 


(1.)— THE  SECRET  TRIBUNAL. 

"  Philipson  could  perceive  that  the  lights 

proceeded  from  many  torches,  borne  by  men  muffled 
in  black  cloaks,  like  mourners  at  a  funeral,  or  the 
Black  Friars  of  St.  Francis's  Order,  wearing  their 
cowls  drawn  over  their  heads,  so  as  to  conceal  their 
features.  They  appeared  anxiously  engaged  in  meas- 
uring off  a  portion  of  the  apartment ;  and  while  occu- 
pied in  that  employment,  they  sung,  in  the  ancient 
German  language,  rhymes  more  rude  than  Philipson 
could  well  understand,  but  which  may  be  imitated 
thus :" — 

Measurers  of  good  and  evil, 

Bring  the  square,  the  line,  the  level ; 

Rear  the  altar,  dig  the  trench, — 

Blood  both  stone  and  ditch  shall  drench. 

Cubits  six,  from  end  to  end, 

Must  the  fatal  bench  extend ; 

Cubits  six,  from  side  to  side, 

Judge  and  culprit  must  divide. 

On  the  east  the  Court  assembles, 

On  the  west  the  Accused  trembles : 

Answer,  brethren,  all  and  one, 

Is  the  ritual  rightly  done  ? 

On  life  and  soul,  on  blood  and  bone, 
One  for  all,  and  all  for  one, 
We  warrant  this  is  rightly  done. 

How  wears  the  night  ?    Doth  morning  shine 
In  early  radiance  on  the  Rhine  ? 
What  music  floats  upon  his  tide  ? 
Do  birds  the  tardy  morning  chide  ? 
Brethren,  look  out  from  hill  and  height, 
And  answer  true,  how  wears  the  night  ? 

The  night  is  old ;  on  Rhine's  broad  breast 
Glance  drowsy  stars  which  long  to  rest. 
No  beams  are  twinkling  in  the  east. 


716 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


There  is  a  voice  upon  the  flood, 
The  stern  still  call  of  blood  for  blood ; 
'Tis  time  we  listen  the  behest. 

Up,  then,  up !   When  day's  at  rest, 
'Tis  time  that  such  as  we  are  watchers ; 

Rise  to  judgment,  brethren,  rise! 

Vengeance  knows  not  sleepy  eyes, 
He  and  night  are  matchers. 

Chap.  xx. 


(2.)— MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  hi. 
Cursed  be  the  gold  and  silver,  which  persuade 
Weak  man  to  follow  far  fatiguing  trade ! 
The  lily,  peace,  outshines  the  silver  store, 
And  life  is  dearer  than  the  golden  ore. 
Yet  money  tempts  ns  o'er  the  desert  brown, 
To  every  distant  mart  and  wealthy  town. 

Hassan,  or  the  Camel-driver. 


(2.)— Chap.  v. 


I  was  one 


Who  loved  the  greenwood  bank  and  lowing  herd, 
The  russet  prize,  the  lowly  peasant's  life, 
Season'd  with  sweet  content,  more  than  the  halls 
Where  revellers  feast  to  fever  height.     Believe  me, 
There  ne'er  was  poison  mix'd  in  maple  bowl. 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  vi. 
When  we  two  meet,  we  meet  like  rushing  torrents, 
Like  warring  winds,  like  flames  from  various  points, 
That  mate  each  other's  fury.    There  is  nought 
Of  elemental  strife,  were  fiends  to  guide  it, 
Can  match  the  wrath  of  man. 

Frenaud. 

(4.)— Chap.  x. 
We  know  not  when  we  sleep  nor  when  we  wake. 
Visions  distinct  and  perfect  cross  our  eye, 
Which  to  the  slumberer  seem  realities; 
And  while  they  waked,  some  men  have  seen  such 

sights 
As  set  at  nought  the  evidence  of  sense, 
And  left  them  well  persuaded  they  were  dreaming. 

Anonymous. 

(5.)— Chap.  xr. 
These  be  the  adept's  doctrines — every  element 
Is  peopled  with  its  separate  race  of  spirits. 
The  airy  Sylphs  on  the  blue  ether  float; 
Deep  in  the  earthy  cavern  skulks  the  Gnome; 
The  sea-green  Naiad  skims  the  ocean  billow ; 

1  This  is  one  of  the  hest  and  most  popular  of  the  German 
ditties:— 


And  the  fierce  fire  is  yet  a  friendly  home 
To  its  peculiar  sprite,  the  Salamander. 

Anonymous. 

(6.)— Chap,  xviii. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine, 
Which  make  the  soldier's  jovial  courage  muster; 
Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine ! 

Drinking  Song.1 

(7.)— Chap.  xxii. 
Tell  me  not  of  it — I  could  ne'er  abide 
The  mummery  of  all  that  forced  civility. 
"  Pray  seat  yourself,  my  lord."     With  cringing  hams 
The  speech  is  spoken,  and  with  bended  knee 
Heard  by  the  smiling  courtier. — "  Before  you,  sir? 
It  must  be  on  the  earth  then."    Hang  it  all ! 
The  pride  which  cloaks  itself  in  such  poor  fashion 
Is  scarcely  fit  to  swell  a  beggar's  bosom. 

Old  Play. 

(8.)— Chap,  xxviii. 
A  mirthful  man  he  was ;  the  snows  of  age 
Fell,  but  they  did  not  chill  him.    Gayety, 
Even  in  life's  closing,  touch'd  his  teeming  brain 
With  such  wild  visions  as  the  setting  sun 
Raises  in  front  of  some  hoar  glacier, 
Painting  the  bleak  ice  with  a  thousand  hues. 

Old  Play. 

(9.)— Chap.  xxx. 
Ay,  this  is  he  who  wears  the  wreath  of  bays 
Wove  by  Apollo  and  the  Sisters  Nine, 
Which  Jove's  dread  lightning  scathes  not.    He  hath 

dorT'd 
The  cumbrous  helm  of  steel,  and  flung  aside 
The  yet  more  galling  diadem  of  gold ; 
While,  with  a  leafy  circlet  round  his  brows, 
He  reigns  the  king  of  Lovers  and  of  Poets. 

(10.)— Chap.  xxxi. 

Want  you  a  man 

Experienced  in  the  world  and  its  affairs  ? 
Here  is  he  to  your  purpose.    He's  a  monk  ; 
He  hath  forsworn  the  world  and  all  its  work — 
The  rather  that  he  knows  it  passing  well, 
'Special  the  worst  of  it,  for  he's  a  monk. 

Old  Play. 

(11.)— Chap,  xxxiii. 
Toll,  toll  the  bell ! 
Greatness  is  o'er ; 
The  heart  has  broke, 
To  ache  no  more. 
An  unsubstantial  pageant  all — 
Drop  o'er  the  scene  the  funeral  pall. 

Old  Poem. 

"Am  Rhein,  am  Rliein,  da  wachscn  unsere  Reben, 
Gesegnet  sei  der  Rliein,"  &c. 


LYKICAL   AND  MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


717 


(12.)— Chap.  xxxv. 
Here's  a  weapon,  now, 


Shall  shake  a  conquering  general  in  his  tent, 
A  monarch  on  his  throne,  or  reach  a  prelate, 
However  holy  be  his  offices, 
E'en  while  he  serves  the  altar. 

Old  Play. 


Cfje  dforag.1 


SET  TO  MUSIC  BY  JOHN  WHITEFIELD,  MUS.  DOC.  CAM. 


1830. 


The  last  of  our  steers  on  the  board  has  been  spread, 
And  the  last  flask  of  wine  in  our  goblet  is  red ; 
Up,  up,  my  brave  kinsmen :  belt  swords  and  begone, 
There  are  dangers  to  dare,  and  there's  spoil  to  be  won. 

The  eyes  that  so  lately  mix'd  glances  with  ours 
For  a  space  must  be  dim,  as  they  gaze  from  the  towers. 
And  strive  to  distinguish,  through  tempest  and  gloom, 
The  prance  of  the  steed,  and  the  toss  of  the  plume. 

The  rain  is  descending ;  the  wind  rises  loud ; 
And  the  moon  her  red  beacon  has  veil'd  with  a  cloud ; 
'Tis  the  better,  my  mates !  for  the  warder's  dull  eye 
Shall  in  confidence  slumber,  nor  dream  we  are  nigh. 

Our  steeds  are  impatient !  I  hear  my  blithe  gray ! 
There  is  life  in  his  hoof-clang,  and  hope  in  his  neigh ; 
Like  the  flash  of  a  meteor,  the  glance  of  his  mane 
Shall  marshal  your  march  through  the  darkness  and 


The  drawbridge  has  dropp'd,  the  bugle  has  blown  ; 
One  pledge  is  to  quaff  yet — then  mount  and  begone ! — 
To  their  honor  and  peace,  that  shall  rest  with  the 

slain ; 
To  their  health  and  their  glee,  that  see  Teviot  again ! 


inscription 


FOR  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE  EEV.  GEORGE  SCOTT.2 


1830. 


To  youth,  to  age,  alike,  this  tablet  pale 
Tells  the  brief  moral  of  its  tragic  tale. 

1  Set  to  music  in  Mr.  Thomson's  Scottish  Collection.    1830. 

2  This  young  gentleman,  a  son  of  the  author's  friend  and 
relation,  Hugh  Scott  of  Harden,  Esq.  (now  Lord  Polwarth), 
became  Rector  of  Kentisbeare,  in  Devonshire,  in  1828,  and 


Art  thou  a  parent?    Reverence  this  bier, 

The  parents'  fondest  hopes  lie  buried  here. 

Art  thou  a  youth,  prepared  on  life  to  start, 

With  opening  talents  and  a  generous  heart, 

Fair  hopes  and  flattering  prospects  all  thine  own  ? 

Lo !  here  their  end — a  monumental  stone. 

But  let  submission  tame  each  sorrowing  thought, 

Heaven  crown'd  its  champion  ere  the  fight  was  fought. 


Etncs  on  ^Fortune. 


1831. 


"  BY  the  advice  of  Dr.  Ebenezer  Clarkson,  Sir  Wal- 
ter consulted  a  skillful  mechanist,  by  name  Fortune, 
about  a  contrivance  for  the  support  of  the  lame  limb, 
which  had  of  late  given  him  much  pain  as  well  as  in- 
convenience. Mr.  Fortune  produced  a  clever  piece 
of  handiwork,  and  Sir  Walter  felt  at  first  great  relief 
from  the  use  of  it :  insomuch  that  his  spirits  rose  to 
quite  the  old  pitch,  and  his  letter  to  me  upon  the  oc- 
casion overflows  with  merry  applications  of  sundry 
maxims  and  verses  about  Fortune.  'Fortes  Fortuna 
adjuvat ' — he  says — '  never  more  sing  I,' " 

Fortune,  my  Foe,  why  dost  thou  frown  on  me  ? 
And  will  my  Fortune  never  better  be  ? 
Wilt  thou,  I  say,  for  ever  breed  my  pain  ? 
And  wilt  thou  ne'er  return  my  joys  again?3 

No — let  my  ditty  be  henceforth — 

Fortune,  my  Friend,  how  well  thou  favorest  me ! 

A  kinder  Fortune  man  did  never  see ! 

Thou  propp'st  my  thigh,  thou  ridd'st  my  knee  of 

pain, 
I'll  walk,  I'll  mount — I'll  be  a  man  again. 

Life,  vol.  x.  p.  38. 


jTrom  <£ount  Iftotot  of  ^aris, 


1831. 


Othus. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  ii. 
This  superb  successor 


Of  the  earth's  mistress,  as  thou  vainly  speakest, 
Stands  'midst  these  ages  as,  on  the  wide  ocean, 
The  last  spared  fragment  of  a  spacious  land, 

died  there  the  9th  June,  1830.    This  epitaph  appears  on  his 
tomb  in  the  chancel  there. 

s  "  I  believe  this  is  the  only  verse  of  the  old  song  (often 
alluded  to  by  Shakspeare  and  his  contemporaries)  that  has  as 
yet  been  recovered."— Lockhabt.    Life,  vol.  x.  p.  38. 


718 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


That  in  some  grand  and  awful  ministration 
Of  mighty  nature  has  engulfed  been, 
Doth  lift  aloft  its  dark  and  rocky  cliffs 
O'er  the  wild  waste  around,  and  sadly  frowns 
In  lonely  majesty. 

Constantine  Pakologus,  scene  i. 

(2.)— Chap.  hi. 
Here,  youth,  thy  foot  unbrace, 

Here,  youth,  thy  brow  unbraid ; 
Each  tribute  that  may  grace 

The  threshold  here  be  paid. 
Walk  with  the  stealthy  pace 

Which  Nature  teaches  deer, 
When,  echoing  in  the  chase, 

The  hunter's  horn  they  hear. 

The  Court. 

(3.)— Chap.  v. 
The  storm  increases — 'tis  no  sunny  shower, 
Foster'd  in  the  moist  breast  of  March  or  April, 
Or  such  as  parched  Summer  cools  his  lip  with ; 
Heaven's  windows  are  flung  wide ;  the  inmost  deeps 
CaK  in  hoarse  greeting  one  upon  another ; 
On  comes  the  flood  in  all  its  foaming  horrors, 
And  where's  the  dike  shall  stop  it ! 

The  Deluge,  a  Poem. 
See  Life,  vol.  x.  p.  37. 

(4.)— Chap.  vi. 
Vain  man !  thou  may'st  esteem  thy  love  as  fair 
As  fond  hyperboles  suffice  to  raise. 
She  may  be  all  that's  matchless  in  her  person, 
And  all-divine  in  soul  to  match  her  body ; 
But  take  this  from  me — thou  shalt  never  call  her 
Superior  to  her  sex,  while  one  survives, 
And  I  am  her  true  votary. 

Old  Play. 

(5.)— Chap.  viii. 
Through  the  vain  webs  which  puzzle  sophists'  skill, 
Plain  sense  and  honest  meaning  work  their  way ; 
So  sink  the  varying  clouds  upon  the  hill, 
When  the  clear  dawning  brightens  into  day. 

Dr.  Watts. 

(6.)— Chap.  ix. 
Between  the  foaming  jaws  of  the  white  torrent, 
The  skillful  artist  draws  a  sudden  mound; 
By  level  long  he  subdivides  their  strength, 
Stealing  the  waters  from  their  rocky  bed, 
First  to  diminish  what  lie  means  to  conquer; 
Then,  for  the  residue  he  forms  a  road, 
Easy  to  keep,  and  painful  to  desert, 
And  guiding  to  the  end  the  planner  aim'd  at. 

The  Engineer. 

(7.)— Chap.  x. 
These  were  wild  times — the  antipodes  of  ours : 
Ladies  were  there,  who  oftener  saw  themselves 


In  the  broad  lustre  of  a  foeman's  shield 
Than  in  a  mirror,  and  who  rather  sought 
To  match  themselves  in  battle,  than  in  dalliance 
To  meet  a  lover's  onset. — But  though  Nature 
Was  outraged  thus,  she  was  not  overcome. 

Feudal  Times. 

(8.)— Chap.  xi. 
Without  a  ruin,  broken,  tangled,  cumbrous, 
Within  it  was  a  little  paradise, 
Where  Taste  had  made  her  dwelling.     Statuary, 
First-born  of  human  art,  moulded  her  images, 
And  bade  men  mark  and  worship. 

Anonymous. 

(9.)— Chap.  xii. 
The  parties  met.     The  wily,  wordy  Greek, 
Weighing  each  word,  and  canvassing  each  syllable ; 
Evading,  arguing,  equivocating.^ 
And    the    stern   Frank  came  with  his  two-hand 

sword, 
Watching  to  see  which  way  the  balance  sways, 
That  he  may  throw  it  in,  and  turn  the  scales. 

Palestine. 

(10.)— Chap.  xvi. 
Strange  ape  of  man !  who  loathes  thee  while  he 

scorns  thee ; 
Half  a  reproach  to  us  and  half  a  jest. 
What  fancies  can  be  ours  ere  we  have  pleasure 
In  viewing  our  own  form,  our  pride  and  passions, 
Reflected  in  a  shape  grotesque  as  thine ! 

Anonymous. 

(11.)— Chap.  xvir. 
'Tis  strange  that,  in  the  dark,  sulphureous  mine, 
Where  wild  ambition  piles  its  ripening  stores 
Of  slumbering  thunder,  Love^jrill  interpose 
His  tiny  torch,  and  cause  the  stern  explosion 
To  burst,  when  the  deviser's  least  aware. 

Anonymous. 

(12.)— Chap.  xxiv. 
All  is  prepared — the  chambers  of  the  mine 
Are  cramm'd  with  the  combustible,  which,  harm- 
less 
While  yet  unkindled,  as  the  sable  sand, 
Needs  but  a  spark  to  change  its  nature  so, 
That  he  who  wakes  it  from  its  slumbrous  mood 
Dreads    scarce  the  explosion    less    than    he  who 

knows 
That  'tis  his  towers  which  meet  its  fury. 

Anonymous. 

(13.)— Chap.  xxv. 
Heaven  knows  its  time ;  the  bullet  has  its  billet, 
Arrow  and  javelin  each  its  destined  purpose ; 
The  fated  beasts  of  Nature's  lower  strain 
Have  each  their  separate  task. 

Old  Play. 


LYRICAL  AND   MISCELLANEOUS   PIECES. 


719 


jfrom  (STastle  IBangenms. 


1831. 


MOTTOES. 

(1.)— Chap.  v. 
A  tale  of  sorrow,  for  your  eyes  may  weep ; 
A  tale  of  horror,  for  your  flesh  may  tingle ; 
A  tale  of  wonder,  for  the  eyebrows  arch, 
And  the  flesh  curdles,  if  you  read  it  rightly. 

Old  Play. 

(2.)— Chap.  xi. 
Where  is  he  ?    Has  the  deep  earth  swallow'd  him  ? 
Or  hath  he  melted  like  some  airy  phantom 
That  shuns  the  approach  of  morn  and  the  young  sun  ? 
Or  hath  he  wrapt  him  in  Cimmerian  darkness, 
And  pass'd  beyond  the  circuit  of  the  sight 
With  things  of  the  night's  shadows  ? 

Anonymous. 

(3.)— Chap.  xiv. 
The  way  is  long,  my  children,  long  and  rough — 
The  moors  are  dreary,  and  the  woods  are  dark ; 


But  he  that  creeps  from  cradle  on  to  grave, 
UnskilFd  save  in  the  velvet  course  of  fortune, 
Hath  miss'd  the  discipline  of  noble  hearts. 

Old  Play. 

(4.)— Chap,  xviii. 
His  talk  was  of  another  world — his  bodements 
Strange,  doubtful,  and  mysterious  ;  those  who  heard 

him 
Listen'd  as  to  a  man  in  feverish  dreams, 
Who  speaks  of  other  objects  than  the  present, 
And  mutters  like  to  him  who  sees  a  vision. 

Old  Play. 

(5.)— Chap.  xx. 
Cry  the  wild  war-note,  let  the  champions  pass, 
Do  bravely  each,  and  God  defend  the  right ; 
Upon  Saint  Andrew  thrice  can  they  thus  cry, 
And  thrice  they  shout  on  height, 
And  then  marked  them  on  the  Englishmen, 
As  I  have  told  you  right. 
Saint  George  the  bright,  our  ladies'  knight, 
To  name  they  were  full  fain ; 
Our  Englishmen  they  cried  on  height, 
And  thrice  they  shout  again. 

Old  Ballad. 


Mxamatit  pieces. 


A  DRAMATIC  SKETCH  FROM  SCOTTISH  HISTORY. 


PREFACE. 

Though  the  public  seldom  feel  much  interest  in 
such  communications  (nor  is  there  any  reason  why 
they  should),  the  author  takes  the  liberty  of  stating 
that  these  scenes  were  commenced  with  the  purpose 
of  contributing  to  a  miscellany  projected  by  a  much- 
esteemed  friend.2  But  instead  of  being  confined  to  a 
scene  or  two,  as  intended,  the  work  gradually  swelled 
to  the  size  of  an  independent  publication.  It  is  de- 
signed to  illustrate  military  antiquities  and  the  man- 
ners of  chivalry.  The  drama  (if  it  can  be  termed  one) 
is  in  no  particular  either  designed  or  calculated  for 
the  stage.3 

The  subject  is  to  be  found  in  Scottish  history ;  but 
not  to  overload  so  slight  a  publication  with  antiqua- 
rian research,  or  quotations  from  obscure  chronicles, 
may  be  sufficiently  illustrated  by  the  following  pas- 
sage from  Pinkerton's  History  of  Scotland,  vol.  i.  p. 
72:— 

"  The  governor  (anno  1402)  dispatched  a  consider- 
able force  under  Murdac,  his  eldest  son  :  the  Earls  of 
Angus  and  Moray  also  joined  Douglas,  who  entered 


i  Published  by  Constable  &  Co.,  June,  1822,  in  8vo. 

2  The  author  alludes  to  a  collection  of  small  pieces  in  verse, 
edited,  for  a  charitable  purpose,  by  Miss  Joanna  Baillie.  See 
Life  of  Scott,  vol.  vii.  pp.  7,  18,  169-70. 

3  In  the  first  edition  the  text  added,  "  In  case  any  attempt 
shall  be  made  to  produce  it  in  action  (as  has  happened  in 
similar  cases),  the  author  takes  the  present  opportunity  to 
intimate  that  it  shall  be  at  the  peril  of  those  who  make  such 
an  experiment."  Adverting  to  this  passage,  the  New  Edin- 
burgh Review  (July,  1822)  said,  "  We,  nevertheless,  do  not 
believe  that  any  thing  more  essentially  dramatic,  in  so  far  as 
it  goes,  more  capable  of  stage  effect,  has  appeared  in  England 
since  the  days  of  her  greatest  genius ;  and  giving  Sir  Walter, 
therefore,  full  credit  for  his  coyness  on  the  present  occasion, 
we  ardently  hope  that  he  is  but  trying  his  strength  in  the 
most  arduous  of  all  literary  enterprises,  and  that  ere  long  he 

46 


England  with  an  army  of  ten  thousand  men,  car- 
rying terror  and  devastation  to  the  walls  of  New- 
castle. 

"  Henry  IV.  was  now  engaged  in  the  Welsh  war 
against  Owen  Glendour;  but  the  Earl  of  Northum- 
berland, and  his  son,  the  Hotspur  Percy,  with  the  Earl 
of  March,  collected  a  numerous  array,  and  awaited 
the  return  of  the  Scots,  impeded  with  spoil,  near  Mil- 
field,  in  the  north  part  of  Northumberland.  Doug- 
las had  reached  Wooler,  in  his  return ;  and,  perceiv- 
ing the  enemy,  seized  a  strong  post  between  the  two 
armies,  called  Homildon  Hill.  In  this  method  he 
rivalled  his  predecessor  at  the  battle  of  Otterburn, 
but  not  with  like  success.  The  English  advanced  to 
the  assault,  and  Henry  Percy  was  about  to  lead  them 
up  the  hill,  when  March  caught  his  bridle,  and  advised 
him  to  advance  no  farther,  but  to  pour  the  dreadful 
shower  of  English  arrows  into  the  enemy.  This  advice 
was  followed  by  the  usual  fortune ;  for  in  all  ages  the 
bow  was  the  English  instrument  of  victory ;.  and 
though  the  Scots,  and  perhaps  the  French,  were  su- 
perior in  the  use  of  the  spear,  yet  this  weapon  was 
useless  after  the  distant  bow  had  decided  the  combat. 
Robert  the  Great,  sensible  of  this,  at  the  battle  of  Ban- 


will  demonstrate  his  right  to  the  highest  honors  of  the  tragfc- 
muse."  The  British  Critic  for  October,  1822,  says  on  the  same 
head,  "  Though  we  may  not  accede  to  the  author's  declara- 
tion that  it  is  'in  no  particular  calculated  for  the  stage,'  we 
must  not  lead  our  readers  to  look  for  any  thing  amounting 
to  a  regular  drama.  It  would,  we  think,  form  an  underplot 
of  very  great  interest  in  an  historical  play  of  customary 
length  ;  and  although  its  incidents  and  personages  are  mixed 
up,  in  these  scenes,  with  an  event  of  real  history,  there  is 
nothing  in  either  to  prevent  their  being  interwoven  in  the 
plot  of  any  drama  of  which  the  action  should  lie  in  the  con- 
fines of  England  and  Scotland  at  any  of" the  very  numerous 
periods  of  Border  warfare.  The  whole  interest,  indeed,  of 
the  story  is  engrossed  by  two  characters,  imagined,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  us,  with  great  force  and  probability,  and  contrasted 
with  considerable  skill  and  effect." 

(721  ) 


722 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


nockburn  ordered  a  prepared  detachment  of  cavalry 
to  rush  among  the  English  archers  at  the  commence- 
ment, total  1  j-  to  disperse  them,  and  stop  the  deadly 
effusion.  But  Douglas  now  used  no  such  precaution ; 
and  the  consequence  was  that  his  people,  drawn  up 
on  the  face  of  the  hill,  presented  one  general  mark  to 
the  enemy,  none  of  whose  arrows  descended  in  vain. 
The  Seots  fell  without  fight,  and  unrevenged,  till  a 
spirited  knight,  Swinton,  exclaimed  aloud, 'Oh,  my 
brave  countrymen!  what  fascination  has  seized  you 
to-day,  that  you  stand  like  deer  to  be  shot,  instead  of 
indulging  your  ancient  courage,  and  meeting  your 
enemies  hand  to  hand  ?  Let  those  who  will,  descend 
with  me,  that  we  may  gain  victory,  or  life,  or  fall  like 
men.'1  This  being  heard  by  Adam  Gordon,  between 
whom  and  Swinton  there  remained  an  ancient  deadly 
feud,  attended  with  the  mutual  slaughter  of  many 
followers,  he  instantly  fell  on  his  knees  before  Swin- 
ton, begged  his  pardon,  and  desired  to  be  dubbed  a 
knight  by  him  whom  he  must  now  regard  as  the  wisest 
and  the  boldest  of  that  order  in  Britain.  The  cere- 
mony performed,  Swinton  and  Gordon  descended  the 
hill  accompanied  only  by  one  hundred  men;  and  a 
desperate  valor  led  the  whole  body  to  death.  Had  a 
similar  s\nrit  been  shown  by  the  Scottish  army,  it  is 
probable  that  the  event  of  the  day  would  have  been 
different.  Douglas,  who  was  certainly  deficient  in  the 
most  important  qualities  of  a  general,  seeing  his  army 
begin  to  disperse,  at  length  attempted  to  descend  the 
hill ;  but  the  English  archers,  retiring  a  little,  sent  a 
flight  of  arrows  so  sharp  and  strong  that  no  armor 
could  withstand;  and  the  Scottish  leader  himself, 
whose  panoply  was  of  remarkable  temper,  fell  under 
five  wounds,  though  not  mortal.  The  English  men- 
of-arms,  knights,  or  squires,  did  not  strike  one  blow, 
but  remained  spectators  of  the  rout,  which  was  now 
■  complete.  Great  numbers  of  the  Scots  were  slain, 
and  near  five  hundred  perished  in  the  river  Tweed 
upon  their  flight.  Among  the  illustrious  captives  was 
Douglas,  whose  chief  wound  deprived  him  of  an  eye ; 
Murdac,  son  of  Albany ;  the  Earls  of  Moray  and  An- 
gus; and  about  twenty-four  gentlemen  of  eminent 
rank  and  power.  The  chief  slain  were  Swinton,  Gor- 
don, Livingston  of  Calendar,  Ramsay  of  Dalhousie, 
Walter  Sinclair,  Roger  Gordon,  Walter  Scott,  and 
others.  Such  was  the  issue  of  the  unfortunate  battle 
of  Homildon." 

It  may  be  proper  to  observe  that  the  scene  of  action 
has,  in  the  following  pages,  been  transferred  from 
Homildon  to  Halidon  Hill.  For  this  there  was  an 
obvious  reason;  for  who  would  again  venture  to  in- 
troduce upon  the  scene  the  celebrated  Hotspur,  who 
commanded  the  English  at  the  former  battle  ?  There 
are,  however,  several  coincidences  which  may  recon- 
-cile  even  the  severer  antiquary  to  the  substitution  of 

1  "Miles  maKnanimus  dominus  Johannes  Swinton,  tan- 
quarn  voce  horrida  praeeonis  exclamavit,  dicrns,  O  commil- 
itonea  inclyti !  quia  vos  hodie  fascinavit  non  indulgere  solitse 
probitati,  quod  nee  dextris  eonseritis,  nee  ut  viri  corda  eri- 
gitis,  ad  invadendum  aemulos,  qui  yos,  tonquam  damulos  vel 


Halidon  Hill  for  Homildon.  A  Scottish  army  was 
defeated  by  the  English  on  both  occasions,  and  under 
nearly  the  same  circumstances  of  address  on  the  part 
of  the  victors  and  mismanagement  on  that  of  the  van- 
quished, for  the  English  long-bow  decided  the  day  in 
both  eases.  In  both  cases,  also,  a  Gordon  was  left  on 
the  field  of  battle ;  and  at  Halidon,  as  at  Homildon, 
the  Scots  were  commanded  by  an  ill-fated  represent- 
ative of  the  great  house  of  Douglas.  He  of  Homil- 
don was  surnamed  Tine-man,  i.  e.  Loscman,  from  his 
repeated  defeats  and  miscarriages;  and,  with  all  the 
personal  valor  of  his  race,  seems  to  have  enjoyed  so 
small  a  portion  of  their  sagacity  as  to  be  unable  to  learn 
military  experience  from  reiterated  calamity.  I  am 
far,  however,  from  intimating  that  the  traits  of  imbe- 
cility and  envy  attributed  to  the  regent  in  the  following 
sketch  are  to  be  historically  ascribed  either  to  the 
elder  Douglas  of  Halidon  Hill  or  to  him  called  Tine- 
man,  who  seems  to  have  enjoyed  the  respect  of  his 
countrymen,  notwithstanding  that,  like  the  celebrated 
Anne  de  Montmorency,  he  was  either  defeated  or 
wounded  or  made  prisoner  in  every  battle  which  he 
fought.  The  regent  of  the  sketch  is  a  character  pure- 
ly imaginary. 

The  tradition  of  the  Swinton  family,  which  still  sur- 
vives in  a  lineal  descent,  and  to  which  the  author  has 
the  honor  to  be  related,  avers  that  the  Swinton  who 
fell  at  Homildon  in  the  manner  related  in  the  preced- 
ing extract  had  slain  Gordon's  father ;  which  seems 
sufficient  ground  for  adopting  that  circumstance  into 
the  following  dramatic  sketch,  though  it  is  rendered 
improbable  by  other  authorities. 

If  any  reader  will  take  the  trouble  of  looking  at 
Froissart,  Fordun,  or  other  historians  of  the  period, 
he  will  find  that  the  character  of  the  Lord  of  Swin- 
ton for  strength,  courage,  and  conduct,  is  by  no  means 
exaggerated. 

W.  S. 
Abbotsfoed,  1822. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


SCOTTISH. 

The  Regent  of  Scotland. 

Gordon, 

Swinton, 

Lennox, 

Sutherland, 

Ross, 

Maxwell, 

Johnstone, 

Lindesay, 


Scottish  Chiefs  and  Nobles. 


hinnulos  imparcatos,  sapittarum  jaculis  perdere  festinant. 
Descendant  meeum  qui  velint,  et  in  nomine  Domini  hostes 
ponetrabimus,  ut  vel  sic  vita  potiamur,  vel  saltern  ut  milites 
cum  honore  oceuinbamus,"  &c. — Fordun,  Scoti-Chmiicon, 
vol.  ii.  p.  434. 


HALIDON    HILL. 


723 


Symon  de  Vipont,  a  Knight  Templar. 

The  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Reynald,  Swin  ton's  Squire. 

Hob  Hattely,  a  Border  Moss-Trooper. 

Heralds. 

ENGLISH. 

King  Edward  III. 
Chandos,  1 

Percy,  >  English  and  Norman  Nobles. 

RlBAUMONT,  ) 

The  Abbot  of  Walthajistow. 


^altooTt  ftttl. 


ACT  I.-SCENE  I. 

The  northern  side  of  the  eminence  of  JTalidon.  The 
back  Scene  represents  the  summit  of  the  ascent,  occu- 
pied by  the  Rear-guard  of  the  Scottish  army.  Bodies 
of  armed  Men  appear  as  advancing  from  different 
points,  to  join  the  main  Body. 

Enter  De  Vipont  and  the  Prior  of  Maison-Dieu. 

Vip.  No  farther,  Father — here  I  need  no  guidance ; 
I  have  already  brought  your  peaceful  step 
Too  near  the  verge  of  battle. 

Pri.  Fain  would  I  see  you  join  some  Baron's  banner, 
Before  I  say  farewell.    The  honor'd  sword 
That  fought  so  well  in  Syria  should  not  wave 
Amid  the  ignoble  crowd. 

Vip.  Each  spot  is  noble  in  a  pitched  field, 
So  that  a  man  has  room  to  fight  and  fall  on't. 
But  I  shall  find  out  friends.     'Tis  scarce  twelve  years 
Since  I  left  Scotland  for  the  wars  of  Palestine, 
And  then  the  flower  of  all  the  Scottish  nobles 
Were  known  to  me;  and  I,  in  my  degree, 
Not  all  unknown  to  them. 

Pri.  Alas !  there  have  been  changes  since  that  time ! 
The  royal  Bruce,  with  Randolph,  Douglas,  Grahame, 
Then  shook  in  field  the  banners  which  now  moulder 
Over  their  graves  i'  the  chancel. 

Vip.  And  thence  comes  it, 
That  while  I  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  crest 
And  blazon'd  shield,1  as  hitherward  we  came, 
The  faces  of  the  Barons  who  display'd  them 
Were  all  unknown  to  me.    Brave  youths  they  seem'd ; 
Yet,  surely,  fitter  to  adorn  the  tilt-yard 
Than  to  be  leaders  of  a  war.    Their  followers, 
Young  like  themselves,  seem  like  themselves  unprac- 

ticed — 
Look  at  their  battle-rank. 


MS. :  "  I've  look'd  on  many  a  well-known  pennon 
Playing  the  air,"  &e. 


Pri.  I  cannot  gaze  on't  with  undazzled  eye, 
So  thick  the  rays  dart  back  from  shield  and  helmet, 
And  sword  and  battle-axe,  and  spear  and  pennon. 
Sure  'tis  a  gallant  show !     The  Bruce  himself 
Hath  often  conquer'd  at  the  head  of  fewer 
And  worse  appointed  followers. 

Vip.  Ay,  but  'twas  Bruce  that  led  them.    Reverend 
Father, 
'Tis  not  the  falchion's  weight  decides  a  combat ; 
It  is  the  strong  and  skillful  hand  that  wields  it. 
Ill  fate,  that  we  should  lack  the  noble  King 
And  all  his  champions  now !     Time  call'd  them  not, 
For  when  I  parted  hence  for  Palestine, 
The  brows  of  most  were  free  from  grizzled  hair. 

Pri.  Too  true,  alas !  But  well  you  know,  in  Scotland 
Few  hairs  are  silver'd  underneath  the  helmet ; 
'Tis  cowls  like  mine  which  hide  them.     'Mongst  the 

laity, 
War's  the  rash  reaper,  who  thrusts  in  his  sickle 
Before  the  grain  is  white.     In  threescore  years 
And  ten,  which  I  have  seen,  I  have  outlived 
Wellnigh  two  generations  of  our  nobles. 
The  race  which  holds2  yon  summit  is  the  third. 

Vip.  Thou  may'st  outlive  them  also. 

Pri.  Heaven  forefend ! 

My  prayer  shall  be,  that  Heaven  will  close  my  eyes 
Before  they  look  upon  the  wrath  to  come. 

Vip.  Retire,  retire,  good  Father! — Pray  for  Scot- 
land— 
Think  not  on  me.    Here  comes  an  ancient  friend, 
Brother  in  arms,  with  whom  to-day  I'll  join  me. 
Back  to  your  choir,  assemble  all  your  brotherhood, 
And  weary  Heaven  with  prayers  for  victory.3 

Pri.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  with  thee, 
Champion  of  Heaven,  and  of  thy  suffering  country ! 
[Exit  Prior.    Vipont  draws  a  little  aside  and 
lets  down  the  beaver  of  his  helmet. 

Enter  SwiNTON,  folloioed  by  Reynald  and  others,  to 
whom  he  speaks  as  he  enters. 
Swr.  Halt  here,  and  plant  my  pennon,  till  the 
Regent 
Assign  our  band  its  station  in  the  host. 

Rey.  That  must  be  by  the  standard.    We  have  had 
That  right  since  good  Saint  David's  reign  at  least. 
Fain  would  I  see  the  Marcher  would  dispute  it. 
Swi.  Peace,  Reynald!     Where  the  general  plants 
the  soldier, 
There  is  his  place  of  honor,  and  there  only 
His  valor  can  win  worship.    Thou'rt  of  those 
Who  would  have  war's  deep  art  bear  the  wild  sem- 
blance 
Of  some  disorderd  hunting,  where,  pell-mell, 
Each  trusting  to  the  swiftness  of  his  horse, 
Gallants  press  on  to  see  the  quarry  fall. 
Yon  steel-clad  Southrons,  Reynald,  are  no  deer ; 
And  England's  Edward  is  no  stag  at  bay. 


2  MS.:  "The  youths  who  hold,"  &c,  "are." 

s  j^s. :  "  with  prayers  for  Scotland's  weal." 


724 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


ViP.  (advancing).  There  needed  not,  to  blazon  forth 
the  Swintqn, 
His  ancient  burgonet,  the  sable  Boar 
Chain'd  to  tin-  gnarled  oak,1 — nor  his  proud  step, 
Nor  giant  stature,  nor  the  ponderous  mace, 
Which  only  he,  of  Scotland's  realm,  can  wield: 
His  discipline  and  wisdom  mark  the  leader, 
As  does  his  frame  the  champion.  Hail,  brave  Swinton  ! 

Swi.  Brave  Templar,  thanks!     Such  your  cross'd 
shoulder  speaks  you ; 
But  the  closed  visor,  which  conceals  your  features, 
Forbids  more  knowledge.     Umfraville,  perhaps — 

Vip.  (unclosing  his  helmet).    No :  one  less  worthy  of 
our  sacred  Order ; 
Yet,  unless  Syrian  suns  have  scorch'd  my  features 
Swart  as  my  sable  visor,  Alan  Swinton 
Will  welcome  Symon  Vipont. 

Swi.  (embracing  him).    As  the  blithe  reaper 
Welcomes  a  practiced  mate,  when  the  ripe  harvest 
Lies  deep  before  him,  and  the  sun  is  high ! 
Thou'lt  follow  yon  old  pennon,  wilt  thou  not? 
'Tis  tatter'd  since  thou  saw'st  it,  and  the  Boar-heads 
Look  as  if  brought  from  off  some  Christmas  board, 
Where  knives  had  notch'd  them  deeply. 

Vip.  Have  with  them,  ne'ertheless.    The  Stuart's 
Chequer, 
The  Bloody  Heart  of  Douglas,  Ross's  Lymphads, 
Sutherland's  Wild-cats,  nor  the  royal  Lion, 
Rampant  in  golden  treasure,  wins  me  from  them. 
We'll  back  the  Boar-heads  bravely.    I  see  round  them 
A  chosen  band  of  lances — some  well  known  to  me. 
Where's  the  main  body  of  thy  followers? 

Swi.  Symon  de  Vipont,  thou  dost  see  them  all 
That  Swinton's  bugle-horn  can  call  to  battle, 
However  loud  it  rings.    There's  not  a  boy 
Left  in  my  halls,  whose  arm  has  strength  enough 
To  bear  a  sword — there's  not  a  man  behind, 
However  old,  who  moves  without  a  staff. 
Striplings  and  graybeards,  every  one  is  here, 
And  here  all  should  be— Scotland  needs  them  all ; 
And  more  and  better  men,  were  each  a  Hercules, 
And  yonder  handful  centupled. 

ViP.  A  thousand  followers — such,  with  friends  and 
kinsmen, 
Allies  and  vassals,  thou  wert  wont  to  lead — 
A  thousand  followers  shrunk  to  sixty  lances 
In  twelve  years'  space! — And   thy  brave  sons,  Sir 

Alan? 
Alas!  I  fear  to  ask. 

Swi.  All  slain,  De  Vipont.     In  my  empty  home 
A  puny  babe  lisps  to  a  widow'd  mother, 
"  Where  is  my  grandsire?  wherefore  do  you  weep?" 
But  for  that  prattler,  Lyulph's  house  is  heirless. 
I'm  an  old  oak,  from  which  the  foresters 
Have  hew'd  four  goodly  bough*,  and  left  beside  me 


1  "The  armorial  bearings  of  the  ancient  family  of  Swinton 
are  sable,  a  chevron,  or,  between  three  boars'  heads  erased, 
argent.  Crest,  a  boar  chained  to  a  tree,  and  above,  on  an 
escroll,  J'espere.    Supporters,  two  boars  standing  on  a  coin- 


Only  a  sapling,  which  the  fawn  may  crush 
As  he  springs  over  it. 

Vip.  All  slain?— alas! 

Swi.  Ay,  all,  De  Vipont.    And  their  attributes, 
John  with  the  Long  Spear — Archibald  with  the  Axe — 
Richard  the  Ready — and  my  youngest  darling, 
My  Fair-hair'd  William — do  but  now  survive 
In  measures  which  the  gray-hair'd  minstrels  sing, 
When  they  make  maidens  weep. 

Vip.  These  wars  with  England,  they  have  rooted  out 
The  flowers  of  Christendom.    Knights,  who  might  win 
The  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  the  rude  heathen, 
Fall  in  unholy  warfare  ! 

Swi.  Unholy  warfare?  ay,  well  hast  thou  named  it; 
But  not  with  England — would  her  cloth-yard  shafts 
Had  bored  their  cuirasses !     Their  lives  had  been 
Lost  like  their  grandsire's,  in  the  bold  defence 
Of  their  dear  country2 — but  in  private  feud 
With  the  proud  Gordon  fell  my  Long-spear'd  John, 
He  with  the  Axe,  and  he  men  call'd  the  Ready, 
Ay,  and  my  Fair-hair'd  Will — the  Gordon's  wrath 
Devour'd  my  gallant  issue. 

Vip.  Since   thou   dost  weep,  their  death   is   un- 
avenged ? 

Swi.  Templar,  what  think'st  thou  me  ? — See  yonder 
rock, 
From  which  the  fountain  gushes — is  it  less 
Compact  of  adamant,  though  waters  flow  from  it? 
Firm  hearts  have  moister  eyes. — They  are  avenged; 
I  wept  not  till  they  were — till  the  proud  Gordon 
Had  with  his  life-blood  dyed  my  father's  sword, 
In  guerdon  that  he  thinn'd  my  father's  lineage — 
And  then  I  wept  my  sons ;  and,  as  the  Gordon 
Lay  at  my  feet,  there  was  a  tear  for  him, 
WThich  mingled  with  the  rest.    We  had  been  friends, 
Had  shared  the  banquet  and  the  chase  together, 
Fought  side  by  side, — and  our  first  cause  of  strife, 
Woe  to  the  pride  of  both,  was  but  a  light  one ! 

ViP.  You  are  at  feud,  then,  with  the  mighty  Gor- 
don? 

Swi.  At  deadly  feud.    Here  in  this  Border-land, 
Where  the  sire's  quarrels  descend  upon  the  son, 
As  due  a  part  of  his  inheritance 
As  the  strong  castle  and  the  ancient  blazon, 
WThere  private  Vengeance  holds  the  scales  of  Justice, 
Weighing  each  drop  of  blood  as  scrupulously 
As  Jews  or  Lombards  balance  silver  pence, — 
Not  in  this  land,  'twixt  Solway  and  Saint  Abb's, 
Rages  a  bitterer  feud  than  mine  and  theirs, 
The  Swinton  and  the  Gordon. 

ViP.  You,  with  some  threescore  lances — and  the 
Gordon 
Leading  a  thousand  followers ! 

Swi.  You  rate  him  far  too  low.    Since  you  sought 
Palestine, 


partment,  whereon  are  the  words  Je  Pense." — Douglas'  Bar- 
onage, p.  132. 

8  MS. :  "  Of  the  dear  land  that  nursed  them— but  in  feud." 


HALIDON    HILL. 


725 


He  hath  had  grants  of  baronies  and  lordships 
In  the  far-distant  North.    A  thousand  horse 
His  southern  friends  and  vassals  always  number'd. 
Add  Badenoch  kerne,  and  horse  from  Dey  and  Spey, 
He'll  count  a  thousand  more. — And  now,  De  Vipout, 
If  the  Boar-heads  seem  in  your  eyes  less  worthy 
For  lack  of  followers,  seek  yonder  standard, — 
The  bounding  Stag,  with  a  brave  host  around  it ; 
There  the  young  Gordon  makes  his  earliest  field, 
And  pants  to  win  his  spurs.    His  father's  friend, 
As  well  as  mine,  thou  wert — go,  join  his  pennon, 
And  grace  him  with  thy  presence. 
Vip.  When  you  were  friends,  I  was  the  friend  of 
both, 
And  now  I  can  be  enemy  to  neither  ; 
But  my  poor  person,  though  but  slight  the  aid, 
Joins  on  this  field  the  banner  of  the  two 
Which  hath  the  smallest  following. 
Swi.  Spoke  like  the  generous  Knight,  who  gave  up 
all, 
Leading  and  lordship,  in  a  heathen  land 
To  fight,  a  Christian  soldier !     Yet,  in  earnest, 
I  pray,  De  Vipont,  you  would  join  the  Gordon 
In  this  high  battle.     'Tis  a  noble  youth, — 
So  fame  doth  vouch  him, — amorous,  quick,  and  val- 
iant; 
Takes  knighthood,  too,  this  day,  and  well  may  use 
His  spurs  too  rashly1  in  the  wish  to  win  them. 
A  friend  like  thee  beside  him  in  the  fight 
Were  worth  a  hundred  spears,  to  rein  his  valor 
And  temper  it  with  prudence : — 'tis  the  aged  eagle 
Teaches  his  brood  to  gaze  upon  the  sun 
With  eye  undazzled. 
VlP.  Alas !    brave  Swinton !    Wouldst  thou   train 
the  hunter 
That  soon  must  bring  thee  to  the  bay  ?    Your  custom, 
Your  most  unchristian,  savage,  fiend-like  custom, 
Binds  Gordon  to  avenge  his  father's  death. 

Swi.  Why,  be  it  so !  I  look  for  nothing  else : 
My  part  was  acted  when  I  slew  his  father, 
Avenging  my  four  sons — Young  Gordon's  sword, 
If  it  should  find  my  heart,  can  ne'er  inflict  there 
A  pang  so  poignant  as  his  father's  did. 
But  I  would  perish  by  a  noble  hand, 
And  such  will  his  be  if  he  bear  him  nobly, 
Nobly  and  wisely,  on  this  field  of  Halidon. 

Enter  a  Pursuivant. 
Pur.  Sir  Knights,  to  council! — 'tis  the  Regent's 
order, 
That  knights  and  men  of  leading  meet  him  instantly 
Before  the  royal  standard.     Edward's  army 
Is  seen  from  the  hill-summit. 
Swi.  Say  to  the  Regent,  we  obey  his  orders. 

[Exit  Pursuivant. 


1  MS. :  "  sharply." 

8  MS. :  "  As  we  do  pass,"  &c. 


[To  Reynald.]  Hold  thou  my  casque,  and  furl  my 
pennon  up 
Close  to  the  stafl".    I  will  not  show  my  crest, 
Nor  standard,  till  the  common  foe  shall  challenge 

them. 
I'll  wake  no  civil  strife,  nor  tempt  the  Gordon 
With  aught  that's  like  defiance. 

Vip.  Will  he  not  know  your  features  ? 

Swi.  He  never  saw  me.     In  the  distant  North, 
Against  his  will,  'tis  said,  his  friends  detain'd  him 
During  his  nurture — caring  not,  belike, 
To  trust  a  pledge  so  precious  near  the  Boar-tusks. 
It  was  a  natural  but  needless  caution : 
I  wage  no  war  with  children,  for  I  think 
Too  deeply  on  mine  own. 

Vip.  I  have  thought  on  it,  and  will  see  the  Gordon 
As  we  go  hence2  to  council.    I  do  bear 
A  cross,  which  binds  me  to  be  Christian  priest, 
As  well  as  Christian  champion.3    God  may  grant, 
That  I,  at  once  his  father's  friend  and  yours, 
May  make  some  peace  betwixt  you.* 

Swi.  When  that  your  priestly  zeal,  and  knightly 
valor, 
Shall  force  the  grave  to  render  up  the  dead. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


SCENE  II. 

The  summit  of  Halidon  Hill,  before,  the,  Regent's  Tent. 
The  Royal  Standard  of  Scotland  is  seen  in  the  back- 
ground, with  the  Pennons  and  Banners  of  the  princi- 
pal Nobles  around  it. 

Council  of  Scottish  Nobles  and  Chiefs.  Sutherland, 
Ross,  Lennox,  Maxwell,  and  other  Nobles  of  the 
highest  rank  are  close  to  the  Regent's  person,  and  in 
the  act  of  keen  debate.  VlPONT  with  GORDON  and 
others  remain  grouped  at  some  distance  on  the  right 
hand  of  the  Stage.  On  the  left,  standing  also  apart,  is 
Swinton,  alone  and  bare-headed.  The  Nobles  are 
dressed  in  Highland  or  Lowland  habits,  as  historical 
costume  requires.  Trumpets,  Heralds,  &c.  are  in  at- 
tendance. 

Len.  Nay,  Lordings,  put  no  shame  upon  my  coun- 
sels. 
I  did  but  say,  if  we  retired  a  little, 
We  should  have  fairer  field  and  better  vantage. 
I've  seen  King  Robert — ay,  the  Bruce  himself — 
Retreat  six  leagues  in  length,  and  think  no  shame  on't. 

Reg.  Ay,  but  King  Edward  sent  a  haughty  message, 
Defying  us  to  battle  on  this  field, 
This  very  hill  of  Halidon ;  if  we  leave  it 
Unfought  withal,  it  squares  not  with  our  honor. 


3  MS. :  "  The  cross  I  wear  appoints  me  Christian  priest, 

As  well  as  Christian  warrior,"  &c. 
*  In  the  MS.  the  scene  terminates  with  this  line. 


726 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Swr.  (apart).   A  perilous  honor,  that  allows  the 
enemy, 
And  such  an  enemy  as  this  same  Edward, 
To  choose  our  field  of  battle !     He  knows  how 
To  make  our  Scottish  pride  betray  its  master 
Into  the  pitfall. 

[During  this  speech  the  debate  among  the  Nobles  is 
continue!. 
Suth.  (aloud).  "We  will  not  back  one  furlong — not 
one  yard, 
No,  nor  one  inch  ;  where'er  we  find  the  foe, 
Or  where  the  foe  finds  us,  there  will  we  fight  him. 
Retreat  will  dull  the  spirit  of  our  followers, 
Who  now  stand  prompt  for  battle. 

ROSS.  My  Lords,  methinks  great  Morarchat1  has 
doubts 
That,  if  his  Northern  clans  once  turn  the  seam 
Of  their  check'd  hose  behind,  it  will  be  hard 
To  halt  and  rally  them. 
Suth.    Say'st   thou,   MacDounell  ?  —  Add  another 
falsehood, 
And  name  when  Morarchat  was  coward  or  traitor. 
Thine  island  race,  as  chronicles  can  tell, 
Were  oft  affianced  to  the  Southron  cause  ; 
Loving  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  gold, 
More  than  the  weight  and  temper  of  their  steel. 
Reg.  Peace,  my  Lords,  ho ! 

Ross  (throwing  down  his  glove).    MacDonnell  will 
not  peace  !     There  lies  my  pledge, 
Proud  Morarchat,  to  witness  thee  a  liar. 
Max.  Brought  I  all  Nithsdale  from  the  Western 
Border — 
Left  I  my  towers  exposed  to  foraying  England 
And  thieving  Annandale — to  see  such  misrule? 
John.  Who  speaks  of  Annandale  ?    Dare  Maxwell 
slander 
The  gentle  House  of  Lochwood?2 

Reg.  Peace,  Lordin<*s,  once  again.    We  represent 
The  Majesty  of  Scotland — in  our  presence 
Brawling  is  treason. 

BOTH.  Were  it  in  presence  of  the  King  himself, 
What  should  prevent  my  saying 

Enter  Lindesay. 
Lin.  You  must  determine  quickly.    Scarce  a  mile 
Parts  our  vanguard  from  Edward's.    On  the  plain 
Bright  gleams  of  armor  flash  through  clouds  of  dust, 
Like  stars  through  frost-mist — steeds  neigh,  and  weap- 
ons clash — 
And  arrows  soon  will  whistle — the  worst  sound 
That  waits  on  English  war. — You  must  determine. 
Reg.  We  are  determined.     We  will  spare   proud 
Edward 
Half  of  the  ground  that  parts  us. — Onward,  Lords; 
Saint  Andrew  strike  for  Scotland !     We  will  lead 
The  middle  ward  ourselves,  the  royal  standard 


1  Morarchat  is  the  ancient  Gaelic  designation  of  the  Earls 
of  Sutherland.    See  ante,  p.  697,  note. 


Display'd  beside  us ;  and  beneath  its  shadow 
Shall  the  young  gallants,  whom  we  knight  this  day, 
Eight  for  their  golden  spurs. — Lennox,  thou'rt  wise, 
And  wilt  obey  command — lead  thou  the  rear. 

Len.  The  rear ! — why  I  the  rear  ?    The  van  were 
fitter 
For  him  who  fought  abreast  with  Robert  Bruce. 

Swi.  (apart).  Discretion  hath  forsaken  Lennox  too! 
The  wisdom  he  was  forty  years  in  gathering 
Has  left  him  in  an  instant.     'Tis  contagious 
Even  to  witness  frenzy. 

Suth.  The  Regent  hath  determined  well.   The  rear 
Suits  him  the  best  who  counsell'd  our  retreat. 

Len.  Proud  Northern  Thane,  the  van  were  soon  the 
rear, 
Were  thy  disorder'd  followers  planted  there. 

Suth.  Then,  for  that  very  word,  I  make  a  vow, 
By  my  broad  earldom,  and  my  father's  soul, 
That,  if  I  have  not  leading  of  the  van, 
I  will  not  fight  to-day ! 

Ross.  Morarchat !  thou  the  leading  of  the  van ! 
Not  whilst  MacDonnell  lives. 

Swi.  (apart).  Nay,  then  a  stone  would  speak. 
[Addresses  the  Regent.]     May't  please  your  Grace, 
And  you,  great  Lords,  to  hear  an  old  man's  counsel, 
That  hath  seen  fights  enow.    These  open  bickerings 
Dishearten  all  our  host.     If  that  your  Grace, 
With  these  great  Earls  and  Lords,  must  needs  debate, 
Let  the  closed  tent  conceal  your  disagreement ; 
Else  'twill  be  said,  ill  fares  it  with  the  flock 
If  shepherds  wrangle  when  the  wolf  is  nigh. 

Reg.  The  old  Knight  counsels  well.  Let  every  Lord 
Or  Chief,  who  leads  five  hundred  men  or  more, 
Follow  to  council — others  are  excluded  : 
We'll  have  no  vulgar  censurers  of  our  conduct — 

[Looking  at  SwiNTON. 
Young  Gordon,  your  high  rank  and  numerous  follow- 
ing 
Give  you  a  seat  with  us,  though  yet  unknighted. 

Gordon.  I  pray  you,  pardon  me.    My  youth's  unfit 
To  sit  in  council,  when  that  Knight's  gray  hairs 
And  wisdom  wait  without. 

Reg.  Do  as  you  will ;  we  deign  not  bid  you  twice. 
[The  Regent,  Ross,  Sutherland,  Lennox, 
Maxwell,  &c.  enter  the  Tent.    The  rest  remain 
grouped  about  the  Stage. 

Gor.  (observing  Swi.).  That  helmetless  old  Knight, 
his  giant  stature, 
His  awful  accents  of  rebuke  and  wisdom, 
Have  caught  my  fancy  strangely.    He  doth  seem 
Like  to  some  vision'd  form  which  I  have  dream'd  of, 
But  never  saw  with  waking  eyes  till  now. 
I  will  accost  him. 

ViP.  Pray  you,  do  not  so ; 
Anon  I'll  give  you  reason  why  you  should  not. 
There's  other  work  in  hand 


*  Lochwood  Castle  was  the  ancient  seat  of  the  Johnstones, 
Lords  of  Annandale. 


HALIDON    HILL. 


727 


Gor.  I  will  but  ask  his  name.    There's  in  his  pres- 
ence 
Something  that  works  upon  me  like  a  spell, 
Or  like  the  feeling  made  my  childish  ear 
Dote  upon  tales  of  superstitious  dread, 
Attracting  while  they  chill'd  my  heart  with  fear. 
Now,  born  the  Gordon,  I  do  feel  right  well 
I'm  bound  to  fear  nought  earthly — and  I  fear  nought. 
I'll  know  who  this  man  is 

[AcCOStS  SWINTON. 

Sir  Knight,  I  pray  you,  of  your  gentle  courtesy, 
To  tell  your  honor'd  name.     I  am  ashamed, 
Being  unknown  in  arms,  to  say  that  mine 
Is  Adam  Gordon. 

Swi.  (shows  emotion,  but  instantly  mbdues  it). 
It  is  a  name  that  soundeth  in  my  ear 
Like  to  a  death-knell — ay,  and  like  the  call 
Of  the  shrill  trumpet  to  the  mortal  lists ; 
Yet  'tis  a  name  which  ne'er  hath  been  dishonor'd, 
And  never  will,  I  trust — most  surely  never 
By  such  a  youth  as  thou. 

Goe.  There's  a  mysterious  courtesy  in  this, 
And  yet  it  yields  no  answer  to  my  question. 
I  trust  you  hold  the  Gordon  not  unworthy 
To  know  the  name  he  asks  ? 

Swi.  Worthy  of  all  that  openness  and  honor 
May  show  to  friend  or  foe — but,  for  my  name, 
Vipont  will  show  it  you ;  and  if  it  sound 
Harsh  in  your  ear,1  remember  that  it  knells  there 
But  at  your  own  request.    This  day,  at  least, 
Though  seldom  wont  to  keep  it  in  concealment, 
As  there's  no  cause  I  should,  you  had  not  heard  it. 

GOR.  This  strange 

ViP.  The  mystery  is  needful.    Follow  me. 

[They  retire  behind  a  side  scene. 

Swi.  (looking  after  them).    'Tis  a  brave  youth.    How 
blush'd  his  noble  cheek, 
While  youthful  modesty,  and  the  embarrassment 
Of  curiosity,  combined  with  wonder, 
And  half  suspicion  of  some  slight  intended, 
All  mingled  in  the  flush  ;  but  soon  'twill  deepen 
Into  revenge's  glow.    How  slow  is  Vipont ! — 
I  wait  the  issue,  as  I've  seen  spectators 
Suspend  the  motion  even  of  the  eyelids, 
When  the  slow  gunner,  with  his  lighted  match, 
Approach'd  the  charged  cannon,  in  the  act 
To  waken  its  dread  slumbers. — Now  'tis  out ; 
He  draws  his  sword,  and  rushes  towards  me, 
Who  will  nor  seek  nor  shun  him. 

Enter  GORDON,  withheld  by  VlPONT. 
ViP.  Hold,  for  the  sake  of  Heaven!   Oh,  for  the 
sake 


1  "  A  name  unmusical  to  Volscian  ears, 

And  harsh  in  sound  to  thine." — Coriolanus. 
•  In  the  MS.  the  last  five  lines  of  Vipont's  speech  are  inter- 
polated. 
3  MS. :  "  You  must  not  here — not  where  the  royal  standard 
Awaits  the  attack  of  Scotland's  enemies, 


Of  your  dear  country,  hold ! — Has  Swinton  slain  your 

father, 
And  must  you,  therefore,  be  yourself  a  parricide, 
And  stand  recorded  as  the  selfish  traitor 
Who,  in  her  hour  of  need,  his  country's  cause 
Deserts,  that  he  may  wreak  a  private  wrong  ? 
Look  to  yon  banner — that  is  Scotland's  standard ; 
Look  to  the  Regent — he  is  Scotland's  general ; 
Look  to  the  English — they  are  Scotland's  foemen  I 
Bethink  thee,  then,  thou  art  a  son  of  Scotland, 
And  think  on  nought  beside.2 
Gor.  He  hath  come  here  to  brave  me! — Off!   un- 
hand me ! — 
Thou  canst  not  be  my  father's  ancient  friend, 
That  standst  'twixt  me  and  him  who  slew  my  father. 
Vip.  You  know  not  Swinton.    Scarce  one  passing 
thought 
Of  his  high  mind  was  with  you ;  now,  his  soul 
Is  fix'd  on  this  day's  battle.    You  might  slay  him 
At  unawares  before  he  saw  your  blade  drawn. — 
Stand  still,  and  watch  him  close.3 

Enter  Maxwell  from  the  tent. 

Swi.  How  go  our  councils,  Maxwell,  may  I  ask? 

Max.  As  wild  as  if  the  very  wind  and  sea 
With  every  breeze  and  every  billow  battled 
For  their  precedence.* 

Swi.  Most   sure    they  are   possess'd !     Some   evil 
spirit, 
To  mock  their  valor,  robs  them  of  discretion. 
Fie,  fie  upou't ! — Oh  that  Dunfermline's  tomb 
Could  render  up  the  Bruce !  that  Spain's  red  shore 
Could  give  us  back  the  good  Lord  James  of  Douglas  I 
Or  that  fierce  Randolph,  with  his  voice  of  terror, 
Were  here  to  awe  these  brawlers  to  submission  ! 

ViP.  (to  Gor.).  Thou  hast  perused  him   at  more 
leisure  now. 

Gor.  I  see  the  giant  form  which  all  men  speak  of, 
The  stately  port — but  not  the  sullen  eye, 
Not  the  bloodthirsty  look,  that  should  belong 
To  him  that  made  me  orphan.     I  shall  need 
To  name  my  father  twice  ere  I  can  strike 
At  such  gray  hairs,  and  face  of  such  command; 
Yet  my  hand  clenches  on  my  falchion  hilt, 
In  token  he  shall  die. 

ViP.  Need  I  again  remind  you  that  the  place 
Permits  not  private  quarrel  ? 

Gor.  I'm  calm.    I  will  not  seek — nay,  I  will  shun 
it— 
And  yet  methinks  that  such  debate's  the  fashion. 
You've  heard  how  taunts,  reproaches,  and  the  lie, 
The  lie  itself,  have  flown  from  mouth  to  mouth; 
As  if  a  band  of  peasants  were  disputing 


Against  the  common  foe — wage  private  quarrel. 
He  braves  you  not — his  thought  is  on  the  event 
Of  this  day's  field.     Stand  still,  and  watch  him 
closer." 
*  "  Mad  as  the  sea  and  wind,  when  both  contend 
Which  is  the  mightier." — Hamlet. 


728 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


About  a  foot-ball  match,  rather  than  Chiefs 
Were  ordering  a  battle.     I  am  young, 
Ami  lack  experience ;  tell  me,  brave  De  Vipont, 
Is  such  the  fashion  of  your  wars  in  Palestine  ? 

VlP.  Such  it  at  times  hath  been;   and   then  the 
Cross 
Hath  sunk  before  the  Crescent.    Heaven's  cause 
Won  us  not  victory  where  wisdom  was  not. — 
Behold  yon  English  host  come  slowly  on, 
With  equal  front,  rank  marshall'd  upon  rank, 
As  if  one  spirit  ruled  one  moving  body ; 
The  leaders,  in  their  places,  each  prepared 
To  charge,  support,  and  rally,  as  the  fortune 
Of  changeful  battle  needs :  then  look  on  ours, 
Broken,  disjointed,  as  the  tumbling  surges 
Which  the  winds  wake  at  random.     Look  on  both, 
And  dread  the  issue ;  yet  there  might  be  succor. 

Gor.  We're  fearfully  o'ermatch'd  in  discipline ; 
So  even  my  inexperienced  eye  can  judge. 
What  succor  save  in  Heaven  ? 

Vip.  Heaven  acts  by  human  means.    The  artist's 
skill 
Supplies  in  war,  as  in  mechanic  crafts, 
Deficiency  of  tools.    There's  courage,  wisdom, 
And  skill  enough,  live  in  one  leader  here, 
As,  flung  into  the  balance,  might  avail 
To  counterpoise  the  odds  'twixt  that  ruled  host 
And  our  wild  multitude. — I  must  not  name  him. 

Gok.  I  guess,  but  dare  not  ask. — What  band  is 
yonder, 
Arranged  so  closely  as  the  English  discipline 
Hath  marshall'd  their  best  files? 

Vip.  Know'st  thou  not  the  pennon  ? 
One  day,  perhaps,  thou'lt  see  it  all  too  closely ; — 
It  is  Sir  Alan  Swinton's. 

Gor.  These,  then,  are  his, — the  relics  of  his  power ; 
Yet  worth  an  host  of  ordinary  men. — 
And  I  must  slay  my  country's  sagest  leader, 
And  crush  by  numbers  that  determined  handful, 
When  most  my  country  needs  their  practiced  aid, 
Or  men  will  say,  "  There  goes  degenerate  Gordon ; 
His  father's  blood  is  on  the  Swinton's  sword, 
And  his  is  in  his  scabbard  !"  [Muses. 

VlP.  {apart).  High  blood  and  mettle,  mix'd  with 
early  wisdom, 
Sparkle  in  this  brave  youth.     If  he  survive 
This  evil-omen'd  day,  I  pawn  my  word, 
That,  in  the  ruin  which  I  now  forebode, 
Scotland  has  treasure  left. — How  close  he  eyes 
Each  look  and  step  of  Swinton !     Is  it  hate, 
Or  is  it  admiration,  or  are  both 
Commingled  strangely  in  that  steady  gaze  ? 

[Swinton  and  Maxwell  return  from  the 
bottom,  of  the  stage. 
Max.  The  storm  is   laid  at  length   among  these 
counsellors ; 
See,  they  come  forth. 

Swi.  And  it  is  more  than  time; 
For  I  can  mark  the  vanguard  archery 
Handling  their  quivers — bending  up  their  bows. 


Enter  the  REGENT  and  Scottish  Lords. 

Reg.  Thus  shall  it  be,  then,  since  we  may  no  better: 
And,  since  no  Lord  will  yield  one  jot  of  way 
To  this  high  urgency,  or  give  the  vanguard 
Up  to  another's  guidance,  we  will  abide  them 
Even  on  this  bent;  and  as  our  troops  are  rank'd, 
So  shall  they  meet  the  foe.     Chief,  nor  Thane, 
Nor  Noble,  can  complain  of  the  precedence 
Which  chance  has  thus  assign'd  him. 

Swi.  (apart).  Oh,  sage  discipline, 
That  leaves  to  chance  the  marshalling  of  a  battle ! 

GOR.  Move  him  to  speech,  De  Vipont. 

VlP.  Move  him  ! — Move  whom  ? 

GOR.  Even  him,  whom,  but  brief  space  since, 
My  hand  did  burn  to  put  to  utter  silence. 

Vip.  I'll  move  it  to  him. — Swinton,  speak  to  them, 
They  lack  thy  counsel  sorely. 

Swi.  Had  I  the  thousand  spears  which  once  I  led, 
I  had  not  thus  been  silent.     But  men's  wisdom 
Is  rated  by  their  means.    From  the  poor  leader 
Of  sixty  lances,  who  seeks  words  of  weight? 

GOR.  (steps  forward).  Swinton,  there's  that  of  wis- 
dom on  thy  brow, 
And  valor  in  thine  eye,  and  that  of  peril 
In  this  most  urgent  hour,  that  bids  me  say, — 
Bids  me,  thy  mortal  foe,  say, — Swinton,  speak, 
For  King  and  Country's  sake ! 

Swi.  Nay,  if  that  voice  commands  me,  speak  I  will ; 
It  sounds  as  if  the  dead  lays  charge  on  me. 

Reg.  (to  LENNOX,  with  whom  he  has  been  consulting). 
'Tis  better  than  you  think.    This  broad  hillside 
Affords  fair  compass  for  our  power's  display, 
Rank  above  rank  rising  in  seemly  tiers ; 
So  that  the  rearward  stands  as  fair  and  open 

Swi.  As  e'er  stood  mark  before  an  English  archer. 

Reg.  Who  dares  to  say  so  ? — Who  is't  dare  impeach 
Our  rule  of  discipline? 

Swi.  A  poor  Knight  of  these  Marches,  good  my 
Lord ; 
Alan  of  Swinton,  who  hath  kept  a  house  here, 
He  and  his  ancestry,  since  the  old  days 
Of  Malcolm,  call'd  the  Maiden.  [field, 

Reg.  You  have  brought  here,  even  to  this  pitched 
In  which  the  royal  banner  is  display'd, 
I  think  some  sixty  spears,  Sir  Knight  of  Swinton ; 
Our  musters  name  no  more. 

Swi.  I  brought  each  man  I  had ;  and  Chief  or  Earl, 
Thane,  Duke,  or  dignitary,  brings  no  more: 
And  with  them  brought  I  what  may  here  be  useful — 
An  aged  eye;  which,  what  in  England,  Scotland, 
Spain,  France,  and  Flanders,  hath  seen  fifty  battles, 
And  ta'en  some  judgment  of  them;  a  stark  hand  too, 
Which  plays  as  with  a  straw  with  this  same  mace, — 
Which  if  a  young  arm  here  can  wield  more  lightly, 
I  never  more  will  offer  word  of  counsel. 

LEN.  Hear  him,  my  Lord  ;  it  is  the  noble  Swinton — 
He  hath  had  high  experience. 

Max.  He  is  noted 

The  wisest  warrior  'twixt  the  Tweed  and  Solway, — 
I  do  beseech  you,  hear  him. 


HALIDON   HILL. 


729 


John.  Ay,  hear  the  Swinton — hear  stout  old  Sir 
Alan ; 
Maxwell  and  Johnstone  both  agree  for  once. 

Reg.  Where's  your  impatience  now  ? 
Late  you  were  all  for  battle,  would  not  hear 
Ourself  pronounce  a  word — and  now  you  gaze 
On  yon  old  warrior,  in  his  antique  armor, 
As  if  he  were  arisen  from  the  dead, 
To  bring  us  Brace's  counsel  for  the  battle. 

Swi.  'Tis  a  proud  word  to  speak;   but  he  who 
fought 
Long  under  Robert  Bruce,  may  something  guess, 
Without  communication  with  the  dead,  [ye 

At  what  he  would  have  counsell'd. — Bruce  had  bidden 
Review  your  battle-order,  marshall'd  broadly 
Here  on  the  bare  hillside,  and  bidden  you  mark 
Yon  clouds  of  Southron  archers,  bearing  down 
To  the  green  meadow-lands  which  stretch  beneath — 
The  Bruce  had  waru'd  you,  not  a  shaft  to-day 
But  shall  find  mark  within  a  Scottish  bosom, 
If  thus  our  field  be  order'd.    The  callow  boys, 
Who  draw  but  four-foot  bows,  shall  gall  our  front, 
While  on  our  mainward,  and  upon  the  rear, 
The  cloth-yard  shafts  shall  fall  like  death's  own  darts, 
And,  though  blind  men  discharge  them,  find  a  mark. 
Thus  shall  we  die  the  death  of  slaughter'd  deer, 
Which,  driven  into  the  toils,  are  shot  at  ease 
By  boys  and  women,  while  they  toss  aloft 
All  idly  and  in  vain  their  branchy  horns, 
As  we  shall  shake  our  unavailing  spears. 

Reg.  Tush,  tell  not  me  !  If  their  shot  fall  like  hail, 
Our  men  have  Milan  coats  to  bear  it  out. 

Swi.  Never  did  armorer  temper  steel  on  stithy 
That  made  sure  fence  against  an  English  arrow ; 
A  cobweb  gossamer  were  guard  as  good1 
Against  a  wasp-sting. 

Reg.  Who  fears  a  wasp-sting  ? 

Swi.  I,  my  Lord,  fear  none  ; 

Yet  should  a  wise  man  brush  the  insect  off, 
Or  he  may  smart  for  it. 

Reg.  We'll  keep  the  hill ;  it  is  the  vantage-ground 
When  the  main  battle  joins. 

Swi.  It  ne'er  will  join,  while  their  light  archery 
Can  foil  our  spearmen  and  our  barbed  horse. 
To  hope  Plantagenet  would  seek  close  combat 
When  he  can  conquer  riskless,  is  to  deem 
Sagacious  Edward  simpler  than  a  babe 
In  battle-knowledge.     Keep  the  hill,  my  Lord, 
With  the  main  body,  if  it  is  your  pleasure ; 
But  let  a  body  of  your  chosen  horse 
XI ake  execution  on  yon  waspish  archers. 


1  MS.:  "guard  as  thick." 

2  "  The  generous  abandonment  of  private  dissension  on  the 
part  of  Gordon,  which  the  historian  has  described  as  a  mo- 
mentary impulse,  is  depicted  by  the  dramatist  with  great 
skill  and  knowledge  of  human  feeling,  as  the  result  of  many 
powerful  and  conflicting  emotions.  He  has,  we  think,  been 
very  successful  in  his  attempt  to  express  the  hesitating  and 
sometimes  retrograde  movements  of  a  young  and  ardent 
mind,  in  its  transition  from  the  first  glow  of  indignation 


I've  done  such  work  before,  and  love  it  well ; 
If  'tis  your  pleasure  to  give  me  the  leading, 
The  dames  of  Sherwood,  Inglewood,  and  Weardale, 
Shall  sit  in  widowhood  and  long  for  venison, 
And  long  in  vain.     Whoe'er  remembers  Bannock- 
burn, — 
And  when  shall  Scotsman,  till  the  last  loud  trumpet, 
Forget  that  stirring  word !— knows  that  great  battle 
Even  thus  was  fought  and  won. 

Len.  This  is  the  shortest  road  to  bandy  blows ; 
For  when  the  bills  step  forth  and  bows  go  back, 
Then  is  the  moment  that  our  hardy  spearmen, 
With  their  strong  bodies,  and  their  stubborn  hearts, 
And  limbs  well  knit  by  mountain  exercise, 
At  the  close  tug  shall  foil  the  short-breath'd  Southron. 

Swi.  I  do  not  say  the  field  will  thus  be  won ; 
The  English  host  is  numerous,  brave,  and  loyal ; 
Their  Monarch  most  accomplish'd  in  war's  art, 
Skill'd,  resolute,  and  wary 

Reg.  And  if  your  scheme  secure  not  victory,2 
What  does  it  promise  us  ? 

Swi.  This  much  at  least, — 

Darkling  we  shall  not  die :  the  peasant's  shaft, 
Loosen'd  perchance  without  an  aim  or  purpose, 
Shall  not  drink  up  the  life-blood  we  derive 
From  those  famed  ancestors  who  made  their  breasts 
This  frontier's  barrier  for  a  thousand  years. 
We'll  meet  these  Southron  bravely  hand  to  hand, 
And  eye  to  eye,  and  weapon  against  weapon ; 
Each  man  who  falls  shall  see  the  foe  who  strikes  him. 
While  our  good  blades  are  faithful  to  the  hilts, 
And  our  good  hands  to  these  good  blades  are  faithful, 
Blow  shall  meet  blow,  and  none  fall  unavenged — 
We  shall  not  bleed  alone. 

Reg.  And  this  is  all 

Your  wisdom  hath  devised  ? 

Swi.  Not  all ;  for  I  would  pray  you,  noble  Lords 
(If  one,  among  the  guilty  guiltiest,  might), 
For  this  one  day  to  charm  to  ten  hours'  rest 
The  never-dying  worm  of  deadly  feud, 
That  gnaws  our  vexed  hearts — think  no  one  foe 
Save  Edward  and  his  host : — days  will  remain,3 
Ay,  days  by  far  too  many  will  remain, 
To  avenge  old  feuds  or  struggles  for  precedence ; — 
Let  this  one  day  be  Scotland's. — For  myself, 
If  there  is  any  here  may  claim  from  me 
(As  well  may  chance)  a  debt  of  blood  and  hatred, 
My  life  is  his  to-morrow  unresisting, 
So  he  to-day  will  let  me  do  the  best 
That  my  old  arm  may  achieve  for  the  dear  country 
That's  mother  to  us  both. 


against  his  hereditary  foeman,  the  mortal  antagonist  of  his 
father,  to  the  no  less  warm  and  generous  devotion  of  feeling 
which  is  inspired  in  it  by  the  contemplation  of  that  foeman's 
valor  and  virtues." — British  Critic. 

8  MS. :  "  For  this  one  day  to  chase  our  country's  curse 

From  your  vex'd  bosoms,  and  think  no  one  enemy 
But  those  in  yonder  army : — days  enow, 
Ay,  days,"  &c. 


730 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


[GORDON  shows  much  emotion  during  this 
and  the  preceding  speech  of  Swinton. 

Reg.  It  is  a  dream — a  vision  ! — if  one  troop 
Rush  down  upon  the  archers,  all  will  follow, 
And  order  is  destroy'd — we'll  keep  the  battle-rank 
Our  fathers  wont  to  do.     No  more  on't. — Ho ! 
Where  be  those  youths  seek  knighthood  from  our 
sword  ? 

Her.  Here  are  the  Gordon,  Somerville,  and  Hay, 
And  Hepburn,  with  a  score  of  gallants  more. 

Reg.  Gordon,  stand  forth. 

Gor.  I  pray  your  Grace,  forgive  me. 

Reg.  How !  seek  you  not  for  knighthood  ? 

Gor.  I  do  thirst  for't. 

But,  pardon  me — 'tis  from  another  sword. 

Reg.  It  is  your  Sovereign's — seek  you  for  a  worthier? 

Gor.  Who  would  drink  purely,  seeks  the  secret 
fountain, 
How  small  soever— not  the  general  stream, 
Though  it  be  deep  and  wide.    My  Lord,  I  seek 
The  boon  of  knighthood  from  the  honor'd  weapon 
Of  the  best  knight,  and  of  the  sagest  leader, 
That  ever  graced  a  ring  of  chivalry. 
— Therefore,  I  beg  the  boon  on  bended  knee, 
Even  from  Sir  Alan  Swinton.  [Kneels. 

Reg.   Degenerate  boy !    Abject  at  once  and  inso- 
lent!— 
See,  Lords,  he  kneels  to  him  that  slew  his  father! 

Gor.  (starting  up).  Shame  be  on  him  who  speaks 
such  shameful  word ! 
Shame  be  on  him  whose  tongue  would  sow  dissen- 
sion, 
When  most  the  time  demands  that  native  Scotsmen 
Forget  each  private  wrong ! 

Swi.  (interrupting  him).  Youth,  since  you  crave  me 
To  be  your  sire  in  chivalry,  I  remind  you 
War  has  its  duties,  Office  has  its  reverence ; 
Who  governs  in  the  Sovereign's  name  is  Sovereign ; — 
Crave  the  Lord  Regent's  pardon. 

GOR.  You  task  me  justly,  and  I  crave  his  pardon, 
[Botes  to  the  Regent.' 
His  and  these  noble  Lords' ;  and  pray  them  all 
Bear  witness  to  my  words. — Ye  noble  presence, 
Here  I  remit  unto  the  Knight  of  Swinton 
All  bitter  memory  of  my  father's  slaughter, 
All  thoughts  of  malice,  hatred,  and  revenge; 
By  no  base  fear  or  composition  moved, 
But  by  the  thought  that  in  our  country's  battle 
All  hearts  should  be  as  one.     I  do  forgive  him 
As  freely  as  I  pray  to  be  forgiven, 
And  once  more  kneel  to  him  to  sue  for  knighthood. 

Swi.   (affected,  and  dritiriiig  his  sword). 
Alas!   brave  youth,  'tis  I  should  kneel  to  you, 
And,  tendering  thee  the  hilt  of  the  fell  sword 
That  made  thee  fatherless,  bid  thee  use  the  point 
After  thine  own  discretion.    For  thy  boon — 
Trumpets  be  ready — In  the  Holiest  name, 
And  in  Our  Lady's  and  Saint  Andrew's  name, 

[Touching  his  shoulder  with  his  sword. 
I  dub  thee  Knight ! — Arise,  Sir  Adam  Gordon  ! 


Be  faithful,  brave,  and  oh,  be  fortunate, 
Should  this  ill  hour  permit! 

[The  trumpets  sound  ;  the  Heralds  cry 
"  Largesse,"  and  the  Attenda  tits  shout 
"  A  Gordon !  A  Gordon !" 
Reg.  Beggars  and  flatterers !  Peace,  peace,  I  say ! 
We'll  to  the  standard  ;  knights  shall  there  be  made 
Who  will  with  better  reason  crave  your  clamor. 

LEN.  What  of  Swinton's  counsel? 
Here's  Maxwell  and  myself  think  it  worth  noting. 

Reg.  (with  concentrated  indignation). 
Let  the  best  knight,  and  let  the  sagest  leader, — 
So  Gordon  quotes  the  man  who  slew  his  father, — 
With  his  old  pedigree  and  heavy  mace, 
Essay  the  adventure  if  it  pleases  him, 
With  his  fair  threescore  horse.    As  for  ourselves, 
We  will  not  peril  aught  upon  the  measure. 

Gor.  Lord  Regent,  you  mistake ;  for  if  Sir  Alan 
Shall  venture  such  attack,  each  man  who  calls 
The  Gordon  chief,  and  hopes  or  fears  from  him 
Or  good  or  evil,  follows  Swinton's  banner 
In  this  achievement. 

Reg.  Why,  God  ha'  mercy !    This  is  of  a  piece. 
Let  young  and  old  e'en  follow  their  own  counsel, 
Since  none  will  list  to  mine. 
Ross.    The  Border  cockerel  fain  would  be  on 
horseback ; 
'Tis  safe  to  be  prepared  for  fight  or  flight : 
And  this  comes  of  it  to  give  Northern  lands 
To  the  false  Norman  blood. 
GOR.  Hearken,  proud  Chief  of  Isles!     Within  my 
stalls 
I  have  two  hundred  horse;  two  hundred  riders 
Mount  guard  upon  my  castle,  who  would  tread 
Into  the  dust  a  thousand  of  your  Redshanks, 
Nor  count  it  a  day's  service. 

Swi.  Hear  I  this 

From  thee,  young  man,  and  on  the  day  of  battle  ? 
And  to  the  brave  MacDonnell  ? 
GOR.  'Twas  he  that  urged  me ;  but  I  am  rebuked. 
Reg.  He  crouches  like  a  leash-hound  to  his  master  I1 
Swi.  Each  hound  must  do  so  that  would  head  the 
deer — 
'Tis  mongrel  curs  that  snatch  at  mate  or  master. 
Reg.  Too  much  of  this.    Sirs,  to  the  royal  stan- 
dard! 
I  bid  you  in  the  name  of  good  King  David. 
Sound  trumpets — sound  for  Scotland  and  King  David ! 
[The  Regent  and  the  rest  go  off,  and  the 
Scene  closes.    Manet  Gordon,  Swinton, 
and  Vipont,  with  Reynald  and  follow- 
ers.    Lennox  follows  the.  Regent;  but 
returns,  and  addresses  Swinton. 
Len.  Oh,  were  my  western  horsemen  but  come  up, 
I  would  take  part  with  you ! 

Swi.  Better  that  you  remain. 

They  lack  discretion ;  such  gray  head  as  yours 
May  best  supply  that  want. 

1  In  the  MS.  this  speech  and  the  next  are  interpolated. 


HALIDON   HILL. 


731 


Lennox,  mine  ancient  friend,  and  honor'd  lord, 
Farewell,  I  think  for  ever ! 

Len.  Farewell,  brave  friend ! — and  farewell,  noble 
Gordon, 
Whose  sun  will  be  eclipsed  even  as  it  rises ! — 
The  Regent  will  not  aid  you. 

Swi.  We  will  so  bear  us,  that  as  soon  the  blood- 
hound 
Shall  halt  and  take  no  part,  what  time  his  comrade 
Is  grappling  with  the  deer,  as  he  stand  still 
And  see  us  overmatch'd. 

Len.  Alas!    thou  dost  not  know  how  mean  his 
pride  is, 
How  strong  his  envy.  [him. 

Swi.  Then  we  will  die,  and  leave  the  shame  with 

[Exit  Lennox. 

Vip.  (to  Gor.).  What  ails  thee,  noble  youth  ?   What 
means  this  pause  ? 
Thou  dost  not  rue  thy  generosity  ? 

Gor.  I  have  been  hurried  on  by  strong  impulse, 
Like  to  a  bark  that  scuds  before  the  storm, 
Till  driven  upon  some  strange  and  distant  coast, 
Which  never  pilot  drcam'd  of.    Have  I  not  forgiven  ? 
And  am  I  not  still  fatherless  ? 

Swi.  Gordon,  no ; 

For  while  we  live  I  am  a  father  to  thee. 

GOR.  Thou,  Swinton  ? — no !  that  cannot,  cannot  be. 

Swi.  Then  change  the  phrase,  and  say  that,  while 
we  live, 
Gordon  shall  be  my  son.    If  thou  art  fatherless, 
Am  I  not  childless  too  ?     Bethink  thee,  Gordon, 
Our  death-feud  was  not  like  the  household  fire 
Which  the  poor  peasant  hides  among  its  embers, 
To  smoulder  on,  and  wait  a  time  for  waking. 
Ours  was  the  conflagration  of  the  forest, 
Which  in  its  fury  spares  nor  sprout  nor  stem, 
Hoar  oak  nor  sapling, — not  to  be  extinguish'd 
Till  Heaven,  in  mercy,  sends  down  all  her  waters ; 
But,  once  subdued,  its  flame  is  quench'd  for  ever, 
And  spring  shall  hide  the  tract  of  devastation1 
With  foliage  and  with  flowers.     Give  me  thy  hand. 

GOR.  My  hand  and  heart! — And  freely  now! — to 
fight! 

Vip.  How  will  you  act?    (To  Swinton.)  The  Gor- 
don's band  and  thine 
Are  in  the  rearward  left,  I  think  in  scorn ; 
111  post  for  them  who  wish  to  charge  the  foremost ! 

Swi.  We'll  turn  that  scorn  to  vantage,   and  de- 
scend 
Sidelong  the  hill ;  some  winding  path  there  must  be. 
Oh  for  a  well-skill'd  guide ! 

[Hob  Hattely  starts  up  from  a  thicket. 

Hob.  So,  here  he  stands.    An  ancient  friend,  Sir 
Alan : 
Hob  Hattely,  or,  if  you  like  it  better, 
Hob  of  the  Heron  Plume, — here  stands  your  guide. 


1  MS. :  "  But,  once  extinguish'd,  it  is  quench'd  for  ever, 
And  spring  shall  hide  the  blackness  of  its  ashes." 


Swi.  An  ancient  friend ! — a  most  notorious  knave, 
Whose  throat  I've  destined  to  the  dodder'd  oak 
Before  my  castle,  these  ten  months  and  more. 
Was  it  not  you  who  drove  from  Simprim  mains, 
And  Swinton  quarter,  sixty  head  of  cattle  ? 

Hob.  What  then,  if  now  I  lead  your  sixty  lances 
Upon  the  English  flank,  where  they'll  find  spoil 
Is  worth  six  hundred  beeves  ? 

Swi.  Why,  thou  canst  do  it,  knave.    I  would  not 
trust  thee 
With  one  poor  bullock ;  yet  would  risk  my  life, 
And  all  my  followers,  on  thine  honest  guidance. 

Hob.  There  is  a  dingle,  and  a  most  discreet  one 
(I've  trod  each  step  by  starlight),  that  sweeps  round 
The  rearward  of  this  hill,  and  opens  secretly 
Upon  the  archers'  flank :  will  not  that  serve 
Your  present  turn,  Sir  Alan  ? 

Swi.  Bravely,  bravely ! 

GOR.  Mount,  sirs,  and  cry  my  slogan ; 
Let  all  who  love  the  Gordon  follow  me ! 

Swi.  Ay,  let  all  follow — but  in  silence  follow; 
Scare  not  the  hare  that's  couchant  on  her  form, 
The  cushat  from  her  nest ;  brush  not,  if  possible, 
The  dewdrop  from  the  spray ; 
Let  no  one  whisper  until  I  cry  "  Havoc !" 
Then  shout  as  loud's  ye  will. — On,  on,  brave  Hob ; 
On,  thou  false  thief,  but  yet  most  faithful  Scotsman ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  II.-SCENE   I. 

A  rising  Ground  immediately  in  front  of  the  Position 
of  the  English  main  Body.  Percy,  Chandos, 
BlBAUMONT,  and  other  English  and  Norman  No- 
bles, are  grouped  on  the  Stage. 

Per.  The  Scots  still  keep  the  hill ;  the  sun  grows 
high. 
Would  that  the  charge  would  sound ! 

Cha.  Thou   scent'st  the   slaughter,  Percy. — Who 
comes  here  ? 

[Enter  the  Abbot  op  Walthamstow. 
Now,  by  my  life,  the  holy  priest  of  Walthamstow, 
Like  to  a  lamb  among  a  herd  of  wolves ! 
See,  he's  about  to  bleat. 

Ab.  The  King,  methinks,  delays  the  onset  long. 

Cha.  Your  general,  Father,  like  your  rat-catcher, 
Pauses  to  bait  his  traps  and  set  his  snares. 

Ab.  The  metaphor  is  decent. 

Cha.  Reverend  sir, 

I  will  uphold  it  just.     Our  good  King  Edward 
Will  presently  come  to  this  battle-field 
And  speak  to  you  of  the  last  tilting  match, 
Or  of  some  feat  he  did  a  twenty  years  since, — 
But  not  a  word  of  the  day's  work  before  him. 


732 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Even  as  the  artist,  sir,  whose  name  offends  you, 
Sits  prosing  o'er  his  can  until  the  trap  fall, 
Announcing  that  the  vermin  are  secured, 
Ami  then  'lis  up  and  on  them. 

Per.  Chandos,  you  give  your  tongue  too  bold  a 
license. 

Oha.  Percy,  I  am  a  necessary  evil; 
King  Edward  would  not  want  me  if  he  could, 
And  could  not  if  he  would.     I  know  my  value. 
My  heavy  hand  excuses  my  light  tongue. 
So  men  wear  weighty  swords  in  their  defence, 
Although  they  may  offend  the  tender  shin 
When  the  steel  boot  is  doff'd. 

Ab.  My  Lord  of  Chandos, 

This  is  but  idle  speech  on  brink  of  battle, 
When  Christian  men  should  think  upon  their  sins; 
For  as  the  tree  falls,  so  the  trunk  must  lie, 
Be  it  for  good  or  evil.     Lord,  bethink  thee : 
Thou  hast  withheld  from  our  most  reverend  house 
The  tithes  of  Everingham  and  Settleton. 
Wilt  thou  make  satisfaction  to  the  Church 
Before  her  thunders  strike  thee  ?    I  do  warn  thee 
In  most  paternal  sort. 

Cha.  I  thank  you,  Father,  filially. 
Though  but  a  truant  son  of  Holy  Church, 
I  would  not  choose  to  undergo  her  censures 
When  Scottish  blades  are  waving  at  my  throat. 
I'll  make  fair  composition. 

Ab.  No  composition ;  I'll  have  all  or  none. 

Cha.  None,  then — 'tis    soonest  spoke.     I'll   take 
my  chance, 
And  trust  my  sinful  soul  to  Heaven's  mercy, 
Bather  than  risk  my  worldly  goods  with  thee. 
My  hour  may  not  be  come. 

Ab.  Impious!  impenitent! — 

Per.  Hush !  the  King — the  King ! 

Enter  King  Edward,  attended  by  Baliol  and  others. 

KING  (apart  to  Cha.).  Hark    hither,  Chandos! — 
Have  the  Yorkshire  archers 
Yet  join'd  the  vanguard  ? 

CHA,  They  are  marching  thither. 

K.  Ed.  Bid  them  make  haste,  for  shame;  send  a 
quick  rider. 
The  loitering  knaves!  were  it  to  steal  my  venison, 
Their  steps  were  light  enough. — How  now,  Sir  Abbot? 
Say,  is  your  Beverence  come  to  study  with  us 
The  princely  art  of  war? 

Ab.  I've  had  a  lecture  from  my  Lord  of  Chandos, 
In  which  he  term'd  your  Grace  a  rat-catcher. 

K.  Ed.  Chandos,  how's  this? 

CHA.  Oh,  1  will  prove;  it,  sir! — These  skipping  Scots 
Have  changed  a  dozen  times  'twixt  Unite  and  Baliol, 
Quitting  each  House  when  it  began  to  totter; 
They're  fierce  and  cunning,  treacherous,  too,  as  rats, 
And  we,  as  such,  will  smoke  them  in  their  fastnesses. 

K.  Ed.  These  rats  have  seen  your  back,  my  Lord 
of  Chandos, 
And  noble  Percy's  too. 

Per.  Ay ;  but  the  mass  which  now  lies  weltering 


On  yon  hillside,  like  a  leviathan 

That's  stranded  in  the  shallows,  then  had  soul  in't, 

Order  and  discipline,  and  power  of  action. 

Now  'tis  a  headless  corpse,  which  only  shows 

By  wild  convulsions  that  some  life  remains  in't. 

K.  Ed.  True,  they  had  once  a  head;  and  'twas  a 
wise, 
Although  a  rebel  head. 

Ab.  (bowing  to  the  King).  Would  he  were  here ! 
We  should  find  one  to  match  him. 

K.  Ed.   There's    something    in    that   wish   which 
wakes  an  echo 
Within  my  bosom.    Yet  it  is  as  well, 
Or  better,  that  the  Bruce  is  in  his  grave. 
We  have  enough  of  powerful  foes  on  earth, — 
No  need  to  summon  them  from  other  worlds. 

Per.  Your  Grace  ne'er  met  the  Bruce  ? 

K.  Ed.  Never  himself;  but  in  my  earliest  field 
I  did  encounter  with  his  famous  captains, 
Douglas  and  Bandolph.    Faith!  they  press'd  me  hard. 

Ab.  My  Liege,  if  I  might  urge  you  with  a  question, 
Will  the  Scots  fight  to-day? 

K.  Ed.  (sharply).  Go  look  your  breviary. 

Cha.  (apart).  The  Abbot  has  it — Edward  will  not 
answer 
On  that  nice  point.     We  must  observe  his  humor. — 

[Addresses  the  KING. 
Your  first  campaign,  my  Liege?    That  was  in  Wear- 
dale, 
When  Douglas  gave  our  camp  yon  midnight  ruffle, 
And  turn'd  men's  beds  to  biers? 

K.  Ed.  Ay,  by  Saint  Edward!     I   escaped  right 
nearly. 
I  was  a  soldier  then  for  holidays, 
And  slept  not  in  mine  armor.     My  safe  rest 
Was  startled  by  the  cry  of  "  Douglas !  Douglas !" 
And  by  my  couch,  a  grisly  chamberlain, 
Stood  Alan  Swinton,  with  his  bloody  mace. 
It  was  a  churchman  saved  me :  my  stout  chaplain — 
Heaven  quit  his  spirit! — caught  a  weapon  up, 
And  grappled  with  the  giant. — How  now,  Louis  ? 

Enter  an  Officer,  who  whispers  the  KING. 

K.  Ed.  Say  to  him,— thus — and  thus 

[Whispers. 
Ab.  That  Swinton's  dead.     A  monk  of  ours  re- 
ported, 
Bound  homeward  from  Saint  Ninian's  pilgrimage, 
The  Lord  of  Gordon  slew  him. 

Per.  Father,  and  if  your  house  stood  on  our  borders, 
You  might  have  cause  to  know  that  Swinton  lives, 
And  is  on  horseback  yet. 

Cha.  He  slew  the  Gordon, 

That's  all  the  difference — a  very  trifle. 

Ab.  Trifling  to  those  who  wage  a  war  more  noble 
Than  with  the  arm  of  flesh. 

Cha.  (apart).  The  Abbot's  wroth;  I'll  rub  the  sore 
for  him. 
(Aloud.)  I  have  seen  priests  that  used  that  arm  of 
flesh. 


HALIDON   HILL. 


733 


And  used  it  sturdily.  Most  reverend  Father, 
What  say  you  to  the  chaplain's  deed  of  arms 
In  the  King's  tent  at  Weardale  ? 

Ab.  It  was  most  sinful,  being  against  the  canon 
Prohibiting  all  churchmen  to  bear  weapons ; 
And  as  he  fell  in  that  unseemly  guise, 
Perchance  his  soul  may  rue  it. 

K.  Ed.  (overhearing  the  last  words).  Who  may  rue? 
And  what  is  to  be  rued  ? 

Cha.  (apart).  I'll  match  his  Reverence  for  the  tithes 
of  Everingham. 
— The  Abbot  says,  my  Liege,  the  deed  was  sinful, 
By  which  your  chaplain,  wielding  secular  weapons, 
Secured  your  Grace's  life  and  liberty, 
And  that  he  suffers  for't  in  purgatory. 

K.  Ed.  (to  the  Abbot).  Say'st  thou  my  chaplain  is 
in  purgatory  ? 

Ab.  It  is  the  canon  speaks  it,  good  my  Liege. 

K.  Ed.  In  purgatory  !  thou  shalt  pray  him  out  on't, 
Or  I  will  make  thee  wish  thyself  beside  him. 

Ab.  My  Lord,  perchance  his  soul  is  past  the  aid 
Of  all  the  Church  may  do — there  is  a  place 
From  which  there's  no  redemption. 

K.  Ed.    And  if  I   thought  my  faithful   chaplain 
there, 
Thou  shouldst  there  join  him,  priest ! — Go,  watch,  fast, 

Pray, 
And  let  me  have  such  prayers  as  will  storm  Heaven — 
None  of  your  maim'd  and  mutter'd  hunting-masses. 

Ab.  (apart  to  Cha.).  For  God's  sake  take  him  off. 

Cha.  Wilt  thou  compound,  then, 
The  tithes  of  Everingham  ? 

K.  Ed.   I  tell  thee,   if   thou  bear'st  the  keys  of 
Heaven, 
Abbot,  thou  shalt  not  turn  a  bolt  with  them 
'Gainst  any  well-deserving  English  subject. 

Ab.  (to  Cha.).  We  will  compound,  and  grant  thee, 
too,  a  share 
I'  the  next  indulgence.    Thou  dost  need  it  much, 
And  greatly  'twill  avail  thee. 

Cha.  Enough — we're  friends,  and  when  occasion 
serves, 

I  will  strike  in. 

[Looks  as  if  towards  the  Scottish  Army. 

K.  Ed.    Answer,  proud  Abbot ;    is  my  chaplain's 
soul, 
If  thou  knowest  aught  on't,  in  the  evil  place  ? 

Cha.  My  Liege,  the  Yorkshire  men  have  gain'd  the 
meadow. 
I  see  the  pennon  green  of  merry  Sherwood. 

K.  Ed.   Then  give  the  signal  instant!     We  have 
lost 
But  too  much  time  already. 

Ab.  My  Liege,  your  holy  chaplain's  blessed  soul — 

K.  Ed.  To  hell  with  it  and  thee !     Is  this  a  time 
To  speak  of  monks  and  chaplains  ? 

1  MS. :  "  The  viewless,  the  resistless  plague,"  &c. 

s  The  well-known  expression  by  which  Robert  Bruce  cen- 


[Flourish  of  Trumpets,  answered  by  a  distant 
sound  of  Bugles. 
See,  Chandos,  Percy — Ha,  Saint  George !   Saint  Ed- 
ward ! 
See  it  descending  now,  the  fatal  hail-shower, 
The  storm  of  England's  wrath — sure,  swift,  resist- 
less, 
Which  no  mail-coat  can  brook. — Brave  English  hearts  I 
How  close  they  shoot  together !— as  one  eye 
Had  aim'd  five  thousand  shafts — as  if  one  hand 
Had  loosed  five  thousand  bow-strings ! 

Pee.  The  thick  volley 

Darkens  the  air,  and  hides  the  sun  from  us. 
K.  Ed.   It  falls  on  those  shall  see  the    sun    no 
more. 
The  winged,  the  resistless  plague1  is  with  them. 
How  their  vex'd  host  is  reeling  to  and  fro ! 
Like  the  chafed  whale  with  fifty  lances  in  him, 
They  do  not  see,  and  cannot  shun,  the  wound. 
The  storm  is  viewless  as  Death's  sable  wing, 
Unerring  as  his  scythe. 

Per.  Horses  and  riders  are  going  down  together. 
'Tis  almost  pity  to  see  nobles  fall, 
And  by  a  peasant's  arrow. 

Bal.  I  could  weep  them, 

Although  they  are  my  rebels. 

Cha.  (aside  to  Pee.).  His  conquerors,  he  means,  who 
cast  him  out 
From  his  usurped  kingdom. — (Aloud.)  'Tis  the  worst 

of  it, 
That  knights  can  claim  small  honor  in  the  field 
Which  archers  win,  unaided  by  our  lances. 
K.  Ed.  The  battle  is  not  ended. 

[Looks  towards  the  field. 
Not  ended  ? — scarce  begun !    What  horse  are  these. 
Rush  from  the  thicket  underneath  the  hill? 

Per.   They're  Hainaulters,  the  followers  of  Queen 

Isabel. 
K.  Ed.  (hastily).   Hainaulters  ! — thou  art  blind — 
wear  Hainaulters 
Saint  Andrew's  silver  cross? — or  would  they  charge 
Full  on  our  archers,  and  make  havoc  of  them  ? — 
Bruce  is  alive  again — ho,  rescue !  rescue ! — 
Who  was't  survey'd  the  ground  ? 
Riba.  Most  royal  Liege — 
K.  Ed.  A  rose    hath    fallen    from    thy  chaplet,2 

Ribaumont. 
Riba.  I'll  win  it  back,  or  lay  my  head  beside  it. 

[Exit. 
K.  Ed.  Saint  George !   Saint  Edward !  Gentlemen, 
to  horse, 
And  to  the  rescue ! — Percy,  lead  the  billmen; 
Chandos,  do  thou  bring  up  the  men-at-arms. — 
If  yonder  numerous  host  should  now  bear  down 
Bold  as  their  vanguard,  (to  the  Abbot,)  thou  may'st 
pray  for  us, 


sured  the  negligence  of  Randolph  for  permitting  an  English 
body  of  cavalry  to  pass  his  flank  on  the  day  preceding  the 
battle  of  Bannockburn. 


734 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


We  may  need  good  men's  prayers. — To  the  rescue, 
Lords,  to  the  rescue !    ha,  Saint  George  I   Saint  Ed- 
ward I1 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 


A  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle  betwixt  the  two  Main 
Armies.  Tumults  behind  the  scenes;  alarums,  and 
cries  of  "  Gordon,  a  Gordon !"  "  Swinton !"  &c. 

Enter,  as  victorious  over  the  English  vanguard, 
VlPONT,  Reynald,  and  others. 
VlP.  'Tis  sweet  to  hear  these  war-cries  sound  to- 
gether,— 
Gordon  and  Swinton. 

Rey.  'Tis  passing  pleasant,  yet  'tis  strange  withal. 
Faith,  when  at  first  I  heard  the  Gordon's  slogan 
Sounded  so  near  me,  I  had  nigh  struck  down 
The  knave  who  cried  it.2 

Enter  Swinton  and  GORDON. 

Swi.  Pitch  down  my  pennon  in  yon  holly  bush. 

Gok.  Mine  in  the  thorn  beside  it ;  let  them  wave, 
As  fought  this  morn  their  masters,  side  by  side. 

Swi.  Let  the  men  rally,  and  restore  their  ranks 
Here  in  this  vantage-ground — disorder'd  chase 
Leads  to  disorder'd  flight;  we  have  done  our  part, 
And  if  we're  succor'd  now,  Plantagenet 
Must  turn  his  bridle  southward. — 
Reynald,  spur  to  the  Regent  with  the  basnet 
Of  stout  De  Grey,  the  leader  of  their  vanguard ; 
Say,  that  in  battle-front  the  Gordon  slew  him, 
And  by  that  token  bid  him  send  us  succor. 

Gor.    And  tell  him  that  when  Selby's  headlong 
charge 
Had  wellnigh  borne  me  down,  Sir  Alan  smote  him. 
I  cannot  send  his  helmet,  never  nutshell 
Went  to  so  many  shivers. — Harkye,  grooms ! 

[To  those  behind  the  scenes. 
Why  do  you  let  my  noble  steed  stand  stiffening 
After  so  hot  a  course  ? 

Swi.  Ay,  breathe  your  horses,  they'll  have  work 
anon, 

1  "  In  the  second  act,  after  the  English  nobles  have  amused 
themselves  in  some  trifling  conversation  with  the  Abbot  of 
Walthamstow,  Edward  is  introduced,  and  his  proud,  courage- 
ous temper  and  short  manner  are  very  admirably  delineated ; 
though,  if  our  historical  recollections  do  not  fail  us,  it  is  more 
completely  the  picture  of  Longshanks  than  that  of  the  third 

Edward We  conceive  it  to  be  extremely  probable  that 

Sir  Walter  Scott  had  resolved  to  commemorate  some  of  the 
events  in  the  life  of  Wallace,  and  had  already  sketched  that 
hero,  and  a  Templar,  and  Edward  the  First,  when  his  eye 
glanced  over  the  description  of  HomiMon  Hill,  in  Pinker- 
ton's  History  of  Scotland ;  that,  being  pleased  with  the  char- 
acters of  Swinton  and  Gordon,  he  transferred  his  Wallace  to 
Swinton;  and  that,  for  the  sake  of  retaining  his  portrait  of 
Edward,  as  there  happened  to  be  a  Gordon  and  a  Douglas  at 
the  battle  of  Halidon,  in  the  time  of  Edward  the  Third,  and 
there  was  so  much  similarity  in  the  circumstances  of  the 
contest,  he  preserved  his  Edward  as  Edward  the  Third,  re- 


For  Edward's  men-at-arms  will  soon  be  on  us, 
The  flower  of  England,  Gascony,  and  Flanders ; 
But  with  swift  succor  we  will  bide  them  bravely. — 
De  Vipont,  thou  look'st  sad.3 

VlP.  It  is  because  I  hold  a  Templar's  sword 
Wet  to  the  crossed  hilt  with  Christian  blood. 

Swi.  The  blood  of  English  archers — what  can  gild 
A  Scottish  blade  more  bravely  ? 

Vip.  Even  therefore  grieve  I  for  those  gallant  yeo- 
men, 
England's  peculiar  and  appropriate  sons, 
Known  in  no  other  land.     Each  boasts  his  hearth 
And  field  as  free  as  the  best  lord  his  barony, 
Owing  subjection  to  no  human  vassalage, 
Save  to  their  King  and  law.    Hence  are  they  resolute, 
Leading  the  van  on  every  day  of  battle, 
As  men  who  know  the  blessings  they  defend. 
Hence  are  they  frank  and  generous  in  peace, 
As  men  who  have  their  portion  in  its  plenty. 
No  other  kingdom  shows  such  wTorth  and  happiness 
Veil'd  in  such  low  estate — therefore  I  mourn  them. 

Swi.  I'll  keep  my  sorrow  for  our  native  Scots 
Who,  spite  of  hardship,  poverty,  oppression, 
Still  follow  to  the  field  their  Chieftain's  banner, 
And  die  in  the  defence  on't. 

GOR.  And  if  I  live  and  see  my  halls  again, 
They  shall  have  portion  in  the  good  they  fight  for. 
Each  hardy  follower  shall  have  his  field, 
His  household  hearth  and  sod-built  home,  as  free 
As  ever  Southron  had.    They  shall  be  happy  I — 
And  my  Elizabeth  shall  smile  to  see  it ! — 4 
I  have  betray'd  myself. 

Swi.  Do  not  believe  it. — 

Vipont,  do  thou  look  out  from  yonder  height, 
And  see  what  motion  in  the  Scottish  host, 
And  in  King  Edward's. —  [Exit  Vipont. 

Now  will  I  counsel  thee ; 
The  Templar's  ear  is  for  no  tale  of  love, 
Being  wedded  to  his  Order.     But  I  tell  thee, 
The  brave  young  knight  that  hath  no  lady-love 
Is  like  a  lamp  unlighted ;  his  brave  deeds, 
And  its  rich  painting,  do  seem  then  most  glorious, 
When  the  pure  ray  gleams  through  them. — 
Hath  thy  Elizabeth  no  other  name  ?5 

taining  also  his  old  Knight  Templar,  in  defiance  of  the  ana- 
chronism."— Monthly  Review,  July,  1822. 

2  The  MS.  adds,  "  such  was  my  surprise." 

s  "  While  thus  enjoying  a  breathing  time,  Swinton  observes 
the  thoughtful  countenance  of  De  Vipont.  See  what  follows. 
Were  ever  England  and  Englishmen  more  nobly,  more  beau- 
tifully, more  justly  characterized  than  by  the  latter,  or  was 
patriotic  feeling  ever  better  sustained  than  by  the  former 
and  his  brave  companions  in  arms?" — New  Edinburgh  Review. 

*  "There  wanted  but  a  little  of  the  tender  passion  to  make 
this  youth  every  way  a  hero  of  romance.  But  the  poem  has 
no  ladies.  How  admirably  is  this  defect  supplied!  In  his 
enthusiastic  anticipation  of  prosperity,  he  allows  a  name  to 
escape  him." — New  Edinburgh  Review. 

6  "Amid  the  confusion  and  din  of  the  battle,  the  reader  is 
unexpectedly  greeted  with  a  dialogue  which  breathes  indeed 
the  soft  sounds  of  the  lute  in  the  clang  of  trumpets."— Monthly 
Review. 


HALIDON   HILL. 


735 


GOR.  Must  I  then  speak  of  her  to  yon,  Sir  Alan  ? 
The  thought  of  thee,  and  of  thy  matchless  strength, 
Hath  conjured  phantoms  up  amongst  her  dreams. 
The  name  of  Swinton  hath  been  spell  sufficient 
To  chase  the  rich  blood  from  her  lovely  cheek, 
And  wouldst  thou  now  know  hers  ? 

Swi.  I  would,  nay  must. 

Thy  father  in  the  paths  of  chivalry 
Should  know  the  load-star  thou  dost  rule  thy  course 

by. 

GOR.  Nay,  then,  her  name  is — hark 

[  Whispers. 

Swi.  I  know  it  well,  that  ancient  northern  house. 

Gor.  Oh,  thou  shalt  see  its  fairest  grace  and  honor 
In  my  Elizabeth.    And  if  music  touch  thee 

Swi.  It  did,  before  disasters  had  untuned  me. 

Gor.  Oh,  her  notes 
Shall  hush  each  sad  remembrance  to  oblivion, 
Or  melt  them  to  such  gentleness  of  feeling 
That  grief  shall  have  its  sweetness.     Who,  but  she, 
Knows  the  wild  harpings  of  our  native  land  ? 
Whether  they  lull  the  shepherd  on  his  hill, 
Or  wake  the  knight  to  battle ;  rouse  to  merriment, 
Or  soothe  to  sadness, — she  can  touch  each  mood. 
Princes  and  statesmen,  chiefs  renown'd  in  arms, 
And  gray-hair'd  bards,  contend  which  shall  the  first 
And  choicest  homage  render  to  the  enchantress. 

Swi.  You  speak  her  talent  bravely. 

Gor.  Though  you  smile, 

I  do  not  speak  it  half.     Her  gift  creative 
New  measures  adds  to  every  air  she  wakes ; 
Varying  and  gracing  it  with  liquid  sweetness, 
Like  the  wild*modulation  of  the  lark ; 
Now  leaving,  now  returning  to  the  strain  ! 
To  listen  to  her  is  to  seem  to  wander 
In  some  enchanted  labyrinth  of  romance, 
Whence  nothing  but  the  lovely  fairy's  will, 
Who  wove  the  spell,  can  extricate  the  wanderer. 
Methinks  I  hear  her  now ! — 

Swi.  Bless'd  privilege 

Of  youth !     There's  scarce  three  minutes  to  decide 
'Twixt  death  and  life,  'twixt  triumph  and  defeat, 
Yet  all  his  thoughts  are  in  his  lady's  bower, 

List'ning  her  harping ! 

[Enter  ViPONT. 
Where  are  thine,  De  Vipont? 

VlP.  On  death — on  judgment — on  eternity ! 
For  time  is  over  with  us. 

Swi.  There  moves  not,  then,  one  pennon  to  our  aid, 
Of  all  that  flutter  yonder ! 

Vip.  From  the  main  English  host  come  rushing 
forward 
Pennons  enow — ay,  and  their  royal  standard. 
But  ours  stand  rooted,  as  for  crows  to  roost  on. 

Swi.  (to  himself).  I'll  rescue  him  at  least. — Young 
Lord  of  Gordon, 
Spur  to  the  Regent — show  the  instant  need 


1  MS. :  "  And  am  I  doom'd  to  yield  the  sad  consent 
That  thus  devotes  thy  life?" 


Gor.  I  penetrate  thy  purpose ;  but  I  go  not. 

Swi.  Not  at  my  bidding  ?  I,  thy  sire  in  chivalry — 
Thy  leader  in  the  battle  ? — I  command  thee. 

Gor.  No,   thou  wilt  not  command  me   seek  my 
safety, — 
For  such  is  thy  kind  meaning, — at  the  expense 
Of  the  last  hope  which  Heaven  reserves  for  Scotland. 
While  I  abide,  no  follower  of  mine 
Will  turn  his  rein  for  life ;  but  were  I  gone, 
What  power  can  stay  them  ?  and,  our  band  dispersed, 
What  swords  shall  for  an  instant  stem  yon  host, 
And  save  the  latest  chance  for  victory  ? 

VlP.  The  noble  youth  speaks  truth ;  and  were  he 
gone, 
There  will  not  twenty  spears  be  left  with  us. 

GOR.  No,  bravely  as  we  have  begun  the  field, 
So  let  us  fight  it  out.     The  Regent's  eyes, 
More  certain  than  a  thousand  messages, 
Shall  see  us  stand,  the  barrier  of  his  host 
Against  yon  bursting  storm.     If  pot  for  honor, 
If  not  for  warlike  rule,  for  shame  at  least 
He  must  bear  down  to  aid  us. 

Swi.  Must  it  be  so  ? 

And  am  I  forced  to  yield  the  sad  consent, 
Devoting  thy  young  life  ?l    Oh,  Gordon,  Gordon, 
I  do  it  as  the  patriarch  doom'd  his  issue, — 
I  at  my  country's,  he  at  Heaven's  command  ; 
But  I  seek  vainly  some  atoning  sacrifice,2 
Rather  than  such  a  victim ! — ( Trumpets.)    Hark,  they 

come ! 
That  music  sounds  not  like  thy  lady's  lute. 

Gor.  Yet  shall  my  lady's  name  mix  with  it  gayly — 
Mount,  vassals,  couch  your  lances,  and  cry,  "Gordon! 
Gordon  for  Scotland  and  Elizabeth  !" 

[Exeunt.     Loud  Alarums. 


SCENE  III. 

Another  part  of  the  Field  of  Battle,  adjacent  to  the 
former  Scene. 

Alarums.     Enter  SwiNTON,  followed  by 
Hob  Hattely. 

Swi.  Stand  to  it  yet !     The  man  who  flies  to-day, 
May  bastards  warm  them  at  his  household  hearth ! 

Hob.  That  ne'er  shall  be  my  curse.     My  Magdalen 
Is  trusty  as  my  broadsword. 

Swi.  Ha,  thou  knave, 

Art  thou  dismounted  too  ? 

Hob.  I  know,  Sir  Alan, 

You  want  no  homeward  guide ;  so  threw  my  reins 
Upon  my  palfrey's  neck,  and  let  him  loose. 
Within  an  hour  he  stands  before  my  gate ; 
And  Magdalen  will  need  no  other  token 
To  bid  the  Melrose  Monks  say  masses  for  me. 


2  MS. :  "  Oh,  could  there  be  some  lesser  sacrifice." 


736 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Swi.  Thou  art  resolved  to  cheat  the  halter,  then? 
Hob.  It  is  my  purpose, 

Having  lived  a  thief,  to  die  a  brave  man's  death ; 
And  never  had  I  a  more  glorious  chance  for't. 
Swi.  Here   lies  the  way  to  it,  knave. — Make  in, 
make  in, 
And  aid  young  Gordon ! 

[Em  unt.   Loud  and  long  Alarums.  After 
which  the  back  Scene  rises,  and  dis- 
covers SwiNTON  on  the  ground,  GOR- 
DON   supporting    him;     both    much 
wounded. 
Swi.  All  are  cut  down — the  reapers  have  pass'd 
o'er  us, 
And  hie  to  distant  harvest. — My  toil's  over; 
There  lies  my  sickle.    {Dropping  his  sword.)     Hand 

of  mine  again 
Shall  never,  never  wield  it!1 

GOR.  Oh,  valiant  leader,  is  thy  light  extinguish'd ! 
That  only  beacon-flame  which  promised  safety 
In  this  day's  deadly  wrack ! 
Swi.  My  lamp  hath  long  been  dim!     But  thine, 
young  Gordon, 
Just  kindled,  to  be  quench'd  so  suddenly, 

Ere  Scotland  saw  its  splendor  ! 

Gor.  Five  thousand  horse  hung  idly  on  yon  hill, 
Saw  us  o'erpower'd,  and  no  one  stirr'd  to  aid  us ! 

Swi.  It  was  the  Regent's  envy. — Out ! — alas ! 
Why  blame  I  him ! — It  was  our  civil  discord, 
Our  selfish  vanity,  our  jealous  hatred, 
Which  framed  this  day  of  dole  for  our  poor  country. — 
Had  thy  brave  father  held  yon  leading  staff, 
As  well  his  rank  and  valor  might  have  claim'd  it, 
We  had  not  fall'n  unaided. — How,  oh  how 

Is  he  to  answer  it,  whose  deed  prevented 

GOR.  Alas !  alas !  the  author  of  the  death-feud, 
He  has  his  reckoning  too!  for  had  your  sons 
And  num'rous  vassals  lived,  we  had  lack'd  no  aid. 
Swi.  May  God  assoil  the  dead,  and  him  who  fol- 
lows ! 
We've  drank  the  poison'd  beverage  which  we  brew'd : 
Have  sown  the  wind,  and  reap'd  the  tenfold  whirl- 
wind ! — 
But  thou,  brave  youth,  whose  nobleness  of  heart 
Pour'd  oil  upon  the  wounds  our  hate  inflicted; 
Thou,  who  hast  done  no  wrong,  needst  no  forgive- 
ness,— 
Why  shouldst  thou  share  our  punishment! 

Gor.  All   need  forgiveness — (distant  alarum.) 

Hark,  in  yonder  shout 
Did  the  main  battles  counter ! 
Swi.  Look  on   the  field,   brave   Gordon,   if   thou 
canst, 
And  tell  me  how  the  day  goes. — But  I  guess, 

Too  surely  do  I  guess 

Gor.  All's  lost!  all's  lost!    Of  the  main  Scottish 
host, 

1  This  speech  of  .Swinton'a  is  interpolated  on  the  blank 
page  of  the  manuscript. 


Some  wildly  fly,  and  some  rush  wildly  forward ; 
And  some  there  are  who  seem  to  turn  their  spears 
Against  their  countrymen. 

Swi.  Rashness,  and  cowardice,  and  secret  treason, 
Combine  to  ruin  us;  and  our  hot  valor, 
Devoid  of  discipline,  is  madmen's  strength, 
More  fatal  unto  friends  than  enemies ! 
I'm  glad   that   these  dim  eyes    shall  see  no  more 

on't. — 
Let  thy  hands  close  them,  Gordon — I  will  dream 
My  fair-hair'd  William  renders  me  that  office ! 

[Dies. 

Gor.  And,  Swinton,  I  will  think  I  do  that  duty 
To  my  dead  father. 

Enter  De  Vipont. 
Vip.  Fly,  fly,  brave  youth ! — A  handful  of  thy  fol- 
lowers, 
The  scatter'd  gleaning  of  this  desperate  day, 
Still  hover  yonder  to  essay  thy  rescue.— 
Oh  linger  not ! — I'll  be  your  guide  to  them. 
GOR.  Look  there,  and  bid  me  fly! — The  oak  has 
fall'n ; 
And  the  young  ivy  bush,  which  learn'd  to  climb 
By  its  support,  must  needs  partake  its  fall. 
VlP.  Swinton  ?    Alas !  the  best,  the  bravest,  strong- 
est, 
And  sagest  of  our  Scottish  chivalry! 
Forgive  one  moment,  if  to  save  the  living, 
My  tongue  should  wrong  the  dead. — Gordon,  bethink 

thee, 
Thou  dost  but  stay  to  perish  with  the  corpse* 
Of  him  who  slew  thy  father. 

Gor.  Ay,  but  he  was  my  sire  in  chivalry. 
He  taught  my  youth  to  soar  above  the  promptings 
Of  mean  and  selfish  vengeance ;  gave  my  youth 
A  name  that  shall  not  die  even  on  this  death-spot. 
Records  shall  tell  this  field  had  not  been  lost, 
Had  all  men  fought  like  Swinton  and  like  Gordon. 

[Trumpets. 
Save  thee,  De  Vipont. — Hark !   the  Southron  trum- 
pets. 
Vip.  Nay,  without  thee  I  stir  not. 

Enter  Edward,  Chandos,  Percy,  Baliol,  &c. 
Gor.  Ay,  they  come  on — the  Tyrant  and  the  Traitor, 
Workman  and  tool,  Plantagenet  and  Baliol. — 
Oh  for  a  moment's  strength  in  this  poor  arm, 
To  do  one  glorious  deed ! 

[He  rushes  on  the  English,  but  is  made 
prisoner  with  ViPONT. 
K.  Ed.  Disarm  them — harm  them  not ;   though  it 
was  they 
Made  havoc  on  the  archers  of  our  vanguard, 
They  and  that  bulky  champion.     Where  is  he  ? 
Chan.  Here  lies  the  giant !    Say  his  name,  young 
Knight? 


MS. :  "  Thou  hast  small  cause  to  tarry  with  the  corpse." 


HALIDON    HILL. 


73' 


GOR.  Let  it  suffice,  he  was  a  man  this  morning.1 

Cha.  I  question'd  thee  in  sport ;  I  do  not  need 
Thy  information,  youth.    Who  that  has  fought 
Through  all  these  Scottish  wars,  hut  knows  his  crest, 
The  sable  hoar  chain'd  to  the  leafy  oak, 
And  that  huge  mace,  still  seen  where  war  was  wildest  ? 

K.  Ed.  'Tis  Alan  Swinton ! 
Grim  chamberlain,  who  in  my  tent  at  Weardale 
Stood  by  my  startled  couch2  with  torch  and  mace, 
When  the  Black  Douglas'  war-cry  waked  my  camp. 

GOR.  {sinking  down).  If  thus  thou  know'st  him, 
Thou  wilt  respect  his  corpse.3 

K.  Ed.  As  belted  Knight  and  crowned  King,  I  will. 

Gor.  And  let  mine 
Sleep  at  his  side,  in  token  that  our  death 
Ended  the  feud  of  Swinton  and  of  Gordon. 

K.  Ed.  It  is  the  Gordon  ! — Is  there  aught  beside 
Edward  can  do  to  honor  bravery, 
Even  in  an  enemy  ? 

Gor.  Nothing  but  this : 

Let  not  base  Baliol,  with  his  touch  or  look,  [still, 

Profane  my  corpse  or  Swinton's.     I've  some  breath 
Enough  to  say, — Scotland !  Elizabeth !  [Dies. 

1  In  his  narrative  of  events  on  the  day  after  the  battle  of 
Sheriffmuir,  Sir  Walter  Scott  says: — "Amongst  the  gentle- 
men who  fell  on  this  occasion  were  several  on  both  sides 
alike  eminent  for  birth  and  character.  The  body  of  the  gal- 
lant young  Earl  of  Strathmore  was  found  on  the  field, 
watched  by  a  faithful  old  domestic,  wbo,  being  asked  the 
name  of  the  person  whose  body  he  waited  upon  with  so 
much  care,  made  this  striking  reply,  '  He  was  a  man  yester- 
day.' " — Tales  of  a  Grandfather. 

2  MS. :  "Stood  arm'd  beside  my  couch,"  &c. 

3  "  The  character  of  Swinton  is  obviously  a  favorite  with 
the  author,  to  which  circumstance  we  are  probably  indebted 
for  the  strong  relief  in  which  it  is  given,  and  the  perfect  ver- 
isimilitude which  belongs  to  it.  The  stately,  commanding 
figure  of  the  veteran  warrior,  whom,  by  the  illusion  of  his 
art,  the  author  has  placid  in  veritable  presentment  before 
us;  his  venerable  age,  superior  prowess,  and  intuitive  decis- 
ion; the  broils  in  which  he  had  engaged,  the  misfortunes  he 
had  suffered,  and  the  intrepid  fortitude  with  which  he  sus- 
tained them,  together  with  that  rigorous  control  of  temper, 
not  to  be  shaken  even  by  unmerited  contumely  and  insult; — 
these  qualities,  grouped  and  embodied  in  one  and  the  same 
character,  render  it  morally  impossible  that  we  should  not 
at  once  sympathize  and  admire.  The  inherent  force  of  his 
character  is  finely  illustrated  in  the  effect  produced  upon 
Lord  Gordon  by  the  first  appearance  of  the  man  '  who  had 
made  him  fatherless.'  " — Edinburgh  Magazine,  July,  1822. 

4  A  Venetian  general,  observing  his  soldiers  testified  some 
unwillingness  to  fight  against  those  of  the  pope,  whom  they 
regarded  as  father  of  the  Church,  addressed  them  in  terms  of 
similar  encouragement: — "Fight  on!  we  were  Venetians  be- 
fore we  were  Christians." 

6  "  It  is  generally  the  case  that  much  expectation  ends  in 
disappointment.  The  free  delineation  of  character  in  some 
of  the  recent  Scottish  novels,  and  the  admirable  conversations 
interspersed  throughout  them,  raised  hopes  that,  when  a  reg- 
ular drama  should  be  attempted  by  the  person  who  was  con- 
sidered as  their  author,  the  success  would  be  eminent.  Its 
announcement,  too,  in  a  solemn  and  formal  manner,  did  not 
diminish  the  interest  of  the  public.  The  drama,  however, 
which  was  expected,  turns  out  to  be  in  fact,  and  not  only  in 
name,  merely  a  dramatic  sketch,  which  is  entirely  deficient 
in  plot,  and  contains  but  three  characters,  Swinton,  Gordon, 
47 


Cha.  Baliol,  I  would  not  brook  such  dying  looks, 
To  buy  the  crown  you  aim  at. 

K.  Ed.  (to  Vip.).  Vipont,  thy  crossed  shield  show.< 
ill  in  wartare 
Against  a  Christian  King. 

VlP.  That  Christian  King  is  warring  upon  Scotland. 
I  was  a  Scotsman  ere  I  was  a  Templar,4 
Sworn  to  my  country  ere  I  knew  my  Order. 

K.  Ed.  I  will  but  know  thee  as  a  Christian  cham- 
pion, 
And  set  thee  free  unransom'd. 

Enter  Abbot  of  Walthamstow. 
Ab.  Heaven  grant  your  Majesty 
Many  such  glorious  days  as  this  has  been ! 

K.  Ed.  It  is  a  day  of  much  and  high  advantage; 
Glorious  it  might  have  been,  had  all  our  foes 
Fought  like  these  two  brave  champions. — Strike  the 

drums, 
Sound  trumpets,  and  pursue  the  fugitives 
Till  the  Tweed's  eddies  whelm  them.     Berwick's  ren- 

der'd — 
These  wars,  I  trust,  will  soon  find  lasting  close.5 

and  Edward,  in  whom  any  interest  is  endeavored  to  be  ex- 
cited. With  some  exceptions,  the  dialogue  also  is  flat  and 
coarse;  and  for  all  these  defects,  one  or  two  vigorous  descrip- 
tions of  battle  scenes  will  scarcely  make  sufficient  atone- 
ment, except  in  the  eyes  of  very  enthusiastic  friends." — 
Monthly  Review. 

"  '  Halidon  Hill,'  we  understand,  unlike  the  earlier  poems 
of  its  author,  has  not  been  received  into  the  ranks  of  popular 
favor.  Such  rumors,  of  course,  have  no  effect  on  our  critical 
judgment ;  but  we  cannot  forbear  saying  that,  thinking  as  we 
do  very  highly  of  the  spirit  and  taste  with  which  an  interest- 
ing tale  is  here  sketched  in  natural  and  energetic  verse,  we 
are  yet  far  from  feeling  surprised  that  the  approbation  which 
it  is  our  pleasing  duty  to  bestow  should  not  have  been  antici- 
pated by  the  ordinary  readers  of  the  work  before  us.  It  bears, 
in  truth,  no  great  resemblance  to  the  narrative  poems  from 
which  Sir  Walter  Scott  derived  his  first  and  high  reputation, 
and  by  which,  for  the  present,  his  genius  must  be  characterized. 
It  is  wholly  free  from  many  of  their  most  obvious  faults — their 
carelessness,  their  irregularity,  and  their  inequality  both  of 
conception  and  of  execution;  but  it  wants  likewise  no  incon- 
siderable portion  of  their  beauties— it  has  less  'pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance,' less  picturesque  description,  romantic  association, 
and  chivalrous  glitter,  less  sentiment  and  reflection,  less  per- 
haps of  all  their  striking  charms,  with  the  single  exception  of 
that  one  redeeming  and  sufficing  quality  which  forms,  in  our 
view,  the  highest  recommendation  of  all  the  author's  works 
of  imagination,  their  unaffected  and  unflagging  vigor.  This 
perhaps,  after  all,  is  only  saying  that  we  have  before  us  a 
dramatic  poem,  instead  of  a  metrical  tale  of  romance,  and 
that  the  auther  has  had  too  much  taste  and  discretion  to  be- 
dizen his  scenes  with  inappropriate  and  encumbering  orna- 
ment. There  is,  however,  a  class  of  readers  of  poetry,  and  a 
pretty  large  class,  too,  who  have  no  relish  for  a  work,  how- 
ever naturally  and  strongly  the  characters  and  incidents 
may  be  conceived  and  sustained — however  appropriate  and 
manly  may  be  the  imagery  and  diction — from  which  they 
cannot  select  any  isolated  passages  to  store  in  their  mem- 
ories or  their  commonplace  books,  to  whisper  into  a  lady's 
ear  or  transcribe  into  a  lady's  album.  With  this  tea-table 
and  watering-place  school  of  critics  'Halidon  Hill'  must  ex- 
pect no  favor ;  it  has  no  rant,  no  mysticism,  and,  worst  offence 
of  all,  no  affectation." — British  Critic,  October,  1822. 


iBacJBufTs  atross. 


INTRODUCTION. 

These  few  scenes  had  the  honor  to  he  included  in 
a  Miscellany  published  in  the  year  1823  by  Miss  Jo- 
anna Baillie,  and  are  here  reprinted  to  unite  them 
with  the  trifles  of  the  same  kind  which  owe  their 
birth  to  the  author.  The  singular  history  of  the 
Cross  and  Law  of  Clan  MacDuff  is  given,  at  length 
enough  to  satisfy  the  keenest  antiquary,  in  the  Min- 
strelsy of  the  Scottish  Border}  It  is  here  only  neces- 
sary to  state  that  the  Cross  was  a  place  of  refuge  to 
any  person  related  to  MacDuff,  within  the  ninth  de- 
gree, who,  having  committed  homicide  in  sudden 
quarrel,  should  reach  this  place,  prove  his  descent 
from  the  Thane  of  Fife,  and  pay  a  certain  penalty. 

The  shaft  of  the  Cross  was  destroyed  at  the  Refor- 
mation. The  huge  block  of  stone  which  served  for 
its  pedestal  is  still  in  existence  near  the  town  of  New- 
burgh,  on  a  kind  of  pass  which  commands  the  county 
of  Fife  to  the  southward,  and  to  the  north  the  wind- 
ings of  the  magnificent  Tay  and  fertile  country  of 
Angus-shire.  The  Cross  bore  an  inscription,  which 
is  transmitted  to  us  in  an  unintelligible  form  by  Sir 
Robert  Sibbald. 

Abbotsford,  January,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONvE. 


NlNIAN, 

Waldhave, 

LlNDESAY, 

Maukice  Berkeley, 


Monks  of  Lindorcs. 

Scottish  Barons. 


MISS   JOANNA   BAILLIE, 

AUTHORESS  of 

"THE   PLAYS   ON   THE   PASSIONS." 


PRELUDE. 

Nay,  smile  not,  Lady,  when  I  speak  of  witchcraft, 
And  say  that  still  there  lurks  amongst  our  glens 

1  Vol.  iv.,  p.  266,  in  the  appendix  to  Lord  Soulis'  "  Law  of 
Clan  MacDuff." 
(738) 


Some   touch   of  strange    enchantment.     Mark    that 

fragment, 
I  mean  that  rough-hewn  block  of  massive  stone, 
Placed  on  the  summit  of  this  mountain  pass, 
Commanding  prospect  wide  o'er  field  and  fell, 
And  peopled  village  and  extended  moorland, 
And  the  wide  ocean  and  majestic  Tay, 
To  the  far-distant  Grampians.     Do  not  deem  it 
A  loosen'd  portion  of  the  neighboring  rock, 
Detach'd  by  storm  and  thunder ; — 'twas  the  pedestal 
On  which,  in  ancient  times,  a  Cross  was  rear'd, 
Carved  o'er  with  words  which  foil'd  philologists ; 
And  the  events  it  did  commemorate 
Were  dark,  remote,  and  undistinguishable 
As  were  the  mystic  characters  it  bore. 
But,  mark, — a  wizard,  born  on  Avon's  bank, 
Tuned  but  his  harp  to  this  wild  northern  theme, 
And,  lo !  the  scene  is  hallow'd.     None  shall  pass, 
Now  or  in  after  days,  beside  that  stone, 
But  he  shall  have  strange  visions ;  thoughts  and  words 
That  shake,  or  rouse,  or  thrill  the  human  heart, 
Shall  rush  upon  his  memory  when  he  hears 
The  spirit-stirring  name  of  this  rude  symbol ; — 
Oblivious  ages,  at  that  simple  spell, 
Shall  render  back  their  terrors  with  their  woes, 
Alas !  and  with  their  crimes — and  the  proud  phantoms 
Shall  move  with  step  familiar  to  his  eye, 
And  accents  which,  once  heard,  the  ear  forgets  not, 
Though  ne'er  again  to  list  them.    Siddons,  thine, 
Thou  matchless  Siddons!  thrill  upon  our  ear; 
And  on  our  eye  thy  lofty  Brother's  form 
Rises  as  Scotland's  monarch. — But  to  thee, 
Joanna,  why  to  thee  speak  of  such  visions  ? — 
Thine  own  wild  wand  can  raise  them. 

Yet,  since  thou  wilt  an  idle  tale  of  mine, 
Take  one  which  scarcely  is  of  worth  enough 
To  give  or  to  withhold.    Our  time  creeps  on, 
Fancy  grows  colder  as  the  silvery  hair 
Tells  the  advancing  winter  of  our  life. 
But  if  it  be  of  worth  enough  to  please, 
That  worth  it  owes  to  her  who  set  the  task ; 
If  otherwise,  the  fault  rests  with  the  author. 


jfttacBuff's  (Cross. 


SCENE  I. 

The  summit  of  a  rocky  Pass  near  Newburgh,  about 
two  miles  from  the  ancient  Abbey  of  Lindores,  in 
Fife,    Jn  the  centre  is  MacDuff's  Cross,  an  antique 


MACDUFF'S    CROSS. 


739 


Monument;  and  at  a  small  distance,  on  one  side,  a 
Chapel,  with  a  Lamp  burning. 

Enter,  as  h  airing  ascended  the  Pass,  NlNlAN  and  Wald- 
iiave,  Monks  of  Lindores.  NlNlAN  crosses  himself, 
and  seems  to  recite  his  devotions.  Waldhave  stands 
gazing  on  the  prospect,  as  if  in  deep  contemplation. 

Nin.  Here  stands  the  Cross,  good  brother,  conse- 
crated 
By  the  bold  Thane  unto  his  patron  saint 
Magridius,  once  a  brother  of  our  house. 
Canst  thou  not  spare  an  ave  or  a  creed? 
Or  hath  the  steep  ascent  exhausted  you  ? 
You  trod  it  stoutly,  though  'twas  rough  and  toilsome. 

Wal.  I  have  trod  a  rougher. 

Nin.  On  the  Highland  hills — 

Scarcely  within  our  sea-girt  province  here, 
Unless  upon  the  Lomonds  or  Bennarty. 

Wal.  I  spoke  not  of  the  literal  path,  good  father, 
But  of  the  road  of  life  which  I  have  travell'd 
Ere  I  assumed  this  habit ;  it  was  bounded, 
Hedged  in,  and  limited  by  earthly  prospects, 
As  ours  beneath  was  closed  by  dell  and  thicket. 
Here  we  see  wide  and  far,  and  the  broad  sky, 
With  wide  horizon,  opens  full  around, 
While  earthly  objects  dwindle.     Brother  Ninian, 
Fain  would  I  hope  that  mental  elevation 
Could  raise  me  equally  o'er  worldly  thoughts, 
And  place  me  nearer  heaven. 

Nin.  "lis  good  morality. — But  yet  forget  not, 
That  though  we  look  on  heaven  from  this  high  emi- 
nence, 
Yet  doth  the  Prince  of  all  the  airy  space, 
Arch  foe  of  man,  possess  the  realms  between. 

Wal.  Most  true,  good  brother;  and  men  may  be 
farther 
From  the  bright  heaven  they  aim  at,  even  because 
They  deem  themselves  secure  on't. 

Nin.  (after  a  pause).                        You  do  gaze — 
Strangers  are  wont  to  do  so— on  the  prospect. 
Yon  is  the  Tay  roll'd  down  from  Highland  hills, 
That  rests  his  waves,  after  so  rude  a  race, 
In  the  fair  plains  of  Gowrie — farther  westward, 
Proud  Stirling  rises— yonder  to  the  east, 
Dundee,  the  gift  of  God,  and  fair  Montrose, 
And  still  more  northward  lie  the  ancient  towers 

Wal.  Of  Edzell. 

Nin.  How  ?  know  you  the  towers  of  Edzell  ? 

Wal.  I've  heard  of  them. 

Nin.  Then  have  you  heard  a  tale 

Which,  when  he  tells,  the  peasant  shakes  his  head, 
And  shuns  the  mouldering  and  deserted  walls. 

Wal.  Why,  and  by  whom,  deserted  ? 

Nin.                                                    Long  the  tale — 
Enough  to  say  that  the  last  Lord  of  Edzell, 
Bold  Louis  Lindesay,  had  a  wife,  and  found 

Wal.  Enough  is  said,  indeed — since  a  weak  woman, 
Ay,  and  a  tempting  fiend,  lost  Paradise, 
When  man  was  innocent. 


Nin.  They  fell  at  strife, 

Men  say,  on  slight  occasion  :  that  fierce  Lindesay 
Did  bend  his  sword  against  De  Berkeley's  breast, 
And  that  the  lady  threw  herself  between : 
That  then  De  Berkeley  dealt   the   Baron's    death- 
wound. 
Enough,  that  from  that  time  De  Berkeley  bore 
A  spear  in  foreign  wars.     But,  it  is  said, 
He  hath  return'd  of  late  ;  and  therefore,  brother, 
The  Prior  hath  ordain'd  our  vigil  here, 
To  watch  the  privilege  of  the  sanctuary, 
And  rights  of  Clan  MacDuiF. 

Wal.  What  rights  are  these  ? 

Nin.   Most  true !   you   are  but  newly  come  from 
Rome, 
And  do  not  know  our  ancient  usages. 
Know  then,  when  fell  Macbeth  beneath  the  arm 
Of  the  predestined  knight,  unborn  of  woman, 
Three  boons  the  victor  ask'd,  and  thrice  did  Malcolm, 
Stooping  the  sceptre  by  the  Thane  restored, 
Assent  to  his  request.     And  hence  the  rule, 
That  first  when  Scotland's  King  assumes  the  crown, 
MacDuff's  descendant  rings  his  brow  with  it: 
And  hence,  when  Scotland's  King  calls  forth  his  host, 
MacDuff's  descendant  leads  the  van  in  battle : 
And  last,  in  guerdon  of  the  crown  restored, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  the  usurping  tyrant, 
The  right  was  granted  in  succeeding  time, 
That  if  a  kinsman  of  the  Thane  of  Fife 
Commit  a  slaughter  on  a  sudden  impulse, 
And  fly  for  refuge  to  this  Cross  MacDuft", 
For  the  Thane's  sake  he  shall  find  sanctuary; 
For  here  must  the  avenger's  step  be  staid, 
And  here  the  panting  homicide  find  safety. 

Wal.  And  here  a  brother  of  your  order  watches, 
To  see  the  custom  of  the  place  observed  ? 

Nin.  Even  so ; — such  is  our  convent's  holy  right, 
Since  Saint  Magridius — blessed  be  his  memory  ! — 
Did  by  a  vision  warn  the  Abbot  Eadmir. — 
And  chief  we  wateh,  when  there  is  bickering 
Among  the  neighboring  nobles,  now  most  likely 
From  this  return  of  Berkeley  from  abroad, 
Having  the  Lindesay's  blood  upon  his  hand. 

Wal.  The  Lindesay,  then,  was  loved  among  his 
friends  ? 

Nin.  Honor'd  and  fear'd  he  was — but  little  loved  : 
For  even  his  bounty  bore  a  show  of  sternness ; 
And  when  his  passions  waked,  he  was  a  Sathan 
Of  wrath  and  injury. 

Wal.  How  now,  Sir  Priest!  (fiercely)— Forgive  me 
(recollecting  himself) — I  was  dreaming 
Of  an  old  baron,  who  did  bear  about  him 
Some  touch  of  your  Lord  Reynold. 

Nin.  Lindesay's  name,  my  brother, 
Indeed  was  Reynold ; — and  methinks,  moreover, 
That,  as  you  spoke  even  now,  he  would  have  spoken. 
I  brought  him  a  petition  from  our  convent : 
He  granted  straight,  but  in  such  tone  and  manner, 
By  my  good  saint!  I  thought  myself  scarce  safe 
Till  Tay  roll'd  broad  between  us.     I  must  now 


740 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Unto  the  chapel — meanwhile  the  watch  is  thine; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  hurrying  fugitive, 
Should  such  arrive,  must  here  find  sanctuary; 
And,  at  thy  word,  the  fiery-paced  avenger 
Must  stop  his  hloody  course — e'en  as  swoln  Jordan 
Controll'd  his  waves,  soon  as  they  touch'd  the  feet 
Of  those  who  bore  the  ark. 

WAL.  Is  this  my  charge? 

Nix.  Even  so;  and  I  am  near,  should  chance  re- 
quire me. 
At  midnight  I  relieve  you  on  your  watch, 
When  we  may  taste  together  some  refreshment: 
I  have  cared  for  it;  and  for  a  flask  of  wine — 
There  is  no  sin,  so  that  we  drink  it  not 
Until  the  midnight  hour,  when  lauds  have  toll'd. 
Farewell  a  while,  and  peaceful  watch  he  with  you ! 

[Exit  towards  the  Chapel. 

Wax.  It  is  not  with  me,  and  alas !  alas ! 
I  know  not  where  to  seek  it.     This  monk's  mind 
I-  with  his  cloister  match'd,  nor  lacks  more  room. 
Its  petty  duties,  formal  ritual, 
Its  humble  pleasures  and  its  paltry  troubles, 
Fill  up  his  round  of  life ;  even  as  some  reptiles, 
They  say,  are  moulded  to  the  very  shape 
And  all  the  angles  of  the  rocky  crevice 
In  which  they  live  and  die.     But  for  myself, 
Retired  in  passion  to  the  narrow  cell, 
Couching  my  tired  limbs  in  its  recesses, 
So  ill  adapted  am  I  to  its  limits, 

That  every  attitude  is  agony. 

How  now !  what  brings  him  back  ? 

Re-enter  NlXIAX. 

Nix.  Look  to  your  watch,  my  brother;  horsemen 
come  : 
I  heard  their  tread  when  kneeling  in  the  chapel. 

Wal.  (loohmg  to  a  distance).  My  thoughts  have  rapt 
me  more  than  thy  devotion, 
Else  had  1  heard  the  tread  of  distant  horses 
Farther  than  thou  couldst  hear  the  sacring  bell ; 
But  now  in  truth  they  come: — flight  and  pursuit 
Are  sights  I've  been  long  strange  to. 

NlN.   See   how   they  gallop  down   the  opposing 
hill! 
Yon  gray  steed  bounding  down  the  headlong  path, 
As  mi  the  level  meadow;  while  the  black, 
Urged  by  the  rider  with  his  naked  sword, 
Stoops  on  his  prey,  as  I  have  seen  the  falcon 
Dashing  upon  the  heron. — Thou  dost  frown, 
And  clench  thy  hand  as  if  it  grasp'd  a  weapon. 

Wal.  'Tis  but  for  shame  to  see  a  man  fly  thus 
While  only  one  pursues  him.     Coward,  turn ! — 
Turn  thee,  I  say !  thou  art  as  stout  as  he, 
And  well  may'st  match  thy  single  sword  with  his — 
Shame,  that  a  man  should  rein  a  steed  like  thee, 
Yet  fear  to  turn  his  front  against  a  foe ! — 
I  am  ashamed  to  look  on  them. 

Nix.  Yet  look  again  ;  they  quit  their  horses  now, 
Unfit  for  the  rough  path  :  the  fugitive 
Keeps  the  advantage  still. — They  strain  towards  us. 


Wal.  I'll  not  believe  that  ever  the  bold  Thane 
Rear'd  up  his  Cross  to  be  a  sanctuary 
To  the  base  coward  who  shunn'd  an  equal  combat. — 
How's  this  ? — that  look — that  mien — mine  eyes  grow 
dizzy ! — 
Nix.     He    comes  ! — thou    art    a    novice    on     this 
watch, — 
Brother,  I'll  take  the  word  and  speak  to  him. 
Pluck  down  thy  cowl ;  know  that  we  spiritual  cham- 
pions 
Have  honor  to  maintain,  and  must  not  seem 
To  quail  before  the  laity. 

[Waldhave  lets  down  his  cowl,  and 
steps  back. 

Enter  Maurice  Berkeley. 
Nix.  Who  art  thou,  stranger  ?  speak  thy  name  and 

purpose. 
Bee.  I  claim  the  privilege  of  Clan  MacDuff. 
My  name  is  Maurice  Berkeley,  and  my  lineage 
Allies  me  nearly  with  the  Thane  of  Fife. 
Nix.  Give  us  to  know  the  cause  of  sanctuary  ? 
Ber.  Let  him  show  it 

Against  whose  violence  I  claim  the  privilege. 

Enter  Lixdesay,  with  h is  sword  drawn.    He  rushes  at 
Berkeley;  Nixiax  interposes. 

Nix.  Peace,  in  the  name  of  Saint  Magridius ! 
Peace,  in  our  Prior's  name,  and  in  the  name 
Of  that  dear  symbol  which  did  purchase  peace 
And  good  will  towards  man !     I  do  command  thee 
To  sheathe  thy  sword,  and  stir  no  contest  here. 

LiX.  One  charm  I'll  try  first, 
To  lure  the  craven  from  "the  enchanted  circle 
Which  he  hath  harbor'd  in. — Hear  you,  De  Berkeley, 
This  is  my  brother's  sword — the  hand  it  arms 
Is  weapon'd  to  avenge  a  brother's  death  : — 
If  thou  hast  heart  to  step  a  furlong  off", 
And  change  three  blows, — even  for  so  short  a  space 
As  these  good  men  may  say  an  ave-marie,— 
So  Heaven  be  good  to  me !  I  will  forgive  thee 
Thy  deed  and  all  its  consequences. 

Ber.   Were  not  my  right  hand  fetter'd   by  the 
thought 
That  slaying  thee  were  but  a  double  guilt 
In  which  to  steep  my  soul,  no  bridegroom  ever 
Stepp'd  forth  to  trip  a  measure  with  his  bride 
More  joyfully  than  I,  young  man,  would  rush 
To  meet  thy  challenge. 

Lix.  He  quails,  and  shuns  to  look  upon  my  weapon, 
Yet  boasts  himself  a  Berkeley ! 

Ber.  Lindesay,  and  if  there  were  no  deeper  cause 
For  shunning  thee  than  terror  of  thy  weapon, 
That  rock-hewn  Cross  as  soon  should  start  and  stir 
Because  a  shepherd-boy  blew  horn  beneath  it, 
As  I  for  brag  of  thine. 

Nix.  I  charge  you  both,  and  in  the  name  of  Heaven, 
Breathe  no  defiance  on  this  sacred  spot, 
Where  Christian  men  must  bear  them  peacefully, 
On  pain  of  the  Church  thunders.     Calmly  tell 


MACDUFF'S   CROSS. 


741 


Your  cause  of  difference ;  and,  Lord  Lindesay,  thou 
Be  first  to  speak  them. 

Lin.  Ask  the  blue  welkin — ask  the  silver  Tay, 
The  northern  Grarnpians — all  things  know  my  wrongs ; 
But  ask  not  me  to  tell  them,  while  the  villain 
Who  wrought  them  stands  and  listens  with  a  smile. 

Nin.  It  is  said — 
Since  you  refer  us  thus  to  general  fame — 
That  Berkeley  slew  thy  brother,  the  Lord  Louis, 
In  his  own  halls  at  Edzell 

Lin.  Ay,  in  his  halls — 
In  his  own  halls,  good  father,  that's  the  word. 
In  his  own  halls  he  slew  him,  while  the  wine 
Pass'd  on  the  board  between !     The  gallant  Thane, 
Who  wreak'd  Macbeth's  inhospitable  murder, 
Bear'd  not  yon  Cross  to  sanction  deeds  like  these. 

Ber.  Thou  say'st  I  came  a  guest ! — I  came  a  vic- 
tim, 
A  destined  victim,  train'd  on  to  the  doom 
His  frantic  jealousy  prepared  for  me. 
He  fix'd  a  quarrel  on  me,  and  we  fought. 
Can  I  forget  the  form  that  came  between  us, 
And  perish'd  by  his  sword  ?     'Twas  then  I  fought 
For  vengeance, — until  then  I  guarded  life, 
But  then  I  sought  to  take  it,  and  prevail'd. 

Lin.  Wretch !  thou  didst  first  dishonor  to  thy  vic- 
tim, 
And  then  didst  slay  him  ! 

Ber.  There  is  a  busy  fiend  tugs  at  my  heart, 
But  I  will  struggle  with  it !— Youthful  knight, 
My  heart  is  sick  of  war,  my  hand  of  slaughter; 
I  come  not  to  my  lordships,  or  my  land, 
But  just  to  seek  a  spot  in  some  cold  cloister, 
Which  I  may  kneel  on  living,  and,  when  dead, 
Which  may  suffice  to  cover  me. 
Forgive  me  that  I  caused  your  brother's  death ; 
And  I  forgive  thee  the  injurious  terms 
With  which  thou  taxest  me. 

Lin.  Take  worse   and   blacker. — Murderer,  adul- 
terer ! — 
Art  thou  not  moved  yet  ? 

Ber.  Do  not  press  me  further. 

The  hunted  stag,  even  when  he  seeks  the  thicket, 
Compell'd  to  stand  at  bay,  grows  dangerous ! 
Most  true  thy  brother  perish'd  by  my  hand, 
And  if  you  term  it  murder,  I  must  bear  it. 
Thus  far  my  patience  can ;  but  if  thou  brand 
The  purity  of  yonder  martyr'd  saint, 
Whom  then  my  sword  but  poorly  did  avenge, 
With  one  injurious  word,  come  to  the  valley, 
And  I  will  show  thee  how  it  shall  be  answer'd ! 

Nin.  This  heat,  Lord  Berkeley,  doth  but  ill  accord 
With  thy  late  pious  patience. 

Ber.  Father,  forgive,  and  let  me  stand  excused 
To  Heaven  and  thee,  if  patience  brooks  no  more. 


I  loved  this  lady — fondly,  truly  loved — 
Loved  her,  and  was  beloved,  ere  yet  her  father 
Conferr'd  her  on  another.     While  she  lived, 
Each  thought  of  her  was  to  my  soul  as  hallow'd 
As  those  I  send  to  Heaven ;  and  on  her  grave, 
Her  bloody,  early  grave,  while  this  poor  hand 
Can  hold  a  sword,  shall  no  one  cast  a  scorn. 

Lin.  Follow  me.    Thou  shalt  hear  me  call  the  adul- 
teress 
By  her  right  name. — I'm  glad  there's  yet  a  spur 
Can  rouse  thy  sluggard  mettle. 

Ber.  Make  then  obeisance  to  the  blessed  Cross, 
For  it  shall  be  on  earth  thy  last  devotion. 

[They  are  going  off. 

Wal.  (rushing  forward).  Madmen,  stand ! — 
Stay  but  one  second — answer  but  one  question. — 
There,  Maurice  Berkeley,  canst  thou  look  ujJon 
That  blessed  sign,  and  swear  thou'st  spoken  truth  ? 

Ber.  I  swear  by  Heaven, 
And  by  the  memory  of  that  murder'd  innocent, 
Each  seeming  charge  against  her  was  as  false 
As  our  bless'd  Lady's  spotless.    Hear,  each  saint ! 
Hear  me,  thou  holy  rood !  hear  me  from  heaven, 
Thou   martyr'd   excellence! — Hear   me  from  penal 

fire 
(For  sure  not  yet  thy  guilt  is  expiated !), 
Stern  ghost  of  her  destroyer ! 

Wal.  (throws  back  his  cowl).  He  hears!  he  hears! 
Thy  spell  hath  raised  the  dead. 

Lin.  My  brother !  and  alive ! — 

Wal.  Alive, — but  yet,  my  Richard,  dead  to  thee : 
No  tie  of  kindred  binds  me  to  the  world  ; 
All  were  renounced  when,  with  reviving  life, 
Came  the  desire  to  seek  the  sacred  cloister. 
Alas,  in  vain !  for  to  that  last  retreat, 
Like  to  a  pack  of  blood-hounds  in  full  chase, 
My  passion  and  my  wrongs  have  follow'd  me, 
Wrath  and  remorse — and,  to  fill  up  the  cry, 
The  hi  hast  brought  vengeance  hither. 

Lin.  I  but  sought 

To  do  the  act  and  duty  of  a  brother. 

Wal.  I  ceased  to  be  so  when  I  left  the  world  ; 
But  if  he  can  forgive  as  I  forgive, 
God  sends  me  here  a  brother  in  mine  enemy, 
To  pray  for  me  and  with  me.     If  thou  canst, 
De  Berkeley,  give  thine  hand. — 

Ber.  (gives  his  hand).  It  is  the  will 

Of  Heaven,  made  manifest  in  thy  preservation, 
To  inhibit  further  bloodshed ;  for  De  Berkeley, 
The  votary  Maurice  lays  the  title  down. 
Go  to  his  halls,  Lord  Richard,  where  a  maiden, 
Kin  to  his  blood,  and  daughter  in  affection, 
Heirs  his  broad  lands ; — If  thou  canst  love  her,  Linde- 
say, 
Woo  her,  and  be  successful. 


&f)t  Boom  of  33eborgotl. 


PREFACE. 

The  first  of  these  dramatic  pieces1  was  long  since 
written  for  the  purpose  of  obliging  the  late  Mr.  Terry, 
then  Manager  of  the  Adelphi  Theatre,  for  whom  the 
author  had  a  particular  regard.  The  manner  in  which 
the  mimic  goblins  of  Devorgoil  are  intermixed  with 
the  supernatural  machinery  was  found  to  be  objec- 
tionable, and  the  production  had  other  faults  which 
rendered  it  unfit  for  representation.2  I  have  called 
the  piece  a  melodrama,  for  want  of  a  better  name  ; 
but,  as  I  learn  from  the  unquestionable  authority  of 
Mr.  Colman's  Random,  Records  that  one  species  of 
the  drama  is  termed  an  extravaganza,  I  am  sorry  I  was 
not  sooner  aware  of  a  more  appropriate  name  than 
that  which  I  had  selected  for  "  Devorgoil." 

The  author's  publishers  thought  it  desirable  that 
the  scenes,  long  condemned  to  oblivion,  should  be 
united  to  similar  attempts  of  the  same  kind ;  and  as 
he  felt  indifferent  on  the  subject,  they  are  printed  in 
the  same  volume  with  "  Halidon  Hill"  and  "Mac- 
DufFs  Cross,"  and  thrown  off  in  a  separate  form,  for 
the  convenience  of  those  who  possess  former  editions 
of  the  author's  poetical  works. 

The  general  story  of  the  "Doom  of  Devorgoil"  is 
founded  on  an  old  Scottish  tradition,  the  scene  of  which 
lies  in  Galloway.  The  crime  supposed  to  have  occa- 
sioned the  misfortunes  of  this  devoted  house  is  similar 
to  that  of  a  Lord  Herries  of  Hoddam  Castle,  who  is 
the  principal  personage  of  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick 
Sharpe's  interesting  ballad  in  the  Minstrelsy  of  the 
Scottish  Border,  vol.  iv.  p.  307.  In  remorse  for  his 
crime,  he  built  the  singular  monument  called  the 
Tower  of  Repentance.  In  many  cases  the  Scottish 
superstitions  allude  to  the  fairies,  or  those  who,  for 
sins  of  a  milder  description,  are  permitted  to  wander 
with  the  "  rout  that  never  rest,"  as  they  were  termed 
by  Dr.  Leyden.  They  imitate  human  labor  and 
human  amusements,  but  their  toil  is  useless  and  with- 
out any  advantageous  result;  and  their  gayety  is  un- 
substantial and  hollow.  The  phantom  of  Lord  Erick 
is  supposed  to  be  a  spectre  of  this  character. 

The  story  of  the  Ghostly  Barber  is  told  in  many 
countries;  but  the  best  narrative  founded  on  the  pas- 
sage is  the  tale  called  "  Stumme  Liebe,"  among  the 
legends  of  Musams.     I  think  it  has  been  introduced 

1  The  "Doom  of  Devorgoil"  and  "  Auehindrane"  were 
published  together  in  an  octavo  volume  in  tin-  spring  of  1830. 
For  the  origin  and  progress  of  the  first,  see  Life  of  Scoll,  vol. 
v.  pp.  1H7-204,  285-6. 

2  Mr.  Daniel  Terry,  the  comedian,  distinguished  for  a  very 
peculiar  style  of  humor  on  tin'  stage,  and,  moreover,  by  per- 
sonal accomplishments  of  various  sorts  not  generally  shared  by 

(742) 


upon  the  English  stage  in  some  pantomime,  which  was 
one  objection  to  bringing  it  upon  the  sceue  a  second 
time. 

Abfotsfokd,  April,  1830. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  a  decayed  Scottish  Baron. 

Leonard,  a  Ranger. 

Durward,  a  Palmer. 

Lancelot  Blackthorn,  a  Companion  of  Leonard, 

in  love  with  Katleen. 
Gtjllcrammer,  a  conceited  Student. 
Owlspiegle  and   ~>    Maskers  represented  by  Black- 
COCKLEDEMOY,       /  thorn  and  Katleen. 

Spirit  of  Lord  Erick  of  Devorgoil. 
Peasants,  Shepherds,  and  Vassals  of  inferior  rank. 

Eleanor,    Wife   of    Osivald,   descended   of  obscure 

Parentage. 
Flora,  Daughter  of  Oswald. 
Katleen,  Niece  of  Eleanor. 


Cije  £)rjom  of  JDcborgotl. 

ACT  I.— SCENE  I. 

The  Scene  represents  a  wild  and  h  illy  but  not  a  moun- 
tainous Country,  in  a  frontier  District  of  Scotland. 
The  flat  Scene  exhibits  the  Castle  of  Devorgoil,  decayed 
and  partly  ruinous,  situated  upon  a  Lake,  and  con- 
nected with  the  Land  by  a  Drawbridge,  which  is 
lowered.     Time — Sunset. 

Flora  enters  from  the  Castle,  looks  timidly  around, 

then  comes  forward  and  speaks. 
He  is  not  here — those  pleasures  are  not  ours 
Which  placid  evening  brings  to  all  things  else. 

SONG.3 
The  sun  upon  the  lake  is  low, 
The  wild  birds  hush  their  song, 

members  of  his  profession,  was,  during  many  years,  on  terms 
of  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter  Scott.     He  died  22d  June,  1829. 

8  The  author  thought  of  omitting  this  song,  which  was, 
in  fact,  abridged  into  one  in  "Quentin  Durward,"  termed 
"  County  Guy."  [See  ante,  p.  701.]  It  seemed,  however, 
accessary  to  the  sense  that  the  original  stanzas  should  be 
retained  here. 


THE    DOOM   OF    DEVORGOIL. 


743 


The  hills  have  evening's  deepest  glow, 

Yet  Leonard  tarries  long. 
Now  all  whom  varied  toil  and  care 

From  home  and  love  divide, 
In  the  calm  sunset  may  repair 

Each  to  the  loved  one's  side. 

The  nohle  dame,  on  turret  high, 

Who  waits  her  gallant  knight, 
Looks  to  the  western  beam  to  spy 

The  flash  of  armor  bright. 
The  village  maid,  with  hand  on  brow, 

The  level  ray  to  shade, 
Upon  the  footpath  watches  now 

For  Colin's  darkening  plaid. 

Now  to  their  mates  the  wild  swans  row, 

By  day  they  swam  apart, 
And  to  the  thicket  wanders  slow 

The  hind  beside  the  hart. 
The  woodlark  at  his  partner's  side 

Twitters  his  closing  song — 
All  meet  whom  day  and  care  divide, 

But  Leonard  tarries  long. 

[Katleen  has  come  out  of  the  Castle  while 
Flora  was  singing,  and  speaks  when  the 
song  is  ended. 

Kat.  Ah,  my  dear  coz! — if  that  your   mother's 
niece 
May  so  presume  to  call  your  father's  daughter — 
All  these  fond  things  have  got  some  home  of  comfort 
To  tempt  their  rovers  back : — the  lady's  bower, 
The  shepherdess's  hut,  the  wild  swan's  couch 
Among  the  rushes,  even  the  lark's  low  nest, 
Has  that  of  promise  which  lures  home  a  lover ; 
But  we  have  nought  of  this. 

Flo.  How  call  you,  then,  this  castle  of  my  sire, 
The  towers  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  Dungeons  for  men,  and  palaces  for  owls; 
Yet  no  wise  owl  would  change  a  farmer's  barn 
For  yonder  hungry  hall.    Our  latest  mouse — 
Our  last  of  mice,  I  tell  you — has  been  found 
Starved  in  the  pantry;  and  the  reverend  sjtider, 
Sole  living  tenant  of  the  Baron's  halls, 
Who,  train'd  to  abstinence,  lived  a  whole  summer 
Upon  a  single  fly, — he's  famish'd  too ; 
The  cat  is  in  the  kitchen  chimney  seated 
Upon  our  last  of  fagots,  destined  soon 
To  dress  our  last  of  suppers,  and,  poor  soul, 
Is  starved  with  cold,  and  mewling  mad  with  hunger. 

FLO.  D'ye  mock  our  misery,  Katleen  ? 

Kat.  No,  but  I  am  hysteric  on  the  subject, 
So  I  must  laugh  or  cry,  and  laughing's  lightest. 

FLO.  Why  stay  you  with  us  then,  my  merry  cousin  ? 
From  you  my  sire  can  ask  no  filial  duty. 

Kat.  No,  thanks  to  Heaven  ! 
No  noble  in  wide  Scotland,  rich  or  poor, 
Can  claim  an  interest  in  the  vulgar  blood 


That  dances  in  my  veins ;  and  I  might  wed 
A  forester  to-morrow,  nothing  fearing 
The  wrath  of  high-born  kindred,  and  far  less 
That  the  dry  bones  of  lead-lapp'd  ancestors 
Would  clatter  in  their  cerements  at  the  tidings. 

Flo.  My  mother,  too,  would  gladly  see  you  placed 
Beyond  the  verge  of  our  unhappiness,1 
Which,  like  a  witch's  circle,  blights  and  taints 
Whatever  comes  within  it. 

Kat.  Ah,  my  good  aunt ! 

She  is  a  careful  kinswoman  and  prudent, 
In  all  but  marrying  a  ruin'd  Baron, 
When  she  could  take  her  choice  of  honest  yeomen ; 
And  now,  to  balance  this  ambitious  error, 
She  presses  on  her  daughter's  love  the  suit 
Of  one  who  hath  no  touch  of  nobleness, 
In  manners,  birth,  or  mind,  to  recommend  him, — 
Sage  Master  Gullcrammer,  the  new-dubb'd  preacher. 

Flo.  Do  not  name  him,  Katleen ! 

Kat.  Ay,  but  I  must,  and  with  some  gratitude. 
I  said  but  now,  I  saw  our  last  of  fagots 
Destined  to  dress  our  last  of  meals,  but  said  not 
That  the  repast  consisted  of  choice  dainties, 
Sent  to  our  larder  by  that  liberal  suitor, 
The  kind  Melchisedek. 

Flo.  Were  famishing  the  word, 

I'd  famish  ere  I  tasted  them — the  fop, 
The  fool,  the  low-born,  low-bred,  pedant  coxcomb  ! 

Kat.  There  spoke  the  blood  of  long-descended  sires ! 
My  cottage  wisdom  ought  to  echo  back, — 
Oh  the  snug  parsonage !  the  well-paid  stipend ! 
The  yew-hedged  garden !  beehives,  pigs,  and  poultry ! 
But,  to  speak  honestly,  the  peasant  Katleen, 
Valuing  these  good  things  justly,  still  would  scorn 
To  wed,  for  such,  the  paltry  Gullcrammer, 
As  much  as  Lady  Flora. 

Flo.  Mock  me  not  with  a  title,  gentle  cousin, 
Which  poverty  has  made  ridiculous. — 

[  Trumpets  far  off. 
Hark !  they  have  broken  up  the  weapon-sha  wing ; 
The  vassals  are  dismiss'd,  and  marching  homeward. 

Kat.  Comes  your  sire  back  to-night? 

Flo.  He  did  purpose 

To  tarry  for  the  banquet.    This  day  only, 
Summon'd  as  a  king's  tenant,  he  resumes 
The  right  of  rank  his  birth  assigns  to  him, 
And  mingles  with  the  proudest. 

Kat.  To  return 

To  his  domestic  wretchedness  to-morrow ; 
I  envy  not  the  privilege.     Let  us  go 
To  yonder  height,  and  see  the  marksmen  practice: 
They  shoot  their  match  down  in  the  dale  beyond, 
Betwixt  the  Lowland  and  the  Forest  district, 
By  ancient  custom,  for  a  tun  of  wine. 
Let  us  go  see  which  wins. 

Flo.  That  were  too  forward. 

Kat.  Why,  you  may  drop  the  screen  before  youf 
face, 

1  MS.:  "Beyond  the  circle  of  our  wretchedness." 


744 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Which  some  chance  breeze  may  haply  blow  aside 
Just  when  a  youth  of  special  note  takes  aim. 
It  chanced  even  so  that  memorable  morning 
When,  cutting  in  the  woods,  we  met  young  Leonard ; — 
And  in  good  time  here  comes  his  sturdy  comrade, 
The  rough  Lance  Blackthorn. 

Enter  Lancelot  Blackthokn,  a  Forester,  with  the 
( 'arcass  of  a  Deer  on  h  is  back,  and  a  Gun  in  h  is  hand. 
Bla.  Save  you,  damsels! 

Kat.  Godden,  good  yeoman.     Come  you  from  the 

weapon-shaw? 
Bla.  Not  I,  indeed ;  there  lies  the  mark  I  shot  at. 
[Lays  down  the  Deer. 
The  time  has  been  I  had  not  miss'd  the  sport, 
Although  Lord  Nithsdale's  self  had  wanted  venison ; 
But  this  same  mate  of  mine,  young  Leonard  Dacre, 
Makes  me  do  what  he  lists.     He'll  win  the  prize, 

though  : 
The  Forest  district  will  not  lose  its  honor, 
And  that  is  all  I  care  for.     {Some  shots  are  heard.) 

Hark!  they're  at  it; 
I'll  go  see  the  issue.- 

Flo.  Leave  not  here 

The  produce  of  your  hunting. 

Bla.  But  I  must,  though. 

That  is  his  lair  to-night,  for  Leonard  Dacre 
Charged  me  to  leave  the  stag  at  Devorgoil ; 
Then  show  me  quickly  where  to  stow  the  quarry, 
And  let  me  to  the  sports.     {More  shots.)     Come,  has- 
ten, damsels ! 
Flo.  It  is  impossible — we  dare  not  take  it. 
Bla.  There  let  it  lie,  then,  and  I'll  wind    my 
bugle, 
That  all  within  these  tottering  walls  may  know 
That  here  lies  venison,  whoso  likes  to  lift  it. 

[About  to  blow. 
Kat.  {to  Flo.).  He  will  alarm  your  mother;  and, 
besides, 
Our  Forest  proverb  teaches  that  no  question 
Should  ask  where  venison  comes  from. 
Your  careful  mother,  with  her  wonted  prudence, 
Will  hold  its  presence  plead  its  own  apology. — 
Come,  Blackthorn,  I  will  show  you  where  to  stow  it. 
[Exeunt  Katleen  and  Blackthorn  into  the. 
Castle,.     More  shooting,  then  ,    distant  shout. 
Stragglers,  armed  in  different  ways,  pass  over 
the  Stage,  "■<-■  if  from  ///>■  Weapon-show. 
Flo.  The  prize  is  won ;   that  general  shout  pro- 
claim'd  it. 
The  marksmen  and  the  vassals  are  dispersing. 

[She  dra/rs  Intel;. 

First  Vassal  (a  peasant).  Ay,  ay,  'tis  lost  and 
won, — the  Forest  have  it; 
'Tis  they  have  all  the  luck  on't. 
Second  Vas.  (a  shepherd).  Luck  say'stthou,  man? 

'Tis  practice,  skill,  and  cunning. 
Third  Vas.  'Tis  no  such  thing!     I  had  hit  the 
mark  precisely, 
But  for  this  cursed  (lint ;  and,  as  I  fired, 


A  swallow  cross'd  mine  eye  too.    Will  you  tell  me 
That  that  was  but  a  chance,  mine  honest  shepherd  ? 
First  Vas.    Ay,    and   last  year,   when  Lancelot 
Blackthorn  won  it, 
Because  my  powder  happen'd  to  be  damp, 
Was  there  no  luck  in  that?    The  worse  luck  mine. 
Second  Vas.   Still   I  say  'twas   not  chance :    it 

might  be  witchcraft. 
First  Vas.   Faith,   not  unlikely,  neighbors;   for 
these  foresters 
Do  often  haunt  about  this  ruin'd  castle. 
I've  seen  myself  this  spark— young  Leonard  Dacre — 
Come  stealing  like  a  ghost  ere  break  of  day, 
And  after  sunset  too,  along  this  path  ; 
And  well  jtou  know  the  haunted  towers  of  Devorgoil 
Have  no  good  reputation  in  the  land. 
Shep.  That  have  they  not.     I've  heard  my  father 
say, 
Ghosts  dance  as  lightly  in  its  moonlight  halls 
As  ever  maiden  did  at  midsummer 
Upon  the  village-green. 

First  Vas.  Those  that  frequent  such  spirit-haunted 
ruins 
Must  needs  know  more  than  simple  Christians  do. 
See,  Lance  this  blessed  moment  leaves  the  castle, 
And  comes  to  triumph  o'er  us. 

[Blackthorn  enters  from  the  Castle,  and 
comes  forward  while  they  speak. 
THIRD  Vas.  A  mighty  triumph !     What  is't,  after 
all, 
Except  the  driving  of  a  piece  of  lead, — 
As  learned  Master  Gullcrammer  defined  it, — 
Just  through  the  middle  of  a  painted  board  ? 
Bla.  And  if  he  so  define  it,  by  your  leave, 
Your  learned  Master  Gullcrammer's  an  ass. 
Third  Vas.  {angrily).   He  is  a  preacher,  hunts- 
man, under  favor. 
Second  Vas.  No  quarrelling,  neighbors — you  may 
both  be  right. 

Enter  a  Fourth  Vassal,  with  a  gallon  stoup  of  wine. 
Fourth  Vas.    Why   stand   you   brawling   here? 
Young  Leonard  Dacre 
Has  set  abroach  the  tun  of  wine  he  gain'd, 
That  all  may  drink  who  list. — Blackthorn,  I  sought 

you; 
Your  comrade  prays  you  will  bestow  this  flagon 
Where  you  have  left  the  deer  you  kill'd  this  morning. 

Bla.  And  that  I  will ;  but  first  we  will  take  toll, 
To  see  if  it's  worth  carriage. — Shepherd,  thy  horn ; 
There  must  be  due  allowance  made  for  leakage, 
And  that  will  come  about  a  draught  apiece. 
Skink  it  about,  and  when  our  throats  are  liquor'd, 
We'll  merrily  troll  our  song  of  weapon-shaw. 

[They  drink  about  out  of  the  Shepherd's 
horn,  and  then  sing. 

SONG. 
We  love  the  shrill  trumpet,  we  love  the  drum's  rattle, 
They  call  us  to  sport,  and  they  call  us  to  battle ; 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOKGOIL. 


■45 


And  old  Scotland  shall  laugh  at  the  threats  of  a 

stranger, 
While  our  comrades  in  pastime  are  comrades  in  danger. 

If  there's  mirth  in  our  house,  'tis  our  neighhor  that 

shares  it — 
If  peril  approach,  'tis  our  neighbor  that  dares  it; 
And  when  we  lead  off  to  the  pipe  and  the  tabor, 
The  fair  hand  we  press  is  the  hand  of  a  neighbor. 

Then  close  your  ranks,  comrades,  the  bands  that  com- 
bine them,  [them ; 

Faith,  friendship,  and  brotherhood,  join'd  to  entwine 

And  we'll  laugh  at  the  threats  of  each  insolent  stran- 
ger, [danger. 

While  our  comrades  in  sport  are  our  comrades  in 

Bla.  Well,  I  must  do  mine  errand.     Master  flagon 

[Shaking  it. 
Is  too  consumptive  for  another  bleeding. 
Shep.  I  must  to  my  fold. 

Third  Vas.  I'll  to  the  butt  of  wine, 

And  see  if  that  has  given  up  the  ghost  yet. 
First  Vas.  Have  with  you,  neighbor. 

[Blackthorn  enters  the  Castle,  the  rest  exeunt 
severally.      Melchisedek   Gullcrammer 
watches  them  off  the  stage,  and  then  enters 
from  the  side-scene.    His  costume  is  a  Geneva 
cloak  and  band,  with  a  high-crowned  hat;  the 
rest  of  his  dress  in  the  fashion  of  James  the 
First's  time.     He  looks  to  the  windows  of  the 
Castle,  then  draivs  back  as  if  to  escape  obser- 
vation, while  he  brushes  his  cloak,  drives  the 
white  threads  from  his  waistcoat  wi/h  his  wet- 
ted thumb,  and  dusts  his  shoes,  all  with  the  air 
of  one  who  would  not  willingly  be  observed 
engaged  in  these  offices.    He  then  adjusts  his 
collar  and  band,  comes  forward  and  speaks. 
GUL.  Right  comely  is  thy  garb,  Melchisedek  ; 
As  well  beseemeth  one  whom  good  Saint  Mungo, 
The  patron  of  our  land  and  university, 
Hath  graced  with  license  both  to  teach  and  preach. 
Who  dare  opine  thou  hither  plodd'st  on  foot? 
Trim  sits  thy  cloak,  unruffled  is  thy  band, 
And  not  a  speck  upon  thine  outward  man 
Bewrays  the  labors  of  thy  weary  sole. 

[Touches  his  shoe,  and  smiles  complacently. 
Quaint  was  that  jest  and  pleasant ! — Now  will  I 
Approach  and  hail  the  dwellers  of  this  fort; 
But  specially  sweet  Flora  Devorgoil, 
Ere  her  proud  sire  return.     He  loves  me  not, 
Mocketh  my  lineage,  flouts  at  mine  advancement — 
Sour  as  the  fruit  the  crab-tree  furnishes, 
And  hard  as  is  the  cudgel  it  supplies; 
But  Flora — she's  a  lily  on  the  lake, 
And  I  must  reach  her,  though  I  risk  a  ducking. 

[As  Gullcrammer  moves  towards  the  draw- 
bridge, Bauldie  Durward  enters,  and  in- 
terposes himself  betwixt  him  and  the  Castle. 
Gullcrammer  stops  and  speaks. 


Whom  have  we  here  ? — that  ancient  fortune-teller, 
Papist  and  sorcerer,  and  sturdy  beggar, 
Old  Bauldie  Durward !    Would  I  were  well  past  him ! 
[Durward  advances,  partly  in  the  dress  of  a 
palmer,  partly  in  that  of  an  old  Scottish 
mendicant,  having  coarse  blue  cloak  and 
badge,  white  beard,  &c. 

Dur.  The  blessing  of  the  evening  on  your  worship, 
And  on  your  taff'ty  doublet.    Much  I  marvel 
Your  wisdom  chooseth  such  trim  garb,1  when  tem- 
pests 
Are  gathering  to  the  bursting. 

Gullcrammer  (looks  to  his  dress,  and  then  to  the  sky, 
with  some  apprehension). 

Surely,  Bauldie, 
Thou  dost  belie  the  evening — in  the  west 
The  light  sinks  down  as  lovely  as  this  band 
Drops  o'er  this  mantle — Tush,  man !  'twill  be  fair. 

Dur.  Ay,  but  the  storm  I  bode  is  big  with  blows, 
Horsewhips  for  hailstones,  clubs  for  thunderbolts ; 
And  for  the  wailing  of  the  midnight  wind, 
The  unpitied  howling  of  a  cudgell'd  coxcomb. 
Come,  come,  I  know  thou  seek'st  fair  Flora  Devorgoil. 

Gul.  And  if  I  did,  I  do  the  damsel  grace. 
Her  mother  thinks  so,  and  she  has  accepted 
At  these  poor  hands  gifts  of  some  consequence, 
And  curious  dainties  for  the  evening  cheer, 
To  which  I  am  invited — She  respects  me. 

Dur.  But  not  so  doth  her  father,  haughty  Oswald. 
Bethink  thee,  he's  a  baron 

Gul.  And  a  bare  one ; 

Construe  me  that,  old  man ! — The  crofts  of  Muckle- 

whame — 
Destined  for  mine  so  soon  as  heaven  and  earth 
Have  shared  my  uncle's  soul  and  bones  between  them — 
The  crofts  of  Mucklewhame,  old  man,  which  nourish 
Three  scores  of  sheep,  three  cows,  with  each  her  fol- 
lower, 
A  female  palfrey  eke — I  will  be  candid, 
She  is  of  that  meek  tribe  whom,  in  derision, 
Our    wealthy    southern    neighbors    nickname    don- 
keys  

Dur.  She  hath  her  follower  too, — when  thou  art 
there. 

Gul.  I  say  to  thee,  these  crofts  of  Mucklewhame, 
In  the  mere  tithing  of  their  stock  and  produce, 
Outvie  whatever  patch  of  land  remains 
To  this  old  rugged  castle  and  its  owner. 
Well,  therefore,  may  Melchisedek  Gullcrammer, 
Younger  of  Mucklewhame,  for  such  I  write  me, 
Master  of  Arts,  by  grace  of  good  Saint  Andrew, 
Preacher,  in  brief  expectance  of  a  kirk, 
Endow'd  with  ten  score  Scottish  pounds  per  annum, 
Being  eight  pounds  seventeen  eight  in  sterling  coin — 
Well  then,  I  say,  may  this  Melchisedek, 
Thus  highly  graced  by  fortune— and  by  nature 
E'en  gifted  as  thou  seest — aspire  to  woo 
The  daughter  of  the  beggar'd  Devorgoil. 


1  MS. :  "  That  you  should  walk  in  such  t  rim  guise." 


746 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


DUR.  Credit  an  old  man's  word,  kind  Master  Gull- 
crammer, 
You  will  not  find  it  so.— Come,  sir,  I've  known 
The  hospitality  of  Mucklewhame  ; 
It  reach'd  not  to  profuseness— yet,  in  gratitude 
For  the  pure  water  of  its  living  well, 
And  for  the  barley  loaves  of  its  fair  fields, 
Wherein  chopp'd  straw  contended  with  the  grain 
Which  best  should  satisfy  the  appetite, 
I  would  not  see  the  hopeful  heir  of  Mucklewhame 
Thus  fling  himself  on  danger. 

Gil.  Danger!  what  danger? — Know'st  thou  not, 
old  Oswald 
This  day  attends  the  muster  of  the  shire, 
Where  the  crown-vassals  meet  to  show  their  arms, 
And  their  best  horse  of  service? — 'Twas  good  sport 
(An  if  a  man  had  dared  but  laugh  at  it) 
To  see  old  Oswald  with  his  rusty  morion, 
And  huge  two-handed  sword,  that  might  have  seen 
The  field  of  Bannockburu  or  Chevy  Chase, 
Without  a  squire  or  vassal,  page  or  groom, 
Or  e'en  a  single  pikeman  at  his  heels, 
Mix  with  the  proudest  nobles  of  the  county, 
And  claim  precedence  for  his  tatter'd  person 
O'er  armors  double  gilt  and  ostrich  plumage. 

Dur.  Ay !  'twas  the  jest  at  which  fools  laugh  the 
loudest, 
The  downfall  of  our  old  nobility — 
Which  may  forerun  the  ruin  of  a  kingdom. 
I've  seen  an  idiot  clap  his  hands,  and  shout 
To  see  a  tower  like  yon  (points  to  a  part  of  the  Castle) 

stoop  to  its  base 
In  headlong  ruin ;  while  the  wise  look'd  round, 
And  fearful  sought  a  distant  stance  to  watch 
What  fragment  of  the  fabric  next  should  follow; 
For  when  the  turrets  fall,  the  walls  are  tottering. 

GtL.  (after  pondering).    If  that  means  aught,  it 
means  thou  saw'st  old  Oswald 
Expell'd  from  the  assembly. 

Due.  Thy  sharp  wit 

Hath  glanced  unwittingly  right  nigh  the  truth. 
Expell'd  he  was  not,  but,  his  claim  denied 
At  some  contested  point  of  ceremony, 
He  left  the  weapou-shaw  in  high  displeasure, 
And  hither  comes — his  wonted  bitter  temper 
Scarce  sweeten'd  by  the  chances  of  the  day. 
'Twerc  much  like  rashness  should  you  wait  his  coming, 
And  thither  tends  my  counsel. 

GUL.  And  I'll  take  it; 

Good  Bauldie  Dm  ward,  I  will  take  thy  counsel, 
And  will  requite  it  with  this  minted  farthing, 
That  bears  our  sovereign's  head  in  purest  copper. 

DUK.  Thanks    to    thy   bounty — Haste    thee,   good 
young  master  ; 
Oswald,  besides  tin-  old  two-handed  sword, 
Bears  in  his  hand  a  stall'  of  potency, 
To  charm  intruders  from  his  castle  purlieus. 


'  MS. 


•  "And  Flora's  years  of  beauty." 


MS. :  "  This  was  an  earth-born  beetle,  dull  and  drossy." 


GuL.  I  do  abhor  all  charms,  nor  will  abide 
To  hear  or  see,  far  less  to  feel  their  use. 
Behold,  I  have  departed.  [Exit  hastily. 

Manet  Dukwabd. 
Dur.  Thus  do  I  play  the  idle  part  of  one 
Who  seeks  to  save  the  moth  from  scorching  him 
In  the  bright  taper's  flame — And  Flora's  beauty1 
Must,  not  unlike  that  taper,  waste  away, 
Gilding  the  rugged  walls  that  saw  it  kindled. 
This  was  a  shard-born  beetle,  heavy,  drossy,2 
Though  boasting  his  dull  drone  and  gilded  wing. 
Here  comes  a  flutterer  of  another  stamp, 
Whom  the  same  ray  is  charming  to  his  ruin. 

Enter  Leonard,  dressed  as  a  huntsman;  he  pauses 
before  the  Tower,  and  whistles  a  note  or  two  at  inter- 
vals — drawing  back,  as  if  fearful  of  observation,  yet 
waiting,  as  if  expecting  some  reply.  Dcrward, 
whom  he  had  not  observed,  moves  round,  so  as  to 
front  Leonard  unexpectedly. 

Leon.  I  am  too  late — it  was  no  easy  task 
To  rid  myself  from  yonder  noisy  revellers. 
Flora ! — I  fear  she's  angry — Flora — Flora ! 3 

SONG. 
Admire  not  that  I  gain'd  the  prize 

From  all  the  village  crew  ; 
How  could  I  fail  with  hand  or  eyes, 

When  heart  and  faith  were  true  ? 

And  when  in  floods  of  rosy  wine 
My  comrades  drown'd  their  cares, 

I  thought  but  that  thy  heart  was  mine, 
My  own  leapt  light  as  theirs. 

My  brief  delay  then  do  not  blame, 

Nor  deem  your  swain  untrue  ; 
My  form  but  linger'd  at  the  game, 

My  soul  was  still  with  you. 

She  hears  not ! 

Due.  But  a  friend  hath  heard — Leonard,  I  pity  thee. 

Leon,  (starts,  but  recovers  h  imself).  Pity,  good  father, 
is  for  those  in  want, 
In  age,  in  sorrow,  in  distress  of  mind, 
Or  agony  of  body.     I'm  in  health — 
Can  match  my  limbs  against  the  stag  in  chase, 
Have  means  enough  to  meet  my  simple  wants, 
And  am  so  free  of  soul  that  I  can  eared 
To  woodland  and  to  wild  in  notes  as  lively 
As  are  my  jolly  bugle's. 

Dur.   Even   therefore   dost    thou    need    my   pity, 
Leonard, 
And  therefore  I  bestow  it,  paying  thee, 
Before  thou  feel'st  the  need,  my  mite  of  pity. 

8  From  the  MB.  the  following  song  appears  to  have  been  a 
recent  interpolation. 


THE    DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


747 


Leonard,  thou  lovest ;  and  in  that  little  word 
There  lies  enough  to  claim  the  sympathy 
Of  men  who  wear  such  hoary  locks  as  mine, 
And  know  what  misplaced  love  is  sure  to  end  in.1 

Leon.    Good  father,  thou  art  old,  and  even  thy 
youth, 
As  thou  hast  told  me,  spent  in  cloister'd  cells, 
Fits  thee  but  ill  to  judge  the  passions 
Which  are  the  joy  and  charm  of  social  life. 
Press  me  no  farther,  then,  nor  waste  those  moments 
Wlio.se  worth  thou  canst  not  estimate. 

[As  turning  f ram  him. 

Dl:e.  (detains  him).  Stay,  young  man ! 
'Tis  seldom  that  a  beggar  claims  a  debt ; 
Yet  I  bethink  me  of  a  gay  young  stripling, 
That  owes  to  these  white  locks  and  hoary  beard 
Something  of  reverence  and  of  gratitude 
More  than  he  wills  to  pay. 

Leon.  Forgive  me,  father.    Often  hast  thou  told  me 
That  in  the  ruin  of  my  father's  house 
You  saved  the  orphan  Leonard  in  his  cradle ; 
And  well  I  know  that  to  thy  care  alone — 
Care  seconded  by  means  beyond  thy  seeming — 
I  owe  whate'er  of  nurture  I  can  boast. 

Due.  Then  for  thy  life  preserved, 
And  for  the  means  of  knowledge  I  have  furnish'd 
(Which  lacking,  man  is  levell'd  with  the  brutes), 
Grant  me  this  boon : — Avoid  these  fatal  walls ! 
A  curse  is  on  them,  bitter,  deep,  and  heavy, 
Of  power  to  split  the  massiest  tower  they  boast 
From  pinnacle  to  dungeon  vault.     It  rose 
Upon  the  gay  horizon  of  proud  Devorgoil 
As  unregarded  as  the  fleecy  cloud, 
The  first  forerunner  of  the  hurricane, 
Scarce  seen  amid  the  welkin's  shadeless  blue. 
Dark  grew  it,  and  more  dark,  and  still  the  fortunes 
Of  this  doom'd  family  have  darken'd  with  it. 
It  hid  their  sovereign's  favor,  and  obscured 
The  lustre  of  their  service,  gender'd  hate 
Betwixt  them  and  the  mighty  of  the  land ; 
Till  by  degrees  the  waxing  tempest  rose, 
And  stripp'd  the  goodly  tree  of  fruit  and  flowers, 
And  buds,  and  boughs,  and  branches.    There  remains 
A  rugged  trunk,  dismember'd  and  unsightly, 
Waiting  the  bursting  of  the  final  bolt 
To  sj)linter  it  to  shivers.     Now,  go  pluck 
Its  single  tendril  to  enwreath  thy  brow, 
And  rest  beneath  its  shade — to  share  the  ruin  . 

i  The  MS.  here  adds : 

"Leonard.  But  mine   is   not  misplaced — If   I  sought 
heauty, 
Resides  it  not  with  Flora  Devorgoil  ? 
If  piety,  if  sweetness,  if  discretion, 
Patience  beneath  ill-suited  tasks  of  labor, 
And  filial  tenderness,  that  can  beguile 
Her  moody  sire's  dark  thoughts,  as  the  soft  moonshine 
Illumes  the  cloud  of  night— if  I  seek  these, 
Are  they  not  all  with  Flora?    Number  me 
The  list  of  female  virtues  one  by  one, 
And  I  will  answer  all  with  Flora  Devorgoil. 


Leon.  This  anathema, 
Whence  should  it  come  ? — How  merited  ? — and  when  ? 

Due.  'Twas  in  the  days 
Of  Oswald's  graudsire, — 'mid  Galwegian  chiefs 
The  fellest  foe,  the  fiercest  champion. 
His  blood-red  pennons  scared  the  Cumbrian  coasts, 
And  wasted  towns  and  manors  mark'd  his  progress. 
His  galleys  stored  with  treasure,  and  their  decks 
Crowded  with  English  captives,  who  beheld, 
With  weeping  eyes,  their  native  shores  retire, 
He  bore  him  homeward ;  but  a  tempest  rose 

Leon.  So  far  I've  heard  the  tale, 
And  spare  thee  the  recital, — The  grim  chief, 
Marking  his  vessels  labor  on  the  sea, 
Aud  loth  to  lose  his  treasure,  gave  command 
To  plunge  his  captives  in  the  raging  deep. 

Due.  There  sunk  the  lineage  of  a  noble  name, 
And  the  wild  waves  boom'd  over  sire  and  son, 
Mother  and  nursling,  of  the  House  of  Aglionby  2 
Leaving  but  one  frail  tendril.— Hence  the  fate 
That  hovers  o'er  these  turrets, — hence  the  peasant, 
Belated,  hying  homewards,  dreads  to  cast 
A  glance  upon  that  portal,  lest  he  see 
The  unshrouded  spectres  of  the  murder'd  dead  ;3 
Or  the  avenging  Angel,  with  his  sword, 
Waving  destruction ;  or  the  grisly  phantom 
Of  that  fell  Chief,  the  doer  of  the  deed, 
Which  still,  they  say,  roams  through  his  empty  halls, 
And  mourns  their  wasteness  and  their  lonelihood. 

Leon.  Such  is  the  dotage 
Of  superstition,  father,  ay,  and  the  cant 
Of  hoodwink'd  prejudice. — Not  for  atonement 
Of  some  foul  deed  done  in  the  ancient  warfare, 
When  war  was  butchery,  and  men  were  wolves, 
Doth  Heaven  consign  the  innocent  to  suffering. 
I  tell  thee,  Flora's  virtues  might  atone 
For  all  the  massacres  her  sires  have  done, 
Since  first  the  Pictish  race  their  stained  limbs4 
Array'd  in  wolf's  skin. 

Duk.  Leonard,  ere  yet  this  beggar's  scrip  and  cloak 
Supplied  the  place  of  mitre  and  of  crosier,5 
Which  in  these  alter'd  lands  must  not  be  worn, 
I  was  superior  of  a  brotherhood 
Of  holy  men, — the  Prior  of  Lanercost. 
Nobles  then  sought  my  footstool  many  a  league, 
There  to  unload  their  sins — questions  of  conscience 
Of  deepest  import  were  not  deem'd  too  nice 
For  my  decision,  youth.     But  not  even  then, 

"Durward.  This  is  the  wonted  pitch  of  youthful  passion ; 
And  every  woman  who  hath  had  a  lover, 
However  now  deem'd  crabbed,  cross,  and  canker'd, 
And  crooked  both  in  temper  and  in  shape, 
Has  in  her  day  been  thought  the  purest,  wisest, 
Gentlest,  and  best  condition'd— and  o'er  all 
Fairest  and  liveliest  of  Eve's  numerous  daughters. 

"  Leonard.  Good  father,  thou  art  old,"  &e. 

2  MS. :  "  House  of  Ehrenwald." 

3  MS. :  "  spectres  of  the  murder'd  captives." 

4  MS. :  "  their  painted  limbs." 

6  MS.:  "Supplied  the  (  place  \  of  palmer's  cowl  and  staff"." 
I  want  i 


748 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


With  mitre  on  my  brow,  and  all  the  voice 
Which  Borne  gives  to  a  father  of  her  church, 
Dared  I  pronounce  so  holdly  on  the  ways 
Of  hidden  Providence,  as  thou,  young  man, 
Whose  chiefest  knowledge  is  to  track  a  stag, 
Or  wind  a  bugle,  hast  presumed  to  do. 

Leon.  Nay,  1  pray  forgive  me, 
Father;  thou  know'st  I  meant  not  to  presume 

Dur.  Can  I  refuse  thee  pardon  ? — Thou  art  all 
That  war  and  change  have  left  to  the  poor  Durward. 
Thy  father,  too,  who  lost  his  life  and  fortune 
Defending  Lanercost,  when  its  fair  aisles 
Were  spoil'd  by  sacrilege — I  bless'd  his  banner, 
And  yet  it  prosper'd  not.     But — all  I  could — 
Thee  from  the  wreck  I  saved,  and  for  thy  sake 
Have  still  dragg'd  on  my  life  of  pilgrimage 
And  penitence  upon  the  hated  shores 
I  else  had  left  for  ever.     Come  with  me, 
And  I  will  teach  thee  there  is  healing  in 
The  wounds  which  friendship  gives.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 

The  Scene  changes  to  the  interior  of  the  Castle.  An 
apartment  is  discovered,  in  which  there  is  much  ap- 
pearance of  present  poverty,  mixed  with  some  relics 
of  former  grandeur.  On  the  wall  hangs,  amongst 
other  things,  a  suit  of  ancient  armor;  by  the  table  is  a 
covered  basket;  behind,  and  concealed  by  it,  the  carcass 
of  a  roc-deer.  There  is  a  small  latticed  window,  which, 
appearing  to  perforate  a  wall  of  great  thickness,  is 
supposed  to  look  out  towards  the  drawbridge.  It  is  in 
the  shape  of  a  loop-hole  for  musketry  ;  and,  as  is  not 
umisual  in  old  buildings,  is  placed  so  high  up  in  the 
wiitl  that  it  is  only  approached  by  five  or  six  narrow 
stone  steps. 

Eleanor,  the  wife  of  Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  Flora 
and  Katleen,  her  Daughti  r  and  Niece,  are  discov- 
ered at  work.  The  former  spins,  the  latter  are  em- 
broidering. Eleanor  a  » its  It  <  r  own  labor  to  examine 
the  manner  in  which  Flora  is  executing  her  task,  and 
shakes  her  head  as  if  dissatisfied. 

Ele.  Fie  on  it,  Flora !  this  hotch'd  work  of  thine 
Shows  that  thy  mind  is  distant  from  thy  task. 
The  finest  tracery  of  our  old  cathedral 
Bad  n.i  a  richer,  freer,  bolder  pattern 
Than  Flora  once  could  trace.    Thy  thoughts  are  wan- 
dering. 

Flo.  They're  with  my  father.    Broad  upon  the  lake 
The  evening  sun  sunk  down ;  huge  piles  of  clouds 
Crimson  and  sable,  rose  upon  his  disk, 
And  quench  M  hi  in  ere  his  setting,  like  some  champion 
In  his  last  conflict,  losing  all  his  glory. 
Sure  Bignals  those  of  storm.     And  if  my  father 
Be  on  his  homeward  road 

Ele.  But  that  he  will  not. 
Baron  of  Devorgoil,  this  day  at  least 


He  banquets  with  the  nobles,  who  the  next 
Would  scarce  vouchsafe  an  alms  to  save  his  household 
From  want  or  famine.     Thanks  to  a  kind  friend, 
For  one  brief  space  we  shall  not  need  their  aid. 

Flo.  (joyfully).  What!  knew  you  then  his  gift? 
How  silly  I  that  would,  yet  durst  not,  tell  it ! 
I  fear  my  father  will  condemn  us  both, 
That  easily  accepted  such  a  present. 

Kat.  Now,  here's  the  game  a  bystander  sees  better 
Than  those  who  play  it. — My  good  aunt  is  pondering 
On  the  good  cheer  which  Gullcrammer  has  sent  us, 
And  Flora  thinks  upon  the  forest  venison.         [Aside. 
Ele.  (to  Flo.).  Thy  father  need  not  know  on't — 
'tis  a  boon 
Comes  timely,  when  frugality,  nay,  abstinence, 
Might  scarce  avail  us  longer.     I  had  hoped 
Ere  now  a  visit  from  the  youthful  donor, 
That  we  might  thank  his  bounty ;  and  perhaps 
My  Flora  thought  the  same,  when  Sunday's  kerchief 
And  the  best  kirtle  were  sought  out  and  donn'd 
To  grace  a  work-day  evening. 

Flo.  Nay,  mother,  that  is  judging  all  too  close ! 
My  work-day  gown  was  torn — my  kerchief  sullied ; 
And  thus — But,  think  you,  will  the  gallant  come  ? 
Ele.  He  will,  for  with  these  dainties  came  a  message 

From  gentle  Master  Gullcrammer,  to  intimate 

Flo.  (greatly  disappointed).  Gullcrammer? 
Kat.  There  burst  the  bubble — down  fell  house  of 
cards, 
And  cousin's  like  to  cry  for't!  [Aside. 

Ele.     Gullcrammer  ?    ay,   Gullcrammer  —  thou 
scorn'st  not  at  him  ? 
'Twere  something  short  of  wisdom  in  a  maiden, 
Who,  like  the  poor  bat  in  the  Grecian  fable, 
Hovers  betwixt  two  classes  in  the  world, 
And  is  disclaim'd  by  both  the  mouse  and  bird. 

Kat.  I  am  the  poor  mouse, 

And  may  go  creep  into  what  hole  I  list, 
And  no  one  heed  me — Yet  I'll  waste  a  word 
Of  counsel  on  my  betters. — Kind  my  aunt, 
And  you,  my  gentle  cousin,  were't  not  better 
We  thought  of  dressing  this  same  gear  for  supper, 
Than  quarrelling  about  the  worthless  donor? 
Ele.  Peace,  minx ! 

Flo.  Thou  hast  no  feeling,  cousin  Katleen. 

Kat.  Soh !  I  have  brought  them  both  on  my  poor 
shoulders; 
So  meddling  peace-makers  are  still  rewarded : 
E'en  let  them  to't  again,  and  fight  it  out. 

Flo.  Mother,  were  I  disclaim'd  of  every  class, 
I  would  not  therefore  so  disclaim  myself 
As  even  a  passing  thought  of  scorn  to  waste 
On  cloddish  Gullcrammer. 

Ele.  List  to  me,  love,  and  let  adversity 
Incline  thine  ear  to  wisdom.     Look  around  thee — 
Of  the  gay  youths  who  boast  a  noble  name, 
Which  will  incline  to  wed  a  dowerless  damsel? 
And  of  the  yeomanry,  who  think'st  thou,  Flora, 
Would  ask  to  share  the  labors  of  his  farm 
An  high-born  beggar  ? — This  young  man  is  modest ■ 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOKGOIL. 


•49 


Flo.  Silly,  good  mother ;  sheepish,  if  you  will  it. 

Ele.  E'en  call  it  what  you  list — the  softer  tender, 
The  fitter  to  endure  the  bitter  sallies 
Of  one  whose  wit  is  all  too  sharp  for  mine. 

FLO.  Mother,  you  cannot  mean  it  as  you  say ; 
You  cannot  bid  me  prize  conceited  folly  ? 

Ele.  Content  thee,   child — each   lot   has  its  own 
blessings. 
This  youth,  with  his  plain-dealing  honest  suit, 
Proffers  thee  quiet,  peace,  and  competence, 
Redemption  from  a  home  o'er  which  fell  Fate 
Stoops  like  a  falcon. — Oh,  if  thou  couldst  choose 
(As  no  such  choice  is  given)  'twixt  such  a  mate 
And  some  proud  noble ! — Who,  iu  sober  judgment, 
Would  like  to  navigate  the  heady  river, 
Dashing  in  fury  from  its  parent  mountain, 
More  than  the  waters  of  the  quiet  lake  ? 

Kat.  Now  can  I  hold  no  longer — Lake,  good  aunt  ? 
Nay,  in  the  name   of  truth,  say  mill-pond,  horse- 
pond  ; 
Or  if  there  be  a  pond  more  miry, 
More  sluggish,  mean-derived,  and  base  than  either, 
Be  such  Gullcrammer's  emblem — and  his  portion ! 

FLO.  I  would  that  he  or  I  were  in  our  grave, 
Rather  than  thus  his  suit  should  goad  me ! — Mother, 
Flora  of  Devorgoil,  though  low  iu  fortunes, 
Is  still  too  high  in  mind  to  join  her  name 
With  such  a  base-born  churl  as  Gullcrammer. 

Ele.  You  are  trim  maidens  both  ! 
(  To  Flora.)  Have  you  forgotten, 

Or  did  you  mean  to  call  to  my  remembrance, 
Thy  father  chose  a  wife  of  peasant  blood? 

Flo.  Will  you  sjjeak  thus  to  me,  or  think  the  stream 
Can  mock  the  fountain  it  derives  its  source  from  ? 
My  venerated  mother,  in  that  name 
Lies  all  on  earth  a  child  should  chiefest  honor ; 
And  with  that  name  to  mix  reproach  or  taunt, 
Were  only  short  of  blasphemy  to  Heaven.  ■ 

Ele.  Then  listen,  Flora,  to  that  mother's  counsel, 
Or  rather  profit  by  that  mother's  fate. 
Your  father's  fortunes  were  but  bent,  not  broken, 
Until  he  listen'd  to  his  rash  affection. 
Means  were  afforded  to  redeem  his  house, 
Ample  and  large — the  hand  of  a  rich  heiress 
Awaited,  almost  courted,  his  acceptance ; 
He  saw  my  beauty — such  it  then  was  call'd, 
Or  such  at  least  he  thought  it, — the  wither'd  bush, 
Whate'er  it  now  may  seem,  had  blossoms  then, — 
And  he  forsook  the  proud  and  wealthy  heiress, 
To  wed  with  me  and  ruin 

Kat.  (aside).  The  more  fool, 

Say  I,  apart,  the  peasant  maiden  then, 
Who  might  have  chose  a  mate  from  her  own  hamlet. 

Ele.  Friends  fell  off, 
And  to  his  own  resources,  his  own  counsels, 
Abandon'd,  as  they  said,  the  thoughtless  prodigal, 
Who  had  exchanged  rank,  riches,  pomp,  and  honor, 
For  the  mean  beauties  of  a  cottage  maid. 

Flo.  It  was  done  like  my  father, 
Who  scorn'd  to  sell  what  wealth  can  never  buy — 


True  love  and  free  affections.     And  he  loves  you ! 
If  you  have  sufier'd  in  a  weary  world, 
Your  sorrows  have  been  jointly  borne,  and  love 
Has  made  the  load  sit  lighter. 
Ele.  Ay,  but  a  misplaced  match  hath  that  deep 
curse  in't, 
That  can  embitter  e'en  the  purest  streams 
Of  true  affection.    Thou  hast  seen  me  seek, 
With  the  strict  caution  early  habits  taught  me, 
To  match  our  wants  and  means — hast  seen  thy  father, 
With  aristocracy's  high  brow  of  scorn, 
Spurn  at  economy,  the  cottage  virtue, 
As  best  befitting  her  whose  sires  were  peasants  ; 
Nor  can  I,  when  I  see  my  lineage  scorn'd, 
Always  conceal  in  what  contempt  I  hold 
The  fancied  claims  of  rank  he  clings  to  fondly. 
Flo.  Why  will  you  do  so  ? — well  you  know  it  chafes 

him. 
Ele.  Flora,  thy  mother  is  but  mortal  woman, 
Nor  can  at  all  times  check  an  eager  tongue. 
Kat.  (aside).  That's  no  new  tidings  to  her  niece 

and  daughter. 
Ele.  Oh  may'st  thou  never  know  the  spited  feelings 
That  gender  discord  in  adversity 
Betwixt  the  dearest  friends  and  truest  lovers ! 
In  the  chill  damping  gale  of  poverty, 
If  Love's  lamp  go  not  out,  it  gleams  but  palely, 
And  twinkles  in  the  socket. 

Flo.  But  tenderness  can  screen  it  with  her  veil,1 
Till  it  revive  again.     By  gentleness,  good  mother, 
How  oft  I've  seen  you  soothe  my  father's  mood ! 
Kat.  Now  there  speak  youthful  hope  and  fantasy ! 

[Aside. 
Ele.  That  is  an  easier  task  in  youth  than  age ; 
Our  temper  hardens,  and  our  charms  decay, 
And  both  are  needed  in  that  art  of  soothing. 
Kat.  And  there  speaks  sad  experience.         [Aside. 
Ele.  Besides,  since  that  our  state  was  utter  despe- 
rate, 
Darker  his  brow,  more  dangerous  grow  his  words ; 
Fain  would  I  snatch  thee  from  the  woe  and  wrath 
Which  darken'd  long  my  life,  and  soon  must  end  it. 

[A  knocking  without;  ELEANOR  shows  alarm. 
It  was  thy  father's  knock,  haste  to  the  gate. 

[Exeunt  Flora  and  Katleen. 
What  can  have  happ'd  ? — he  thought  to  stay  the  night. 
This  gear  must  not  be  seen. 

[As  she  is  about  to  remove  the  basket,  she  sees 
the  body  of  the  roe-deer. 
What  have  we  here  ?  a  roe-deer ! — as  I  fear  it, 
This  was  the  gift  of  which  poor  Flora  thought. 
The  young  and  handsome  hunter— but  time  presses. 
[She  removes  the  basket  and  the  roe  into  a  closet. 
As  she  has  done — 

Enter  Oswald  0/ Devorgoil,  Flora,  and  Katleen. 

[He  is  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  which  should  seem, 
worn  and  old,  a  head-piece,  and  old-fashioned 

1  MS. :  "  Ay,  but  the  veil  of  tenderness  can  screen  it." 


750 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


sword;  the  rest  of  his  dress  that  ofapeasant.  His 
countenance    ami    manner    should    express   the 
moody  and  irritable  haughtiness  of  a  proud  man 
involved  in  calamity,  and  who  has  been  exposed 
tn  red  nt  insult. 
Osw.  [addressing  his  wife).  The  sun  hath  set — why- 
is  the  drawbridge  lower'd  ? 
Ele.   The    counterpoise    has    fail'd,    and    Flora's 
strength, 
Katleen's,  and  mine  united,  could  not  raise  it. 

Osw.  Flora  and  thou !     A  goodly  garrison 
To  hold  a  castle,  which,  if  fame  say  true, 
Once  foil'd  the  King  of  Norse  and  all  his  rovers. 

Ele.  It  might  be  so  in  ancient  times,  but  now 

Osw.  A  herd  of  deer  might  storm  proud  Devorgoil. 
Kat.  (aside  to  Flo.).  You,  Flora,  know  full  well  one 
deer  already 
Has  enter'd  at  the  breach ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
The  escort  has  not  yet  march'd  off,  for  Blackthorn 
Is  still  within  the  castle. 
Flo.  In  Heaven's  name  rid  him  out  on't,  ere  myr 
father 
Discovers  he  is  here  !     Why  went  he  not 
Before  ? 

Kat.  Because  I  staid  him  on  some  little  business ; 
I  had  a  plan  to  scare  poor  paltry  Gullcrammer 
Out  of  his  paltry  wits. 

Flo.  Well,  haste  ye  now, 

And  try  to  get  him  off. 

Kat.  I  will  not  promise  that. 

I  would  not  turn  an  honest  hunter's  dog, 
So  well  I  like  tbe  woodcraft,  out  of  shelter 
In  such  a  night  as  this — far  less  his  master: 
But  I'll  do  this,  I'll  try  to  hide  him  for  you. 
Osw.  (whom  his  wife  has  assisted  to  take  off  his  cloak 
and  feathered  cap).  Ay,  take  them  off,  and  bring 
my  peasant's  bonnet 
And  peasant's  plaid — I'll  noble  it  no  farther. 
Let  them  erase  my  name  from  honor's  lists, 
And  drag  my  scutcheon  at  their  horses'  heels; 
I  have  deserved  it  all,  for  I  am  poor, 
And  poverty  hath  neither  right  of  birth, 
Nor  rank,  relation,  claim,  nor  privilege, 
To  match  a  new-coin'd  viscount,  whose  good  grand- 
sire, 
The  Lord  be  with  him,  was  a  careful  skipper, 
And  steer'd  his  paltry  skiff  'twixt  Leith  and  Camp- 

vere — 
Marry,  sir,  he  could  buy  Geneva  cheap, 
And  knew  the  coast  by  moonlight, 

Flo.  Mean  you  the  Viscount  Ellondale,  my  father? 
What  strife  has  been  between  you  ? 

Osw.  Oh,  a  trifle! 

Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  about — 
Precedence  is  a  toy — a  superstition 
About  a  table's  end,  joint-stool,  and  trencher. 
Something  was  once  thought  due  to  long  descent, 

1  MS. : 


"Yet,  I  know,  for  minds 

Of  nobler  stamp  earth  has  no  dearer  motive." 


And  something  to  Galwegia's  oldest  baron, — 
But  let  that  pass — a  dream  of  the  old  time. 

Ele.  It  is  indeed  a  dream. 

Osw\  (turning  upon  her  rather  quickly).  Ha!  said  ye! 
let  me  hear  these  words  more  plain. 

Ele.  Alas !  they  are  but  echoes  of  your  own. 
Match'd  with  the  real  woes  that  hover  o'er  us, 
What  are  the  idle  visions  of  precedence, 
But,  as  you  term  them,  dreams,  and  toys,  and  trifles, 
Not  worth  a  wise  man's  thinking  twice  upon? 

Osw.  Ayr,  'twas  for  you  I  framed  that  consolation, 
The  true  philosophy  of  clouted  shoe 
And  linsey-woolsey  kirtle.     I  know  that  minds 
Of  nobler  stamjj  receive  no  dearer  motive1 
Than  what  is  link'd  with  honor.     Ribbons,  tassels, 
Which  are  but  shreds  of  silk  and  spangled  tinsel — 2 
The  right  of  place,  which  in  itself  is  momentary — 
A  word,  which  is  but  air — may7  in  themselves, 
And  to  the  nobler  file,  be  steep'd  so  richly 
In  that  elixir,  honor,  that  the  lack 
Of  things  so  very  trivial  in  themselves 
Shall  be  misfortune.    One  shall  seek  for  them3 
O'er  the  wild  waves — one  in  the  deadly  breach 
And  battle's  headlong  front— one  in  the  paths 
Of  midnight  study ;  and,  in  gaining  these 
Emblems  of  honor,  each  will  hold  himself 
Repaid  for  all  his  labors,  deeds,  and  dangers. 
What  then  should  he  think,  knowing  them  his  own, 
Who  sees  what  warriors  and  what  sages  toil  for, 
The  formal  and  establish'd  marks  of  honor, 
Usurp'd  from  him  by  upstart  insolence  ? 

Ele.  (who  has  listened  to  the  last  speech  with  some  im- 
patience). This  is  but  empty  declamation,  Os- 
wald. 
The  fragments  left  at  yonder  full-spread  banquet, 
Nay,  even  the  poorest  crust  swept  from  the  table, 
Ought  to  be  far  more  precious  to  a  father, 
Whose  family  lacks  food,  than  the  vain  boast, 
He  sat  at  the  board-head. 

Osw.  Thou'lt  drive  me  frantic!— I  will  tell  thee, 
woman — 
Yet  why  to  thee  ?    There  is  another  ear 
Which  that  tale  better  suits,  and  he  shall  hear  it. 

[Looks  at  his  sword,  which  he  has  unbuckled, 
and  addresses  the  rest  of  the  speech  to  it. 
Yes,  trusty  friend,  my  father  knew  thy  worth, 
And  often  proved  it — often  told  me  of  it — 
Though  thou  and  I  be  now  held  lightly  of, 
And  want  the  gilded  hatchments  of  the  time, 
I  think  we  both  may  prove  true  metal  still. 
'Tis  thou  shalt  tell  this  story,  right  this  wrong : 
Rest  thou  till  time  is  fitting.         [Hangs  up  the  sivord. 
[The  Women  look  at  each  other  with  anxiety 
during  this  speech,  which  they  partly  over- 
hear.    They  both  approach  OSWALD. 

Ele.  Oswald — my  dearest  husband ! 

Flo.  My  dear  father ! 


=  MS.: 
3  MS. : 


• "  tinsell'd  spangle." 

•  "  One  shall  seek  these  emblems." 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


751 


Osw.    Peace,  both! — we  speak  no  more  of  this. 
I  go 
To  heave  the  drawbridge  up.  [Exit. 

Katleen  mounts  the  steps  towards  the  loop-hole,  looks 

out,  and  speaks. 
The  storm  is  gathering  fast;  broad,  heavy  drops 
Fall  plashing  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake, 
And  dash  its  inky  surface  into  circles; 
The  distant  hills  are  hid  in  wreaths  of  darkness. 
'Twill  be  a  fearful  night. 

Oswald  re-enters,  and  throws  himself  into  a  seat. 

Ele.  More  dark  and  dreadful 

Than  is  our  destiny,  it  cannot  be. 

Osw.  (to  Flo.).  Such  is  Heaven's  will — it  is  our 
part  to  bear  it. 
We're  warranted,  my  child,  from  ancient  story 
And  blessed  writ,  to  say,  that  song  assuages 
The  gloomy  cares  that  prey  upon  our  reason, 
And  wake  a  strife  betwixt  our  better  feelings 
And  the  fierce  dictates  of  the  headlong  passions. 
Sing,  then,  my  love;  for  if  a  voice  have  influence 
To  mediate  peace  betwixt  me  and  my  destiny, 
Flora,  it  must  be  thine. 

Flo.  My  best  to  please  you ! 

SONG. 
When  the  tempest's  at  the  loudest, 

On  its  gale  the  eagle  rides ; 
When  the  ocean  rolls  the  proudest, 

Through  the  foam  the  sea-bird  glides — 
All  the  rage  of  wind  and  sea 
Is  subdued  by  constancy. 

Gnawing  want  and  sickness  pining, 

All  the  ills  that  men  endure, 
Each  their  various  pangs  combining, 

Constancy  can  find  a  cure — 
Pain,  and  Fear,  and  Poverty, 
Are  subdued  by  constancy. 

Bar  me  from  each  wonted  pleasure, 

Make  me  abject,  mean,  and  poor ; 
Heap  on  insults  without  measure, 

Chain  me  to  a  dungeon  floor — 
I'll  be  happy,  rich,  and  free, 
If  endow'd  with  constancy. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  Chamber  in  a  distant  part  of  the  Castle.  A  large 
Window  in  the  flat  scene,  supposed  to  look  on  the 
Lake,  which  is  occasionally  illuminated  by  lightning. 
There  is  a  Couch-bed  in  the  Room,  and  an  antique 
Cabinet. 


Enter  Katleen,  introducing  Blackthorn.1 

Kat.  This  was  the  destined  scene  of  action,  Black- 
thorn, 
And  here  our  properties.    But  all  in  vain, 
For  of  Gullcrammer  we'll  see  nought  to-night, 
Except  the  dainties  that  I  told  you  of. 

Bla.  Oh,  if  he's  left  that  same  hog's  face  and  sau- 
sages, 
He  will  try  back  upon  them,  never  fear  it. 
The  cur  will  open  on  the  trail  of  bacon, 
Like  my  old  brach-hound. 

Kat.  And  should  that  hap,  we'll  play  our  comedy, — 
Shall  we  not,  Blackthorn?      Thou   shalt    be   Owl- 
spiegle 

Bla.  And  who  may  that  hard-named  person  be  ? 

Kat.  I've  told  you  nine  times  over. 

Bla.  Yes,  pretty  Katleen,  but  my  eyes  were  busy 
In  looking  at  you  all  the  time  you  were  talking, 
And  so  I  lost  the  tale. 

Kat.  Then  shut  your  eyes,  and  let  your  goodly  ears 
Do  their  good  office. 

Bla.  That  were  too  hard  penance. 

Tell  but  thy  tale  once  more,  and  I  will  hearken 
As  if  I  were  thrown  out,  and  listening  for 
My  blood-hound's  distant  bay. 

Kat.  A  civil  simile ! 

Then,  for  the  tenth  time,  and  the  last— be  told, 
Owlspiegle  was  of  old  the  wicked  barber 
To  Erick,  wicked  Lord  of  Devorgoil. 

Bla.  The  chief  who  drown'd  his  captives  in  the 
Solway — 
We  all  have  heard  of  him. 

Kat.  A  hermit  hoar,  a  venerable  man — 
So  goes  the  legend — came  to  wake  repentance 
In  the  fierce  lord,  and  tax'd  him  with  his  guilt ; 
But  he,  heart-harden'd,  turn'd  into  derision 
The  man  of  heaven,  and,  as  his  dignity 
Consisted  much  in  a  long  reverend  beard, 
Which  reach'd  his  girdle,  Erick  caused  his  barber, 
This  same  Owlspiegle,  violate  its  honors 
With  sacrilegious  razor,  and  clip  his  hair 
After  the  fashion  of  a  roguish  fool. 

Bla.  This  was  reversing  of  our  ancient  proverb, 
And  shaving  for  the  devil's,  not  for  God's  sake. 

Kat.  True,  most  grave  Blackthorn ;  and  in  punish- 
ment 
Of  this  foul  act  of  scorn,  the  barber's  ghost 
Is  said  to  have  no  resting  after  death, 
But  haunts  these  halls,  and  chiefly  this  same  cham- 
ber, 
Where  the  profanity  was  acted,  trimming 
And  clipping  all  such  guests  as  sleep  within  it. 
Such  is  at  least  the  tale  our  elders  tell, 
With  many  others,  of  this  haunted  castle. 

Bla.  And  you  would  have  me  take  this  shape  of 
Owlspiegle, 
And  trim  the  wise  Melchisedek ! — I  wonnot. 

Kat.  You  will  not ! 

1  The  MS.  throughout  the  first  act  reads  Buckthorn. 


i-Yl 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


BLA.  No— unless  you  bear  a  part. 

K at.  What  !  can  you  not  alone  play  such  a  farce? 

Bla.  Not  I — I'm  dull.     Besides,  we  foresters 
.Still  hunt  our  game  in  couples.     Look  you,  Katleen, 
We  danced  at  Shrovetide — then  you  were  my  part- 
ner; 
We  sung  at  Christmas— you  kept  time  with  me ; 
And  if  we  go  a  mumming  in  this  business, 
By  heaven,  you  must  be  one,  or  Master  (jiillcrammer 
Is  like  to  rest  unshaven 

Kat.  Why,  you  fool, 

What  end  can  this  serve? 

Bla.  N*y,  I  know  not,  I. 

But  if  we  keep  this  wont  of  being  partners, 
Why,  use  makes  perfect — who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen? 

Kat.  Thou  art  a  foolish  patch — But  sing  our  carol, 
As  I  have  alter'd  it,  with  some  few  words 

To  suit  the  characters,  and  I  will  bear 

[Gives  a  paper. 

Bla.  Tart  in  the  gambol.     I'll  go  study  quickly. 
Is  there  no  other  ghost,  then,  haunts  the  castle, 
But  this  same  barber  shave-a-penny  goblin  ? 
I  thought  they  glanced  in  every  beam  of  moonshine, 
As  frequent  as  the  bat. 

Kat.  I've  heard  my  aunt's  high  husband  tell  of 
prophecies, 
And  fates  impending  o'er  the  house  of  Devorgoil ; 
Legends  first  coin'd  by -ancient  superstition, 
And  rendered  current  by  credulity 
And  pride  of  lineage.     Five  years  have  I  dwelt, 
And  ne'er  saw  any  thing  more  mischievous 
Than  what  I  am  myself. 

Bla.  And  that  is  quite  enough,  I  warrant  you. 
But,  stay,  where  shall  I  find  a  dress 
To  play  this — what  d'ye  call  him — Owlspiegle  ? 

Kat.  (takes  dresses  out  of  the  cabinet).   Why,  there 
are  his  own  clothes, 
Preserved  with  other  trumpery  of  the  sort, 
For  we  have  kept  nought  but  what  is  good  for  nought. 
[She  drops  a  cop  as  she  draws  out  the  clothes. 
Blackthorn  lifts  it,  and  gives  it  to  her. 
Nay,  keep  it  for  thy  pains — it  is  a  coxcomb; 
So  call'd  in  ancient  times,  in  ours  a  foul's  cap  ; 
For  yon  must  know  they  kept  a  Fool  at  Devorgoil 
In  former  days;  but  now  are  well  contented 
To  play  the  fool  themselves,  to  save  expenses; 
Yet  give  it  me,  I'll  find  a  worthy  use  for't. 
I'll  take  this  page's  dress,  to  play  the  page 
Cockledemoy,  who  waits  on  ghostly  Owlspiegle  ; 
And  yet  'tis  needless,  too,  for  Gullcrammer 
Will  scarce  be  here  to-night. 

Bla.  I  tell  you  that  he  will — I  will  uphold 
His  plighted  faith  and  true  allegiance 
Unto  a  soused  sow's  face  and  sausages, 
And  such  the  dainties  that  you  say  lie  sent  you, 
Against  all  other  likings  whatsoever, 
Except  a  certain  sneaking  of  affection, 
Which  makes  some  folks  I  know  of  jday  the  fool 
To  please  some  other  folks. 


Kat.  Well,  I  do  hope  he'll  come — there's  first  a 
chance 
He  will  be  cudgell'd  by  my  noble  uncle — 
I  cry  his  mercy — by  my  good  aunt's  husband, 
Who  did  vow  vengeance,  knowing  nought  of  him 
But  by  report,  and  by  a  limping  sonnet 
Which  he  had  fashion'd  to  my  cousin's  glory, 
And  forwarded  by  blind  Tom  Long  the  carrier; 
So  there's  the  chance,  first  of  a  hearty  beating, 
Which  failing,  we've  this  after-plot  of  vengeance. 

BLA.  Kind  damsel,  how  considerate  and  merciful ! 
But  how  shall  we  get  off,  our  parts  being  play'd? 

Kat.  For  that  we  are  well  fitted ;  here's  a  trap-door 
Sinks  with  a  counterpoise — you  shall  go  that  way. 
I'll  make  my  exit  yonder — 'neath  the  window, 
A  balcony  communicates  with  the  tower 
That  overhangs  the  lake. 

Bla.  'Twere  a  rare  place,  this  house  of  Devorgoil, 
To  play  at  hide-and-seek  in— shall  we  try 
One  day,  my  pretty  Katleen  ?  [hawk 

Kat.  Hands  off,  rude  ranger!     I'm   no  managed 
To  stoop  to  lure  of  yours. — But  bear  you  gallantly  ; 
This  Gullcrammer  hath  vex'd  my  cousin  much, 
I  fain  would  have  some  vengeance. 

Bla.  I'll  bear  my  part  with  glee ; — he  spoke  irrev- 
erently 
Of  practice  at  a  mark ! 

Kat.  That  cries  for  vengeance. 

But  I  must  go ;  I  hear  my  aunt's  shrill  voice ! 
My  cousin  and  her  father  will  scream  next. 

Ele.  (at  a  distance).  Katleen  !  Katleen ! 

Bla.  Hark  to  old  Sweetlq>s! 

Away  with  you  before  the  full  cry  open — 
But  stay,  what  have  you  there? 

Kat.  (with  a  bundle  she  has  taken  from  the  wardrobe). 
My  dress,  my  page's  dress — let  it  alone. 

Bla.  Your  tiring-room  is  not,  I  hope,  far  distant ; 
You're  inexperienced  in  these  new  habiliments — 
I  am  most  ready  to  assist  your  toilet. 

Kat.  Out,  you  great  ass !  was  ever  such  a  fool ! 

[Rims  off. 

Bla.  (sings). 
Oh,  Robin  Hood  was  a  bowman  good, 

And  a  bowman  good  was  he, 
And  he  met  with  a  maiden  in  merry  Sherwood, 

All  under  the  greenwood  tree. 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  quoth  bold  Robin  Hood, 

Now  give  me  a  kiss,  said  he, 
lor  there  never  came  maid  into  merry  Sherwood, 

But  she  paid  the  forester's  fee. 

I've  coursed  this  twelvemonth  this  sly  puss,  young 

Katleen, 
And  she  has  dodged  me,  turn'd  beneath  my  nose, 
And  (lung  me  out  a  score  of  yards  at  once  ; 
It'  this  same  gear  fadge  right,  I'll  cote  and  mouth  her, 
And  then!  whoop!   dead!   dead!   dead! — She  is  the 

nietal 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOKGOIL. 


753 


To  make  a  woodsman's  wife  of! 

[Pauses  a  moment. 
Well,  I  can  find  a  hare  upon  her  form 
With  any  man  in  Nithsdale — stalk  a  deer, 
Run  Reynard  to  the  earth  for  all  his  doubles, 
Reclaim  a  haggard  hawk  that's  wild  and  wayward, 
Can  bait  a  wild-cat, — sure  the  devil's  in't 
But  I  can  match  a  woman :  I'll  to  study. 

[Sits  down  on  the  couch  to  examine  the  paper. 


SCENE   II. 


Scene  changes  to  the  inhabited  apartment  of  the  Castle, 
as  in  the  last  Scene  of  the  preceding  Act.  Afire  is 
kindled,  by  which  OSWALD  sits  in  an  attitude  of  deep 
and  melancholy  thought,  without  paying  attention  to 
what  passes  around  him.  Eleanor  is  busy  in  cov- 
ering a  table;  FLORA  goes  out  and  re-enters,  as  if 
busied  in  the  kitchen.  There  should  be  some  by-play 
— the  women  whispering  together,  and  watching  the 
state  of  Oswald;  then  separating,  and  seeking  to 
avoid  his  observation,  when  he  casually  raises  his 
head,  and  drops  it  again;  this  must  be  left  to  taste 
and  management.  The  Women,  in  the  first  part  of 
the  Scene,  talk  apart,  and  as  if  fearful  of  being  over- 
heard. The  by-play  of  stopping  occasionally,  and 
attending  to  Oswald's  movements,  will  give  live- 
liness to  the  Scene. 

Ele.  Is  all  prepared  ? 

Flo.  Ay ;  but  I  doubt  the  issue 

Will  give  my  sire  less  pleasure  than  you  hope  for. 

Ele.    Tush,   maid!    I  know  thy  father's    humor 
better. 
He  was  high-bred  in  gentle  luxuries ; 
And  when  our  griefs  began,  I've  wept  apart, 
While  lordly  cheer  and  high-fill'd  cups  of  wine 
Were  blinding  him  against  the  woe  to  come. 
He  has  turn'd  his  back  upon  a  princely  banquet: 
We  will  not  spread  his  board — this  night  at  least, 
Since  chance  hath  better  furnish'd — with  dry  bread, 
And  water  from  the  well. 

Enter  Katleen,  and  hears  the  last  speech. 
Kat.  (aside).  Considerate  aunt!  she  deems  that  a 
good  supper 
Were  not  a  thing  indifferent  even  to  him 
Who  is  to  hang  to-morrow.    Since  she  thinks  so, 
We  must  take  care  the  venison  has  true  honor — 
So  much  I  owe  the  sturdy  knave,  Lance  Blackthorn. 

Flo.  Mother,  alas !  when  Grief  turns  reveller, 
Despair  is  cup-bearer.     What  shall  hap  to-morrow  ? 

Ele.  I  have  learn'd  carelessness  from  fruitless  care. 
Too  long  I've  watch'd  to-morrow ;  let  it  come 
And  cater  for  itself. — Thou  hear'st  the  thunder? 

[Low  and  distant  thunder. 
This  is  a  gloomy  night — within,  alas ! 

[Looking  at  her  husband. 
Still  gloomier  and  more  threatening — Let  us  use 
48 


Whatever  means  we  have  to  drive  it  o'er, 

And  leave  to  Heaven  to-morrow.    Trust  me,  Flora, 

'Tis  the  philosophy  of  desperate  want 

To  match  itself  but  with  the  present  evil, 

And  face  one  grief  at  once. 

Away ;  I  wish  thine  aid,  and  not  thy  counsel. 

[As  Flora  is  about  to  go  off,  Gullcrammer's 
voice  is  heard  behind  the  fiat  scene,  as  if  from 
the  drawbridge. 
GuL.  (behind).  Hillo!  hillo!  hilloa— hoa— hoa ! 
[Oswald  raises  himself  and  listens;  Eleanor 
goes  tip  the  steps  and  opens  the  window  at  the 
loop-hole;    Gcllcrammer's    voice   is   then 
heard  more  distinctly. 
GTJL.  Kind  Lady  Devorgoil — sweet  Mistress  Flora — 
The  night  grows  fearful — I  have  lost  my  way, 
And  wander'd  till  the  road  turn'd  round  with  me, 
And  brought  me  back — For  Heaven's  sake,  give  me 
shelter ! 
Kat.  (aside).  Now,  as  I  live,  the  voice  of  Gull- 
crammer  ! 
Now  shall  our  gambol  be  play'd  off  with  spirit ; 
I'll  swear  I  am  the  only  one  to  whom 
That  screech-owl  whoop  was  e'er  acceptable. 
Osw.  What  bawling  knave  is  this  that  takes  our 
dwelling 
For  some  hedge-inn,  the  haunt  of  lated  drunkards? 
Ele.  What  shall  I  say? — Go,  Katleen,  speak  to 

him. 
Kat.  (aside).  The  game  is  in  my  hands ;  I  will  say 
something 
Will  fret  the  Baron's  pride — and  then  he  enters. 
(She  speaks  from  the  window.)     Good  sir,  be  patient ! 
We  are  poor  folks — it  is  but  six  Scotch  miles 
To  the  next  borough  town,  where  your  Reverence 
May  be  accommodated  to  your  wants. 
We  are  poor  folks,  an't  please  your  Reverence, 
And  keep  a  narrow  household ;  there's  no  track 

To  lead  your  steps  astray 

Gul.  Nor  none  to  lead  them  right.     You  kill  me^ 
lady, 
If  you  deny  me  harbor.    To  budge  from  hence,. 
And  in  my  weary  plight,  were  sudden  death,. 
Interment,  funeral  sermon,  tombstone,  epitaph. 

Osw.  Who's  he  that  is  thus  clamorous  without? 
(To  Ele.)  Thou  know'st  him ? 
Ele.  (confused).    I   know   him? — no — yes — 'tis    a 
worthy  clergyman, 
Benighted  on  his  way ; — but  think  not  of.  him. 
Kat.  The  morn  will  rise  when  that  the  tempest's 
past; 
And  if  he  miss  the  marsh,  and  ean  avoid' 
The  crags  upon  the  left,  the  road  is  plain. 

Osw.  Then  this  is  all  your  piety !  to  leave 
One  whom  the  holy  duties  of  his  office 
Have  summon'd  over  moor  and  wilderness 
To  pray  beside  some  dying  wretch's  bed, 
Who  (erring  mortal!)  still  would  cleave  to  life,. 
Or  wake  some  stubborn  sinner  to  repentance, — 
To  leave  him,  after  offices  like  these, 


754 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WOEKS. 


To  choose  his  way  in  darkness  'twixt  the  marsh 
And  dizzy  precipice  I1 

Ele.  What  can  I  do  ? 

Osw.  Do  what  thou  canst;  the  wealthiest  do  no 
more, 
And  if  so  much,  'tis  well.     These  crumbling  walls, 
While  yet  they  bear  a  roof,  shall  now,  as  ever, 
Give  shelter  to  the  wanderer.2    Have  we  food  ? 
He  shall  partake  it :  have  we  none  ?  the  fast 
Shall  be  accounted  with  the  good  man's  merits 
And  our  misfortunes. 

[He  goes  to  the  loop-hole  while  he  speaks,  and 
places  himself  there  in  room  of  his  Wife, 
who  comes  down,  with  reluctance. 

Gul.  (without).  Hillo — hoa— hoa! 
By  my  good  faith,  I  cannot  plod  it  farther; 
The  attempt  were  death. 

Osw.  (speaks  from  the  window).  Patience,  my  friend  ; 
I  come  to  lower  the  drawbridge. 

[Descends,  and  exit. 

Ele.  Oh  that  the  screaming  bittern  had  his  couch 
Where  he  deserves  it,3  in  the  deepest  marsh ! 

Kat.  I  would  not  give  this  sport  for  all  the  rent 
Of  Devorgoil,  when  Devorgoil  was  richest ! 
(To  Ele.)  But  now  you  chided  me,  my  dearest  aunt, 
For  wishing  him  a  horse-pond  for  his  portion ! 

Ele.  Yes,  saucy  girl ;  but,  an  it  please  you,  then 
He  was  not  fretting  me.    If  he  had  sense  enough, 
And  skill  to  bear  him  as  some  casual  stranger, — 
But  he  is  dull  as  earth,  and  every  hint 
Is  lost  on  him,  as  hail-shot  on  the  cormorant, 
Whose  hide  is  proof  except  to  musket-bullets ! 

Flo.  (apart).   And  yet  to  such  a  one  would  my 
kind  mother, 
Whose  ehiefest  fault  is  loving  me  too  fondly, 
Wed  her  poor  daughter ! 

Enter  Gttllcrammer,  his  dress  damaged  by  the  storm; 
Eleanor  runs  to  meet  him,  in  order  to  explain  to 
him  that  she  wishes  him  to  behave  as  a  stranger. 
GtJLLCRAMMER,  mistaking  her  approach  for  an  in- 
vitation to  familiarity,  advances  with  the  air  of 
pedantic  conceit  belonging  to  his  character,  when 
Oswald  enters.  Eleanor  recovers  herself,  and 
assumes  an  air  of  distance;  GULLCRAMMER  is  con- 
founded, and  does  not  know  what  to  make  of  it. 

Osw.  Th«  counterpoise  has  clean  given  way;  the 
bridge 
Must  e'en  remain, unraised,  and  leave  us  open, 
For  this  night's  course  at  least,  to  passing  visitants. — 
What  have  we  here? — is  this  the  reverend  man? 

[lie  lakes  up  the  candle  and  surveys  GULL- 
ckammer,  who  strives  to  sustain  the  in- 
spection with  confidence,  while  fear  obvi- 
ously contends  with  conceit  and  desire  to 
show  himself  to  the  best  advantage. 

1  MS.:  "And  headlong  dizzy  precipice." 


2  MS. : 


'  shall  give,  as  ever, 


GuL.  Kind  sir — or,  good  my  lord — my  band  is  ruf- 
fled, 
But  yet  'twas  fresh  this  morning.     This  fell  shower 
Hath  somewhat  smirch'd  my  cloak,  but  you  may  note 
It  rates  five  marks  per  yard ;  my  doublet 
Hath  fairly  'scaped — 'tis  three-piled  tafl'eta. 

[Opens  his  cloak  and  displays  his  doublet. 
Osw.  A  goodly  inventory. — Art  thou  a  preacher? 
Gul.  Yea — I  laud  Heaven  and  good  Saint  Mango 

for  it. 
Osw.  'Tis  the  time's  plague,  when  those  that  should 
weed  follies 
Out  of  the  common  field,  have  their  own  minds 
O'errun   with  foppery — Envoys   'twixt   heaven   and 

earth 
Example  should  with  precept  join,  to  show  us 
How  we  may  scorn  the  world  with  all  its  vanities. 
Gul.  Nay,  the  high  heavens  forefend  that  I  were 
vain! 
When  our  learn'd  Principal  such  sounding  laud 
Gave  to  mine  Essay  on  the  hidden  qualities 
Of  the  sulphuric  mineral,  I  disclaim'd 
All  self-exaltment.    And  (turning  to  the  women)  when 

at  the  dance 
The  lovely  Saccharissa  Kirkencroft, 
Daughter  to  Kirkencroft  of  Kirkencroft, 
Graced  me  with  her  soft  hand,  credit  me,  ladies, 
That  still  I  felt  myself  a  mortal  man, 
Though  beauty  smiled  on  me. 

Osw.  Come,  sir,  enough  of  this. 
That  you're    our  guest  to-night,   thank    the   rough 

heavens, 
And  all  our  worser  fortunes :  be  conformable 
Unto  my  rules;  these  are  no  Saccharissas 
Togild  with  compliments.  There's  in  your  profession — 
As  the  best  grain  will  have  it  piles  of  chaff— 
A  certain  whitfler,  who  hath  dared  to  bait 
A  noble  maiden  with  love  tales  and  sonnets ; 
And  if  I  meet  him,  his  Geneva  cap 
May  scarce  be  proof  to  save  his  ass's  ears. 

Kat.  (aside).  Umph !  I  am  strongly  tempted ; 
And  yet  I  think  I  will  be  generous, 
And  give  his  brains  a  chance  to  save  his  bones. 
Then  there's  more  humor  in  our  goblin  plot 
Thau  in  a  simple  drubbing. 
Ele.  (apart  to  Flo.).  What  shall  we  do?    If  he 
discover  him, 
He'll  fling  him  out  at  window. 

Flo.  My  father's  hint  to  keep  himself  unknown 
Is  all  too  broad,  I  think,  to  be  neglected. 

Ele.  But  yet  the  fool,  if  we  produce  his  bounty, 
May  claim  the  merit  of  presenting  it ; 
And  then  we're  but  lost  women  for  accepting 
A  gift  our  needs  made  timely. 

Kat.  Do  not  produce  them. 

E'en  let  the  fop  go  supperless  to  bed, 
And  keep  his  bones  whole. 

Their  shelter  to  the  \  ,         „ 

I  wandoror." 

3  MS. :  "  Where  it  is  fittest,"  Ac. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


755 


Osw.  {to  his  Wife).  Hast  thou  aught 

To  place  before  him  ere  he  seek  repose  ? 

Ele.  Alas !  too  well  you  know  our  needful  fare 
Is  of  the  narrowest  now,  and  knows  no  surplus. 
Osw.  Shame  us  not  with  thy  niggard  housekeep- 
ing; 
He  is  a  stranger :  were  it  our  last  crust, 
And  he  the  veriest  coxcomb  e'er  wore  taffeta — 
A  pitch  he's  little  short  of— he  must  share  it, 
Though  all  should  want  to-morrow. 

Gul.  {partly  overhearing  what  passes  between  them). 
Nay,  I  am  no  lover  of  your  sauced  dainties : 
Plain  food  and  plenty  is  my  motto  still. 
Your  mountain  air  is  bleak,  and  brings  an  appetite: 
A  soused  sow's  face,  now,  to  my  modest  thinking, 
Has  ne'er  a  fellow.    What  think  these  fair  ladies 
Of  a  sow's  face  and  sausages  ? 

[3Iakes  signs  to  Eleanor. 
Flo.  Plague  on  the  vulgar  hind,  and  on  his  cour- 
tesies ! 
The  whole  truth  will  come  out. 

Osw.  What  should  they  think,  but  that  you're  like 
to  lack 
Your  favorite  dishes,  sir,  unless  perchance 
You  bring  such  dainties  with  you. 

Gul.  No,  not  with  me ;  not,  indeed, 
Directly  with  me ;  but — Aha !  fair  ladies ! 

[Makes  signs  again. 
Kat.  He'll  draw  the  beating  down — Were  that  the 
worst, 
Heaven's  will  be  done !  [Aside. 

Osw.   {apart).   What  can  he   mean  ? — this  is  the 
veriest  dog-whelp — 
Still  he's  a  stranger,  and  the  latest  act 
Of  hospitality  in  this  old  mansion 
Shall  not  be  sullied. 

Gul.  Troth,  sir,  I  think,  under  the  ladies'  favor, 
Without  pretending  skill  in  second  sight, 

Those  of  my  cloth  being  seldom  conjurers 

Osw.  I'll  take  my  Bible-oath  that  thou  art  none. 

[Aside. 
Gul.  I  do  opine,  still  with  the  ladies'  favor, 
That  I  could  guess  the  nature  of  our  supper : 
I  do  not  say  in  such  and  such  precedence 
The  dishes  will  be  placed ;  housewives,  as  you  know, 
On  such  forms  have  their  fancies ;  but,  I  say  still, 

That  a  sow's  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  Peace,  sir! 

O'er-driven  jests  (if  this  be  one)  are  insolent. 

Flo.  {apart,  seeing  her  mother  uneasy).  The  old  saw 
still  holds  true — a  churl's  benefits, 
Sauced  with  his  lack  of  feeling,  sense,  and  courtesy, 
Savor  like  injuries. 

[A  horn  is  winded  without;  then  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  gate. 
Leo.  {without).  Ope,  for  the  sake  of  love  and  charity! 
[Oswald  goes  to  the  loop-hole. 
Gul.  Heaven's  mercy !  should  there  come  another 
stranger, 
And  he  half  starved  with  wandering  on  the  wolds, 


The  sow's  face  boasts  no  substance,  nor  the  sausages, 
To  stand  our  reinforced  attack !     I  judge,  too, 
By  this  starved  Baron's  language,  there's  no  hope 
Of  a  reserve  of  victuals. 

Flo.  Go  to  the  casement,  cousin. 

Kat.  Go  yourself, 

And  bid  the  gallant  who  that  bugle  winded 
Sleep  in  the  storm-swept  waste ;  as  meet  for  him 
As  for  Lance  Blackthorn. — Come,  I'll  not  distress 

you, 
I'll  get  admittance  for  this  second  suitor, 
And  we'll  play  out  this  gambol  at  cross  purposes. 
But  see,  your  father  has  prevented  me. 

Osw.  {seems  to  have  spoken  with  those  without,  and 
answers).  Well,  I  will  ope  the  door ;  one  guest 
already, 
Driven  by  the  storm,  has  claim'd  my  hospitality, 
And  you,  if  you  were  fiends,  were  scarce  less  welcome 
To  this  my  mouldering  roof,  than  empty  ignorance 
And  rank  conceit — I  hasten  to  admit  you.  [Exit. 

Ele.  {to  Flo.).   The  tempest  thickens.     By  that 
winded  bugle, 
I  guess  the  guest  that  next  will  honor  us. — 
Little  deceiver,  that  didst  mock  my  troubles, 
'Tis  now  thy  turn  to  fear ! 

Flo.  Mother,  if  I  knew  less  or  more  of  this 
Unthought  of  and  most  perilous  visitation, 
I  would  your  wishes  were  fulfill'd  on  me, 
And  I  were  wedded  to  a  thing  like  yon. 

Gul.  {approaching).  Come,  ladies,  now  you  see  the 
jest  is  threadbare, 
And  you  must  own   that  same  sow's   face  and  sau- 
sages  

Re-enter  Oswald  with  Leonard,  supporting  Bauldie 
Durward.    Oswald  takes  a  view  of  them,  as  for- 
merly of  GULLCRAMMER,  then  speaks. 
Osw.  {to  Leo.).  By  thy  green  cassock,  hunting-spear, 
and  bugle, 
I  guess  thou  art  a  huntsman. 
Leo.  {bowing  with  respect).  A  ranger  of  the  neigh- 
boring royal  forest, 
Under  the  good  Lord   Nithsdale ;  huntsman,  there- 
fore, 
In  time  of  peace,  and  when  the  land  has  war, 
To  my  best  powers  a  soldier. 

Osw.  Welcome,  as  either.    I  have  loved  the  chase, 
And  was  a  soldier  once. — This  aged  man, 
What  may  he  be  ? 
Due.  {recovering  his  breath).  Is  but  a  beggar,  sir,  an 
humble  mendicant, 
Who  feels  it  passing  strange  that  from  this  roof, 
Above  all  others,  he  should  now  crave  shelter. 
Osw.  Why  so?     You're  welcome  both — only  the 
word 
Warrants  more  courtesy  than  our  present  means 
Permit  us  to  bestow.     A  huntsman  and  a  soldier 
May  be  a  prince's  comrade,  much  more  mine ; 
And  for  a  beggar — friend,  there  little  lacks, 
Save  that  blue  gown  and  badge,  and  clouted  pouches, 


756 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


To  make  us  comrades  too;  then  welcome  both, 
And  to  a  beggar's  feast.     I  fear  brown  bread, 
And  water  from  the  spring,  will  be  the  best  on't; 
For  we  had  cast  to  wend  abroad  this  evening, 
And  left  our  larder  empty. 

GUL.  Yet,  if  some  kindly  fairy, 

In  our  behalf,  would  search  its  hid  recesses, — 
(Apart)  We'll  not  go  supperless  now — we're  three 

to  one. — 
Still  do  I  say,  that  a  soused  face  and  sausages 

Osw.  (looks  sternly  at  him,  then  at  his  wife).  There's 
something  under  this,  but  that  the  present 
Is  not  a  time  to  question.    (To  Ele.)   Wife,  my  mood 
Is  at  such  height  of  tide,  that  a  turn'd  feather 
Would  make  me  frantic  now,  with  mirth  or  fury  ! 
Tempt  me  no  more — but  if  thou  hast  the  things 
This  carrion  crow  so  croaks  for,  bring  them  forth  ; 
For,  by  my  father's  beard,  if  I  stand  caterer, 
'Twill  be  a  fearful  banquet ! 

Ele.    Your  pleasure   be  obey'd — Come,  aid    me, 
Flora.  [Exeunt. 

[During  the  following  speeches  the  Women 
place  dishes  on  the  table. 

Osw.  (to  Due.).  How  did  you  lose  your  path? 

Due.  E'en  when  we  thought  to  find  it,  a  wild  me- 
teor 
Danced  in  the  moss,  and  led  our  feet  astray. — 
I  give  small  credence  to  the  tales  of  old, 
Of  Friar's-lantern  told,  and  Will-o'-wisp, 
Else  would  I  say  that  some  malicious  demon 
Guided  us  in  a  round ;  for  to  the  moat, 
Which  we  had  pass'd  two  hours  since,  were  we  led, 
And  there  the  gleam  flicker'd  and  disappear'd, 
Even  on  your  drawbridge.     I  was  so  worn  down, 
So  broke  with  laboring  through  marsh  and  moor, 
That,  wold  I  nold  I,  here  my  young  conductor 
Would  needs  implore  for  entrance  ;  else,  believe  me, 
I  had  not  troubled  you. 

Osw.  And  why  not,  father  ? — have  you  e'er  heard 
aught, 
Or  of  my  house  or  me,  that  wanderers, 
Whom  or  their  roving  trade  or  sudden  circumstance 
Oblige  to  seek  a  shelter,  should  avoid 
The  House  of  Devorgoil  ? 

Due.  Sir,  I  am  English  born — 

Native  of  Cumberland.     Enough  is  said 
Why  I  should  shun  these  bowers,  whose  lords  were 

hostile 
To  English  blood,  and  unto  Cumberland 
Most  hostile  and  most  fatal. 

Osw.  Ay,   father.     Once  my  grandsire  plough'd, 
and  harrow'd, 
And  sow'd  with  salt,  the  streets  of  your  fair  towns; 
Bui  what  of  that? — you  have  the  'vantage  now. 

Dub.  True,  Lord  of  Devorgoil,  and  well  believe  I, 
That  not  in  vain  we  sought  these  towers  to-night, 
So  strangely  guided,  to  behold  their  state. 

Osw.  Ay,  thou  wouldst  say,  'twas  fit  a  Cumbrian 
beggar 
Should  sit  an  equal  guest  in  his  proud  halls 


Whose  fathers  beggar'd  Cumberland — Graybeard,  let 

it  be  so, 
I'll  not  dispute  it  with  thee. 

( To  Leo.,  who  was  speaking  to  Floe  a,  but,  on 
being  surprised,  occupied  himself  with  the 
suit  of  armor.) 

What  makest  thou  there,  young  man  ? 
Leo.  I  marvell'd  at  this  harness ;  it  is  larger 
Than  arms  of  modern  days.     How  richly  carved 
With  gold  inlaid  on  steel — how  close  the  rivets — 
How  justly  fit  the  joints !     I  think  the  gauntlet 
Would  swallow  twice  my  hand. 

[He  is  about  to  take  dmvn  some  part  of  the 
Armor ;  Oswald  interferes. 
Osw.  Do  not  displace  it. 

My  grandsire,  Erick,  doubled  human  strength, 
And  almost  human  size — and  human  knowledge, 
And  human  vice,  and  human  virtue  also, 
As  storm  or  sunshine  chanced  to  occupy 
His  mental  hemisphere.    After  a  fatal  deed, 
He  hung  his  armor  on  the  wall,  forbidding 
It  e'er  should  be  ta'en  down.    There  is  a  prophecy, 
That  of  itself  'twill  fall,  upon  the  night 
When,  in  the  fiftieth  year  from  his  decease, 
Devorgoil's  feast  is  full.     This  is  the  era ; 
But,  as  too  well  you  see,  no  meet  occasion 
Will  do  the  downfall  of  the  armor  justice, 
Or  grace  it  with  a  feast.    There  let  it  bide, 
Trying  its  strength  with  the  old  walls  it  hangs  on, 
Which  shall  fall  soonest. 

DUE.  (looking  at  the  trophy  with  a  mixture  of  feeling). 
Then  there  stern  Erick's  harness  hangs  un- 
touch'd, 
Since  his  last  fatal  raid  on  Cumberland ! 
Osw.   Ay,  waste   and  want,  and   recklessness — a 
comrade 
Still  yoked  with  waste  and  want — have  stripp'd  these 

walls 
Of  every  other  trophy.    Antler'd  skulls, 
Whose  branches  vouch'd  the  tales  old  vassals  told 
Of  desperate  chases — partisans  and  spears — 
Knights'  barred  helms  and  shields — the  shafts  and 

bows, 
Axes  and  breastplates,  of  the  hardy  yeomanry — 
The  banners  of  the  vanquish'd — signs  these  arms 
Were  not  assumed  in  vain — have  disappear'd. 
Yes,  one  by  one  they  all  have  disappear'd ; 
And  now  Lord  Erick's  harness  hangs  alone, 
'Midst  implements  of  vulgar  husbandry 
And  mean  economy ;  as  some  old  warrior, 
Whom  want  hath  made  an  inmate  of  an  alms-house, 
Shows,  mid  the  beggar'd  spendthrifts,  base  mechanics, 
And  bankrupt  peddlers,  with  whom  fate  has  mix'd  him. 
Due.  Or  rather  like  a  pirate,  whom  the  prison- 
house, 
Prime  leveller  next  the  grave,  hath  for  the  first  time 
Mingled  with  peaceful  captives,  low  in  fortunes,1 
But  fair  in  innocence. 

1  MS. :  "  Mingled  with  peaceful  men,  broken  in  fortunes." 


THE   DOOM   OF  DEVORGOIL. 


757 


Osw.  {looking  at  DUR.  with  surprise).  Friend,  thou 

art  bitter ! 
Due.  Plain  truth,  sir,  like  the  vulgar  copper  coin- 
age, 
Despised  amongst  the  gentry,  still  finds  value 
And  currency  with  beggars. 

Osw.  Be  it  so. 

I  will  not  trench  on  the  immunities 
I  soon  may  claim  to  share.    Thy  features,  too, 
Though  weather-beaten,  and  thy  strain  of  language, 
Eelish  of*  better  days.1    Come  hither,  friend, 

[They  speak  apart. 
And  let  me  ask  thee  of  thine  occupation. 

[Leonard  looks  round,  and,  seeing  Oswald 
engaged  with  Durward,  and  Gullcram- 
MEE  with  Eleanor,  approaches  towards 
FLORA,  who  must  give  him  an  opportunity  of 
doing  so,  %oith  obvious  attention  on  her  part  to 
give  it  the  air  of  chance.  The  by-play  here 
will  rest  with  the  Lady,  who  must  engage  the 
attention  of  the  audience  by  playing  off  a  lit- 
tle female  hypocrisy  and  simple  coquetry. 

Leo.  Flora 

Flo.  Ay,  gallant  huntsman,  may  she  deign  to  ques- 
tion 
Why  Leonard  came  not  at  the  appointed  hour, 
Or  why  he  came  at  midnight? 

Leo.  Love  has  no  certain  loadstar,  gentle  Flora, 
And  oft  gives  up  the  helm  to  wayward  pilotage. 
To  say  the  sooth — A  beggar  forced  me  hence, 
And  Will-o'-wisp  did  guide  us  back  again. 

Flo.  Ay,  ay,  your  beggar  was  the  faded  spectre 
Of  Poverty,  that  sits  upon  the  threshold 
Of  these  our  ruin'd  walls.    I've  been  unwise, 
Leonard,  to  let  you  speak  so  oft  with  me ; 
And  you  a  fool  to  say  what  you  have  said. 
E'en  let  us  here  break  short ;  and,  wise  at  length, 
Hold  each  our  separate  way  through  life's  wide  ocean. 

Leo.  Nay,  let  us  rather  join  our  course  together, 
And  share  the  breeze  or  tempest,  doubling  joys, 
Relieving  sorrows,  warding  evils  off 
With  mutual  effort,  or  enduring  them 
With  mutual  patience. 
Flo.  This   is   but   flattering   counsel — sweet  and 
baneful ; 
But  mine  had  wholesome  bitter  in't. 

Kat.  Ay,  ay ;  but  like  the  sly  apothecary, 
You'll  be  the  last  to  take  the  bitter  drug 
That  you  prescribe  to  others. 

[  They  whisper.     ELEANOR  advances  to  inter- 
rupt them,  followed  by  GULLCRAMMER. 
Ele.  What,  maid,  no  household  cares?    Leave  to 
your  elders 
The  task  of  filling  passing  strangers'  ears 
With  the  due  notes  of  welcome. 

GtJL.  Be  it  thine, 

Oh,  Mistress  Flora,  the  more  useful  talent 
Of  filling  strangers'  stomachs  with  substantials ; 

1  MS. :  "  Both  smack  of  better  days,"  &c. 


That  is  to  say, — for  learn'd  commentators 
Do  so  expound  substantials  in  some  places, — 
With  a  soused  bacon-face  and  sausages. 

Flo.  (apart).  Would  thou  wert  soused,  intolerable 
pedant, 
Base,  greedy,  perverse,  interrupting  coxcomb ! 

Kat.  Hush,  coz,  for  we'll  be  well  avenged  on  him, 
And  ere  this  night  goes  o'er,  else  woman's  wit 
Cannot  o'ertake  her  wishes. 

[She  proceeds  to  arrange  seats.    Oswald  and 
DURWARD  come  forward  in  conversation. 

Osw.  I  like  thine  humor  well. — So  all  men  beg 

Dur.  Yes — I  can  make  it  good  by  proof.  Your  soldier 
Begs  for  a  leaf  of  laurel,  and  a  line 
In  the  Gazette.    He  brandishes  his  sword 
To  back  his  suit,  and  is  a  sturdy  beggar. 
The  courtier  begs  a  ribbon  or  a  star, 
And,  like  our  gentler  mumpers,  is  provided 
With  false  certificates  of  health  and  fortune 
Lost  in  the  public  service.     For  your  lover, 
Who  begs  a  sigh,  a  smile,  a  lock  of  hair, 
A  buskin-point,  he  maunds  upon  the  pad, 
With  the  true  cant  of  pure  mendicity, 
"  The  smallest  trifle  to  relieve  a  Christian, 

And  if  it  like  your  Ladyship!" 

[Li  a  begging  tone. 

Kat.  (apart).  This  is  a  cunning  knave,  and  feeds 
the  humor 
Of  my  aunt's  husband, — for  I  must  not  say 
Mine  honor'd  uncle.     I  will  try  a  question. — 
Your  man  of  merit  though,  who  serves  the  common- 
wealth, 
Nor  asks  for  a  requital  ? [To  Durward. 

Dur.  Is  a  dumb  beggar, 

And  lets  his  actions  speak  like  signs  for  him, 
Challenging  double  guerdon. — Now,  I'll  show 
How  your  true  beggar  has  the  fair  advantage 
O'er  all  the  tribes  of  cloak'd  mendicity 
I  have  told  over  to  you. — The  soldier's  laurel, 
The  statesman's  ribbon,  and  the  lady's  favor, 
Once  won  and  gain'd,  are  not  held  worth  a  farthing 
By  such  as  longest,  loudest,  canted  for  them ; 
Whereas  your  charitable  halfpenny,2 
Which  is  the  scope  of  a  true  beggar's  suit, 
Is  worth  two  farthings,  and,  in  times  of  plenty, 
Will  buy  a  crust  of  bread. 

FLO.  (interrupting  him,  and  addressing  her  father). 
Sir,  let  me  be  a  beggar  with  the  time, 
And  pray  you  come  to  supper. 

Ele.  (to  Oswald,  apart).  Must  he  sit  with  us? 

[Looking  at  Durward. 

Osw.  Ay,  ay,  what  else— since  we  are  beggars  all  ? 
When  cloaks  are  ragged,  sure  their  worth  is  equal, 
Whether  at  first  they  were  of  silk  or  woollen. 

Ele.  Thou  art  scarce  consistent. 
This  day  thou  didst  refuse  a  princely  banquet, 
Because  a  new-made  lord  was  placed  above  thee ; 
And  now 


2  MS. :  "  Whereas  your  genuine  copper  halfpenny." 


758 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Osw.  Wife,  I  have  seen,  at  public  executions, 
A  wretch  that  could  not  brook,  the  baud  of  violence 
Should  push  hiui  from  the  scaffold,  pluck  up  courage, 
And,  with  a  desperate  sort  of  cheerfulness, 
Take  the  fell  plunge  himself — 
Welcome  then,  beggars,  to  a  beggar's  feast ! 
GUL.  {who  has  in  the  meanwhile  seated  himself).  But 
this  is  more. — A  better  countenance, — 
Fair  fall  the  hands  that  soused  it! — than  this  hog's, 
Or  prettier  provender  than  these  same  sausages 
(By  what  good  friend  sent  hither,  shall  be  name- 
less, 
Doubtless  some  youth  whom  love  hath  made  profuse), 
[Smiling  signijicaritly  at  ELEANOR  and  FLORA. 
No  prince  need  wish  to  peck  at.     Long,  I  ween, 
Since  that  the  nostrils  of  this  house  (by  metaphor, 
I  mean  the  chimneys)  smell'd  a  steam  so  grateful — 
By  your  good  leave  I  cannot  dally  longer. 

[Helps  himself. 
Osw.  (places  Durward   above   Gullcrammer). 
Meanwhile,  sir, 
Please  it  your  youthful  learning  to  give  place 
To  gray  hairs  and  to  wisdom;  and,  moreover, 

If  you  had  tarried  for  the  benediction 

Gul.  (somewhat  abashed).  I  said  grace  to  myself. 
Osw.  (not  minding  him).  And  waited  for  the  com- 
pany of  others, 
It  had  been  better  fashion.    Time  has  been, 
I  should  have  told  a  guest  at  Devorgoil, 
Bearing  himself  thus  forward,  he  was  saucy. 

[He  seats  himself,  and  helps  the  company  and 
himself  in  dumb-show.  There  should  be  a 
contrast  betwixt  the  precision  of  his  aristo- 
cratic civility  and  the  rude  under-breeding 
of  Gullcrammer. 
Osw.  (having  tasted  the  dish  next  him).  Why,  this  is 

venison,  Eleanor! 
GUL.  Eh !  What !  Let's  see— 

[Pushes  across  Oswald  and  helps  himself. 
It  may  be  venison — 
I'm  sure  'tis  not  beef,  veal,  mutton,  lamb,  or  pork. 
Eke  am  I  sure,  that  be  it  what  it  will, 
It  is  not  half  so  good  as  sausages, 
Or  as  a  sow's  face  soused. 

Osw.  Eleanor,  whence  all  this? 

Ele.  Wait  till  to-morrow, 

You  shall  know  all.    It  was  a  happy  chance 
That  furnish'd  us  to  meet  so  many  guests. 

[Fills  wine. 
Try  if  your  cup  be  not  as  richly  garnish'd 
As  is  your  trencher.1 
Kat.  (apart).  My  aunt  adheres  to  the  good  cautious 
maxim 
Of,— "Eat   your    pudding,   friend,   and    hold    your 
tongue." 
Osw.  (tastes  the  wine).  It  is  the  grape  of  Bordeaux. 


1  Wooden  trenchers  should  be  used,  and  the  quaigh,  a  Scot- 
tish drinking-cup. 


Such  dainties,  once  familiar  to  my  board, 
Have  been  estranged  from't  long. 

[He  again  Jills  his  glass,  and  continues  to  speak 
as  he  holds  it  up. 
Fill  round,  my  friends — here  is  a  treacherous  friend 

now 
Smiles  in  your  face,  yet  seeks  to  steal  the  jewel 
Which  is  distinction  between  man  and  brute — 
I  mean  our  reason ;  this  he  does,  and  smiles. 
But  are  not  all  friends  treacherous  ? — one  shall  cross 

you 
Even  in  your  dearest   interests — one  shall  slander 

you — 
This  steal  your  daughter,  that  defraud  your  purse ; 
But  this  gay  flask  of  Bordeaux  will  but  borrow 
Your  sense  of  mortal  sorrows  for  a  season, 
And  leave,  instead,  a  gay  delirium. 
Methinks  my  brain,  unused  to  such  gay  visitants, 
The  influence  feels  already ! — we  will  revel ! — 
Our  banquet  shall  be  loud ! — it  is  our  last. 
Katleen,  thy  song. 

Kat.  Not  now,  my  lord — I  mean  to  sing  to-night 
For  this  same  moderate,  grave,  and  reverend  clergy* 

man; 
I'll  keep  my  voice  till  then. 
Ele.  Your  round  refusal  shows  but  cottage  breed- 
ing. 
Kat.  Ay,  my  good  aunt,  for  I  was  cottage-nur- 
tured, 
And  taught,  I  think,  to  prize  my  own  wild  will 
Above  all  sacrifice  to  compliment. 
Here  is  a  huntsman — in  his  eyes  I  read  it, 
He  sings  the  martial  song  my  uncle  loves, 
What  time  fierce  Claver'se  with  his  Cavaliers, 
Abjuring  the  new  change  of  government, 
Forcing  his  fearless  way  through  timorous  friends, 
And  enemies  as  timorous,  left  the  capital 
To  rouse  in  James's  cause  the  distant  Highlands. 
Have  you  ne'er  heard  the  song,  my  noble  uncle  ? 
Osw.  Have  I  not  heard,  wench? — It  was  I  rode 
next  him, 
'Tis  thirty  summers  since — rode  by  his  rein ; 
We  marched  on  through  the  alarm'd  city, 
As  sweeps  the  osprey  through  a  flock  of  gulls, 
Who  scream  and  flutter,  but  dare  no  resistance 
Against  the  bold  sea-empress — They  did  murmur, 
The  crowds  before  us,  in  their  sullen  wrath, 
And  those  whom  we  had  pass'd,  gathering  fresh  cour- 
age, 
Cried  havoc,  in  the  rear — we  minded  them 
E'en  as  the  brave  bark  minds  the  bursting  billows, 
Which,  yielding  to  her  bows,  burst  on  her  sides, 
And  ripple  in  her  wake. — Sing  me  that  strain, 

[  To  Leonard. 
And  thou  shalt  have  a  meed  I  seldom  tender, 
Because  they're  all  I  have  to  give — my  thanks. 
Leo.    Nay,   if   you'll    bear   with   what   I    cannot 
help, 
A  voice  that's  rough  with  hollowing  to  the  hounds, 
I'll  sing  the  song  even  as  old  Rowland  taught  me. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


759 


SONG.1 
Air — "  The  Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee." 

To  the  Lords   of   Convention  'twas  Claver'se  who 

spoke, 
"  Ere  the  King's  crown  shall  fall,  there  are  crowns 

to  be  broke  ; 
So  let  each  Cavalier  who  loves  honor  and  me 
Come  follow  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

"  Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  your  horses,  and  call  up  your  men  ; 
Come  open  the  West  Port,  and  let  me  gang  free, 
And  it's  room  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee !" 

Dundee  he  is  mounted,  he  rides  up  the  street ; 

The  bells  are  rung  backward,  the  drums  they  are 

beat; 
But  the  Provost,  douce  man,  said,  "  Just  e'en  let  him 

be, 
The  Gude  Town  is  weel  quit  of  that  Deil  of  Dundee." 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

As  h?  rode  down  the  sanctified  bends  of  the  Bow, 

Ilk  carline  was  flyting  and  shaking  her  pow ; 

But  the  young  plants  of  grace  they  look'd  coutbie 

and  slee, 
Thinking,  Luck  to  thy  bonnet,  thou  Bonny  Dundee ! 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

1  "  Dundee,  enraged  at  his  enemies,  and  still  more  at  his 
friends,  resolved  to  retire  to  the  Highlands  and  to  make  prep- 
arations for  civil  war,  but  with  secrecy ;  for  he  had  been  or- 
dered by  James  to  make  no  public  insurrection  until  assist- 
ance should  be  sent  him  from  Ireland. 

"  Whilst  Dundee  was  in  this  temper,  information  was 
brought  him,  whether  true  or  false  is  uncertain,  that  sums 
of  the  Covenanters  had  associated  themselves  to  assassinate 
him,  in  revenge  for  his  former  severities  against  their  party. 
He  flew  to  the  Convention  and  demanded  justice.  The  Duke 
of  Hamilton,  who  wished  to  get  rid  of  a  troublesome  adver- 
sary, treated  his  complaint  with  neglect;  and  in  order  to 
sting  him  in  the  tenderest  part,  reflected  upon  that  courage 
which  could  be  alarmed  by  imaginary  dangers.  Dundee  left 
the  house  in  a  rage,  mounted  his  horse,  and  with  a  troop  of 
fifty  horsemen  who  had  deserted  to  him  from  his  regiment 
in  England,  galloped  through  the  city.  Being  asked  by  one 
of  his  friends  who  stopt  him,  where  he  was  going,  he  waved 
his  hat,  and  is  reported  to  have  answered,  '  Wherever  the 
spirit  of  Montrose  shall  direct  me.'  In  passing  under  the 
walls  of  the  castle,  he  stopt,  scrambled  up  the  precipice  at  a 
place  difficult  and  dangerous,  and  held  a  conference  with  the 
Duke  of  Gordon  at  a  postern-gate,  the  marks  of  which  are 
still  to  be  seen,  though  the  gate  itself  is  built  up.  Hoping, 
in  vain,  to  infuse  the  vigor  of  his  own  spirit  into  the  duke, 
he  pressed  him  to  retire  with  him  into  the  Highlands,  raise 
his  vassals  there,  who  were  numerous,  brave,  and  faithful, 
and  leave  the  command  of  the  castle  to  Winram,  the  lieuten- 
ant-governor, an  officer  on  whom  Dundee  could  rely.  The 
duke  concealed  his  timidity  under  the  excuse  of  a  soldier. 
'A  soldier,'  said  he,  'cannot  in  honor  quit  the  post  that  is 
assigned  him.'  The  novelty  of  the  sight  drew  numbers  to 
the  foot  of  the  rock  upon  which  the  conference  was  held. 
These  numbers  every  minute  increased,  and,  in  the  end, 
were  mistaken  for  Dundee's  adherents.  The  Convention 
was  then  sitting;  news  were  carried  thither  that  Dundee 


With    sour-featured    Whigs    the    Grassmarket    was 

cramm'd, 
As  if  half  the  West  had  set  tryst  to  be  hang'd  ;2 
There  was  spite  in  each  look,  there  was  fear  in  each  ee, 
As  they  watch'd  for  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

These  cowls  of  Kilmarnock  had  spits  and  had  spears, 

And  lang-hafted  gullies  to  kill  Cavaliers ; 

But  they  shrunk  to  close-heads,  and  the  causeway 

was  free, 
At  the  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  <fcc. 

He  spurr'd  to  the  foot  of  the  proud  Castle  rock, 

And  with  the  gay  Gordon  he  gallantly  spoke : 

"  Let  Mons  Meg  and  her  marrows  speak  twa  words 

or  three, 
For  the  love  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee." 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

The  Gordon  demands  of  him  which  way  he  goes: 
"  Where'er  shall  direct  me  the  shade  of  Montrose! 
Your  Grace  in  short  space  shall  hear  tidings  of  me, 
Or  that  low  lies  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"  There  are  hills  beyond  Pentland,  and  lands  beyond 

Forth ; 
If  there's  lords  in  the  Lowlands,  there's  chiefs  in  the 

North ; 

was  at  the  gates  with  an  army,  and  had  prevailed  upon  the 
governor  of  the  castle  to  fire  upon  the  town.  The  Duke  of 
Hamilton,  whose  intelligence  was  better,  had  the  presence 
of  mind,  by  improving  the  moment  of  agitation,  to  over- 
whelm the  one  party  and  provoke  the  other  by  their  fears. 
He  ordered  the  doors  of  the  house  to  be  shut,  and  the  keys 
to  be  laid  on  the  table  before  him.  He  cried  out  that  there 
was  danger  within  as  well  as  without  doors;  that  traitors 
must  be  held  in  confinement  until  the  present  danger  was 
over;  but  that  the  friends  of  liberty  had  nothing  to  fear,  for 
that  thousands  were  ready  to  start  up  in  their  defence  at  the 
stamp  of  his  foot.  He  ordered  the  drums  to  be  beat  and  the 
trumpets  to  sound  through  the  city.  In  an  instant  vast 
swarms  of  those  who  had  been  brought  into  the  town  by  him 
and  Sir  John  Dalrymple  from  the  western  counties,  and  who 
had  hitherto  been  hid  in  garrets  and  cellars,  showed  them- 
selves in  the  streets ;  not,  indeed,  in  the  proper  habiliments 
of  war,  but  in  arms,  and  with  looks  fierce  and  sullen,  as  if 
they  felt  disdain  at  their  former  concealment*  This  unex- 
pected sight  increased  the  noise  and  tumult  of  the  town, 
which  grew  loudest  in  the  square  adjoining  to  the  house 
where  the  members  were  confined,  and  appeared  still  louder 
to  those  who  were  within,  because  they  were  ignorant  of  the 
cause  from  which  the  tumult  arose,  and  caught  contagion 
from  the  anxious  looks  of  each  other.  After  some  hours  the 
doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  Whig  members,  as  they  went 
out,  were  received  with  acclamations,  and  those  of  the  oppo- 
site party  with  the  threats  and  curses  of  a  prepared  populace. 
Terrified  by  the  prospect  of  future  alarms,  many  of  the  ad- 
herents of  James  quitted  the  Convention  and  retired  to  the 
country ;  most  of  them  changed  sides ;  only  a  very  few  of  the 
most  resolute  continued  their  attendance." — Dalrymple'sj 
Memoirs,  vol.  ii.  p.  305. 

2  Previous  to  1784,  the  Grassmarket  was  the  common  place 
of  execution  at  Edinburgh. 


760 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


There  are  wild  Duniewassals  three  thousand  times 

three, 
Will  cry  hoigh  !  for  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"  There's  brass  on  the  target  of  barken'd  bull-hide ; 
There's  steel  in  the  scabbard  that  dangles  beside ; 
The  brass  shall  be  burnish'd,  the  steel  shall  flash  free, 
At  a  toss  of  the  bonnet  of  Bonny  Dundee. 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

"  Away  to  the  hills,  to  the  caves,  to  the  rocks — 
Ere  I  own  an  usurper,  I'll  couch  with  the  fox ; 
And  tremble,  false  Whigs,  in  the  midst  of  your  glee, 
You  have  not  seen  the  last  of  my  bonnet  and  me !" 
Come  fill  up  my  cup,  &c. 

He  waved  his  proud  hand,  and  the  trumpets  were 

blown, 
The  kettle-drums  clash'd,  and  the  horsemen  rode  on, 
Till  on  Ravelston's  cliffs  and  on  Clermiston's  lea 
Died  away  the  wild  war-notes  of  Bonny  Dundee. 

Come  fill  up  my  cup,  come  fill  up  my  can, 
Come  saddle  the  horses,  and  call  up  the  men ; 
Come  open  your  gates,  and  let  me  gae  free, 
For  it's  up  with  the  bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee! 

Ele.   Katleen,   do  thou  sing  now.     Thy  uncle's 
cheerful ; 
We  must  not  let  his  humor  ebb  again. 

Kat.  But  I'll  do  better,  aunt,  than  if  I  sung, 
For  Flora  can  sing  blithe ;  so  can  this  huntsman, 
As  he  has  shown  e'en  now ;  let  them  duet  it. 

Osw.  Well,  huntsman,  we  must  give  to  freakish 
maiden 
The  freedom  of  her  fancy.    Raise  the  carol, 
And  Flora,  if  she  can,  will  join  the  measure. 

SONG. 
When  friends  are  met  o'er  merry  cheer, 
And  lovely  eyes  are  laughing  near, 
And  in  the  goblet's  bosom  clear 

The  cares  of  day  are  drown'd ; 
When  puns  are  made,  and  bumpers  quaff'd, 
And  wild  Wit  shoots  his  roving  shaft, 
And  Mirth  his  jovial  laugh  has  laugh'd 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd, 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  banquet  crown'd. 

When  glees  are  sung,  and  catches  troll'd, 
And  bashfulness  grows  bright  and  bold, 
And  beauty  is  no  longer  cold, 

And  age  no  longer  dull ; 
When  chimes  are  brief,  and  cocks  do  crow, 
To  tell  us  it  is  time  to  go, 
Yet  how  to  part  we  do  not  know, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full, 
Ah  gay, 

Then  is  our  feast  at  full. 


Osw.  (rises  with  the  cup  in  his  hand).  Devorgoil's 
feast  is  full — 
Drink  to  the  pledge ! 

[A  tremendous  bxirst  of  thunder  follows  these 
words  of  the  Song  ;  and  the  lightning  should 
seem  to  strike  the  suit  of  black  Armor,  which 
falls  with  a  crash.1    All  rise  in  surprise  and 
fear  except  Gullcrammer,  who  tumbles 
over  backwards  and  lies  still. 
Osw.  That  sounded  like  the  judgment-peal;  the 
roof 
Still  trembles  with  the  volley. 

Dur.  Happy  those 

Who  are  prepared  to  meet  such  fearful  summons ! — 
Leonard,  what  dost  thou  there  ? 

Leo.  (supporting  Flo.).  The  duty  of  a  man — 

Supporting  innocence.    Were  it  the  final  call, 
I  were  not  misemploy'd. 

Osw.  The  armor  of  my  grandsire  hath  fall'n  down, 
And  old  saws  have  spoke  truth. — (Musing.)    The  fif- 
tieth year — 

Devorgoil's  feast  at  fullest !    What  to  think  of  it 

Leo.  (lifting  a  scroll  which  had  fallen  with  the 
armor).  This  may  inform  us. 

[Attempts  to  read  the  manuscript,  shakes  his 
head,  and  gives  it  to  Oswald. 
But  not  to  eyes  unlearn'd  it  tells  its  tidings. 
Osw.  Hawks,  hounds,  and  revelling  consumed  the 
hours 
I  should  have  given  to  study. 

[Looks  at  the  manuscript. 
These  characters  I  spell  not  more  than  thou : 
They  are  not  of  our  day,  and,  as  I  think, 
Not  of  our  language.     Where's  our  scholar  now, 
So  forward  at  the  banquet?    Is  he  laggard 
Upon  a  point  of  learning  ? 

Leo.  Here  is  the  man  of  letter'd  dignity, 
E'en  in  a  piteous  case. 

[Drags  Gullcrammer  forward. 
Osw.   Art  waking,  craven?   canst  thou  read  this 
scroll ? 
Or  art  thou  only  learn'd  in  sousing  swine's  flesh, 
And  prompt  in  eating  it? 

Gul.  Eh — ah ! — oh — ho ! — Have  you  no  better  time 
To  tax  a  man  with  riddles,  than  the  moment 
When  he  scarce  knows  whether  he's  dead  or  living? 
Osw.  Confound  the  pedant! — Can  you   read  the 
scroll, 
Or  can  you  not,  sir  ?    If  you  can,  pronounce 
Its  meaning  speedily. 

Gul.  Can  I  read  it,  quotha ! 

When  at  our  learned  University, 
I  gain'd  first  premium  for  Hebrew  learning, — 
Which  was  a  pound  of  high-dried  Scottish  snuff, 
And  half  a  peck  of  onions,  with  a  bushel 
Of  curious  oatmeal, — our  learn'd  Principal 
Did  say,  "  Melchisedek,  thou  canst  do  any  thing !" 

1  I  should  think  this  may  be  contrived  by  having  a  tran- 
sparent zigzag  in  the  flat-scene,  immediately  above  the  armor, 
suddenly  and  very  strongly  illuminated. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


761 


Now  comes  he  with  his  paltry  scroll  of  parchment, 
And,  "  Can  you  read  it  ?" — After  such  affront, 
The  point  is,  if  I  will. 

Osw.  A  point  soon  solved, 

Unless  you  choose  to  sleep  among  the  frogs ; 
For  look  you,  sir,  there  is  the  chamber  window, — 
Beneath  it  lies  the  lake. 

Ele.   Kind  Master  Gullcrammer,  beware  my  hus- 
band, 
He  brooks  no  contradiction — 'tis  his  fault, 
And  in  his  wrath  he's  dangerous. 

Gul.  (looks  at  the  scroll,  and  mutters  as  if  reading). 
Hashgaboth  hotch-potch — 
A  simple  matter  this  to  make  a  rout  of! — 
Ten  rashersen  bacon,  mish-mash  venison, 
Sausagian  soused-face — "lis  a  simple  catalogue 
Of  our  small  supper,  made  by  the  grave  sage 
Whose  prescience  knew  this  night  that  we  should  feast 
On  venison,  hash'd  sow's  face,  and  sausages, 
And  hung  his  steel  coat  for  a  supper  bell — 
E'en  let  us  to  our  provender  again, 
For  it  is  written  we  shall  finish  it, 
And  bless  our  stars  the  lightning  left  it  us. 

Osw.  This  must  be  impudence  or  ignorance! — 
The  spirit  of  rough  Erick  stirs  within  me, 
And  I  will  knock  thy  brains  out  if  thou  palterest  I 
Expound  the  scroll  to  me ! 

Gul.  You're  over  hasty ; 

And  yet  you  may  be  right  too — 'Tis  Samaritan, 
Now  I  look  closer  on't,  and  I  did  take  it 
For  simple  Hebrew. 

Due.  'Tis  Hebrew  to  a  simpleton, 
That  we  see  plainly,  friend — Give  me  the  scroll. 

Gul.  Alas,  good  friend !  what  would  you  do  with  it  ? 

Due.  (takes  it  from  him).  My  best  to  read  it,  sir — 
The  character  is  Saxon, 
Used  at  no  distant  date  within  this  district ; 
And  thus  the  tenor  runs — nor  in  Samaritan, 
Nor  simple  Hebrew,  but  in  wholesome  English : — 
Devorgoil,  thy  bright  moon  waneth, 
And  the  rust  thy  harness  staineth ; 
Servile  guests  the  banquet  soil 
Of  the  once  proud  Devorgoil. 
But  should  Black  Erick's  armor  fall, 
Look  for  guests  shall  scare  you  all ! 
They  shall  come  ere  peep  of  day, — 
Wake  and  watch,  and  hope  and  pray. 

Kat.  (to  Flo.).  Here  is  fine  foolery ! — an  old  wall 
shakes 
At  a  loud  thunder-clap — down  comes  a  suit 
Of  ancient  armor,  when  its  wasted  braces 
Were  all  too  rotten  to  sustain  its  weight — 
A  beggar  cries  out,  Miracle !  and  your  father, 
Weighing  the  importance  of  his  name  and  lineage, 
Must  needs  believe  the  dotard  I1 

Flo.  Mock  not,  I  pray  you ;  this  may  be  too  serious. 

Kat.  And  if  I  live  till  morning,  I  will  have 

1  MS. :  "  A  begging  knave  cries  out,  A  miracle ! 

And  your  good  sire,  doting  on  the  importance 


The  power  to  tell  a  better  tale  of  wonder 
Wrought  on  wise  Gullcrammer.    I'll  go  prepare  me. 

[Exit. 

Flo.  I  have  not  Katleen's  spirit,  yet  I  hate 
This  Gullcrammer  too  heartily,  to  stop 
Any  disgrace  that's  hasting  towards  him. 

Osw.  (to  whom  the  Beggar  has  been  again  reading  the 
scroll). 
'Tis  a  strange  prophecy ! — The  silver  moon, 
Now  waning  sorely,  is  our  ancient  bearing — 
Strange  and  unfitting  guests — 

Gul.  (interrupting  him).  Ay,  ay,  the  matter 
Is,  as  you  say,  all  moonshine  in  the  water. 

Osw.  How  mean  you,  sir?  (threatening.) 

Gul.  To  show  that  I  can  rhyme 

With  yonder  bluegown.    Give  me  breath  and  time, 
I  will  maintain,  in  spite  of  his  pretence, 
Mine  exposition  had  the  better  sense — 
It  spoke  good  victuals  and  increase  of  cheer ; 
And  his,  more  guests  to  eat  what  we  have  here — 
An  increment  right  needless. 

Osw.  Get  thee  gone ; 

To  kennel,  hound ! 

Gul.  The  hound  will  have  his  bone. 

[Takes  up  the  platter  of  meat,  and  a  flask. 

Osw.  Flora,  show  him  his  chamber — take  him  hence, 
Or,  by  the  name  I  bear,  I'll  see  his  brains. 

Gul.  Ladies,  good  night! — I  spare  you,  sir,  the  pains. 
[Exit,  lighted  by  Floea  with  a  lamp. 

Osw.  The  owl  is  fled. — I'll  not  to  bed  to-night ; 
There  is  some  change  impending  o'er  this  house, 
For  good  or  ill.     I  would  some  holy  man 
Were  here,  to  counsel  us  what  we  should  do ! 
Yon  witless  thin-faced  gull  is  but  a  cassock 
Stuff'd  out  with  chaff  and  straw. 

Due.  (assuming  an  air  of  dignity).  I  have  been  wont, 
In  other  days,  to  point  to  erring  mortals 
The  rock  which  they  should  anchor  on. 

[He  holds  up  a  Cross — the  rest  take  a  posture 
of  devotion,  and  the  Scene  closes. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I. 

A  ruinous  Anteroom  in  the  Castle.  Enter  Katleen, 
fantastically  dressed  to  play  the  Character  of  Cockle- 
demoy,  with  the  visor  in  her  hand. 

Kat.  I've  scarce  had  time  to  glance  at  my  sweet 
person, 
Yet  this  much  could  I  see,  with  half  a  glance, 
My  elfish  dress  becomes  me — I'll  not  mask  me 
Till  I  have  seen  Lance  Blackthorn.    Lance !  I  say — 

[Calls. 
Blackthorn,  make  haste ! 

Of  his  high  birth  and  house,  must  needs  believe 
him." 


762 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Enter  Blackthorn,  half  dressed  as  Owlspiegle. 

Bla.  Here  am  I — Blackthorn  in  the  upper  half, 
Much  at  your  service ;  but  my  nether  parts 
Are    goblinized    and    Owlspiegled.      I    had    much 

ado 
To  get  these  trankums  on.     I  judge  Lord  Erick 
Kept  no  good  house,  and  starved  his  quondam  bar- 
ber. 

Kat.  Peace,  ass,  and  hide  you — Gullcrammer  is 
coming ; 
He  left  the  hall  before,  but  then  took  fright, 
And  e'en  sneak'd   back.      The    Lady  Flora    lights 

him — 
Trim  occupation  for  her  ladyship ! 
1 1  mI  yon  seen  Leonard,  when  she  left  the  hall 
On  such  fine  errand  ! 

Bla.  This  Gullcrammer  shall  have  a  bob  extraor- 
dinary 
For  my  good  comrade's  sake. — But  tell  me,  Kat- 

leen, 
What  dress  is  this  of  yours  ? 

Kat.  A  page's,  fool ! 

Bla.  I'm  accounted  no  great  scholar, 

But  'tis  a  page  that  I  would  fain  peruse 
A  little  closer.  [Approaches  her. 

Kat.  Put  on  your  spectacles, 

And  try  if  you  can  read  it  at  this  distance, 
For  you  shall  come  no  nearer. 

Bla.  But  is  there  nothing,  then,  save  rank  impos- 
ture, 
In  all  these  tales  of  goblinry  at  Devorgoil  ? 

Kat.  My  aunt's  grave  lord  thinks  otherwise,  sup- 
posing 
That  his  great  name  so  interests  the  heavens, 
That  miracles  must  needs  bespeak  its  fall. — 
I  would  that  I  were  in  a  lowly  cottage 
Beneath  the  greenwood,  on  its  walls  no  armor 
To  court  the  levin-bolt 

Bla.  And  a  kind  husband,  Katleen, 

To  ward  such  dangers  as  must  needs  come  nigh. — 
My  father's  cottage  stands  so  low  and  lone 
That  you  would  think  it  solitude  itself; 
The  greenwood  shields  it  from  the  northern  blast, 
And,  in  the  woodbine  round  its  latticed  casement, 
The  linnet's  sure  to  build  the  earliest  nest 
In  all  the  forest. 

Kat.  Peace,  you  fool,  they  come. 

Flora  lights  Gullcrammer  across  the  Stage. 

Kat.  {when  they  have  passed).  Away  with  you! 
On  with  your  cloak — be  ready  at  the  signal. 

Bla.  And  shall  we  talk  of  that  same  cottage,  Kat- 
leen, 
At  better  leisure  ?    I  have  much  to  say 
In  favor  of  my  cottage. 

Kat.  If  you  will  be  talking, 

You  know  I  can't  prevent  you. 

Bla.  That's  enough. 

(Aside.)  I  shall  have  leave,  I  see,  to  spell  the  page 
A  little  closer  when  the  due  time  comes. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  Gullcrammer's  Sleeping  Apart- 
ment. He  enters,  ushered  in  by  FLORA,  who  sets 
on  the  table  a  flask,  with  the  lamp. 

Flo.  A  flask,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  athirsty ; 
A  light,  in  case  your  Reverence  be  afear'd ; — 
And  so  sweet  slumber  to  your  Reverence. 

Gul.  Kind  Mistress  Flora,  will  you  ? — eh !  eh !  eh ! 

Flo.  Will  I  what? 

Gul.  Tarry  a  little  ? 

Flo.  (smiling).  Kind  Master  Gullcrammer, 
How  can  you  ask  me  aught  so  unbecoming  ? 

Gul.  Oh,  fie,  fie,  fie ! — Believe  me,  Mistress  Flora, 
'Tis  not  for  that — but  being  guided  through 
Such  dreary  galleries,  stairs,  and  suites  of  rooms, 
To  this  same  cubicle,  I'm  somewhat  loth 
To  bid  adieu  to  pleasant  company. 

Flo.  A  flattering  compliment ! — In  plain  truth  you 
are  frighten'd. 

Gul.  What!  frighten'd? — I — I— am  not  timorous. 

Flo.   Perhaps  you've  heard  this  is  our  haunted 
chamber  ? 
But  then  it  is  our  best — Your  Reverence  knows 
That  in  all  tales  which  turn  upon  a  ghost, 
Your  traveller  belated  has  the  luck 
To  enjoy  the  haunted  room — it  is  a  rule : — 
To  some  it  were  a  hardship,  but  to  you, 
Who  are  a  scholar,  and  not  timorous 

Gul.  I  did  not  say  I  was  not  timorous, 
I  said  I  was  not  temerarious. — 
I'll  to  the  hall  again. 

Flo.  You'll  do  your  pleasure. 

But  you  have  somehow  moved  my  father's  anger, 
And  you  had  better  meet  our  playful  Owlspiegle — 
So  is  our  goblin  call'd — than  face  Lord  Oswald. 

Gul.  Owlspiegle?— 
It  is  an  uncouth  and  outlandish  name, 
And  in  mine  ear  sounds  fiendish. 

Flo.  Hush,  hush,  hush!  [merry  spirit; 

Perhaps    he    hears  us  now — (in  an  undertone) — A 
None  of  your  elves  that  pinch  folks  black  and  blue, 
For  lack  of  cleanliness. 

Gul.  As  for  that,  Mistress  Flora, 
My  tafleta  doublet  hath  been  duly  brush'd, 
My  shirt  hebdomadal  put  on  this  morning. 

Flo.  Why,  you  need  fear  no  goblins.     But  this 
Owlspiegle 
Is  of  another  class ; — yet  has  his  frolics ; 
Cuts  hair,  trims  beards,  and  plays  amid  his  antics 
The  olfice  of  a  sinful  mortal  barber. 
Such  is  at  least  the  rumor. 

Gul.  He  will  not  cut  my  clothes,  or  scar  my  face, 
Or  draw  my  blood  ? 

Flo.  Enormities  like  these 

Were  never  charged  against  him. 

Gul.  And,  Mistress  Flora,  would  you  smile  on  me, 
If,  prick'd  by  the  fond  hope  of  your  approval, 
I  should  endure  this  venture  ? 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOEGOIL. 


763 


FLO.  I  do  hope 

I  shall  have  cause  to  smile. 

Gul.  Well !  in  that  hope 

I  will  embrace  the  achievement  for  thy  sake. 

[She  is  going. 
Yet,  stay,  stay,  stay ! — on  second  thoughts  I  will  not — 
I've  thought  on  it,  and  will  the  mortal  cudgel 
Rather  endure  than  face  the  ghostly  razor ! 
Your    crab-tree's    tough    but    blunt, — your    razor's 

polish'd, 
But,  as  the  proverb  goes,  'tis  cruel  sharp. 
I'll  to  thy  father,  and  unto  his  pleasure 
Submit  these  destined  shoulders. 

Flo.  But  you  shall  not, 

Believe  me,  sir,  you  shall  not ;  he  is  desperate, 
And  better  far  be  trimm'd  by  ghost  or  goblin, 
Than  by  my  sire  in  anger ;  there  are  stores 
Of  hidden  treasure,  too,  and  Heaven  knows  what, 
Buried  among  these  ruins — you  shall  stay. 
(Apart.)  And  if  indeed  there  be  such  sprite  as  Owl- 

spiegle, 
And,  lacking  him,  that  thy  fear  plague  thee  not 
Worse  than  a  goblin,  I  have  miss'd  my  purpose, 
Which  else  stands  good  in  either  case. — Good-night, 

sir.  [Exit,  and  double-locks  the  door. 

Gul.  Nay,  hold  ye,  hold! — Nay,  gentle  Mistress 

Flora, 
Wherefore  this  ceremony?— She  has  lock'd  me  in, 
And  left  me  to  the  goblin! — (Listening.) — So,  so,  so! 
I  hear  her  light  foot  trip  to  such  a  distance 
That  I  believe  the  castle's  breadth  divides  me 
From  human  company.    I'm  ill  at  ease — 
But  if  this  citadel  (Laying  his  hand  on  his  stomach) 

were  better  victuall'd, 
It  would  be  better  manned.       [Sits  down  and  drinks. 
She  has  a  footstep  light,  and  taper  ankle.     [Chuckles. 
Aha !  that  ankle !  yet,  confound  it  too, 
But  for  those  charms  Melchisedek  had  been 
Snug  in  his  bed  at  Mucklewhame — I  say, 
Confound  her  footstep,  and  her  instep  too, 
To  use  a  cobbler's  phrase. — There  I  was  quaint. 
Now,  what  to  do  in  this  vile  circumstance, 
To  watch  or  go  to  bed,  I  can't  determine ; 
Were  I  abed,  the  ghost  might  catch  me  napping, 
And  if  I  watch,  my  terrors  will  increase 
As  ghostly  hours  approach.     I'll  to  my  bed 
E'en  in  my  taffeta  doublet,  shrink  my  head 
Beneath  the  clothes — leave  the  lamp  burning  there, 

[Sets  it  on  the  table. 
And  trust  to  fate  the  issue. 

[He  lays  aside  his  cloak,  and  brushes  it,  as  from 
habit,  starting  at  every  moment;  ties  a  nap- 
kin over  his  head ;  then  shrinks  beneath  the  bed- 
clothes. He  starts  once  or  twice,  and  at  length 
seems  to  go  to  sleep.  A  bell  tolls  one.  Lie 
leaps  up  in  his  bed. 
GXJL.  I  had  just  coax'd  myself  to  sweet  forgetful- 

ness, 
And  that  confounded  bell — I  hate  all  bells, 
Except  a  dinner  bell — and  yet  I  lie,  too, — 


I  love  the  bell  that  soon  shall  tell  the  parish 

Of  Gabblegoose,  Melchisedek's  iucumbent — 

And  shall  the  future  minister  of  Gabblegoose, 

Whom  his  parishioners  will  soon  require 

To  exorcise  their  ghosts,  detect  their  witches, 

Lie  shivering  in  his  bed  for  a  pert  goblin, 

Whom,  be  he  switch'd  or  cocktail'd,  horn'd  or  poll'd, 

A  few  tight  Hebrew  words  will  soon  send  packing  ? 

Tush !  I  will  rouse  the  parson  up  within  me, 

And  bid  defiance (A  distant  noise.)    In  the  name 

of  Heaven,  [nessl 

What  sounds  are  these ! — 0  Lord !  this  comes  of  rash- 

[Draws  his  head  down  under  the  bed-clothes* 

Duet  without,   between  Owlspiegle   and  COCKLE- 
DEMOY. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

Here,  father,  here. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
Now  the  pole-star's  red  and  burning, 
And  the  witch's  spindle  turning, 

Appear,  appear ! 

GUL.  (who  has  again  raised  himself,  and  listened  with 
great  terror  to  the  Duet).  I  have  heard  of  the 
devil's  dam  before, 

But  never  of  his  child.     Now,  Heaven  deliver  me ! 

The  Papists  have  the  better  of  us  there, — 

They  have  their  Latin  prayers,  cut  and  dried, 

And  pat  for  such  occasion — I  can  think 

On  nought  but  the  vernacular. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy, 

We'll  sport  us  here — 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
Our  gambols  play, 
Like  elve  and  fay ; 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

And  domineer, 


Laugh,  frolic,  and  frisk,  till  the  morning  appear. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
Lift  latch — open  clasp — 
Shoot  bolt — and  burst  hasp ! 
[The  door  opens  with  violence.     Enter  BLACK- 
THORN as  OWLSPIEGLE,  fantastically  dressed 
as  a  Spanish  Barber,  tall,  thin,  emaciated, 
and  ghostly;  KATLEEN,  as  COCKLEDEMOY, 
attends   as   his   Page.     All   their  manners, 


764 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


tones,  and  motions,  are  fantastic,  as  those  of 
Goblitis.  They  make  two  or  three  times  the 
circuit  of  the  Room,  witlwut  seeming  to  see 
Gullcrammeb.  They  then  resume  their 
Chant,  or  Recitative. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledenioy ! 

My  boy,  my  boy, 
What  wilt  thou  do  tbat  will  give  thee  joy? 
Wilt  thou  ride  on  the  midnight  owl  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

No ;  for  the  weather  is  stormy  and  foul. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
Cockledemoy ! 
My  boy,  my  boy, 
What  wilt  thou  do  that  can  give  thee  joy  ? 
With  a  needle  for  a  sword,  and  a  thimble  for  a  hat, 
Wilt  thou  fight  a  traverse  with  the  castle  cat  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
Oh,  no !  she  has  claws,  and  I  like  not  that. 

Gul.  I  see  the  devil  is  a  doting  father, 
And  spoils  his  children — 'tis  the  surest  way 
To  make  cursed  imps  of  them.    They  see  me  not — 
What  will  they  think  on  next?     It  must  be  own'd, 
They  have  a  dainty  choice  of  occupations. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 

Cockledemoy ! 

My  boy,  my  boy, 
What  shall  we  do  that  can  give  thee  joy? 
Shall  we  go  seek  for  a  cuckoo's  nest  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
That's  best,  that's  best ! 

BOTH. 
About,  about, 
Like  an  elvish  scout, 
The  cuckoo's  a  gull,  and  we'll  soon  find  him  out. 

[They  search  the  room  vrith  mops  and  mows. 
At  length  Cockledemoy  jumps  on  the  bed. 
GULLCBAMMEB  raises  himself  half  up,  sup- 
porting himself  by  his  hands.  COCKLEDE- 
MOY does  the  same,  and  grins  at  him,  then 
skips  from  the  bed,  and  runs  to  OWLSPIEGLE. 

COCKLEDEMOY. 

I've  found  tin;  nest, 

And  in  it  a  guest, 
With  a  sable  cloak  and  a  taffeta  vest ; 
He  must  be  wash'd,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 
To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

OWLSPIEGLE. 
That's  best,  that's  best. 


He  must  be  shaved,  and  trimm'd,  and  dress'd, 
To  please  the  eyes  he  loves  the  best. 

[  They  arrange  shaving  things  on  the  table,  and 
sing  as  they  prepare  them. 

BOTH. 
Know  that  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buzz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

OWLSPIEGLE  {sharpening  his  razor). 
The  sword  this  is  made  of  was  lost  in  a  fray 
By  a  fop,  who  first  bullied  and  then  ran  away ; 
And  the  strap,  from  the  hide  of  a  lame  racer,  sold 
By  Lord  Match,  to  his  friend,  for  some  hundreds  in 
gold. 

BOTH. 
For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buzz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

COCKLEDEMOY  {placing  the  napkin). 
And  this  cambric  napkin,  so  white  and  so  fair, 
At  an  usurer's  funeral  I  stole  from  the  heir. 

[Drops  something  from  a  vial,  as  going  to  make 
suds. 
This  dewdrop  I  caught  from  one  eye  of  his  mother, 
Which  wept  while  she  ogled  the  parson  with  t'other. 

BOTH. 
For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buzz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 

OWLSPIEGLE  {arranging  the  lather  and  the  basin). 
My  soap-ball  is  of  the  mild  alkali  made, 
Which  the  soft  dedicator  employs  in  his  trade ; 
And  it  froths  with  the  pith  of  a  promise,  that's  sworn 
By  a  lover  at  night,  and  forgot  on  the  morn. 

BOTH. 
For  all  of  the  humbug,  the  bite,  and  the  buzz, 
Of  the  make-believe  world,  becomes  forfeit  to  us. 
Halloo,  halloo, 
The  black-cock  crew, 
Thrice  shriek'd  hath  the  owl,  thrice  croak'd  hath  the 

raven, 
Here,  ho !  Master  Gullcrammer,  rise  and  be  shaven ! 

Da  capo. 

GUL.    {who  has  been  observing  them).   I'll  pluck  a 
spirit  up ;  they're  merry  goblins, 
And  will  deal  mildly.     I  will  soothe  their  humor; 
Besides,  my  beard  lacks  trimming. 

[He  ri.scsfrom  his  bed,  and  advances  with  great 

symptoms  of  trepidation,  but  affecting  an  air 

of  composure.    The  Goblins  receive  him  with 

fantastic  ceremony. 

Gentlemen,  'tis  your  will  I  should  be  trimm'd— 

E'en  do  your  pleasure.    ( They  point  to  a  scat — he  sits.) 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVORGOIL. 


765 


Think,  howsoe'er, 
Of  me  as  one  who  hates  to  see  his  blood  ; 
Therefore  I  do  beseech  you,  signior, 
Be  gentle  in  your  craft.    I  know  those  barbers  ; 
One  would  have  harrows  driven  across  his  visnomy 
Rather  than  they  should  touch  it  with  a  razor. 

OWLSPIEGLE  shaven  Gullcrammer,  while  Cockle- 
demoy sings. 
Father  never  started  hair, 
Shaved  too  close,  or  left  too  bare — 
Father's  razor  slips  as  glib 
As  from  courtly  tongue  a  fib. 
Whiskers,  moustache,  he  can  trim  in 
Fashion  meet  to  please  the  women ; 
Sharp's  his  blade,  perfumed  his  lather ! 
Happy  those  are  trimm'd  by  father ! 

Gul.  That's  a  good  boy.    I  love  to  hear  a  child 
Stand  for  his  father,  if  he  were  the  devil. 

[He  motions  to  rise. 
Craving  your  pardon,  sir. — What !  sit  again  ? 
My  hair  lacks  not  your  scissors. 

[Owlspiegle  insists  on  his  sitting. 
Nay,  if  you're  peremptory,  I'll  ne'er  dispute  it, 
Nor  eat  the  cow  and  choke  upon  the  tail — 
E'en  trim  me  to  your  fashion. 

[Owlspiegle  cuts  his  hair,  and  shaves  his 
head,  ridiculously. 

COCKLEDEMOY  (sings  as  before). 
Hair-breadth  'scapes,  and  hair-breadth  snares, 
Hare-brain'd  follies,  ventures,  cares, 
Part  when  father  clips  your  hairs. 
If  there  is  a  hero  frantic, 
Or  a  lover  too  romantic ; — 
If  threescore  seeks  second  spouse, 
Or  fourteen  lists  lover's  vows, 
Bring  them  here — for  a  Scotch  boddle, 
Owlspiegle  shall  trim  their  noddle. 

[  They  take  the  napkin  from  about  GULLCRAM- 
mer's  neck.    He  makes  bows  of  acknowledg- 
ment, ivhich  they  return  fantastically,  and 
sing — 
Thrice  crow'd  hath  the  black-cock,  thrice  croak'd  hath 

the  raven, 
And  Master  Melchisedek  Gullcrammer's  shaven  ! 

Gul.  My  friends,  you  are  too  musical  for  me ; 
But  though  I  cannot  cope  with  you  in  song, 
I  would,  in  humble  prose,  inquire  of  you, 
If  that  you  will  permit  me  to  acquit 
Even  with  the  barber's  pence  the  barber's  service  ? 

[They  shake  their  heads. 
Or  if  there  is  aught  else  that  I  can  do  for  you, 
Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  or  your  loving  child, 
The  hopeful  Cockle'moy  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
Sir,  you  have  been  trimm'd  of  late, 
Smooth's  your  chin,  and  bald  your  pate ; 


Lest  cold  rheums  should  work  you  harm, 
Here's  a  cap  to  keep  you  warm. 

Gul.  Welcome  as  Fortunatus'  wishing  cap, 
For't  was  a  cap  that  I  was  wishing  for. 
(There  I  was  quaint  in  spite  of  mortal  terror.) 

[As  he  puts  on  the  cap,  a  pair  of  ass's  ears  dis- 
engage themselves. 
Upon  my  faith,  it  is  a  dainty  head-dress, 
And    might  become  an  alderman ! — Thanks,  sweet 

Monsieur, 
Thou'rt  a  considerate  youth. 

[Both  Goblins  bow  with  ceremony  to  GULL* 
CRAMMER,  who  returns  their  salutation. 
Owlspiegle  descends  by  the  trap-door. 
COCKLEDEMOY  springs  out  at  window. 

SONG  (without). 
OWLSPIEGLE. 
Cockledemoy,  my  hope,  my  care, 
Where  art  thou  now,  oh  tell  me  where  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
Up  in  the  sky, 
On  the  bonny  dragonfly, 
Come,  father,  come  you  too — 
She  has  four  wings  and  strength  enow, 
And  her  long  body  has  room  for  two. 

Gul.  Cockledemoy  now  is  a  naughty  brat — 
Would  have  the  poor  old  stiff-rump'd  devil,  his  father, 
Peril  his  fiendish  neck.    All  boys  are  thoughtless. 

SONG. 
OWLSPIEGLE. 
Which  way  didst  thou  take  ? 

COCKLEDEMOY. 
I  have  fall'n  in  the  lake — 
Help,  father,  for  Beelzebub's  sake. 

Gul.  The  imp  is  drown'd — a  strange  death  for  ft 
devil, — 
Oh,  may  all  boys  take  warning,  and  be  civil ; 
Respect  their  loving  sires,  endure  a  chiding, 
Nor  roam  by  night  on  dragonflies  a-riding ! 

COCKLEDEMOY  (sings). 
Now  merrily,  merrily,  row  I  to  shore, 
My  bark  is  a  bean-shell,  a  straw  for  an  oar. 

owlspiegle  (sings). 
My  life,  my  joy, 
My  Cockledemoy ! 

GUL.  I  can  bear  this  no  longer — thus  children  are 
spoil'd.  [Strikes  into  the  tune. 

Master  Owlspiegle,  hoy ! 

He  deserves  to  be  whipp'd,  little  Cockledemoy ! 
[Their  voices  are  heard  as  if  dying  away. 


766 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


Gfl.  They're  gone ! — Now,  am  I  scared,  or  am  I  not  ? 
I  think  the  very  desperate  ecstasy 
Of  fear  has  given  me  courage.1     This  is  strange,  now. 
When  they  were  here,  I  was  not  half  so  frighten'd 
As  now  they're  gone — they  were  a  sort  of  company. 
What  a  strange  thing  is  use ! — A  horn,  a  claw, 
The  tip  of  a  fiend's  tail,  was  wont  to  scare  me. 
Now  am  I  with  the  devil  hand  and  glove; 
His  soap  has  lather'd  and  his  razor  shaved  me; 
I've  join'd  him  in  a  catch,  kept  time  and  tune, 
Could  dine  with  him,  nor  ask  for  a  long  spoon; 
And  if  I  keep  not  better  company, 
"What  will  become  of  me  when  I  shall  die  ?         [Exit. 


SCENE  III. 

A  Gothic  Hall,  waste  and  ruinous.  The  moonlight  is  at 
times  seen  through  the  shafted  windows.2  Enter  Kat- 
LEEN  and  BLACKTHORN — They  have  thrown  off  the 
more  ludicrous  parts  of  their  disguise. 

Kat.  This  way — this  way  ;  was  ever  fool  so  gull'd! 

Bla.  I  play'd  the  barber  better  than  I  thought  for. 
Well,  I've  an  occupation  in  reserve, 
When  the  long-bow  and  merry  musket  fail  me. — 
But,  hark  ye,  pretty  Katleen. 

Kat.  What  should  I  hearken  to  ? 

Bla.  Art  thou  not  afraid, 
In  these  wild  halls  while  playing  feigned  goblins, 
That  we  may  meet  with  real  ones  ? 

Kat.  Not  a  jot. 

My  spirit  is  too  light,  my  heart  too  bold, 
To  fear  a  visit  from  the  other  world. 

Bla.  But  is  not  this  the  place,  the  very  hall 
In  which  men  say  that  Oswald's  grandfather, 
The  Black  Lord  Erick,  walks  his  penance  round  ? 
Credit  me,  Katleen,  these  half-moulder'd  columns 
Have  in  their  ruin  something  very  fiendish, 
And  if  you'll  take  an  honest  friend's  advice, 
The  sooner  that  you  change  their  shatter'd  splendor 
For  the  snug  cottage  that  I  told  you  of, 
Believe  me,  it  will  prove  the  blither  dwelling. 

Kat.  If  I  e'er  see  that  cottage,  honest  Blackthorn, 
Believe  me,  it  shall  be  from  other  motive 
Than  fear  of  Erick's  spectre. 

[A  rustling  sound  is  heard. 

Bla.  I  heard  a  rustling  sound — 

Upon  my  life,  there's  something  in  the  hall, 
Katleen,  besides  us  two ! 

Kat.  A  yeoman  thou, 

A  forester,  and  frighten'd !     I  am  sorry 
I  gave  the  fool's-cap  to  poor  Gullcrammer, 
And  let  thy  head  go  bare. 

[The  same  rustling  sound  is  repeated. 

Bla.  Why,  are  you  mad,  or  hear  you  not  the  sound  ? 

1  "  Cowards,  upon  necessity,  assume 
A  fearful  bravery;  thinking  by  this  face 
To  fasten  in  men's  minds  that  they  have  courage." 

Suakspeake. 


Kat.  And  if  I  do,  I  take  small  heed  of  it. 
Will  you  allow  a  maiden  to  be  bolder 
Than  you,  with  beard  on  chin  and  sword  at  girdle? 
Bla.  Nay,  if  I  had  my  sword  I  would  not  care; 
Though  I  ne'er  heard  of  master  of  defence 
So  active  at  his  weapon  as  to  brave 
The  devil,  or  a  ghost — See !  see !  see  yonder ! 

[A  figure  is  imperfectly  seen  between  two  of  the 
pillars. 
Kat.  There's  something  moves,  that's  certain,  and 
the  moonlight, 
Chased  by  the  flitting  gale,  is  too  imperfect 
To  show  its  form  ;  but,  in  the  name  of  God, 
I'll  venture  on  it  boldly. 

Bla.  Wilt  thou  so? 

Were  I  alone,  now,  I  were  strongly  tempted 
To  trust  my  heels  for  safety ;  but  with  thee, 
Be  it  fiend  or  fairy,  I'll  take  risk  to  meet  it. 

Kat.  It  stands  full  in  our  path,  and  we  must  pass  it, 
Or  tarry  here  all  night. 
Bla.  In  its  vile  company  ? 

[As  they  advance  towards  the  figure,  it  is  more 
plainly  distinguished,  which  might,  I  think,  be 
contrived  by  raising  successive  screens  of  crape. 
The  figure  is  wrapped  in  a  long  robe,  like 
the  mantle  of  a  hermit  or  palmer. 
Pal.  Ho !  ye  who  thread  by  night  these  wildering 
scenes, 
In  garb  of  those  who  long  have  slept  in  death, 
Fear  you  the  company  of  those  you  imitate? 

Bla.  This  is  the  devil,  Katleen,  let  us  fly!  [Runs  off. 
Kat.   I  will  not  fly — why  should  I  ?    My  nerves 
shake 
To  look  on  this  strange  vision,  but  my  heart 
Partakes  not  the  alarm. — If  thou  dost  come  in  Heav- 
en's name, 
In  Heaven's  name  art  thou  welcome ! 
Pal.    I  come,  by  Heaven  permitted.     Quit  this 
castle : 
There  is  a  fate  on't — if  for  good  or  evil, 
Brief  space  shall  soon  determine.    In  that  fate, 
If  good,  by  lineage  thou  canst  nothing  claim ; 
If  evil,  much  may'st  suffer. — Leave  these  precincts. 
Kat.    Whate'er  thou  art,  be  answer'd — Know  I 
will  not 
Desert  the  kinswoman  who  train'd  my  youth  ; 
Know  that  I  will  not  quit  my  friend,  my  Flora ; 
Know  that  I  will  not  leave  the  aged  man 
Whose  roof  has  shelter'd  me.     This  is  my  resolve — 
If  evil  come,  I  aid  my  friends  to  bear  it ; 
If  good,  my  part  shall  be  to  see  them  prosper, 
A  portion  in  their  happiness  from  which 
No  fiend  can  bar  me. 

Pal.  Maid,  before  thy  courage, 

Firm  built  on  innocence,  even  beings  of  nature 
More  powerful  far  than  thine  give  place  and  way ; 

2  I  have  a  notion  that  this  can  be  managed  so  as  to  repre- 
sent imperfect  or  flitting  moonlight,  upon  the  plan  of  the 
Eidophusikon. 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOKGOIL. 


767 


Take  then  this  key,  and  wait  the  event  with  courage. 
[He  drops  the  key. — He  disappears  gradually, 
the  moonlight  failing  at  the  same  time. 
Kat.  {after  a  pause).  Whate'er  it  was,  'tis  gone ! 
My  head  turns  round — 
The  blood  that  lately  fortified  my  heart 
Now  eddies  in  full  torrent  to  my  brain, 
And  makes  wild  work  with  reason.    I  will  haste, 
If  that  my  steps  can  bear  me  so  far  safe, 
To  living  comjmny.     What  if  I  meet  it 
Again  in  the  long  aisle,  or  vaulted  passage  ? 
And  if  I  do,  the  strong  support  that  bore  me 
Through  this  appalling  interview,  again 
Shall  strengthen  and  uphold  me. 

[As  she  steps  forward  she  stumbles  over  the  key. 
What's  this?     The  key ! — there  may  be  mystery  in't. 
I'll  to  my  kinswoman,  when  this  dizzy  fit 
Will  give  me  leave  to  choose  my  way  aright. 

[She  sits  down  exhausted. 

Re-enter  Blackthorn,  with  a  drawn  sword  and  torch. 

Bla.  Katleen!     What,  Katleen! — What  a  wretch 
was  I 
To  leave  her ! — Katleen !  I  am  weapon'd  now, 
And  fear  nor  dog  nor  devil.    She  replies  not ! 
Beast  that  I  was — nay,  worse  than  beast;  the  stag, 
As  timorous  as  he  is,  fights  for  his  hind. 
What's  to  be  done?    I'll  search  this  cursed  castle 
From  dungeon  to  the  battlements ;  if  I  find  her  not, 
I'll  fling  me  from  the  highest  pinnacle 

Kat.  (who  has  somewhat  gathered  her  spirits  in 
consequence  of  his  entrance,  comes  behind  and 
touches  him,;  he  starts).  Brave  sir! 

I'll  spare  you  that  rash  leap.     You're  a  bold  woods- 
man! 
Surely  I  hope  that  from  this  night  henceforward 
You'll  never  kill  a  hare,  since  you're  akin  to  them. 
Oh,  I  could  laugh,  but  that  my  head's  so  dizzy ! 

Bla.  Lean  on  me,  Katleen.     By  my  honest  word, 
I  thought  you  close  behind — I  was  surprised, 
Not  a  jot  frighten'd. 

Kat.  Thou  art  a  fool  to  ask  me  to  thy  cottage, 
And  then  to  show  me  at  what  slight  expense 
Of  manhood  I  might  master  thee  and  it. 

Bla.  I'll  take  the  risk  of  that — This  goblin  business 
Came  rather  unexpected :  the  best  horse 
Will  start  at  sudden  sights.    Try  me  again, 
And  if  I  prove  not  true  to  bonny  Katleen, 
Hang  me  in  mine  own  bowstring.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 

The  Scene  returns  to  the  Apartment  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  Second.  Oswald  and  Durward  are  dis- 
covered with  Eleanor,  Flora,  and  Leonard; 
Durward  shuts  a  Prayer-book,  which  he  seems  to 
have  been  reading. 

Dur.  'Tis  true— the  difference  betwixt  the  churches, 
Which  zealots  love  to  dwell  on,  to  the  wise 


Of  either  flock  are  of  far  less  importance 

Than  those  great  truths  to  which  all  Christian  men 

Subscribe  with  equal  reverence. 

Osw.  We  thank  thee,  father,  for  the  holy  office, 
Still  best  performed  when  the  pastor's  tongue 
Is  echo  to  his  breast :  of  jarring  creeds 
It  ill  beseems  a  layman's  tongue  to  speak. — 
Where  have  you  stow'd  yon  prater?         [To  Flora. 

Flo.  Safe  in  the  goblin-chamber. 

Ele.  The  goblin-chamber ! 

Maiden,  wert  thou  frantic  ?    If  his  Reverence 
Have  suffer'd  harm  by  waspish  Owlspiegle, 
Be  sure  thou  shalt  abye  it. 

Flo.  Here  he  comes, 

Can  answer  for  himself! 

Enter  GULLCRAMMER,  in  the  fashion  in  which  Owl- 
SPIEGLE  had  put  him, — having  the  fool's-cap  on  his 
head  and  towel  about  his  neck,  &c.  His  manner 
through  the  scene  is  wild  and  extravagant,  as  if  the 
fright  had  a  little  affected  his  brain. 
Dur.  A  goodly  spectacle ! — Is  there  such  a  goblin, 

(To  Osw.)   Or  has  sheer  terror  made  him  such  a 
figure  ? 
Osw.  There  is  a  sort  of  wavering  tradition 

Of  a  malicious  imp  who  teased  all  strangers ; 

My  father  wont  to  call  him  Owlspiegle. 
Gul.  Who  talks  of  Owlspiegle  ? 

He  is  an  honest  fellow  for  a  devil ; 

So  is  his  son,  the  hopeful  Cockle'moy. 

(Sings.) 
"  My  hope,  my  joy, 
My  Cockledemoy !" 

Leo.  The  fool's  bewitch'd — the  goblin  hath  fur- 
nish'd  him 
A  cap  which  well  befits  his  reverend  wisdom. 

FLO.  If  I  could  think  he  had  lost  his  slender  wits, 
I  should  be  sorry  for  the  trick  they  play'd  him. 

Leo.  Oh,  fear  him  not ;  it  were  a  foul  reflection 
On  any  fiend  of  sense  and  reputation, 
To  filch  such  petty  wares  as  his  poor  brains. 

Dur.  What  saw'st  thou,  sir?  what  heardst  thou ? 

Gul.  What  was't  I  saw  and  heard  ? 
That  which  old  graybeards, 
Who  conjure  Hebrew  into  Anglo-Saxon, 
To  cheat  starved  barons  with,  can  little  guess  at. 

Flo.  If  he  begin  so  roundly  with  my  father, 
His  madness  is  not  like  to  save  his  bones. 

Gul.  Sirs,  midnight  came,  and  with  it  came  the 
goblin. 
I  had  reposed  me  after  some  brief  study ; 
But  as  the  soldier,  sleeping  in  the  trench, 
Keeps  sword  and  musket  by  him,  so  I  had 
My  little  Hebrew  manual  prompt  for  service. 

Flo.  Sausagian  soused-face;  that  much  of  your 
Hebrew 
Even  I  can  bear  in  memory. 

Gul.  We  counter'd, 


768 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOEKS. 


The  goblin  and  myself,  even  in  mid-chamber, 
And  each  stepp'd  back  a  pace,  as  'twere  to  study 
The  foe  he  had  to  deal  with !     I  bethought  me, 
Ghosts  ne'er  have  the  first  word,  and  so  I  took  it, 
And  fired  a  volley  of  round  Greek  at  him. 
He  stood  his  ground,  and  answer'd  in  the  Syriac  ; 
I  flank'd  my  Greek  with  Hebrew,  and  compell'd  him — 

[.4  noise  heard. 
Osw.  Peace,  idle  prater ! — Hark !  what  sounds  are 
these  ? 
Amid  the  growling  of  the  storm  without, 
I  hear  strange  notes  of  music,  and  the  clash 
Of  coursers'  trampling  feet. 

VOICES  (without). 
We  come,  dark  riders  of  the  night, 
And  flit  before  the  dawning  light; 
Hill  and  valley,  far  aloof, 
Shake  to  hear  our  chargers'  hoof, 
But  not  a  foot-stamp  on  the  green 
At  morn  shall  show  where  we  have  been. 

Osw.  These  must  be  revellers  belated : 
Let  them  pass  on ;  the  ruin'd  halls  of  Devorgoil 
Open  to  no  such  guests. 

[Flourish  of  trumpets  at  a  distance,  then  nearer. 
They  sound  a  summons ; 
What  can  they  lack  at  this  dead  hour  of  night  ? 
Look  out,  and  see  their  number  and  their  bearing. 

Leo.  (goes  up  to  the  window).  'Tis  strange!  one 
single  shadowy  form  alone 
Is  hovering  on  the  drawbridge ;  far  apart 
Flit  through  the  tempest  banners,  horse,  and  riders, 
In  darkness  lost,  or  dimly  seen  by  lightning. — 
Hither  the  figure  moves ;  the  bolts  revolve, 
The  gate  uncloses  to  him. 

Ele.  Heaven  protect  us ! 

The  Palmer  enters;  GULLCRAMMER  runs  off. 
Osw.  Whence  and  what  art  thou?  for  what  end 

come  hither  ? 
Pal.   I  come  from  a  far  land,  where  the  storm 
howls  not, 
And  the  sun  sets  not,  to  pronounce  to  thee, 
Oswald  of  Devorgoil,  thy  house's  fate. 
Dur.   I  charge  thee,  in  the  name  we  late  have 

kneel'd  to 

Pal.  Abbot  of  Lanercost,  I  bid  thee  peace  ! 
Uninterrupted  let  me  do  mine  errand. — 
Baron  of  Devorgoil,  son  of  the  bold,  the  proud, 
The  warlike,  and  the  mighty,  wherefore  wear'st  thou 
The  habit  of  a  peasant  ?    Tell  me,  wherefore 
Are  thy  fair  halls  thus  waste,  thy  chambers  bare  ? 
Where  are  the  tapestries,  where  the  conquer'd  ban- 
ners, 
Trophies,  and  gilded  arms,  that  deck'd  the  walls 
Of  once  proud  Devorgoil  ? 

[He  advances,  and  places  himself  where  the 
armor  hung,  so  as  to  be  nearly  in  the 
centre  of  the  scene. 


Dur.   Whoe'er  thou  art,   if  thou    dost  know  so 
much, 
Needs  must  thou  know 

Osw.  Peace!  I  will  answer  here:  to  me  he  spoke. — 
Mysterious  stranger,  briefly  I  reply  : 
A  peasant's  dress  befits  a  peasant's  fortune; 
And  'twere  vain  mockery  to  array  these  walls 
In  trophies,  of  whose  memory  nought  remains, 
Save  that  the  cruelty  outvied  the  valor 
Of  those  who  wore  them. 

Pal.  Degenerate  as  thou  art, 

Know'st  thou  to  whom  thou  say'st  this  ? 

[He  drops  his  mantle,  and  is  discovered  armed 
as  nearly  as  may  be  to  the  suit  which  hung 
on  the  wall.    All  express  terror. 

Osw.  It  is  himself — the  spirit  of  mine  Ancestor! 

Eri.  Tremble  not,  son,  but  hear  me ! 

[He  strikes  the  wall;  it  opens,  and  discovers 
the  treasure-chamber. 

There  lies  piled 
The  wealth  I  brought  from  wasted  Cumberland, 
Enough  to  reinstate  thy  ruin'd  fortunes. — 
Cast  from  thine  high-born  brows  that  peasant  bonnet, 
Throw  from  thy  noble  grasp  the  peasant's  staff, 
O'er  all,  withdraw  thine  hand  from  that  mean  mate, 
Whom  in  an  hour  of  reckless  desperation 
Thy  fortunes  cast  thee  on.    This  do, 
And  be  as  great  as  e'er  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  richest  I1 

Dur.  Lord  Oswald,  thou  art  tempted  by  a  fiend, 
Who  doth  assail  thee  on  thy  weakest  side, — 
Thy  pride  of  lineage,  and  thy  love  of  grandeur. 
Stand  fast — resist — contemn  his  fatal  offers ! 

Ele.  Urge  him  not,  father;  if  the  sacrifice 
Of  such  a  wasted,  woe-worn  wretch  as  I  am 
Can  save  him  from  the  abyss  of  misery 
Upon  whose  verge  he's  tottering,  let  me  wander 
An  unacknowledged  outcast  from  this  castle, 
Even  to  the  humble  cottage  I  was  born  in. 

Osw.  No,  Ellen,  no !  it  is  not  thus  they  part 
Whose  hearts  and  souls  disasters  borne  in  common 
Have  knit  together,  close  as  summer  saplings 
Are  twined  in  union  by  the  eddying  tempest. — 
Spirit  of  Erick,  while  thou  bear'st  his  shape, 
I'll  answer  with  no  ruder  conjuration 
Thy  impious  counsel,  other  than  with  these  words, 
Depart,  and  tempt  me  not ! 

Eri.  Then  Fate  will  have  her  course. — Fall,  mass- 
ive grate ; 
Yield  them  the  tempting  view  of  these  rich  treasures, 
But  bar  them  from  possession  ! 

[A  portcullis  falls  before  the  door  of  the  treas- 
ure-chamber. 

Mortals,  hear ! 
No  hand  may  ope  that  grate,  except  the  Heir 
Of  plunder'd  Aglionby,  whose  mighty  wealth, 
Ravish'd  in  evil  hour,  lies  yonder  piled ; 

1  MS. :  "  And  be  as  rich  as  e'er  was  Devorgoil, 
When  Devorgoil  was  proudest." 


THE   DOOM   OF   DEVOKGOIL. 


769 


And  not  his  hand  prevails  without  the  key 
Of  Black  Lord  Erick ;  brief  space  is  given 
To  save  proud  Devorgoil. — So  wills  high  Heaven. 

[Thunder ;  he  disappears. 

Dur.  Gaze  not  so  wildly;  you  have  stood  the  trial 
That  his  commission  bore,  and  Heaven  designs, 
If  I  may  spell  his  will,  to  rescue  Devorgoil 
Even  by  the  Heir  of  Aglionby — Behold  him 
In  that  young  forester,  unto  whose  hand 
Those  bars  shall  yield  the  treasures  of  his  house, 
Destined  to  ransom  yours. — Advance,  young  Leonard, 
And  prove  the  adventure. 

Leo.  {advances  and  attempts  the  grate).  It  is  fast 
As  is  the  tower,  rock-seated. 

Osw.  We  will  fetch  other  means,  and  prove  its 
strength, 
Nor  starve  in  poverty  with  wealth  before  us. 

Dur.  Think  what  the  vision  spoke  ; 
The  key — the  fated  key 

Enter  Gullcrammee. 
GUL.  A  key  ? — I  say  a  quay  is  what  we  want, 
Thus  by  the  learn'd  orthographized — Q,  u,  a,  y. 
The  lake  is  overflow'd ! — A  quay,  a  boat, 
Oars,  punt,  or  sculler,  is  all  one  to  me ! — 
We  shall  be  drown'd,  good  people ! 

Enter  Katleen  and  Blackthorn. 
Kat.  Deliver  us ! 

Haste,  save  yourselves — the  lake  is  rising  fast.1 

Bla.  'T  has  risen  my  bow's  height  in  the  last  five 
minutes, 
And  still  is  swelling  strangely. 

GUL.  (who  has  stood  astonished  upon  seeing  them). 
We  shall  be  drown'd  without  your  kind  assistance. 
Sweet  Master  Owlspiegle,  your  dragonfly — 
Your  straw,  your  bean-stalk,  gentle  Cockle'moy ! 

Leo.  (looking  from  the  shot-hole).  'Tis  true,  by  all 
that's  fearful !     The  proud  lake 
Peers,  like  ambitious  tyrant,  o'er  his  bounds, 
And  soon   will   whelm  the  castle — even   the  draw- 
bridge 
Is  under  water  now. 

Kat.  Let  us  escape !  Why  stand  you  gazing  there  ? 

Dur.  Upon  the  opening  of  that  fatal  grate 
Depends  the  fearful  spell  that  now  entraps  us. 
The  key  of  Black  Lord  Erick — ere  we  find  it, 
The  castle  will  be  whelm'd  beneath  the  waves, 
And  we  shall  perish  in  it ! 


1  If  it  could  be  managed  to  render  the  rising  of  the  lake 
visible,  it  would  answer  well  for  a  coup  de  thedtre. 

2  MS. :  "  The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past— 

49 


Kat.  (giving  the  key).  Here,  prove  this; 
A  chance  most  strange  and  fearful  gave  it  me. 

[Oswald  puts  it  into  the  lock  and  attempts  to 
turn  it — a  loud  clap  of  thunder. 
Flo.  The  lake  still  rises  faster. — Leonard,  Leonard, 
Canst  thou  not  save  us ! 

[Leonard  tries  the  lock— it  opens  with  a  violent 
noise,  and  the  Portcullis  rises.    A  loud  strain 
of  wild  music.     There  may  be  a  Chorus  here. 
[Oswald  enters  the  apartment,  and  brings  out 
a  scroll. 
Leo.  The  lake  is  ebbing  with  as  wondrous  haste 
As  late  it  rose — the  drawbridge  is  left  dry ! 

Osw.  This  may  explain  the  cause. — 
(GULLCRAMMER  offers  to  take  it.)     But  soft  you,  sir, 
We'll  not  disturb  your  learning  for  the  matter; 
Yet,  since  you've  borne  a  part  in  this  strange  drama, 
You  shall  not  go  unguerdon'd.    Wise  or  learn'd, 
Modest  or  gentle,  Heaven  alone  can  make  thee, 
Being  so  much  otherwise ;  but  from  this  abundance 
Thou  shalt  have  that  shall  gild  thine  ignorance, 
Exalt  thy  base  descent,  make  thy  presumption 
Seem  modest  confidence,  and  find  thee  hundreds 
Ready  to  swear  that  same  fool's-cap  of  thine 
Is  reverend  as  a  mitre. 
Gul.  Thanks,  mighty  baron,  now  no  more  a  bare 
one! — 
I  will  be  quaint  with  him,  for  all  his  quips.      [Aside. 

Osw.  Nor  shall  kind  Katleen  lack 
Her  portion  in  our  happiness. 
Kat.  Thanks,  my  good  lord,  but  Katleen's  fate  is 
fix'd— 
There  is  a  certain  valiant  forester, 
Too  much  afear'd  of  ghosts  to  sleep  anights 
In  his  lone  cottage,  without  one  to  guard  him. 

Leo.  If  I  forget  my  comrade's  faithful  friendship, 
May  I  be  lost  to  fortune,  hope,  and  love ! 
Dur.  Peace,  all !  and  hear  the  blessing  which  this 
scroll 
Speaks  unto  faith,  and  constancy,  and  virtue. 

No  more  this  castle's  troubled  guest, 
Dark  Erick's  spirit  hath  found  rest. 
The  storms  of  angry  Fate  are  past — 
For  Constancy  defies  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  free 
Shall  wed  the  Heir  of  Aglionby ; 
Nor  ever  more  dishonor  soil 
The  rescued  house  of  Devorgoil  !2 


Constancy  abides  their  blast. 
Of  Devorgoil  the  daughter  fair 
Shall  wed  with  Dacre's  injured  heir ; 
The  silver  moon  of  Devorgoil." 


&ucf)in&rane 


THE    AYRSHIRE    TRAGEDY. 


Cur  aliquid  vidi?  cur  noxia  lumina  feci  ? 
Cur  irnprudeuti  cognita  culpa  mihi  est? 

Ovidii  Tristium,  lAber  Secundus. 


PREFACE. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  upon  record  a  tale  of  horror 
•which  gives  us  a  more  perfect  picture  than  is  afforded 
by  the  present  of  the  violence  of  our  ancestors,  or  the 
complicated  crimes  into  which  they  were  hurried  by 
what  their  wise  but  ill-enforced  laws  termed  the 
heathenish  and  accursed  practice  of  Deadly  Feud. 
The  author  has  tried  to  extract  some  dramatic  scenes 
out  of  it ;  but  he  is  conscious  no  exertions  of  his  can 
increase  the  horror  of  that  which  is  in  itself  so  iniqui- 
tous. Yet,  if  we  look  at  modern  events,  we  must  not  too 
hastily  venture  to  conclude  that  our  own  times  have  so 
much  the  superiority  over  former  days  as  we  might  at 
first  be  tempted  to  infer.  One  great  object  has  indeed 
been  obtained.  The  power  of  the  laws  extends  over 
the  country  universally,  and  if  criminals  at  present 
sometimes  escape  punishment,  this  can  only  be  by 
eluding  justice, — not,  as  of  old,  by  defying  it. 

But  the  motives  which  influence  modern  ruffians  to 
commit  actions  at  which  we  pause  with  wonder  and 
horror  arise,  in  a  great  measure,  from  the  thirst  of 
gain.  For  the  hope  of  lucre,  we  have  seen  a  wretch 
seduced  to  his  fate,  under  the  pretext  that  he  was  to 
share  in  amusement  and  conviviality ;  and  for  gold, 
we  have  seen  the  meanest  of  wretches  deprived  of 
life,  and  their  miserable  remains  cheated  of  the 
grave. 

The  loftier,  if  equally  cruel,  feelings  of  pride,  am- 
bition, and  love  of  vengeance,  were  the  idols  of  our 
forefathers,  while  the  caitiffs  of  our  day  bend  to 
Mammon,  the  meanest  of  the  spirits  who  fell.1  The 
criminals,  therefore,  of  former  times  drew  their  hellish 
inspiration  from  a  loftier  source  than  is  known  to 
modern  villains.  The  fever  of  unsated  ambition,  the 
frenzy  of  ungratified  revenge,  the  perfervidum  ingen- 
ium  Scotorum,  stigmatized  by  our  jurists  and  our  legis- 
lators, held  life  but  as  passing  breath  ;  and  such  enor- 
mities as  now  sound  like  the  acts  of  a  madman  were 
then  the  familiar  deeds  of  every  offended  noble. 
With  these  observations  we  proceed  to  our  story. 


■  "  Mammon  led  them  on  : 


Mammon,  the  least  erected  spirit  that  fell 
From  heaven." — Milton. 
(770) 


John  Muir  or  Mure,  of  Auchindrane,  the  contriver 
and  executor  of  the  following  cruelties,  was  a  gentle- 
man of  an  ancient  family  and  good  estate  in  the  west 
of  Scotland ;  bold,  ambitious,  treacherous  to  the  last 
degree,  and  utterly  unconscientious, — a  Richard  the 
Third  in  private  life,  inaccessible  alike  to  pity  and  to 
remorse.  His  view  was  to  raise  the  power  and  extend 
the  grandeur  of  his  own  family.  This  gentleman  had 
married  the  daughter  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Bar- 
ganie,  who  was,  excepting  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  the 
most  important  person  in  all  Carrick,  the  district  of 
Ayrshire  which  he  inhabited,  and  where  the  name  of 
Kennedy  held  so  great  a  sway  as  to  give  rise  to  the 
popular  rhyme, — 

"  Twixt  Wigton  and  the  town  of  Air, 
Portpatrick  and  the  Cruivcs  of  Crec, 

No  man  need  think  for  to  bide  there, 
Unless  he  court  Saint  Kennedie." 

Now,  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  who  had  promised 
himself  high  advancement  by  means  of  his  father-in- 
law  Barganie,  saw,  with  envy  and  resentment,  that  his 
influence  remained  second  and  inferior  to  the  House 
of  Cassilis,  chief  of  all  the  Kennedys.  The  earl  was 
indeed  a  minor,  but  his  authority  was  maintained 
and  his  affairs  well  managed  by  his  uncle,  Sir  Thomas 
Kennedy  of  Cullayne,  the  brother  of  the  deceased  earl, 
and  tutor  and  guardian  to  the  present.  This  worthy 
gentleman  supported  his  nephew's  dignity  and  the 
credit  of  the  house  so  effectually  that  Barganie's  con- 
sequence was  much  thrown  into  the  shade,  and  the 
ambitious  Auchindrane,  his  son-in-law,  saw  no  bet- 
ter remedy  than  to  remove  so  formidable  a  rival  as 
Cullayne  by  violent  means. 

For  this  purpose,  in  the  year  of  God  1597  he  came 
with  a  party  of  followers  to  the  town  of  Maybole 
(where  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne  then  resided ), 
and  lay  in  ambush  in  an  orchard,  through  which  he 
knew  his  destined  victim  was  to  pass,  in  returning 
homewards  from  a  house  where  he  was  engaged  to 
sup.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  came  alone  and  unat- 
tended, when  he  was  suddenly  fired  upon  by  Auchin- 
drane and  his  accomplices,  who,  having  missed  their 
aim,  drew  their  swords,  and  rushed  upon  him  to  slay 
him.  But  the  party  thus  assailed  at  disadvantage 
had  the  good  fortune  to  hide  himself  for  that  time  in 


AUCHINDEANE;    OE,    THE   AYKSHIRE   TEAGEDY. 


771 


a  ruinous  house,  where  he  lay  concealed  till  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  place  came  to  his  assistance. 

Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  prosecuted  Mure  for  this  as- 
sault, who,  finding  himself  in  danger  from  the  law, 
made  a  sort  of  apology  and  agreement  with  the  Lord 
of  Cullayne,  to  whose  daughter  he  united  his  eldest 
son,  in  testimony  of  the  closest  friendship  in  future. 
This  agreement  was  sincere  on  the  part  of  Kennedy, 
who,  after  it  had  been  entered  into,  showed  himself 
Auchindrane's  friend  and  assistant  on  all  occasions. 
But  it  was  most  false  and  treacherous  on  that  of  Mure, 
who  continued  to  nourish  the  purpose  of,  murdering 
his  new  friend  and  ally  on  the  first  opportunity. 

Auchindrane's  first  attempt  to  effect  this  was  by 
means  of  the  young  Gilbert  Kennedy  of  Barganie  (for 
old  Barganie,  Auchindrane's  father-in-law,  was  dead), 
whom  he  persuaded  to  brave  the  Earl  of  Cassilis,  as  one 
who  usurped  an  undue  influence  over  the  rest  of  the 
name.  Accordingly,  this  hot-headed  youth,  at  the  insti- 
gation of  Auchindrane,  rode  past  the  gate  of  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis,  without  waiting  on  his  chief,  or  sending  him 
any  message  of  civility.  This  led  to  mutual  defiance, 
being  regarded  by  the  earl,  according  to  the  ideas  of 
the  time,  as  a  personal  insult.  Both  parties  took  the 
field  with  their  followers,  at  the  head  of  about  250 
men  on  each  side.  The  action  which  ensued  was 
shorter  and  less  bloody  than  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Young  Barganie,  with  the  rashness  of  head- 
long courage,  and  Auchindrane,  fired  by  deadly  en- 
mity to  the  House  of  Cassilis,  made  a  precipitate 
attack  on  the  earl,  whose  men  were  strongly  posted 
and  under  cover.  They  were  received  by  a  heavy 
fire.  Barganie  was  slain.  Mure  of  Auchindrane, 
severely  wounded  in  the  thigh,  became  unable  to  sit 
his  horse,  and,  the  leaders  thus  slain  or  disabled,  their 
party  drew  off  without  continuing  the  action.  It 
must  be  particularly  observed  that  Sir  Thomas  Ken- 
nedy remained  neuter  in  this  quarrel,  considering 
his  connection  with  Auchindrane  as  too  intimate  to 
be  broken  even  by  his  desire  to  assist  his  nephew. 

For  this  temperate  and  honorable  conduct  he  met 
a  vile  reward  ;  for  Auchindrane,  in  resentment  of  the 
loss  of  his  relative  Barganie,  and  the  downfall  of  his 
ambitious  hopes,  continued  his  practices  against  the 
life  of  Sir  Thomas  of  Cullayne,  though  totally  inno- 


1  "  No  papers  which  have  hitherto  been  discovered  appear 
to  afford  so  striking  a  picture  of  the  savage  state  of  barbarism 
into  which  that  country  must  have  sunk  as  the  following 
bond  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis  to  his  brother  and  heir-apparent, 
Hew,  Master  of  Cassilis.  The  uncle  of  these  young  men,  Sir 
Thomas  Kennedy  of  Culzean,  tutor  of  Cassilis,  as  the  reader 
will  recollect,  was  murdered  May  11,  1602,  by  Auchindrane's 
accomplices. 

"  The  Master  of  Cassilis,  for  many  years  previous  to  that 
event,  was  in  open  hostility  to  his  brother.  During  all  that 
period,  however,  the  master  maintained  habits  of  the  closest 
intimacy  with  Auchindrane  and  his  dissolute  associates,  and 
actually  joined  him  in  various  hostile  enterprises  against  his 
brother  the  earl.  The  occurrence  of  the  Laird  of  Culzean's 
murder  was  embraced  by  their  mutual  friends  as  a  fitting 
opportunity  to  effect  a  permanent  reconciliation  between  the 


cent  of  contributing  to  either.  Chance  favored  his 
wicked  purpose. 

The  Knight  of  Cullayne,  finding  himself  obliged  to 
go  to  Edinburgh  on  a  particular  day,  sent  a  message 
by  a  servant  to  Mure,  in  which  he  told  him,  in  the 
most  unsuspecting  confidence,  the  purpose  of  his 
journey,  and  named  the  road  which  he  proposed  to 
take,  inviting  Mure  to  meet  him  at  Duppill,  to  the 
west  of  the  town  of  Ayr,  a  place  appointed,  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  him  any  commissions  which  he 
might  have  for  Edinburgh,  and  assuring  his  treacher- 
ous ally  he  would  attend  to  any  business  which  he 
might  have  in  the  Scottish  metropolis  as  anxiously  as 
to  his  own.  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy's  message  was  car- 
ried to  the  town  of  Maybole,  where  his  messenger,  for 
some  trivial  reason,  had  the  import  committed  to- 
writing  by  a  schoolmaster  in  that  town,  and  des- 
patched it  to  its  destination  by  means  of  a  poor 
student,  named  Dalrymple,  instead  of  carrying  it  to 
the  house  of  Auchindrane  in  person. 

This  suggested  to  Mure  a  diabolical  plot.  Having 
thus  received  tidings  of  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy's  mo- 
tions, he  conceived  the  infernal  purpose  of  having  the 
confiding  friend  who  sent  the  information  waylaid 
and  murdered  at  the  place  appointed  to  meet  with 
him,  not  only  in  friendship,  but  for  the  purpose  of 
rendering  him  service.  He  dismissed  the  messenger 
Dalrymple,  cautioning  the  lad  to  carry  back  the  letter 
to  Maybole,  and  to  say  that  he  had  not  found  him, 
Auchindrane,  in  his  house.  Having  taken  this  pre- 
caution, he  proceeded  to  instigate  the  brother  of  the 
slain  Gilbert  of  Barganie,  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Drum- 
urghie  by  name,  and  Walter  Mure  of  Cloncaird,  a 
kinsman  of  his  own,  to  take  this  opportunity  of  re- 
venging Barganie's  death.  The  fiery  young  men 
were  easily  induced  to  undertake  the  crime.  They 
waylaid  the  unsuspecting  Sir  Thomas  of  Cullayne  at 
the  place  appointed  to  meet  the  traitor  Auchindrane, 
and  the  murderers  having  in  company  five  or  six  ser- 
vants, well  mounted  and  armed,  assaulted  and  cruelly 
murdered  him  with  many  wounds.  They  then  plun- 
dered the  dead  corpse  of  his  purse,  containing  a  thou- 
sand merks  in  gold,  cut  off  the  gold  buttons  which  he 
wore  on  his  coat,  and  despoiled  the  body  of  some 
valuable  rings  and  jewels.1 


brothers ;  '  hot '  (as  the  Historic  of  the  Kennedies,  p.  59,  quaintly 
informs  us)  '  the  cuntry  thocht  that  he  wald  not  be  eirnest 
in  that  cause,  for  the  auld  luiff  betuix  him  and  Auchin- 
drayne.'  The  unprincipled  earl  (whose  soubriquet,  and  that 
of  some  of  his  ancestors,  was  King  of  Carrick,  to  denote  the 
boundless  sway  which  he  exercised  over  his  own  vassals  and 
the  inhabitants  of  that  district),  relying  on  his  brother's 
necessities,  held  out  the  infamous  bribe  contained  in  the  fol- 
lowing bond,  to  induce  his  brother,  the  Master  of  Cassilis,  to 
murder  his  former  friend,  the  old  Laird  of  Auchindrane. 
Though  there  be  honor  among  thieves,  it  would  seem  that 
there  is  none  among  assassins ;  for  the  younger  brother  in- 
sisted upon  having  the  price  of  blood  assured  to  him  by  a 
written  document,  drawn  up  in  the  form  of  a  regular  bond  ! 

"  Judging  by  the  earl's  former  and  subsequent  history,  he 
probably  thought  that,  in  either  event,  his  purposes  would  be 


772 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


The  revenge  due  for  his  uncle's  murder  was  keenly 
pursued  by  the  Earl  of  Cassilis.  As  the  murderers 
fled  from  trial,  they  were  declared  outlaws;  which 
doom,  being  pronounced  by  three  blasts  of  a  horn, 
was  called  "being  put  u>  the  horn,  and  declared  the 
king's  rebel."  Mure  of  Auchindrane  was  strongly 
suspected  of  having  been  the  instigator  of  the  crime. 
But  lie  conceived  there  could  be  no  evidence  to  prove 
lil—  -uiit  it'  lie  could  keep  the  boy  Dalrymple  out  of 
the  way,  who  delivered  the  letter  which  made  him 
acquainted  with  Cullayne's  journey,  and  the  place  at 
which  he  meant  to  halt.  On  the  contrary,  he  saw 
that  if  the  lad  could  be  produced  at  the  trial,  it  would 
afford  ground  of  fatal  presumption,  since  it  could  be 
then  proved  that  persons  so  nearly  connected  with 
him  as  Kennedy  and  Cloncaird  had  left  his  house, 
and  committed  the  murder  at  the  very  spot  which 
Cullayne  had  fixed  for  their  meeting. 

To  avoid  this  imminent  danger,  Mure  brought  Dal- 
ryinjde  to  his  house,  and  detained  him  there  for  sev- 
eral weeks.  But  the  youth  tiring  of  this  confinement, 
Mure  sent  him  to  reside  with  a  friend,  Montgomery 
of  Skellmorly,  who  maintained  him  under  a  borrowed 
name,  amid  the  desert  regions  of  the  then  almost 
savage  island  of  Arran.  Being  confident  in  the  ab- 
sence of  this  material  witness,  Auchindrane,  instead 
of  flying,  like  his  agents  Drumurghie  and  Cloncaird, 
presented  himself  boldly  at  the  bar,  demanded  a  fair 
trial,  and  offered  his  person  in  combat  to  the  death 
against  any  of  Lord  Cassilis'  friends  who  might  im- 
pugn his  innocence.  This  audacity  was  successful, 
and  he  was  dismissed  without  trial. 

Still,  however,  Mure  did  not  consider  himself  safe 
so  long  as  Dalrymple  was  within  the  realm  of  Scot- 
land ;  and  the  danger  grew  more  pressing  when  he 
learned  that  the  lad  had  become  impatient  of  the  re- 
straint which  he  sustained  in  the  island  of  Arran, 
and  returned  to  some  of  his  friends  in  Ayrshire. 
Mure  no  sooner  heard  of  this  than  he  again  obtained 
possession  of  the  boy's  person,  and  a  second  time  con- 
cealed him  at  Auchindrane,  until  he  found  an  oppor- 
tunity to  transport  him  to  the  Low  Countries,  where 
he  contrived  to  have  him  enlisted  in  Buccleuch's 
regiment;  trusting,  doubtless,  that  some  one  of  the 
numerous  chances  of  war  might  destroy  the  poor 
young  man  whose  life  was  so  dangerous  to  him. 

But  after  five  or  six  years'  uncertain  safety,  bought 
at  the  expense  of  so  much  violence  and  cunning, 

attained  by  '  killing  two  birds  with  one  stone.'  On  the  other 
hand,  however,  it  is  but  doing  justice  to  the  master's  acute- 
ness,  and  the  experience  acquired  under  his  quondam  pre- 
ceptor, Auchindrane,  that  we  should  likewise  conjecture  that, 
on  his  part,  he  would  hold  firm  possession  of  the  bond,  to  be 
used  as  a  checkmate  against  his  brother,  should  he  think  fit 
afterwards  to  turn  his  heel  upon  him,  or  attempt  to  betray 
him  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

"The  following  is  a  correct  copy  of  the  bond  granted  by 
the  earl :— '  We,  Johne,  Earle  of  Cassillis,  Lord  Kennedy,  etc., 
bindis  and  oblissis  ws,  that  howsovne  our  broder,  Hew  Ken- 
nedy of  Brounstoun,  with  his  complices,  taikis  the  Laird  of 
Auchindraneis  lyf,  that  we  sail  inak  guid  and  thankfull  pay- 


Auchiudrane's  fears  were  exasperated  into  frenzy 
when  he  found  this  dangerous  witness,  having  escaped 
from  all  the  perils  of  climate  and  battle,  had  left,  or 
been  discharged  from,  the  Legion  of  Borderers,  and 
had  again  accomplished  his  return  to  Ayrshire.  There 
is  ground  to  suspect  that  Dalrymple  knew  the  nature 
of  the  hold  which  he  possessed  over  Auchindrane, 
and  was  desirous  of  extorting  from  his  fears  some 
better  provision  than  he  had  found  either  in  Arran 
or  the  Netherlands.  But  if  so,  it  was  a  fatal  experi- 
ment to  tamper  with  the  fears  of  such  a  man  as 
Auchindrane,  who  determined  to  rid  himself  effect- 
ually of  this  unhappy  young  man. 

Mure  now  lodged  him  in  a  house  of  his  own,  called 
Chapeldonan,  tenanted  by  a  vassal  and  connection  of 
his  called  James  Bannatyue.  This  man  he  commis- 
sioned to  meet  him  at  ten  o'clock  at  night  on  the  sea- 
sands  near  Girvan,  and  bring  with  him  the  unfor- 
tunate Dalrymple,  the  object  of  his  fear  and  dread. 
The  victim  seems  to  have  come  with  Bannatyne  with- 
out the  least  suspicion,  though  such  might  have  been 
raised  by  the  time  and  place  appointed  for  the  meet- 
ing. When  Bannatyue  and  Dalrymple  came  to  the 
appointed  spot,  Auchindrane  met  them,  accompanied 
by  his  eldest  son,  James.  Old  Auchindrane,  having 
taken  Bannatyne  aside,  imparted  his  bloody  purpose 
of  ridding  himself  of  Dalrymple  forever,  by  murder- 
ing him  on  the  spot.  His  own  life  and  honor  were, 
he  said,  endangered  by  the  manner  in  which  this  in- 
convenient witness  repeatedly  thrust  himself  back 
into  Ayrshire,  and  nothing  could  secure  his  safety 
but  taking  the  lad's  life,  in  which  action  he  requested 
James  Bannatyne's  assistance.  Bannatyne  felt  some 
compunction,  and  remonstrated  against  the  cruel  ex- 
pedient, saying,  it  would  be  better  to  transport  Dal- 
rymple to  Ireland,  and  take  precautions  against  his 
return.  While  old  Auchindrane  seemed  disposed  to 
listen  to  this  proposal,  his  son  concluded  that  the 
time  was  come  for  accomplishing  the  purpose  of  their 
meeting,  and,  without  waiting  the  termination  of  his 
father's  conference  with  Bannatyne,  he  rushed  sud- 
denly on  Dalrymple,  beat  him  to  the  ground,  and, 
kneeling  down  on  him,  with  his  father's  assistance 
accomplished  the  crime  by  strangling  the  unhappy 
object  of  their  fear  and  jealousy.  Bannatyne,  the 
witness,  and  partly  the  accomplice,  of  the  murder, 
assisted  them  in  their  attempt  to  make  a  hole  in  the 
sand,  with  a  spade  which  they  had  brought  on  pur- 

ment  to  him  and  thame,  of  the  sowme  of  tuelff  hundreth 
merkis,  yeirlie,  togidder  with  corne  to  sex  horsis,  ay  and 
quhill*  we  ressawf  thame  in  houshald  with  our  self:  Begin- 
ning the  first  payment  immediatlie  efter  thair  committing 
of  the  said  deid.  Attour,J  howsovne  we  ressaw  thame  in 
houshald,  we  sail  pay  to  the  twa  serwing  gentillmen  the  feis, 
yeirlie,  as  our  awin  houshald  serwandis.  And  heirto  we 
obliss  ws,  vpoun  our  honour.  Subscryvit  with  our  hand,  at 
Maybole,  the  ferd  day  of  September,  1602. 

'Johne  Erle  off  Cassillis.'" 
Pitcairn's  Criminal  Trials  of  Scotland,  vol.  iii.  p.  622. 

»  Aye  and  until.  t  Receive.  X  Moreover. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


773 


M 


m 

pose,  in  order  to  conceal  the  dead  body.  But  as  the 
tide  was  coming  in,  the  holes  which  they  made  filled 
with  water  before  they  could  get  the  body  buried,  and 
the  ground  seemed,  to  their  terrified  consciences,  to 
refuse  to  be  accessory  to  concealing  their  crime. 
Despairing  of  hiding  the  corpse  in  the  manner  they 
proposed,  the  murderers  carried  it  out  into  the  sea  as 
deep  as  they  dared  wade,  and  there  abandoned  it  to 
the  billows,  trusting  that  a  wind,  which  was  blowing 
off  the  shore,  would  drive  these  remains  of  their  crime 
out  to  sea,  where  they  would  never  more  be  heard  of. 
But  the  sea,  as  well  as  the  land,  seemed  unwilling  to 
conceal  their  cruelty.  After  floating  foe-^ome  hours 
or  days,  the  dead  body  was,  by  the  wind  and  tide, 
again  driven  on  shore,  near  the  very  spot  where  the 
murder  had  been  committed. 

This  attracted  general  attention,  and  when  the 
corpse  was  known  to  be  that  of  the  same  William 
Dalrymple  whom  Auchindrane  had  so  often  spirited 
out  of  the  country,  or  concealed  when  he  was  in  it,  a 
strong  and  general  suspicion  arose  that  this  young 
person  had  met  with  foul  play  from  the  bold,  bad  man 
who  had  shown  himself  so  much  interested  in  his  ah 
sence.  It  was  always  said  or  supposed  that  the  d 
body  had  bled  at  the  approach  of  a  grandchiltfcjg£i 
Mure  of  Auchindrane,  a  girl  who,  from  curiosity,  h£ 
come  to  look  at  a  sight  which  others  crowded  to  see. 
The  bleeding  of  a  murdered  corpse  at  the  touch  of 
the  murderer  was  a  thing  at  that  time  so  much  be- 
lieved that  it  was  admitted  as  a  proof  of  guilt;  but  I 
know  no  case,  save  that  of  Auchindrane,  in  which 
the  phenomenon  was  supposed  to  be  extended  to  the 
approach  of  the  innocent  kindred;  nor  do  I  think 
that  the  fact  itself,  though  mentioned  by  ancient  law- 
yers, was  ever  admitted  to  proof  in  the  proceedings 
against  Auchindrane. 

It  is  certain,  however,  that  Auchindrane  found 
himself  so  much  the  object  of  suspicion  from  this  new 
crime  that  he  resolved  to  fly  from  justice,  and  suffer 
himself  to  be  declared  a  rebel  and  outlaw  rather  than 
face  a  trial.  But  his  conduct  in  preparing  to  cover 
his  flight  with  another  motive  than  the  real  one  is  a 
curious  picture  of  the  men  and  manners  of  the  times. 
He  knew  well  that  if  he  were  to  shun  his  trial  for  the 
murder  of  Dalrymple,  the  whole  country  would  con- 
sider him  as  a  man  guilty  of  a  mean  and  disgraceful 
crime  in  putting  to  death  an  obscure  lad,  against 
whom  he  had  no  personal  quarrel.  He  knew,  be- 
sides, that  his  powerful  friends,  who  would  have 
interceded  for  him  had  his  offence  been  merely  burn- 
ing a  house  or  killing  a  neighbor,  would  not  plead 
for  or  stand  by  him  in  so  pitiful  a  concern  as  the 
slaughter  of  this  wretched  wanderer. 

Accordingly,  Mure  sought  to  provide  himself  with 
some  ostensible  cause  for  avoiding  law,  with  which 
the  feelings  of  his  kindred  and  friends  might  sympa- 
thize ;  and  none  occurred  to  him  so  natural  as  an  as- 
sault upon  some  friend  and  adherent  of  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis.  Should  he  kill  such  a  one,  it  would  be  in- 
deed an  unlawful  action,  but  so  far  from  being  infa- 


mous, would  be  accounted  the  natural  consequence 
of  the  avowed  quarrel  between  the  families.  With 
this  purpose,  Mure,  with  the  assistance  of  a  relative, 
of  whom  he  seems  always  to  have  had  some  ready  to 
execute  his  worst  purposes,  beset  Hugh  Kennedy  of 
Garriehorne,  a  follower  of  the  earl's,  against  whom 
they  had  especial  ill-will,  fired  their  pistols  at  him, 
and  used  other  means  to  put  him  to  death.  But  Gar- 
riehorne, a  stout-hearted  man,  and  well  armed,  de- 
fended himself  in  a  very  diflerent  manner  from  the 
unfortunate  Knight  of  Cullayne,  and  beat  off  the  as- 
sailants, wounding  young  Auchindrane  in  the  right 
hand,  so  that  he  wellnigh  lost  the  use  of  it. 

But  though  Auchindrane's  purpose  did  not  entirely 
succeed,  he  availed  himself  of  it  to  circulate  a  report 
that  if  he  could  obtain  a  pardon  for  firing  upon  his 
feudal  enemy  with  pistols,  weapons  declared  unlawful 
by  act  of  Parliament,  he  would  willingly  stand  his 
trial  for  the  death  of  Dalrymple,  respecting  which  he 
protested  his  total  innocence.  The  king,  however, 
was  decidedly  of  opinion  that  the  Mures,  both  father 
and  son,  were  alike  guilty  of  both  crimes,  and  used 
intercession  with  the  Earl  of  Abercorn,  as  a  person  of 
power  in  those  western  counties,  as  well  as  in  Ireland, 
to  arrest  and  transmit  them  prisoners  to  Edinburgh. 
In  consequence  of  the  earl's  exertions,  old  Auchin- 
drane was  made  prisoner,  and  lodged  in  the  tolbooth 
%of  Edinburgh. 

Young  Auchindrane  no  sooner  heard  that  his  father 
was  in  custody  than  he  became  as  apprehensive  of 
Bannatyne,  the  accomplice  in  Dalrymple's  murder, 
telling  tales,  as  ever  his  father  had  been  of  Dalrymple. 
He,  therefore,  hastened  to  him,  and  prevailed  on  him 
to  pass  over  for  a  while  to  the  neighboring  coast  of 
Ireland,  finding  him  money  and  means  to  accomplish 
the  voyage,  and  engaging  in  the  meantime  to  take 
care  of  his  affairs  in  Scotland.  Secure,  as  they  thought, 
in  this  precaution,  old  Auchindrane  persisted  in  his 
innocence,  and  his  son  found  security  to  stand  his 
trial.  Both  ajrpeared  with  the  same  confidence  at  the 
day  appointed,  and  braved  the  public  justice,  hoping 
to  be  put  to  a  formal  trial,  in  which  Auchindrane 
reckoned  upon  an  acquittal  for  want  of  the  evidence 
which  he  had  removed.  The  trial  was,  however,  post- 
poned, and  Mure  the  elder  was  dismissed,  under  high 
security  to  return  when  called  for. 

But  King  James,  being  convinced  of  the  guilt  of 
the  accused,  ordered  young  Auchindrane,  instead  of 
being  sent  to  trial,  to  be  examined  under  the  force  of 
torture,  in  order  to  compel  him  to  tell  whatever  he 
knew  of  the  things  charged  against  him.  He  was  ac- 
cordingly severely  tortured ;  but  the  result  only  served 
to  show  that  such  examinations  are  as  useless  as  they 
are  cruel.  A  man  of  weak  resolution,  or  of  a  nervous 
habit,  would  probably  have  assented  to  any  confession, 
however  false,  rather  than  have  endured  the  extremity 
of  fear  and  pain  to  which  Mure  was  subjected.  But 
young  Auchindrane,  a  strong  and  determined  ruffian, 
endured  the  torture  with  the  utmost  firmness,  and  by 
the  constant  audacity  with  which,  in  spite  of  the  in- 


774 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


tolerable  pain,  he  continued  to  assert  his  innocence, 
he  spread  so  favorable  an  opinion  of  his  case  that 
the  detaining  him  in  prison,  instead  of  bringing  him 
to  open  trial,  was  censured  as  severe  and  oppressive. 
James,  however,  remained  firmly  persuaded  of  his 
guilt,  and  by  an  exertion  of  authority  quite  inconsist- 
ent with  our  present  laws,  commanded  young  Aueh- 
iudrane  to  be  still  detained  in  close  custody  till  further 
light  could  be  thrown  on  these  dark  proceedings.  He 
was  detained  accordingly  by  the  king's  express  per- 
sonal command,  and  against  the  opinion  even  of  his 
privy  councillors.  This  exertion  of  authority  was 
much  murmured  against. 

In  the  meanwhile,  old  Auchindrane,  being,  as  we 
have  seen,  at  liberty  on  pledges,  skulked  about  in  the 
west,  feeling  how  little  security  he  had  gained  by 
Dalrymple's  murder,  and  that  he  had  placed  himself 
by  that  crime  in  the  power  of  Bannatyne,  whose  evi- 
dence concerning  the  death  of  Dalrymple  could  not 
be  less  fatal  than  what  Dalrymple  might  have  told 
concerning  Auchindrane's  accession  to  the  conspiracy 
against  Sir  Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne.  But  though 
the  event  had  shown  the  error  of  his  wicked  policy, 
Auchindrane  could  think  of  no  better  mode  in  this 
case  than  that  which  had  failed  in  relation  to  Dalrym- 
ple. When  any  man's  life  became  inconsistent  with 
his  own  safety,  no  idea  seems  to  have  occurred  to  this 
inveterate  ruffian,  save  to  murder  the  person  by  whom 
he  might  himself  be  in  any  way  endangered.  He 
therefore  attempted  the  life  of  James  Bannatyne  by 
more  agents  than  one.  Nay,  he  had  nearly  ripened  a 
plan  by  which  one  Pennycuke  was  to  be  employed  to 
slay  Bannatyne,  while,  after  the  deed  was  done,  it  was 
devised  that  Mure  of  Auchnull,  a  connection  of  Ban- 
natyne, should  be  instigated  to  slay  Pennycuke ;  and 
thus  close  up  this  train  of  murders  by  one  which, 
flowing  in  the  ordinary  course  of  deadly  feud,  should 
have  nothing  in  it  so  particular  as  to  attract  much 
attention. 

But  the  justice  of  Heaven  would  bear  this  compli- 
cated train  of  iniquity  no  longer.  Bannatyne,  know- 
ing with  what  sort  of  men  he  had  to  deal,  kept  on  his 
guard,  and,  by  his  caution,  disconcerted  more  than 
one  attempt  to  take  his  life,  while  another  miscarried 
by  the  remorse  of  Pennycuke,  the  agent  whom  Mure 
employed.  At  length  Bannatyne,  tiring  of  this  state 
of  insecurity,  and  in  despair  of  escaping  such  repeated 
plots,  and  also  feeling  remorse  for  the  crime  to  which 
he  had  been  accessory,  resolved  rather  to  submit  him- 
self to  the  severity  of  the  law  than  remain  the  object 


1  "Efter  pronunceing  and  declairing  of  the  quhilk  deter- 
mination and  delyueraneo  of  the  saidis  persones  of  Assyse, 
'The  Justice,  in  respect  thairof,  be  the  mouth  of  Alexander 
Kennydie,  dempster  of  Court,  decernit  and  adiudget  the 
saidis  Johne  Mure  of  Auchindrane  elder,  James  Mure  of 
Auchindr^ie  younger,  his  eldest  sono  and  appeirand  air, 
and  James  Bannatyne,  called  of  Chapel-Donano,  and  ilk  ano 
of  thame,  to  be  tane  to  the  mercat  croce  of  the  burcht  of 
Edinburgh,  and  thair,  upon  ane  scaffold,  their  heidis  to  be 
Strukin  from  thair  bodeyis :  And  all  thair  landis,  heritages,    | 


of  the  principal  criminal's  practices.  He  surrendered 
himself  to  the  Earl  of  Abercoru,  and  was  transported 
to  Edinburgh,  where  he  confessed  before  the  king  and 
council  all  the  particulars  of  the  murder  of  Dalrymple, 
and  the  attempt  to  hide  his  body  by  committing  it  to 
the  sea. 

When  Bannatyne  was  confronted  with  the  two 
Mures  before  the  Privy  Council,  they  denied  with 
vehemence  every  part  of  the  evidence  he  had  given, 
and  affirmed  that  the  witness  had  been  bribed  to  de- 
stroy them  by  a  false  tale.  Bannatyne's  behavior 
seemed  sincere  and  simple,  that  of  Auchindrane  more 
resolute  and  crafty.  The  wretched  accomplice  fell 
upon  his  knees,  invoking  God  to  witness  that  all  the 
land  in  Scotland  could  not  have  bribed  him  to  bring  a 
false  accusation  against  a  master  whom  he  had  served, 
loved,  and  followed  in  so  many  dangers,  and  call- 
ing upon  Auchindrane  to  honor  God  by  confessing 
the  crime  he  had  committed.  Mure  the  elder,  on  the 
other  hand,  boldly  replied  that  he  hoped  God  would 
not  so  far  forsake  him  as  to  permit  him  to  confess  a 
crime  of  which  he  was  innocent,  and  exhorted  Ban- 
natyne in  his  turn  to  confess  the  practices  by  which 
he  had  been  induced  to  devise  such  falsehoods  against 
him. 

The  two  Mures,  father  and  son,  were  therefore  put 
upon  their  solemn  trial,  along  with  Bannatyne,  in 
1611,  and,  after  a  great  deal  of  evidence  had  been 
brought  in  support  of  Bannatyne's  confession,  all  three 
were  found  guilty.1  The  elder  Auchindrane  was  con- 
victed of  counselling  and  directing  the  murder  of  Sir 
Thomas  Kennedy  of  Cullayne,  and  also  of  the  actual 
murder  of  the  lad  Dalrymple.  Bannatyne  and  the 
younger  Mure  were  found  guilty  of  the  latter  crime, 
and  all  three  were  sentenced  to  be  beheaded.  Ban- 
natyne, however,  the  accomplice,  received  the  king's 
pardon,  in  consequence  of  his  voluntary  surrender 
and  confession.  The  two  Mures  were  both  executed. 
The  younger  was  affected  by  the  remonstrances  of  the 
clergy  who  attended  him,  and  he  confessed  the  guilt 
of  which  he  was  accused.  The  father,  also,  was  at 
length  brought  to  avow  the  fact,  but  in  other  respects 
died  as  impenitent  as  he  had  lived; — and  so  ended 
this  dark  and  extraordinary  tragedy. 

The  lord  advocate  of  the  day,  Sir  Thomas  Hamil- 
ton, afterwards  successively  Earl  of  Melrose  and  of 
Haddington,  seems  to  have  busied  himself  much  in 
drawing  up  a  statement  of  this  foul  transaction,  for 
the  purpose  of  vindicating  to  the  people  of  Scotland 
the  severe  course  of  justice  observed  by  King  James 


talus,  steidingis,  rowmes,  possessiones,  teyndis,  coirnes,  cattell, 
insicht  plenissing,  guidis,  geir,  tytillis,  proffeitis,  commoditeis, 
and  richtis  quhatsumeuir,  directlie  or  indirectlio  pertening 
to  thame,  or  ony  of  thame,  at  the  committing  of  the  saidis 
tressonabill  Murthouris,  or  sensyne;  or  to  the  quilkis  thay, 
or  ony  of  thame,  had  rieht,  claim,  or  actioun,  to  be  forfalt, 
escheit,  and  inbrocht  to  our  souerane  lordis  vse;  as  culpable 
and  convict  of  the  saidis  tressonabill  crymes.' 
"  Quhilk  was  pronuncct  for  Dome." 

Pitcairn's  Criminal  Trials,  vol.  iii.  p.  156. 


AUCHINDRANE;  OR,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


775 


VI.  He  assumes  the  task  in  a  high  tone  of  preroga- 
tive law,  and,  on  the  whole,  seems  at  a  loss  whether 
to  attribute  to  Providence,  or  to  his  most  sacred  Ma- 
jesty, the  greatest  share  in  bringing  to  light  these 
mysterious  villainies,  but  rather  inclines  to  the  latter 
opinion.  There  is,  I  believe,  no  printed  copy  of  the 
intended  tract,  which  seems  never  to  have  been  pub- 
lished ;  but  the  curious  will  be  enabled  to  judge  of  it, 
as  it  appears  in  the  next  fasciculus  of  Mr.  Robert  Pit- 
cairn's  very  interesting  publications  from  the  Scottish 
Criminal  Record.1  ^ 

The  family  of  Auchindrane  did  not  Become  extinct 
on  the  death  of  the  two  homicides.  The  last  descend- 
ant existed  in  the  eighteenth  century,  a  poor  and  dis- 
tressed man.  The  following  anecdote  shows  that  he 
had  a  strong  feeling  of  his  situation  : — 

There  was  in  front  of  the  old  castle  a  huge  ash-tree, 
called  the  Dule-tree  (mourning-tree)  of  Auchindrane, 
probably  because  it  was  the  place  where  the  baron 
executed  the  criminals  who  fell  under  his  jurisdic- 
tion. It  is  described  as  having  been  the  finest  tree 
of  the  neighborhood.  This  last  representative  of  the 
family  of  Auchindrane  had  the  misfortune  to  be 
arrested  for  payment  of  a  small  debt;  and,  unable 
to  discharge  it,  was  prepared  to  accompany  the  mes- 
senger (bailiff)  to  the  jail  of  Ayr.  The  servant  of  the 
law  had  compassion  for  his  prisoner,  and  offered  to 
accept  of  this  remarkable  tree  as  of  value  adequate  to 
the  discharge  of  the  debt.  "  What !"  said  the  debtor, 
"sell  the  Dule-tree  of  Auchindrane!  I  will  sooner 
die  in  the  worst  dungeon  of  your  prison."  In  this 
luckless  character  the  line  of  Auchindrane  ended. 
The  family,  blackened  with  the  crimes  of  its  predeces- 
sors, became  extinct,  and  the  estate  passed  into  other 
hands. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

John  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  an  Ayrshire  Baron. 
He  has  been  a  follower  of  the  Regent,  Earl  of  Mor- 
ton, during  the  Civil  Wars,  and  hides  an  oppress- 


1  See  an  article  in  the  Quarterly  Review,  February.  1831, 
on  Mr.  Pitcairn's  valuable  collection,  where  Sir  Walter  Scott 
particularly  dwells  on  the  original  documents  connected  with 
the  story  of  Auchindrane ;  and  where  Mr.  Pitcairn's  import- 
ant services  to  the  history  of  his  profession  and  of  Scotland 
are  justly  characterised.     1833. 

"Sir  Walter's  reviewal  of  the  early  parts  of  Mr.  Pitcairn's 
Ancient  Criminal  Trials  had,  of  course,  much  gratified  the 
editor,  who  sent  him,  on  his  arrival  in  Edinburgh,  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  number  then  in  hand,  and  directed  his  attention 
particularly  to  its  details  on  the  extraordinary  case  of  Mure 
of  Auchindrane,  A.  D.  1611.    Scott  was  so  much  interested 


we,  ferocious,  and  unscrupulous  disposition  under 
some  pretences  to  strictness  of  life  and  doctrine, 
which,  however,  never  influence  his  conduct.  He  is 
in  danger  from  the  law,  owing  to  his  having  been 
formerly  active  in  the  assassination  of  the  Earl  of 
Cassilis. 

Philip  Mure,  his  Son,  a  wild,  debauched  Profligate, 
professing  and  practicing  a  contempt  for  his  Father's 
hypocrisy,  while  he  is  as  fierce  and  licentious  as 
Auchindrane  himself. 

Gifford,  their  Relation,  a  Courtier. 

Quentin  Blane,  a  Youth,  educated  for  a  Clergy- 
man, but  sent  by  AUCHINDRANE  to  serve  in  a  Band 
of  Auxiliaries  in  the  Wars  of  the  Netherlands,  and 
lately  employed  as  Clerk  or  Comptroller  to  the 
Regiment — disbanded,  however,  and  on  his  return 
to  his  native  Country.  He  is  of  a  mild,  gentle, 
and  rather  feeble  character,  liable  to  be  influenced 
by  any  person  of  stronger  mind  who  will  take  the 
trouble  to  direct  him.  He  is  somewhat  of  a  nervous 
temperament,  varying  from  sadness  to  gayety,  ac- 
cording to  the  impulse  of  the  moment;  an  amiable 
hypochondriac. 

HlLDEBRAND,  a  stout  old  Englishman,  who,  by  feats 
of  courage,  has  raised  himself  to  the  rank  of  Ser- 
geant-Major  (then  of  greater  consequence  than  at 
present).  He,  too,  has  been  disbanded,  but  cannot 
bring  himself  to  believe  that  he  has  lost  his  command 
o-ver  his  Regiment. 

'Privates  dismissed  from  the  same  Re- 
giment in  which  Quentin  and  HlL- 
DEBRAND had  served.  These  are  mu- 
tinous, and  are  much  disposed  to  re- 
member former  quarrels  with  their 
late  Officers. 

NlEL  MacLellan,  Keeper  of  Auchindrane  Forest 
and  Game. 

Earl  of  Dunbar,  commanding  an  army  as  Lieu- 
tenant of  James  I.,  for  Execution  of  Justice  on 
Offenders. 

Guards,  Attendants,  &c.  dec. 

Marion,  Wife  of  Niel  MacLellan. 
Isabel,  their  Daughter,  a  Girl  of  six  years  old. 
Other  Children  and  Peasant  Women. 


with  these  documents  that  he  resolved  to  found  a  dramatic 
sketch  on  their  terrible  story ;  and  the  result  was  a  compo- 
sition far  superior  to  any  of  his  previous  attempts  of  that 
nature.  Indeed,  there  are  several  passages  in  his  '  Ayrshire 
Tragedy'— especially  that  where  the  murdered  corpse  floats 
upright  in  the  wake  of  the  assassin's  bark  (an  incident  sug- 
gested by  a  lamentable  chapter  in  Lord  Nelson's  history) — 
which  may  bear  comparison  with  anything  but  Shakspeare. 
Yet  T  doubt  whether  the  prose  narrative  of  the  preface  be 
not,  on  the  whole,  more  dramatic  than  the  versified  scenes. 
It  contains,  by  the  way,  some  very  striking  allusums  to  the 
recent  atrocities  of  Gill's  Hill  and  the  West  Poft."— Lock- 


Abbaham, 
Williams, 
Jenkin, 

And  Others,  \ 


hakt,  vol.  ix.  p.  334. 


776 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


fturijinUrane: 


THE  AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I. 

A  rocky  Bay  on  the  Coast  of  Carrick,  in  Ayrshire,  not 
far  from  the  Point  of  Turnberry.  The  Sea  comes  in 
upon  a  bold  rocky  Shore.  The  remains  of  a  small 
half-ruined  Tower  are  seen  on  the  right  hand,  over- 
hanging the  Sea,  There  is  a  Vessel  at  a  distance  in 
the  offing.  A  Boat  at  the  bottom  of  the  Stage  lands 
eight  or  ten  Persons,  dressed  like  disbanded  and  in 
one  or  two  cases  like  disabled  Soldiers.  They  come 
straggling  forward  with  their  knapsacks  and  bundles. 
HlLDEBRAND,  the  Sergeant,  belonging  to  the  Party,  a 
stout  elderly  man,  stands  by  the  boat,  as  if  superintend- 
ing the  disembarkation.     Quentin  remains  apart. 

Abraham.  Farewell  the  flats  of  Holland,  and  right 
welcome 
The  cliffs  of  Scotland !     Fare  thee  well,  black  beer 
And  Schiedam  gin  !  and  welcome  twopenny, 
Oatcakes,  and  usquebaugh  ! 

Williams  {who  wants  an  arm).  Farewell  the  gal- 
lant field,  and  "Forward,  pikemen!" 
For  the  bridge-end,  the  suburb,  and  the  lane ; 
And,  "  Bless  your  honor,  noble  gentleman, 
Remember  a  poor  soldier !" 

Abr.  My  tongue  shall  never  need  to  smooth  itself 
To  such  poor  sounds,  while  it  can  boldly  say, 
"  Stand  and  deliver  I" 

Wil.  Hush,  the  sergeant  hears  you ! 

Abr.  And  let  him  hear ;  he  makes  a  bustle  yonder, 
And  dreams  of  his  authority,  forgetting 
We  are  disbanded  men,  o'er  whom  his  halberd 
Has  not  such  influence  as  the  beadle's  baton. 
We  are  no  soldiers  now,  but  every  one 
The  lord  of  his  own  person. 

Wil.  A  wretched  lordship — and  our  freedom  such 
As  that  of  the  old  cart-horse,  when  the  owner 
Turns  him  upon  the  common.     I  for  one 
Will  still  continue  to  respect  the  sergeant, 
And  the  comptroller,  too, — while  the  cash  lasts. 

Abr.  I  scorn  them  both.     I  am  too  stout  a  Scotsman 
To  bear  a  Southron's  rule  an  instant  longer 
Than  discipline  obliges;  and  for  Quentin, 
Quentin  the  quillman,  Quentin  the  comptroller, 
We  have  no  regiment  now ;  or,  if  we  had, 
Quentin's  no  longer  clerk  to  it. 

Wil.  For  shame!  for  shame!  What,  shall  old  com- 
rades jar  thus, 
And  on  the  verge  of  parting,  and  for  ever? — 
Nay,  keep  thy  temper,  Abraham,  though  a  bad  one. — 
Good  Master  Quentin,  let  thy  song  last  night 
Give  us  once  more  our  welcome  to  old  Scotland. 


ABB.   Ay,  they  sing  light  whose  task  is  telling 
money, 
When  dollars  clink  for  chorus. 
Que.  I've  done  with  counting  silver,1  honest  Abra- 
ham, 
As  thou,  I  fear,  with  pouching  thy  small  share  on't. 
Rut  lend  your  voices,  lads,  and  I  will  sing 
As  blithely  yet  as  if  a  town  were  won, — 
As  if  upon  a  field  of  battle  gain'd 
Our  banners  waved  victorious. 

^         [He  sings,  and  the  rest  bear  chorus. 

SONG. 

Hither  we  come, 

Once  slaves  to  the  drum, 
But  no  longer  we  list  to  its  rattle ; 

Adieu  to  the  wars, 

With  their  slashes  and  scars, 
The  march,  and  the  storm,  and  the  battle. 

There  are  some  of  us  maim'd, 

And  some  that  are  lamed, 
And  some  of  old  aches  are  complaining ; 

But  we'll  take  up  the  tools 

Which  we  flung  by  like  fools, 
'Gainst  Don  Spaniard  to  go  a-campaigning. 

Dick  Hathorn  doth  vow 

To  return  to  the  plough, 
Jack  Steele  to  his  anvil  and  hammer ; 

The  weaver  shall  find  room 

At  the  wight-wapping  loom, 
And  your  clerk  shall  teach  writing  and  grammar. 

Abr.  And  this  is  all  that  thou  canst  do,  gay  Quen- 
tin? 
To  swagger  o'er  a  herd  of  parish  brats, 
Cut  cheese  or  dibble  onions  with  thy  poniard, 
And  turn  the  sheath  into  a  ferula  ? 

Que.  I  am  the  prodigal  in  holy  writ ; 
I  cannot  work, — to  beg  I  am  ashamed. 
Besides,  good  mates,  I  care  not  who  may  know  it, 
I'm  e'en  as  fairly  tired  of  this  same  fighting 
As  the  poor  cur  that's  worried  in  the  shambles 
By  all  the  mastiff  dogs  of  all  the  butchers ; 
Wherefore,  farewell  sword,  poniard,  petronel, 
And  welcome  poverty  and  peaceful  labor. 

Aim.  Clerk  Quentin,  if  of  fighting  thou  art  tired, 
By  my  good  word,  thou'rt  quickly  satisfied, 
For  thou'st  seen  but  little  on't. 

Wil.  Thou  dost  belie  him — I  have  seen  him  fight 
Bravely  enough  for  one  in  his  condition. 

Abr.  What,  he  ?  that  counter-casting,  smock-faeed 
boy? 
What  was  he  but  the  colonel's  scribbling  drudge, 
With  men  of  straw  to  stuff  the  regiment  roll ; 
Writh  cipherings  unjust  to  cheat  his  comrades, 


1  MS. :  "  I've  done  with  counting  dollars,"  &c. 


AUCHINDBANE;   OK,   THE   AYESHIEE  TRAGEDY. 


777 


And  cloak  false  musters  for  our  noble  captain  ? 
He  bid  farewell  to  sword  and  petronel ! 
He  should  have  said,  farewell  my  pen  and  standish. 
These,  with  the  rosin  used  to  hide  erasures, 
Were  the  best  friends  he  left  in  camp  behind  him. 

Que.  The  sword  you  scoff  at  is  not  far,  but  scorns 
The  threats  of  an  unmanner'd  mutineer. 

See.  (interposes).  We'll  have  no  brawling— shall  it 
e'er  be  said 
That  being  comrades  six  long  years  together, 
While  gulping  down  the  frowsy  fogs  oL  Holland, 
We  tilted  at  each  other's  throats  so  soon 
As  the  first  draught  of  native  air  refresh'd  them? 
No !  by  Saint  Dunstan,  I  forbid  the  combat. 
You  all,  methinks,  do  know  this  trusty  halberd ; 
For  I  opine  that  every  back  amongst  you 
Hath  felt  the  weight  of  the  tough  ashen  staff, 
Endlong  or  overthwart.    Who  is  it  wishes 
A  remembrancer  now  ?  [Raises  his  halberd. 

Abr.  Comrades,  have  you  ears 

To  hear  the  old  man  bully  ?  eyes  to  see 
His  staff  rear'd  o'er  your  heads,  as  o'er  the  hounds 
The  huntsman  cracks  his  whip  ? 

Wil.    Well  said — stout  Abraham  has  the    right 
on't. — 
I  tell  thee,  sergeant,  we  do  reverence  thee, 
And  pardon  the  rash  humors  thou  hast  caught, 
Like  wiser  men,  from  thy  authority. 
'Tis  ended,  howsoe'er,  and  we'll,  not  suffer 
A  word  of  sergeantry,  or  halberd-staff, 
Nor  the  most  petty  threat  of  discipline. 
If  thou  wilt  lay  aside  thy  pride  of  office, 
And  drop  thy  wont  of  swaggering  and  commanding, 
Thou  art  our  comrade  still  for  good  or  evil. 
Else  take  thy  course  apart,  or  with  the  clerk  there — 
A  sergeant  thou,  and  he  being  all  thy  regiment. 

See.  Is't  come  to  this,  false  knaves?    And  think 
you  not 
That  if  you  bear  a  name  o'er  other  soldiers, 
It  was  because  you  follow'd  to  the  charge 
One  that  had  zeal  and  skill  enough  to  lead  you 
Where  fame  was  won  by  danger? 

Wil.  We  grant  thy  skill  in  leading,  noble  sergeant; 
Witness  some  empty  boots  and  sleeves  amongst  us, 
Which  else  had  still  been  tenanted  with  limbs 
In  the  full  quantity ;  and  for  the  arguments 
With  which  you  used  to  back  our  resolution, 
Our  shoulders  do  record  them.     At  a  word, 
Will  you  conform,  or  must  we  part  our  company? 

Ser.    Conform  to  you?     Base  dogs!   I  would  not 
lead  you 
A  bolt-flight  farther  to  be  made  a  general. 
Mean  mutineers !  when  you  swill'd  off  the  dregs 
Of  my  poor  sea-stores,  it  was  "  Noble  sergeant — 
Heaven  bless  old  Hildebrand — we'll  follow  him, 
At  least,  until  we  safely  see  him  lodged 
Within  the  merry  bounds  of  his  own  England !" 

Wil.  Ay,  truly,  sir ;  but,  mark,  the  ale  was  mighty, 
And  the  Geneva  potent.     Such  stout  liquor 
Makes  violent  protestations.    Skink  it  round, 


If  you  have  any  left,  to  the  same  tune, 
And  we  may  find  a  chorus  for  it  still. 

Abe.  We  lose  our  time. — Tell  us  at  once,  old  man, 
If  thou  wilt  march  with  us  or  stay  with  Quentin  ? 

See.  Out,  mutineers !  Dishonor  dog  your  heels ! 

Abe.  Willful  will  have  his  way.    Adieu,  stout  Hil- 
debrand ! 

[The  soldiers  go  off  laughing,  and  taking  leave, 
with  mockery,  of  the  Sergeant  and  Quen- 
tin, who  remain  on  the  stage. 

Ser.  (after  a  pause).  Fly  you  not  with  the  rest? — 
fail  you  to  follow 
Yon  goodly  fellowship  and  fair  example  ? 
Come,  take  your  wild-goose  flight.    I  know  you  Scots, 
Like  your  own  sea-fowl,  seek  your  course  together. 

Que.  Faith,  a  poor  heron  I,  who  wing  my  flight 
In  loneliness,  or  with  a  single  partner ; 
And  right  it  is  that  I  should  seek  for  solitude, 
Bringing  but  evil  luck  on  them  I  herd  with. 

SER.   Thou'rt  thankless.     Had  we  lauded  on  the 
coast, 
Where  our  course  bore  us,  thou  wert  far  from  home ; 
But  the  fierce  wind  that  drove  us  round  the  island, 
Barring  each  port  and  inlet  that  we  aim'd  at, 
Hath  wafted  thee  to  harbor ;  for  I  judge 
This  is  thy  native  lantfwe  disembark  on. 

Que.  True,  worthy  friend.    Each  rock,  each  stream 
I  look  on, 
Each  bosky  wood,  and  every  frowning  tower, 
Awakens  some  young  dream  of  infancy. 
Yet  such  is  my  hard  hap,  I  might  more  safely 
Have  look'd  on  Indian  cliffs,  or  Afric's  desert, 
Than  on  my  native  shores.    I'm  like  a  babe, 
Doom'd  to  draw  poison  from  my  nurse's  bosom. 

Ser.  Thou  dream'st,  young  man.     Unreal  terrors 
haunt, 
As  I  have  noted,  giddy  brains  like  thine — 
Flighty,  poetic,  and  imaginative — 
To  whom  a  minstrel  whim  gives  idle  rapture, 
And,  when  it  fades,  fantastic  misery. 

Que.  But  mine  is  not  fantastic.     I  can  tell  thee, 
Since  I  have  known  thee  still  my  faithful  friend, 
In  part  at  least  the  dangerous  plight  I  stand  in. 

See.  And  I  will  hear  thee  willingly,  the  rather 
That  I  would  let  these  vagabonds  march  on, 
Nor  join  their  troop  again.     Besides,  good  sooth, 
I'm  wearied  with  the  toil  of  yesterday, 
And  revel  of  last  night.— And  I  may  aid  thee ; 
Yes,  I  may  aid  thee,  comrade,  and  perchance 
Thou  may'st  advantage  me. 

Que.  May  it  prove  well  for  both !— But  note,  my 
friend, 
I  can  but  intimate  my  mystic  story. 
Some  of*  it  lies  so  secret,  even  the  winds 
That  whistle  round  us  must  not  know  the  whole — 
An  oath ! — an  oath  ! 

See.  That  must  be  kept,  of  course ; 

I  ask  but  that  which  thou  may'st  freely  tell. 

Que.  I  was  an  orphan  boy,  and  first  saw  light 
Not  far  from  where  we  stand — my  lineage  low, 


778 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


But  honest  in  its  poverty.    A  lord, 
The  master  of  the  soil  for  many  a  mile, 
Dreaded  and  powerful,  took  a  kindly  charge 
For  my  advance  in  letters,  and  the  qualities 
( >f  the  poor  orphan  lad  drew  some  applause. 
The  knight  was  proud  of  me,  and,  in  his  halls, 
I  had  such  kind  of  welcome  as  the  great 
Give  to  the  humble,  whom  they  love  to  point  to 
A>  objects  not  unworthy  their  protection, 
Whose  progress  is  some  honor  to  their  patron — 
A  cure  was  spoken  of,  which  I  might  serve, 
My  manners,  doctrine,  and  acquirements  fitting. 

Ser.  Hitherto  thy  luck 
Was  of  the  best,  good  friend.     Few  lords  had  cared 
If  thou  couldst  read  thy  grammar  or  thy  psalter. 
Thou  hadst  been  valued  couldst  thou  scour  a  harness, 
And  dress  a  steed  distinctly. 

Que.  My  old  master 

Held  different  doctrine,  at  least  it  seem'd  so ; 
But  he  was  mix'd  in  many  a  deadly  feud — 
And  here  my  tale  grows  mystic.     I  became, 
Unwitting  and  unwilling,  the  depositary 
Of  a  dread  secret,  and  the  knowledge  on't 
Has  wreck'd  my  peace  for  ever.     It  became 
My  patron's  will  that  I,  as  one  who  knew 
More  than  I  should,  must  leave  the  realm  of  Scotland, 
And  live  or  die  within  a  distant  land.1 

Ser.  Ah !  thou  hast  done  a  fault  in  some  wild  raid, 
As  you  wild  Scotsmen  call  them. 

Que.  Comrade,  nay ; 

Mine  was  a  peaceful  part,  and  happ'd  by  chance. 
I  must  not  tell  you  more.    Enough,  my  presence 
Brought  danger  to  my  benefactor's  house. 
Tower  after  tower  conceal'd  me,  willing  still 
To  hide  my  ill-omen'd  face  with  owls  and  ravens,2 
And  let  my  patron's  safety  be  the  purchase 
Of  my  severe  and  desolate  captivity. 
So  thought  I,  when  dark  Arran,  with  its  walls 
Of  native  rock,  enclosed  me.    There  I  lurk'd, 
A  peaceful  stranger  amid  armed  clans, 
Without  a  friend  to  love  or  to  defend  me, 
Where  all  beside  were  link'd  by  close  alliances. 
At  length  I  made  my  option  to  take  service 
In  that  same  legion  of  auxiliaries 
In  which  we  lately  served  the  Belgian. 
Our  leader,  stout  Montgomery,  hath  been  kind 
Through  full  six  years  of  warfare,  and  assign'd  me 
More  peaceful  tasks  than  the  rough  front  of  war, 
For  which  my  education  little  suited  me. 

Ser.  Ay,  therein  was  Montgomery  kind  indeed ; 
Nay,  kinder  than  you  think,  my  simple  Quentin. 
The  letters  which  you  brought  to  the  Montgomery 


1  MS. :      "  Quentin.  My  short  tale 

Grows  mystic  now.    Among  the  deadly  feuds 

Which  curse  our  country,  something  once  it  chanced 

That  I  unwilling  and  unwitting  witness'd ; 

And  it  became  my  benefactor's  will 

That  I  should  breathe  the  air  of  other  climes." 

2  The  MS.  here  adds : 


Pointed  to  thrust  thee  on  some  desperate  service, 
Which  should  most  likely  end  thee. 

QUE.  Bore  I  such  letters  ? — Surely,  comrade,  no. 
Full  deeper  was  the  writer  bound  to  aid  me. 
Perchance  he  only  meant  to  prove  my  mettle ; 
And  it  was  but  a  trick  of  my  bad  fortune 
That  gave  his  letters  ill  interpretation. 

Ser.  Ay,  but  thy  better  angel  wrought  for  good, 
Whatever  ill  thy  evil  fate  design'd  thee. 
Montgomery  pitied  thee,  and  changed  thy  service 
In  the  rough  field  for  labor  in  the  tent, 
More  fit  for  thy  green  years  and  peaceful  habits. 
Que.  Even  there  his  well-meant  kindness  injured 
me. 
My  comrades  hated,  undervalued  me, 
And  whatsoe'er  of  service  I  could  do  them, 
They  guerdon'd  with  ingratitude  and  envy — 
Such  my  strange  doom,  that  if  I  serve  a  man 
At  deepest  risk,  he  is  my  foe  for  ever ! 

Ser.  Hast  thou  worse  fate  than  others  if  it  were  so  ? 
Worse  even  than  me,  thy  friend,  thy  officer, 
Whom  yon  ungrateful  slaves  have  pitch 'd  ashore, 
As  wild  waves  heap  the  seaweed  on  the  beach, 
And  left  him  here,  as  if  he  had  the  pest 
Or  leprosy,  and  death  were  in  his  company  ? 
Que.  They  think  at  least  you  have  the  worst  of 
plagues, 
The  worst  of  leprosies, — they  think  you  poor. 

Ser.  They  think  like  lying  villains  then,  I'm  ri,ch, 
And  they  too  might  have  felt  it.     I've  a  thought — 
But  stay — what  plans  your  wisdom  for  yourself? 
Que.  My  thoughts  are  wellnigh  desperate.     But 
I  purpose 
Return  to  my  stern  patron — there  to  tell  him 
That  wars,  and  winds,  and  waves,  have  cross'd  his 

pleasure, 
And  cast  me  on  the  shore  from  whence  he  banish'd 

me. 
Then  let  him  do  his  will,  and  destine  for  me 
A  dungeon  or  a  grave. 

Ser.  Now,  by  the  rood,  thou  art  a  simple  fool ! 
I  can  do  better  for  thee.     Mark  me,  Quentin : 
I  took  my  license  from  the  noble  regiment, 
Partly  that  I  was  worn  with  age  and  warfare, 
Partly  that  an  estate  of  yeomanry, 
Of  no  great  purchase,  but  enough  to  live  on, 
Has  call'd  me  owner  since  a  kinsman's  death. 
It  lies  in  merry  Yorkshire,  where  the  wealth 
Of  fold  and  furrow,  proper  to  Old  England, 
Stretches  by  streams  which  walk  no  sluggish  pace, 
But  dance  as  light  as  yours.    Now,  good  friend  Quen- 
tin, 


i  clefts 
"And  then  wild  Arran,  with  its  darksome ■!       .. 

Of  naked  rock,  received  me ;  till  at  last 
I  yielded  to  take  service  in  the  legion 
Which  lately  has  discharged  us.    Stout  Montgomery, 
Our  colonel,  hath  been  kind  through  five  years'  war- 
fare." 


AUCHINDRANE:   OR,   THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


779 


This  copyhold  can  keep  two  quiet  inmates, 
And  I  am  childless :  wilt  thou  be  my  son  ? 

Que.  Nay,  you  can  only  jest,  my  worthy  friend! 
What  claim  have  I  to  be  a  burden  to  you  ? 

Ser.  The  claim  of  him  that  wants,  and  is  in  danger, 
On  him  that  has,  and  can  afford  protection  ; 
Thou  wouldst  not  fear  a  foeman  in  my  cottage, 
Where  a  stout  mastiff  slumber'd  on  the  hearth, 
And  this  good  halberd  hung  above  the  chimney. 
But  come,  I  have  it — thou  shalt  earn  thy  bread 
Duly,  and  honorably,  and  usefully. 
Our  village  schoolmaster  hath  left  the  parish, 
Forsook  the  ancient  schoolhouse  with  its  yew-trees, 
That  lurk'd  beside  a  church  two  centuries  older, — 
So  long  devotion  took  the  lead  of  knowledge ; 
And  since  his  little  flock  are  shepherdless, 
'Tis  thou  shalt  be  promoted  iii  his  room ; 
And  rather  than  thou  wantest  scholars,  man, 
Myself  will  enter  pupil.    Better  late, 
Our  proverb  says,  than  never  to  do  well. 
And  look  you,  on  the  holydays  I'd  tell 
To  all  the  wondering  boors  and  gaping  children 
Strange  tales  of  what  the  regiment  did  in  Flanders ; 
And  thou  shouldst  say  amen,  and  be  my  warrant 
That  I  speak  truth  to  them. 

Que.  Would  I  might  take  thy  offer !    But,  alas ! 
Thou  art  the  hermit  who  compell'd  a  pilgrim, 
In  name  of  Heaven  and  heavenly  charity, 
To  share  his  roof  and  meal,  but  found  too  late 
That  he  had  drawn  a  curse  on  him  and  his, 
By  sheltering  a  wretch  foredoom'd  of  Heaven ! 
Ser.  Thou  talk'st  in  riddles  to  me. 
Que.  If  I  do, 

'Tis  that  I  am  a  riddle  to  myself. 

Thou  know'st  I  am  by  nature  born  a  friend 

To  glee  and  merriment ;  can  make  wild  verses ; 

The  jest  or  laugh  has  never  stopp'd  with  me, 

When  once  'twas  set  a-rolling. 
Ser.  I  have  known  thee 

A  blithe  companion  still,  and  wonder  now 

Thou  shouldst  become  thus  crest-fallen. 
Que.  Does  the  lark  sing  her  descant  when  the 
falcon 

Scales  the  blue  vault  with  bolder  wing  than  hers, 

And  meditates  a  stoop  ?    The  mirth  thou'st  noted 

Was  all  deception,  fraud — Hated  enough 

For  other  causes,  I  did  veil  my  feelings 

Beneath  the    mask    of   mirth, — laugh'd,  sang,  and 
caroll'd, 

To  gain  some  interest  in  my  comrades'  bosoms, 

Although  mine  own  was  bursting. 
Ser.  Thou'rt  a  hypocrite 

Of  a  new  order. 
Que.  But  harmless  as  the  innoxious  snake, 

Which  bears  the  adder's  form,  lurks  in  his  haunts, 

Yet  neither  hath  his  fang-teeth  nor  his  poison. 

Look  you,  kind  Hildebrand,  I  would  seem  merry, 

Lest  other  men  should,  tiring  of  my  sadness, 

Expel  me  from  them,  as  the  hunted  wether 

Is  driven  from  the  flock. 


Ser.  Faith,  thou  hast  borne  it  bravely  out. 
Had  I  been  ask'd  to  name  the  merriest  fellow 
Of  all  our  muster-roll,  that  man  wert  thou. 

Que.  Seest  thou,  my  friend,  yon  brook  dance  down 
the  valley, 
And  sing  blithe  carols  over  broken  rock 
And  tiny  waterfall,  kissing  each  shrub 
And  each  gay  flower  it  nurses  in  its  passage  ? 
Where,  think'st  thou,  is  its  source,  the  bonny  brook? 
It  flows  from  forth  a  cavern,  black  and  gloomy, 
Sullen  and  sunless,  like  this  heart  of  mine, 
Which  others  see  in  a  false  glare  of  gayety, 
Which  I  have  laid  before  you  in  its  sadness. 

Ser.  If  such  wild  fancies  dog  thee,  wherefore  leave 
The  trade  where  thou  wert  safe  'midst  others'  dan- 
gers, 
And  venture  to  thy  native  land,  where  fate 
Lies  on  the  watch  for  thee  ?    Had  old  Montgomery 
Been  with  the  regiment,  thou  hadst  had  no  conge. 

Que.  No,  'tis  most  likely — But  I  had  a  hope, 
A  poor  vain  hope,  that  I  might  live  obscurely, 
In  some  far  corner  of  my  native  Scotland, 
Which,  of  all  others,  splinter'd  into  districts, 
Differing  in  manners,  families,  even  language, 
Seem'd  a  safe  refuge  for  the  humble  wretch 
Whose  highest  hope  was  to  remain  unheard  of. 
But  fate  has  baffled  me ;  the  winds  and  waves, 
With  force  resistless,  haveampell'd  me  hither — 
Have  driven  me  to  the  clime  most  dang'rous  to  me ; 
And  I  obey  the  call,  like  the  hurt  deer, 
Which  seeks  instinctively  his  native  lair, 
Though  his  heart  tells  him  it  is  but  to  die  there. 

Ser.   'Tis    false,   by  heaven,   young  man!     This 
same  despair, 
Though  showing  resignation  in  its  banner, 
Is  but  a  kind  of  covert  cowardice. 
Wise  men  have  said  that  though  our  stars  incline, 
They  cannot  force  us — Wisdom  is  the  pilot, 
And  if  he  cannot  cross,  he  may  evade  them. 
You  lend  an  ear  to  idle  auguries, 
The  fruits  of  our  last  revels — still  most  sad 
Under  the  gloom  that  follows  boisterous  mirth, 
As  earth  looks  blackest  after  brilliant  sunshine. 

Que.  No,  by  my  honest  word !    I  join'd  the  revel, 
And  aided  it  with  laugh,  and  song,  and  shout, 
But  my  heart  revell'd  not;  and  when  the  mirth 
Was  at  the  loudest,  on  yon  galliot's  prow 
I  stood  unmark'd,  and  gazed  upon  the  land, 
My  native  land :  each  cape  and  cliff  I  knew. 
"  Behold  me  now,"  I  said,  "  your  destined  victim !" 
So  greets  the  sentenced  criminal  the  headsman, 
Who  slow  approaches  with  his  lifted  axe. 
"Hither  I  come,"  I  said,  "ye  kindred  hills, 
Whose  darksome  outline  in  a  distant  land 
Haunted  my  slumbers ;  here  I  stand,  thou  ocean, 
Whose  hoarse  voice,  murmuring  in  my  dreams,  re- 
quired me ; 
See  me  now  here,  ye  winds,  whose  plaintive  wail, 
On  yonder  distant  shores,  appear'd  to  call  me — 
Summon'd,  behold  me."    And  the  winds  and  waves, 


780 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  the  deep  echoes  of  the  distant  mountain, 
Made  answer — "  Come,  and  die  I" 

Ser.  Fantastic  all !     Poor  boy,  thou  art  distracted 
With  the  vain  terrors  of  some  feudal  tyrant, 
Whose  frown  hath  been  from  infancy  thy  bugbear. 
Why  seek  his  presence  ? 

Que.  Wherefore  does  the  moth 

Fly  to  the  scorching  taper?    Why  the  bird, 
Dazzled  by  lights  at  midnight,  seek  the  net  ? 
Why  does  the  prey,  which  feels  the  fascination 
Of  the  snake's  glaring  eye,  drop  in  his  jaws? 

Ser.  Such  wild  examples  but  refute  themselves. 
Let  bird,  let  moth,  let  the  coil'd  adder's  prey, 
Resist  the  fascination  and  be  safe. 
Thou  goest  not  near  this  Baron ;  if  thou  goest, 
I  will  go  with  thee.     Known  in  many  a  field, 
Which  he  in  a  whole  life  of  petty  feud 
Has  never  dream'd  of,  I  will  teach  the  knight 
To  rule  him  in  this  matter — be  thy  warrant 
That  far  from  him,  and  from  his  petty  lordship, 
You  shall  henceforth  tread  English  land,  and  never 
Thy  presence  shall  alarm  his  conscience  more. 

Que.  'Twere  desperate  risk  for  both.     I  will  far 
rather 
Hastily  guide  thee  through  this  dangerous  province, 
And  seek  thy  school,  thy  yew-trees,  and  thy  church- 
yard ;— 
The  last,  perchance,  will  l*e  the  first  I  find. 

Ser.  I  would  rather  face  him, 
Like  a  bold  Englishman  that  knows  his  right, 
And  will  stand  by  his  friend.    And  yet  'tis  folly — 
Fancies  like  these  are  not  to  be  resisted ; 
'Tis  better  to  escape  them.    Many  a  presage, 
Too  rashly  braved,  becomes  its  own  accomplishment. 
Then  let  us  go — but  whither?    My  old  head 
As  little  knows  where  it  shall  lie  to-night 
As  yonder  mutineers  that  left  their  officer, 
As  reckless  of  his  quarters  as  these  billows, 
That  leave  the  wither'd  seaweed  on  the  beach, 
And  care  not  where  they  pile  it. 

Que.  Think  not  for  that,  good  friend.    We  are  in 
Scotland, 
And  if  it  is  not  varied  from  its  wont, 
Each  cot  that  sends  a  curl  of  smoke  to  heaven 
Will  yield  a  stranger  quarters  for  the  night, 
Simply  because  he  needs  them. 

Ser.  But  are  there  none  within  an  easy  walk 
Give  lodgings  here  for  hire?  for  I  have  left 
Some  of  the  Don's  piastres  (though  I  kept 
The  secret  from  yon  gulls),  and  I  had  rather 
Pay  the  fair  reckoning  I  can  well  afford, 
And  my  host  takes  with  pleasure,  than  Pd  cumber 
Some  poor  man's  roof  with  me  and  all  my  wants, 
And  tax  his  charity  beyond  discretion. 

Que.  Some  six  miles  hence  there  is  a  town  and 
hostelry — 
But  you  are  wayworn,  and  it  is  most  likely 
Our  comrades  must  have  fill'd  it. 

Ser.  Out  upon  them ! 

Were  there  a  friendly  mastiff  who  would  lend  me 


Half  of  his  supper,  half  of  his  poor  kennel, 
I  would  help  Honesty  to  pick  his  bones, 
And  share  his  straw,  far  rather  than  Pd  sup 
On  jolly  fare  with  these  base  varlets ! 

Que.  We'll  manage  better,— for  our  Scottish  dogs, 
Though  stout  and  trusty,  are  but  ill  instructed? 
In  hospitable  rights.     Here  is  a  maiden, 
A  little  maid,  will  tell  us  of  the  country ; 
And  sorely  it  is  changed  since  I  have  left  it, 
If  we  should  fail  to  find  a  harborage. 

Enter  Isabel  MacLellan,  a  girl  of  about  six  years 

old,  bearing  a  milk-pail  on  her  head;  she  stops  on 

seeing  the  Sergeant  and  Quentin. 

Que.  There's  something  in  her  look  that  doth  re- 
mind me — 
But  'tis  not  wonder  I  find  recollections 
In  all  that  here  I  look  on. — Pretty  maid 

Ser.  You're  slow,  and  hesitate ;  I  will  be  spokes- 
man.— 
Good  even,  my  pretty  maiden.     Canst  thou  tell  us, 
Is  there  a  Christian  house  would  render  strangers, 
For  love  or  guerdon,  a  night's  meal  and  lodging? 

ISA.  Full  surely,  sir.     We  dwell  in  yon  old  house 
Upon  the  cliff—  they  call  it  Chapeldonan : 

[Points  to  the  buildXng. 
Our  house  is  large  enough,  and  if  our  supper 
Chance  to  be  scant,  you  shall  have  half  of  mine, 
For,  as  I  think,  sir,  you  have  been  a  soldier. 
Up  yonder  lies  our  house ;  I'll  trip  before, 
And  tell  my  mother  she  has  guests  a-coming. 
The  path  is  something  steep,  but  you  shall  see 
I'll  be  there  first.     I  must  chain  up  the  dogs,  too : 
Nimrod  and  Bloodylass  are  cross  to  strangers, 
But  gentle  when  you  know  them. 

[Exit,  and  is  seen  partially  ascending 
to  the  castle. 

Ser.  You  have  spoke 

Your  country  folk  aright,  both  for  the  dogs 
And  for  the  people.     We  had  luck  to  light 
On  one  too  young  for  cunning  and  for  selfishness. — 
He's  in  a  reverie — a  deep  one,  sure, 
Since  the  gibe  on  his  country  wakes  him  not. — 
Bestir  thee,  Quentin ! 

Que.  'Twas  a  wondrous  likeness. 

Ser.  Likeness!  of  whom?    I'll  warrant  thee,  of  one 
Whom  thou  hast  loved  and  lost.    Such  fantasies 
Live  long  in  brains  like  thine,  which  fashion  visions 
Of  woe  and  death  when  they  are  cross'd  in  love, 
As  most  men  are  or  have  been. 

Que.  Thy  guess  hath  touch'd  me,  though  it  is  but 
slightly, 
'Mongst  other  woes.     I  knew,  in  former  days, 
A  maid  that  view'd  me  with  some  glance  of  favor 
But  my  fate  carried  me  to  other  shores, 
And  she  has  since  been  wedded.     I  did  think  on't 
But  as  a  bubble  burst,  a  rainbow  vanish'd ; 


1  MS. :  "  Gallant  and  grim,  may  be  but  ill  instructed." 


-UCHINDRANE;   OR,  THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


781 


It  adds  no  deeper  shade  to  the  dark  gloom 
Which  chills  the  springs  of  hope  and  life  within  me. 
Our  guide  hath  got  a  trick  of  voice  and  feature 
Like  to  the  maid  I  spoke  of — that  is  all. 

See.  She  bounds  before  us  like  the  gamesome  doe, 
Or  rather  as  the  rock-bred  eaglet  soars 
Up  to  her  nest,  as  if  she  rose  by  will 
Without  an  eifort.     Now  a  Netherlander, 
One  of  our  Frogland  friends,  viewing  the  scene, 
Would  take  his  oath  that  tower,  and  rock,  and  maiden, 
Were  forms  too  light  and  lofty  to  be  real, 
And  only  some  delusion  of  the  fancy, 
Such  as  men  dream  at  sunset.     I  myself 
Have  kept  the  level  ground  so  many  years, 
I  have  wellnigh  forgot  the  art  to  climb, 
Unless  assisted  by  thy  younger  arm. 

[  They  go  off  as  if  to  ascend  to  the  tower,  the 
Sergeant  leaning  upon  Quentin. 


SCENE   II. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Front  of  the  old  Tower.  ISABEL 
comes  forward  with  her  Mother, — Marion  speaking 
as  they  advance. 

Mar.  I  blame  thee  not,  my  child,  for  bidding  wan- 
derers 
Come  share  our  food  and  shelter,  if  thy  father 
Were  here  to  welcome  them ;  but,  Isabel, 
He  waits  upon  his  lord  at  Auchindrane, 
And  comes  not  home  to-night. 

ISA.  What  then,  my  mother  ? 

The  travellers  do  not  ask  to  see  my  father ; 
Food,  shelter,  rest,  is  all  the  poor  men  want, 
And  we  can  give  them  these  without  my  father. 

Mar.  Thou  canst  not  understand,  nor  I  explain, 
Why  a  lone  female  asks  not  visitants 
What  time  her  husband's  absent. — (Apart.)    My  poor 

child, 
And  if  thou'rt  wedded  to  a  jealous  husband, 
Thou'lt  know  too  soon  the  cause. 

ISA.  (partly  overhearing  what  her  mother  says).  Ay, 
but  I  know  already — Jealousy 
Is,  when  my  father  chides,  and  you  sit  weeping. 

Mar.  Out,  little  spy !  thy  father  never  chides ; 
Or,  if  he  does,  'tis  when  his  wife  deserves  it. — 
But  to  our  strangers ;  they  are  old  men,  Isabel, 
That  seek  this  shelter ;  are  they  not  ? 

ISA.  One  is  old — 

Old  as  this  tower  of  ours,  and  worn  like  that, 
Bearing  deep  marks  of  battles  long  since  fought. 

Mar.  Some  remnant  of  the  wars;  he's  welcome, 
surely, 
Bringing  no  quality  along  with  him 
Which  can  alarm  suspicion. — Well,  the  other? 

ISA.  A  young  man,  gentle-voiced  and  gentle-eyed, 
Who  looks  and  speaks  like  one  the  world  has  frown'd 

on; 
But  smiles  when  you  smile,  seeming  that  he  feels 


Joy  in  your  joy,  though  he  himself  is  sad. 
Brown  hair,  and  downcast  looks. 
Mar.  (alarmed).  'Tis  but  an  idle  thought — it  can- 
not be !  [Listens. 
I  hear  his  accents — It  is  all  too  true — 
My  terrors  were  prophetic ! 

I'll  compose  myself, 
And  then  accost  him  firmly.     Thus  it  must  be. 

[She  retires  hastily  into  the  tower. 
[The  voices  of  the  Sergeant  and  Quentin 
are  heard  ascending  behind  the  scene. 
Que.  One  effort  more — we  stand  upon  the  level. 
I've  seen  thee  work  thee  up  glacis  and  cavalier 
Steeper  than  this  ascent,  when  cannon,  culverin, 
Musket,  and  hackbut,  shower'd  their  shot  upon  thee, 
And  form'd,  with  ceaseless  blaze,  a  fiery  garland 
Round  the  defences  of  the  post  you  storm'd. 

[They  come  on  the  stage,  and  at  the  same  time 
MARION  re-enters  from  the  tower. 
Ser.  Truly  thou  speak'st.     I  am  the  tardier, 
That  I,  in  climbing  hither,  miss  the  fire, 
Which  wont  to  tell  me  there  was  death  in  loitering. — 
Here  stands,  methinks,  our  hostess. 

[He  goes  forward  to  address  Marion.  Quen- 
tin, struck  on  seeing  her,  keeps  back. 
Ser.  Kind  dame,  yon  little  lass  hath  brought  you 
strangers, 
Willing  to  be  a  trouble,  no*  a  charge  to  you. 
We  are  disbanded  soldiers,  but  have  means 
Ample  enough  to  pay  our  journey  homeward. 

Mar.  We  keep  no  house  of  general  entertainment, 
But  know  our  duty,  sir,  to  locks  like  yours, 
Whiten'd  and  thinn'd  by  many  a  long  campaign. 
Ill  chances  that  my  husband  should  be  absent — 
(Apart.) — Courage    alone    can    make    me    struggle 

through  it — 
For  in  your  comrade,  though  he  hath  forgot  me, 
I  spy  a  friend  whom  I  have  known  in  school-days, 
And  whom  I  think  MacLellan  well  remembers. 

[She  goes  up  to  QuEntin. 
You  see  a  woman's  memory 
Is  faithfuller  than  yours ;  for  Quentin  Blane 
Hath  not  a  greeting  left  for  Marion  Harkness. 
Que.  (with  effort).  I  seek,  indeed,  my  native  land, 
good  Marion, 
But  seek  it  like  a  stranger. — All  is  changed, 
And  thou  thyself— 

Mar.  You  left  a  giddy  maiden, 

And  find,  on  your  return,  a  wife  and  mother. 
Thine  old  acquaintance,  Quentin,  is  my  mate — 
Stout  Niel  MacLellan,  ranger  to  our  lord, 
The  Knight  of  Auchindrane.    He's  absent  now, 
But  will  rejoice  to  see  his  former  comrade, 
If,  as  I  trust,  you  tarry  his  return. 
(Apart.)  Heaven  grant  he  understand  my  words  by 

contraries ! 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  rivals ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  and  he  were  foes ; 
He  must  remember  Niel  is  warm  of  temper, 
And  think,  instead  of  welcome,  I  would  blithely 


■82 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Bid  him,  God  speed  you.    But  he  is  as  simple 
And  void  of  guile  as  ever. 

QUE.  Marion,  I  gladly  rest  within  your  cottage, 
And  gladly  wait  return  of  Niel  MacLellan, 
To  clasp  his  hand,  and  wish  him  happiness. 
Some  rising  feelings  might  perhaps  prevent  this — 
But  'tis  a  peevish  part  to  grudge  our  friends 
Their  share  of  fortune  because  we  have  miss'd  it ; 
I  can  wish  others  joy  and  happiness, 
Though  I  must  ne'er  partake  them. 

Mar.  But  if  it  grieve  you — 

Que.    No!  do  not  fear.     The  brightest  gleams  of 
hope 
That  shine  on  me  are  such  as  are  reflected 
From  those  which  shine  on  others. 

[The  Sergeant  and  Quentin  enter  the  tower 
tvith  the  little  girl. 

Mar.  (comes forward,  and  speaks  in  agitation).  Even 
so !  the  simple  youth  has  miss'd  my  meaning. 
I  shame  to  make  it  plainer,  or  to  say, 
In  one  brief  word,  Pass  on — Heaven  guide  the  bark, 
For  we  are  on  the  breakers !  [Exit  into  the  tower. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

A  withdrawing  Apartment  in  th  e  castle  of  A  uchindrane. 
Servants  place  a  Table,  with  a  Flask  of  Wine  and 
Drinking-  Cups. 

Enter  Mure  of  Auchindrane,  with  Albert  Gif- 
ford,  his  Relation  and  Visitor.  They  place  them- 
selves by  the  Table  after  some  complimentary  cere- 
mony. At  some  distance  is  heard  the  noise  of  revelling. 

Auch.  We're  better  placed  for  confidential  talk 
Than  in  the  hall  fill'd  with  disbanded  soldiers, 
And  fools  and  fiddlers  gather'd  on  the  highway, — 
The  worthy  guests  whom  Philip  crowds  my  hall  with, 
And  with  them  spends  his  evening. 

GIF.  But  think  you  not,  my  friend,  that  your  son 
Philip 
Should  be  participant  of  these  our  counsels, 
Being  so  deeply  mingled  in  the  danger — 
Your  house's  only  heir — your  only  son  ? 

Aucil.  Kind  cousin  Gilford,  if  thou  lack'st  good 
counsel 
At  race,  at  cockpit,  or  at  gambling  table, 
Or  any  freak  by  which  men  cheat  themselves 
As  well  of  life  as  of  the  means  to  live, 
Call  for  assistance  upon  Philip  Mure; 
But  in  all  serious  parley  spare  invoking  him. 

Gif.  You  speak  too  lightly  of  my  cousin  Philip ; 
All  name  him  brave  in  arms. 

Auch.  A  second  Bevis ; 

But  I,  my  youth  bred  up  in  graver  fashions, 
Mourn  o'er  the  mode  of  life  in  which  he  spends, 


Or  rather  dissipates,  his  time  and  substance. 

No  vagabond  escapes  his  search— The  soldier 

Spurn'd  from  the  service,  henceforth  to  be  ruffian 

Upon  his  own  account,  is  Philip's  comrade ; 

The  fiddler,  whose  crack'd  crowd  has  still  three  strings 

on't ; 
The  balladeer,  whose  voice  has  still  two  notes  left ; 
Whate'er  is  roguish  and  whate'er  is  vile 
Are  welcome  to  the  board  of  Auchindrane, 
And  Philip  will  return  them  shout  for  shout, 
And  pledge  for  jovial  pledge,  and  song  for  song, 
Until  the  shamefaced  sun  peep  at  our  windows, 
And  ask,  "  What  have  we  here?" 
Gif.  You  take  such  revel  deeply — we  are  Scots- 
men, 
Far  known  for  rustic  hospitality, 
That  mind  not  birth  or  titles  in  our  guests ; 
The  harper  has  his  seat  beside  our  hearth, 
The  wanderer  must  find  comfort  at  our  board, 
His  name  unask'd,  his  pedigree  unknown ; 
So  did  our  ancestors,  and  so  must  we. 

Auch.  All  this  is  freely  granted,  worthy  kinsman  ; 
And  prithee  do  not  think  me  churl  enough 
To  count  how  many  sit  beneath  my  salt. 
I've  wealth  enough  to  fill  my  father's  hall 
Each  day  at  noon,  and  feed  the  guests  who  crowd  it  : 
I  am  near  mate  with  those  whom  men  call  Lord, 
Though  a  rude  western  knight.     But  mark  me,  cous- 
in, 
Although  I  feed  wayfaring  vagabonds, 
I  make  them  not  my  comrades.     Such  as  I, 
Who  have  advanced  the  fortunes  of  my  line, 
And  swell'd  a  baron's  turret  to  a  palace, 
Have  oft  the  curse  awaiting  on  our  thrift, 
To  see,  while  yet  we  live,  the  things  which  must  be 
At  our  decease — the  downfall  of  our  family, 
The  loss  of  land  and  lordship,  name  and  knighthood, 
The  wreck  of  the  fair  fabric  we  have  built, 
By  a  degenerate  heir.     Philif)  has  that 
Of  inborn  meanness  in  him,  that  he  loves  not 
The  company  of  betters,  nor  of  equals ; 
Never  at  ease,  unless  he  bears  the  bell, 
And  crows  the  loudest  in  the  company. 
He's  mesh'd,  too,  in  the  snares  of  every  female 
Who  deigns  to  cast  a  passing  glance  on  him — 
Licentious,  disrespectful,  rash,  and  profligate. 
Gif.  Come,  my  good  coz,  think  we  too  have  been 
young, 
And  I  will  swear  that  in  your  father's  lifetime 
You  have  yourself  been  trapp'd  by  toys  like  these. 

Auch.  A  fool  I  may  have  been — but  not  a  madman  ; 
I  never  play'd  the  rake  among  my  followers, 
Pursuing  this  man's  sister,  that  man's  wife ; 
And  therefore  never  saw  I  man  of  mine, 
When  summon'd  to  obey  my  best,  grow  restive, 
Talk  of  his  honor,  of  his  peace  destroy'd, 
And,  while  obeying,  mutter  threats  of  vengeance. 
But  now  the  humor  of  an  idle  youth, 
Disgusting  trusted  followers,  sworn  dependents, 
Plays  foot-ball  with  his  honor  and  my  safety. 


AUCHINDRANE;   OR,   THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


783 


GlF.  I'm  sorry  to  find  discord  in  your  house, 
For  I  had  hoped,  while  bringing  you  cold  news, 
To  find  you  arm'd  in  union  'gainst  the  danger. 

Auch.  What  can  man  speak  that  I  would  shrink  to 
hear, 
And  where  the  danger  I  would  deign  to  shun  ? 

[He  rises. 
What  should  appall  a  man  inured  to  perils, 
Like  the  bold  climber  on  the  crags  of  Ailsa? 
Winds  whistle  past  him,  billows  rage  below, 
The  sea-fowl  sweep  around,  with  shriek  and  clang ; 
One  single  slip,  one  unadvised  pace,  • 
One  qualm  of  giddiness — and  peace  be  with  him ! 
But  he  whose  grasp  is  sure,  whose  step  is  firm, 
Whose  brain  is  constant — he  makes  one  proud  rock 
The  means  to  scale  another,  till  he  stand 
Triumphant  on  the  peak. 

GlF.  And  so  I  trust 

Thou  wilt  surmount  the  danger  now  approaching, 
Which  scarcely  can  I  frame  my  tongue  to  tell  you, 
Though  I  rode  here  on  purpose. 

Auch.  Cousin,  I  think  thy  heart  was  never  coward, 
And  strange  it  seems  thy  tongue  should  take  such 

semblance. 
I've  heard  of  many  a  loud-mouth'd,  noisy  braggart, 
Whose  hand  gave  feeble  sanction  to  his  tongue ; 
But  thou  art  one  whose  heart  can  think  bold  things, 
Whose  hand  can  act  them — but  who  shrinks  to  speak 
them! 

Gif.  And  if  I  speak  them  not,  'tis  that  I  shame 
To  tell  thee  of  the  calumnies  that  load  thee. 
Things  loudly  spoken  at  the  city  Cross — 
Things  closely  whisper'd  in  our  Sovereign's  ear — 
Things  which  the  plumed  lord  and  flat-capp'd  citizen 
Do  circulate  amid  their  different  ranks — 
Things  false,  no  doubt ;  but  falsehoods  while  I  deem 

them, 
Still  honoring  thee,  I  shun  the  odious  topic. 

Auch.  Shun  it  not,  cousin;    'tis  a  friend's  best 
office 
To  bring  the  news  we  hear  unwillingly. 
The  sentinel,  who  tells  the  foe's  approach, 
And  wakes  the  sleeping  camp,  does  but  his  duty : 
Be  thou  as  bold  in  telling  me  of  danger 
As  I  shall  be  in  facing  danger  told  of.    , 

Gif.  I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  death-feud 
That  raged  so  long  betwixt  thy  house  and  Cassilis ; 
I  need  not  bid  thee  recollect  the  league, 
When  royal  James  himself  stood  mediator 
Between  thee  and  Earl  Gilbert. 

Auch.  Call  you  these  news  ?— You  might  as  well 
have  told  me 
That  old  King  Coil  is  dead,  and  graved  at  Kylesfeld. 
I'll  help  thee  out — King  James  commanded  us 
Henceforth  to  live  in  peace,  made  us  clasp  hands  too. 
Oh,  sir,  when  such  a  union  hath  been  made, 
In  heart  and  hand  conjoining  mortal  foes, 
Under  a  monarch's  royal  mediation, 
The  league  is  not  forgotten.    And  with  this 
What  is  there  to  be  told  ?    The  King  commanded — 


"  Be  friends."     No  doubt  we  were  so — Who  dares 
doubt  it? 

Gif.  You  speak  but  half  the  tale. 

Auch.  By  good  Saint  Trimon,  but  I'll  tell  the 
whole ! 
There  is  no  terror  in  the  tale  for  me — 1 
Go  speak  of  ghosts  to  children  ! — This  Earl  Gilbert 
(God  sain  him !)  loved  Heaven's  peace  as  well  as  I  did, 
And  we  were  wondrous  friends  whene'er  we  met 
At  church  or  market,  or  in  burrows  town. 
'Midst  this,  our  good  Lord  Gilbert,  Earl  of  Cassilis, 
Takes  purpose  he  would  journey  forth  to  Edinburgh. 
The  King  was  doling  gifts  of  abbey-lands, 
Good  things  that  thrifty  house  was  wont  to  fish  for. 
Our  mighty  Earl  forsakes  his  sea-wash'd  castle, 
Passes  our  borders  some  four  miles  from  hence ; 
And,  holding  it  unwholesome  to  be  fasters 
Long  after  sunrise,  lo !  the  Earl  and  train 
Dismount,  to  rest  their  nags  and  eat  their  breakfast. 
The  morning  rose,  the  small  birds  caroll'd  sweetly — 
The  corks  were  drawn,  the  pasty  brooks  incision — 
His  lordship  jests,  his  train  are  choked  with  laughter; 
When, — wondrous  change  of  cheer,  and  most  unlook'd 

for, 
Strange  epilogue  to  bottle  and  to  baked  meat ! — 
Flash'd  from  the  greenwood  half  a  score  of  carabines ; 
And  the  good  Earl  of  Cassilis,  in  his  breakfast, 
Had  nooning,  dinner,  supper,  all  at  once, 
Even  in  the  morning  that  he  closed  his  journey ; 
And  the  grim  sexton,  for  his  chamberlain, 
Made  him  the  bed  which  rests  the  head  for  ever. 

GlF.  Told  with  much  spirit,  cousin — some  there  are 
Would  add,  and  in  a  tone  resembling  triumph. 
And  would  that  with  these  long-establish'd  facts 
My  tale  began  and  ended !     I  must  tell  you, 
That  evil-deeming  censures  of  the  events, 
Both  at  the  time  and  now,  throw  blame  on  thee ; 
Time,  place,  and  circumstance,  they  say,  proclaim  thee, 
Alike,  the  author  of  that  morning's  ambush. 

AUCH.  Ay,  'tis  an  old  belief  in  Carrick  here, 
WThere  natives  do  not  always  die  in  bed, 
That  if  a  Kennedy  shall  not  attain 
Methuselah's  last  span,  a  Mure  has  slain  him. 
Such  is  the  general  creed  of  all  their  clan. 
Thank  Heaven,  that  they're  bound  to  prove  the  charge 
They  are  so  prompt  in  making.    They  have  clamor'd 
Enough  of  this  before,  to  show  their  malice. 
But  what  said  these  coward  pickthanks  when  I  came 
Before  the  King,  before  the  Justicers, 
Rebutting  all  their  calumnies,  and  daring  them 
To  show  that  I  knew  aught  of  Cassilis'  journey — 
Which  way  he  meant  to  travel — where  to  halt- 
Without  which  knowledge  I  possess'd  no  means 
To  dress  an  ambush  for  him  ?    Did  I  not 
Defy  the  assembled  clan  of  Kennedys 
To  show,  by  proof  direct  or  inferential, 
Wherefore  they  slander'd  me  with  this  foul  charee? 


1  "There  is  no  terror,  Cassius,  in  your  threat"!." 

Shakspeare. 


784 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


My  gauntlet  rung  before  them  in  the  court, 
And  I  did  dare  the  best  of  them  to  lift  it, 
And  prove  such  charge  a  true  one — Did  I  not? 

GiF.  I  saw  your  gauntlet  lie  before  the  Kennedys, 
Who  look'd  on  it  as  men  do  on  an  adder, 
Longing  to  crush,  and  yet  afraid  to  grasp  it. 
Not  an  eye  sparkled — not  a  foot  advanced — 
No  arm  was  stretch'd  to  lift  the  fatal  symbol. 
Auch.  Then,  wherefore  do  the  hildings  murmur 
now  ? 
Wish  they  to  see  again  how  one  bold  Mure 
Can  baffle  and  defy  their  assembled  valor? 
Gif.  No ;  but  they  speak  of  evidence  suppress'd. 
Auch.    Suppress'd! — what    evidence? — by    whom 
suppress'd  ? 
What  Will-o'-wisp — what  idiot  of  a  witness, 
Is  he  to  whom  they  trace  an  empty  voice, 
But  cannot  show  his  person  ? 

Gif.  They  pretend, 

With  the  King's  leave,  to  bring  it  to  a  trial ; 
Averring  that  a  lad,  named  Quentin  Blane, 
Brought  thee  a  letter  from  the  murder'd  Earl, 
With  friendly  greetings,  telling  of  his  journey, 
The  hour  which  he  set  forth,  the  place  he  halted  at, 
Affording  thee  the  means  to  form  the  ambush, 
Of  which  your  hatred  made  the  application. 

Auch.  A  prudent  Earl,  indeed,  if  such  his  practice, 
When  dealing  with  a  recent  enemy ! 
And  what  should  he  propose  by  such  strange  confi- 
dence 
In  one  who  sought  it  not? 

Gif.  His  purposes  were  kindly,  say  the  Kennedys — 
Desiring  you  would  meet  him  where  he  halted, 
Offering  to  undertake  whate'er  commissions 
You  listed  trust  him  with,  for  court  or  city ; 
And,  thus  apprised  of  Cassilis'  purposed  journey, 
And  of  his  halting  place,  you  placed  the  ambush, 

Prepared  the  homicides 

Auch.  They're  free  to  say  their  pleasure.   They  are 
men 
Of  the  new  court — and  I  am  but  a  fragment 
Of  stout  old  Morton's  faction.    It  is  reason 
That  such  as  I  be  rooted  from  the  earth 
That  they  may  have  full  room  to  spread  their  branches. 
No  doubt,  'tis  easy  to  find  strolling  vagrants 
To  prove  whato'er  they  prompt.  This  Quentin  Blane — 
Did  you  not  call  him  so? — why  comes  he  now? 
And  wherefore  not  before?    This  must  be  answer'd 

— (abruptly) — 
Where  is  he  now  ? 

GiF.  Abroad,  they  say — kidnapp'd, 

By  you  kidnapp'd,  that  he  might  die  in  Flanders. 
But  orders  have  been  sent  for  his  discharge, 
And  his  transmission  hither. 
Auch.  (assuming  an  air  of  composure).  When  they 
produce  such  witness,  cousin  Gifford, 
We'll  be  prepared  to  meet  it.     In  the  meanwhile, 
The  King  doth  ill  to  throw  his  royal  sceptre 
In  the  accuser's  scale,  ere  he  can  know 
How  justice  shall  incline  it. 


Gif.  Our  sage  prince 

Resents,  it  may  be,  less  the  death  of  Cassilis, 
Than  he  is  angry  that  the  feud  should  burn, 
After  his  royal  voice  had  said,  "  Be  quench'd  :" 
Thus  urging  prosecution  less  for  slaughter 
Than  that,  being  done  against  the  King's  command, 
Treason  is  inix'd  with  homicide. 

Auch.  Ha!  ha!  most  true,  my  cousin. 

Why,  well  consider'd,  'tis  a  crime  so  great 
To  slay  one's  enemy,  the  King  forbidding  it, 
Like  parricide,  it  should  be  held  impossible. 
'Tis  just  as  if  a  wretch  retain'd  the  evil, 
When  the  King's  touch  had  bid  the  sores  be  healed ; 
And  such  a  crime  merits  the  stake  at  least. 
What !  can  there  be  within  a  Scottish  bosom 
A  feud  so  deadly  that  it  kept  its  ground 
When  the  King  said,  Be  friends !     It  is  not  credible. 
Were  I  King  James,  I  never  would  believe  it : 
I'd  rather  think  the  story  all  a  dream, 
And  that  there  was  no  friendship,  feud,  nor  journey, 
No  halt,  no  ambush,  and  no  Earl  of  Cassilis, 
Than  dream  anointed  Majesty  has  wrong ! — 

Gif.  Speak  within  door,  coz. 

Auch.        Oh,  true — (aside) — I  shall  betray  myself 
Even  to  this  half-bred  fool.     I  must  have  room, 
Room  for  an  instant,  or  I  suffocate. — 
Cousin,  I  prithee  call  our  Philip  hither — 
Forgive  me ;  'twere  more  meet  I  summon'd  him 
Myself;  but  then  the  sight  of  yonder  revel 
Would  chafe  my  blood,  and  I  have  need  of  coolness. 

GIF.  I  understand  thee — I  will  bring  him  straight. 

[Exit. 

AUCH.  And  if  thou  dost,  he's  lost  his  ancient  trick 
To  fathom,  as  he  wont,  his  five-pint  flagons. — 
This  space  is  mine — oh  for  the  power  to  fill  it, 
Instead  of  senseless  rage  and  empty  curses, 
With  the  dark  spell  which  witches  learn  from  fiends, 
That  smites  the  object  of  their  hate  afar, 
Nor  leaves  a  token  of  its  mystic  action, 
Stealing  the  soul  from  out  the  unscathed  body, 
As  lightning  melts  the  blade,  nor  harms  the  scab- 
bard ! 
— 'Tis  vain  to  wish  for  it — Each  curse  of  mine 
Falls  to  the  ground  as  harmless  as  the  arrows 
Which  children  shoot  at  stars !    The  time  for  thought, 
If  thought  could  aught  avail  me,  melts  away, 
Like  to  a  snowball  in  a  schoolboy's  hand, 
That  melts  the  faster  the  more  close  he  grasps  it! — 
If  I  had  time,  this  Scottish  Solomon, 
Whom  some  call  son  of  David  the  Musician,1 
Might  find  it  perilous  work  to  march  to  Carrick. 
There's  many  a  feud  still  slumbering  in  its  ashes, 
Whose  embers  are  yet  red.    Nobles  we  have, 
Stout  as  old  Graysteel,  and  as  hot  as  Bothwell ; 
Here  too  are  castles  look  from  crags  as  high 
On  seas  as  wide  as  Logan's.    So  the  King — 
Pshaw !    He  is  here  again. 

1  The  calumnious  tale  which  ascribed  the  birth  of  James 
VI.  to  an  intrigue  of  Queen  Mary  with  Rizzio. 


AUCHINDRANE;   OR,   THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


785 


Enter  Giffokd. 

Qjp,  I  beard  you  name 

The  King,  my  kinsman ;  know,  he  comes  not  hither. 

Auch.  {affecting  indifference).    Nay,  then  we  need 
not  broach  our  barrels,  cousin, 
Nor  purchase  us  new  jerkins.— Comes  not  Philip? 

GIF.  Yes,  sir.    He  tarries  but  to  drink  a  service 
To  his  good  friends  at  parting. 

Atjch.  Friends  for  the  beadle  or  the-  sheriff-officer. 
Well,  let  it  pass.     Who  comes,  and  how  attended, 
Since  James  designs  not  westward  ? 

GiF.  Oh,  you  shall  have  instead  his  fiery  functionary, 
George  Home  that  was,  but  now  Dunbar's  great  Earl; 
He  leads  a  royal  host,  and  comes  to  show  you 
How  he  distributes  justice  on  the  Border, 
Where  judge  and  hangman  oft  reverse  their  office, 
And  the  noose  does  its  work  before  the  sentence. 
But  I  have  said  my  tidings  best  and  worst. 
None  but  yourself  can  know  what  course  the*time 
And  peril  may  demand.    To  lift  your  banner, 
If  I  might  be  a  judge,  were  desperate  game : 
Ireland  and  Galloway  offer  you  convenience 
For  flight,  if  flight  be  thought  the  better  remedy ; 
To  face  the  court  requires  the  consciousness 
And  confidence  of  innocence.     You  alone 
Can  judge  if  you  possess  these  attributes. 

[A  noise  behind  the  scenes. 

Auch.  Philip,  I  think,  has  broken  up  his  revels ; 
His  ragged  regiment  are  dis2)ersing  them, 
Well  liquor'd,  doubtless.    They're  disbanded  soldiers, 
Or  some  such  vagabonds. — Here  comes  the  gallant. 

[Enter  Philip.  He  has  a  buff-coat  and  head- 
piece, wears  a  sword  and  dagger,  with  pistols 
at  his  girdle.  He  appears  to  be  affected  by 
liquor,  but  to  be  by  no  means  intoxicated. 

AUCH.  You  scarce  have  been  made  known  to  one 
another, 
Although  you  sat  together  at  the  board. — 
Son  Philip,  know  and  prize  our  cousin  Gifford. 

Phi.  (tastes  the  wine  on  the  table).  If  you  had  prized 
him,  sir,  you  had  been  loth 
To  have  welcomed  him  in  bastard  Alicant : 
I'll  make  amends,  by  pledging  his  good  journey 
In  glorious  Burgundy. — The  stirrup-cup,  ho  ! 
And  bring  my  cousin's  horses  to  the  court. 

Auch.  (draws  him  aside).   The  stirrup-cup!     He 
doth  not  ride  to-night — 
Shame  on  such  churlish  conduct  to  a  kinsman  1 

Phi.  (aside  to  his  father).  I've  news  of  pressing  im- 
port. 
Send  the  fool  off. — Stay,  I  will  start  him  for  you. 
(To  Gif.)    Yes,  my  kind  cousin,  Burgundy  is  better, 
On  a  night-ride,  to  those  who  tread  our  moors, 
And  we  may  deal  it  freely  to  our  friends, 
For  we  came  freely  by  it.    Yonder  ocean 
Rolls  many  a  purple  cask  upon  our  shore, 
Rough  with  embossed  shells  and  shagged  seaweed, 
When  the  good  skipper  and  his  careful  crew 
Have  had  their  latest  earthly  draught  of  brine, 
And  gone  to  quench  or  to  endure  their  thirst, 
50 


Where  nectar's  plenty,  or  even  water's  scarce, 
And  filter'd  to  the  parched  crew  by  dropsfull. 

Auch.  Thou'rt  mad,  son  Philip !—  Gilford's  no  in- 
truder, 
That  we  should  rid  him  hence  by  such  wild  rants : 
My  kinsman  hither  rode  at  his  own  danger, 
To  tell  us  that  Dunbar  is  hasting  to  us, 
With  a  strong  force,  and  with  the  King's  commission, 
To  enforce  against  our  house  a  hateful  charge, 
With  every  measure  of  extremity. 

Phi.   And  is  this  all  that  our  good  cousin  tells 
us? 
I  can  say  more,  thanks  to  the  ragged  regiment, 
With  whose  good  company  you  have  upbraided  me, 
On  whose  authority  I  tell  thee,  cousin, 
Dunbar  is  here  already. 

GIF.  Already  ? 

Phi.  Yes,  gentle  coz.     And  you,  my  sire,  be  hasty 
In  what  you  think  to  do. 

Auch.  I  think  thou  darest  not  jest  on  such  a  subject. 
Where  hadst  thou  these  fell  tidings? 

Phi.  Where  you,  too,  might  have  heard  them,  noble 
father, 
Save  that  your  ears,  nail'd  to  our  kinsman's  lips, 
Would  list  no  coarser  accents.    Oh,  my  soldiers, 
My  merry  crew  of  vagabonds,  for  ever ! 
Scum  of  the  Netherlands,  and  wash'd  ashore 
Upon  this  coast  like  unregarded  seaweed, 
They  had  not  been  two  hours  on  Scottish  land, 
When,  lo  !  they  met  a  military  friend, 
An  ancient  fourier,  known  to  them  of  old, 
Who,  warm'd  by  certain  stoups  of  searching  wine, 
Inform'd  his  old  companions  that  Dunbar 
Left  Glasgow  yesterday,  comes  here  to-morrow  ; 
Himself,  he  said,  was  sent  a  spy  before, 
To  view  what  preparations  we  were  making. 

Auch.   (to  Gif.).  If  this  be  sooth,  good  kinsman, 
thou  must  claim 
To  take  a  part  with  us  for  life  and  death, 
Or  speed  from  hence,  and  leave  us  to  our  fortune. 

Gif.  In  such  dilemma, 
Believe  me,  friend,  I'd  choose  upon  the  instant — 
But  I  lack  harness,  and  a  steed  to  charge  on, 
For  mine  is  overtired,  and,  save  my  page, 
There's  not  a  man  to  back  me.     But  I'll  hie 
To  Kyle,  and  raise  my  vassals  to  your  aid. 

Phi.  'Twill  be  when  the  rats, 
That  on  these  tidings  fly  this  house  of  ours, 
Come  back  to  pay  their  rents. — (Apart.) 

Auch.  Courage,  cousin — 
Thou  goest  not  hence  ill  mounted  for  thy  need": 
Full  forty  coursers  feed  in  my  wide  stalls, — 
The  best  of  them  is  yours  to  speed  your  journey- 

Phi.  Stand  not  on  ceremony,  good  our  cousin, 
When  safety  signs,  to  shorten  courtesy. 

Gif.  (to  Auch.).  Farewell  then,  cousin, for  my  tar- 
rying here 
Were  ruin  to  myself,  small  aid  to  you ; 
Yet  loving  well  your  name  and  family, 
I'd  fain 


786 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Phi.  Be  gone  ? — that  is  our  object,  too — 
Kinsman,  adieu. 

[Exit  Gifford.     Philip  calls  after  h  im. 
You  yeoman  of  the  stable, 
Give  Master  Giflord  there  my  fleetest  steed, 
Yon  cut-tail'd  roan  that  trembles  at  a  spear. — 

[  Trampling  of  the  horse  heard  going  off. 
Hark !  he  departs.     How  swift  the  dastard  rides, 
To  shun  the  neighborhood  of  jeopardy  ! 

[He  hn/s  aside  the  appearance  of  levity  which  he 
has  hitherto  worn,  and  says  very  seriously, 
And  now,  my  father— 
AUCH.  And  now,  my  son — thou'st  ta'en  a  perilous 
game 
Into  thine  hands,  rejecting  elder  counsel, — 
How  dost  thou  mean  to  play  it? 

Phi.  Sir,  good  gamesters  play  not 
Till  they  review  the  cards  which  fate  has  dealt  them, 
Computing  thus  the  chances  of  the  game ; 
And  woefully  they  seem  to  weigh  against  us. 

Auch.  Exile's  a  passing  ill,  and  may  be  borne ; 
And  when  Dunbar  and  all  his  myrmidons 
Are  eastward  turn'd,  we'll  seize  our  own  again. 
Phi.  Would  that  were  all  the  risk  we  had  to  stand 
to! 
But  more  and  worse, — a  doom  of  treason,  forfeiture, 
Death  to  ourselves,  dishonor  to  our  house, 
Is  what  the  stern  Justiciary  menaces; 
And,  fatally  for  us,  he  hath  the  means 
To  make  his  threatenings  good. 

Auch.  It  cannot  be.     I  tell  thee,  there's  no  force 
In  Scottish  law  to  raze  a  house  like  mine, 
Coeval  with  the  time  the  Lords  of  Galloway 
Submitted  them  unto  the  Scottish  sceptre, 
Renouncing  rights  of  Tanistry  and  Brehon. 
Some  dreams  they  have  of  evidence ;  some  suspicion. 
But  old  Montgomery  knows  my  purpose  well, 
And  long  before  their  mandate  reach  the  camp 
To  crave  the  presence  of  this  mighty  witness, 
He  will  be  fitted  with  an  answer  to  it. 

Phi.  Father,  what  we  call  great  is  often  ruin'd 
By  means  so  ludicrously  disproportion^!, 
They  make  me  think  upon  the  gunner's  linstock, 
Which,  yielding  forth  ,a  light  about  the  size 
And  semblance  of  the  glowworm,  yet  applied 
To  powder,  blew  a  palace  into  atoms, 
Sent  a  young  King — a  young  Queen's  mate  at  least. — 
Into,  the  air  as  high  as  e'er  flew  night-hawk, 
And  made  such  wild  work  in  the  realm  of  Scotland, 
As  they  can  tell  who  heard, — and  you  were  one 
Who  saw,  perhaps,  the  night-flight  which  began  it. 
Auch.  If  thou  hast  nouglit  to  speak  but  drunken 
folly, 
I  cannot  listen  longer. 

Phi.  I  will  speak  brief  and  sudden. — There  is  one 
Whose  tongue  to  us  has  the  same  perilous  force 


1  MS. :  "  In  the  old  tower  where  Nirl  MacLellan  dwells. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more,"  &c. 


Which  Bothwell's  powder  had  to  Kirk  of  Field  ; 
One  whose  least  tones,  and  those   but  peasant  ac- 
cents, 
Could  rend  the  roof  from  off  our  fathers'  castle, 
Level  its  tallest  turret  with  its  base ; 
And  he  that  doth  possess  this  wondrous  power 
Sleeps  this  same  night  not  five  miles  distant  from  us. 
Auch.  (who  had  looked  on  Philip  with  much  appear- 
ance of  astonishment  and  doubt,  exclaims,)  Then 
thou  art  mad  indeed  ! — Ha !  ha !  I'm  glad  on't. 
I'd  purchase  an  escape  from  what  I  dread, 
Even  by  the  frenzy  of  my  only  son  ! 

Phi.  I  thank  you,  but  agree  not  to  the  bargain. 
You  rest  on  what  yon  civet  cat  has  said : 
Yon  silken  doublet,  stuff'd  with  rotten  straw, 
Told  you  but  half  the  truth,  and  knew  no  more. 
But  my  good  vagrants  had  a  perfect  tale  : 
They  told  me,  little  judging  the  importance, 
That  Quentin  Blane  had  been  discharged  with  them. 
They  told  me,  that  a  quarrel  happ'd  at  landing, 
And  that  the  youngster  and  an  ancient  sergeant 
Had  left  their  company,  and  taken  refuge 
In  Chapeldonan,  where  our  ranger  dwells  } 
They  saw  him  scale  the  cliff  on  which  it  stands, 
Ere  they  were  out  of  sight ;  the  old  man  with  him. 
And  therefore  laugh  no  more  at  me  as  mad  ; 
But  laugh,  if  thou  hast  list  for  merriment, 
To  think  he  stands  on  the  same  land  with  us, 
Whose  absence  thou  wouldst  deem  were  cheaply  pur- 
chased 
With  thy  soul's  ransom  and  thy  body's  danger. 

Auch.  'Tis  then  a  fatal  truth  !    Thou  art  no  yelper 
To  open  rashly  on  so  wild  a  scent ; 
Thou'rt  the  young  blood-hound,  which  careers  and 

springs, 
Frolics  and  fawns,  as  if  the  friend  of  man, 
But  seizes  on  his  victim  like  a  tiger. 

Phi.  No  matter  what  I  am— I'm  as  you  bred  me ; 
So  let  that  pass  till  there  be  time  to  mend  me, 
And  let  us  speak  like  men,  and  to  the  purpose. 
This  object  of  our  fear  and  of  our  dread, 
Since  such  our  pride  must  own  him,  sleeps  to-night 
Within  our  power  : — to-morrow  in  Dunbar's, 
And  we  are  then  his  victims.2 
AUCH.  He  is  in  ours  to-night.3 
Phi.  He  is.    I'll  answer  that  MacLellan's  trusty. 
Auch.  Yet  he  replied  to  you  to-day  full  rudely. 
Phi.    Yes!   The  poor  knave  has  got  a  handsome 
wife, 
And  is  gone  mad  with  jealousy. 
Auch.  Fool !— When  we  need  the  utmost  faith,  alle- 
giance, 
Obedience,  and  attachment  in  our  vassals, 
Thy  wild  intrigues  pour  gall  into  their  hearts, 
And  turn  their  love  to  hatred  ! 

Phi.  Most  reverend  sire,  you  talk  of  ancient  morals, 


*  MS. :  "  And  we  are  then  in  his  power/ 
8  MS. :  "  He's  in  our  power  to-night." 


AUCHINDRANE;  OE,  THE  AYRSHIRE  TRAGEDY. 


787 


Preach'd  on  by  Knox,  and  practiced  by  Glencairn  j1 
Respectable,  indeed,  but  somewhat  musty 
In  these  our  modern  nostrils.     In  our  days, 
If  a  young  baron  chance  to  leave  his  vassal 
The  sole  possessor  of  a  handsome  wife, 
'Tis  sign  he  loves  his  follower ;  and,  if  not, 
He  loves  his  follower's  wife,  which  often  proves 
The  surer  bond  of  patronage.    Take  either  case : 
Favor  flows  in  of  course,  and  vassals  rise. 

AUCH.  Philip,  this  is  infamous, 
And,  what  is  worse,  impolitic.     Take  example : 
Break  not  God's  laws  or  man's  for  each  temptation 
That  youth  and  blood  suggest.     I  am  a  man — 
A  weak  and  erring  man  ; — full  well  thou  know'st 
That  I  may  hardly  term  myself  a  pattern 
Even  to  my  son ;  yet  thus  far  will  I  say, 
I  never  swerved  from  my  integrity, 
Save  at  the  voice  of  strong  necessity, 
Or  such  o'erpowering  view  of  high  advantage 
As  wise  men  liken  to  necessity, 
In  strength  and  force  compulsive.     No  one  saw  me 
Exchange  my  reputation  for  my  pleasure, 
Or  do  the  devil's  work  without  his  wages. 
I  practiced  prudence,  and  paid  tax  to  virtue, 
By  following  her  behests,  save  where  strong  reason 
Compell'd  a  deviation.    Then,  if  preachers 
At  times  look'd  sour,  or  elders  shook  their  heads, 
They  could  not  term  my  walk  irregular ; 
For  I  stood  up  still  for  the  worthy  cause, 
A  pillar,  though  a  flaw'd  one,  of  the  altar, 
Kept  a  strict  walk,  and  led  three  hundred  horse. 

Phi.  Ah,  these  three  hundred  horse,  in  such  rough 
times, 
Were  better  commendation  to  a  party 
Than  all  your  efforts  at  hypocrisy, 
Betray'd  so  oft  by  avarice  and  ambition, 
And  dragg'd  to  open  shame.     But,  righteous  father, 
When  sire  and  son  unite  in  mutual  crime, 
And  join  their  efforts  to  the  same  enormity, 
It  is  no  time  to  measure  other's  faults, 
Or  fix  the  amount  of  each.     Most  moral  father, 
Think  if  it  be  a  moment  now  to  weigh 
The  vices  of  the  heir  of  Auchindrane, 
Or  take  precaution  that  the  ancient  house 
Shall  have  another  heir  than  the  sly  courtier 
That's  gaping  for  the  forfeiture. 

Auch.  We'll  disappoint  him,  Philip, — 
We'll  disappoint  him  yet.     It  is  a  folly, 
A  willful  cheat,  to  cast  our  eyes  behind, 
When  time,  and  the  fast-flitting  opportunity, 
Call  loudly,  nay  compel  us  to  look  forward. 


^  >  Alexander,  fifth  Earl  of  Glencairn,  for  distinction  called 
"  the  Good  Earl,"  was  among  the  first  of  the  peers  of  Scotland 
who  concurred  in  the  Reformation,  in  aid  of  which  he  acted 
a  conspicuous  part,  in  the  employment  both  of  his  sword  and 
pen.  In  a  remonstrance  with  the  queen  regent,  he  told  her 
that  "  if  she  violated  the  engagements  which  she  had  come 
under  to  her  subjects,  they  would  consider  themselves  as  ab- 
solved from  their  allegiance  to  her."    He  was  author  of  a 


Why  are  we  not  already  at  MacLellan's, 
Since  there  the  victim  sleeps  ? 

Phi.  Nay,  soft,  I  pray  thee. 

I  had  not  made  your  piety  my  confessor, 
Nor  enter'd  in  debate  on  these  sage  counsels, 
Which  you're  more  like  to  give  than  I  to  profit  by, 
Could  I  have  used  the  time  more  usefully ; 
But  first  an  interval  must  pass  between 
The  fate  of  Quentin  and  the  little  artifice 
That  shall  detach  him  from  his  comrade, 
The  stout  old  soldier  that  I  told  you  of. 

Auch.  How  work  a  point  so  difficult,  so  dangerous  1 

Phi.  'Tis  cared  for.     Mark,  my  father,  the  con- 
venience 
Arising  from  mean  company.    My  agents 
Are  at  my  hand,  like  a  good  workman's  tools, 
And  if  I  mean  a  mischief,  ten  to  one 
That  they  anticipate  the  deed  and  guilt. 
Well  knowing  this,  when  first  the  vagrant's  tattle 
Gave  me  the  hint  that  Quentin  was  so  near  us, 
Instant  I  sent  MacLellan,  with  strong  charges 
To  stop  him  for  the  night,  and  bring  me  word, 
Like  an  accomplish'd  spy,  how  all  things  stood, 
Lulling  the  enemy  into  security. 

Auch.  There  was  a  prudent  general ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  went  and  came  within  the  hour. 
The  jealous  bee  which  buzzes  in  his  nightcap 
Had  humm'd  to  him,  this  fellow,  Quentin  Blane, 
Had  been  in  schoolboy  days  an  humble  lover 
Of  his  own  pretty  wife 

Auch.  Most  fortunate ! 

The  knave  will  be  more  prompt  to  serve  our  purpose. 

Phi.  No  doubt  on't.     'Mid  the  tidings  he  brought 
back 
Was  one  of  some  importance.    The  old  man 
Is  flush  of  dollars ;  this  I  caused  him  tell 
Among  his  comrades,  who  became  as  eager 
To  have  him  in  their  company,  as  e'er 
They  had  been  wild  to  part  with  him.     And  in  brief 

space, 
A  letter's  framed  by  an  old  hand  amongst  them, 
Familiar  with  such  feats.     It  bore  the  name 
And  character  of  old  Montgomery, 
Whom  he  might  well  suppose  at  no  great  distance, 
Commanding  his  old  sergeant  Hildebraud, 
By  all  the  ties  of  late  authority, 
Conjuring  him  by  ancient  soldiership, 
To  hasten  to  his  mansion  instantly, 
On  business  of  high  import,  with  a  charge 
To  come  alone.  [lows  ? 

Auch.  Well,  he  sets  out,  I  doubt  it  not;  what  fbl- 


satirieal  poem  against  the  Roman  Catholics,  entitled  "The 
Hermit  of  Allareit"  (Loretto).  See  Sibbald's  Chronicle  of 
Scottish  Poetry.  He  assisted  the  Reformers  with  his  sword, 
when  they  took  arms  at  Perth  in  1559 ;  had  a  principal  com- 
mand in  the  army  embodied  against  Queen  Mary,  in  June, 
1567 ;  and  demolished  the  altar,  broke  the  images,  tore  down 
the  pictures,  &c,  in  the  chapel  royal  of  Holyroodhouse,  after 
the  queen  was  conducted  to  Lochleven.    He  died  in  1574. 


788 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Phi.  I  am  not  curious  into  others'  practices, — 
So  far  I'm  an  economist  in  guilt, 
As  you  my  sin-  advise.     But  on  the  road 
To  old  Montgomery's  he  meets  his  comrades; 
They  nourish  grudge  against  him  and  his  dollars, 
And  things  may  hap  which  counsel,  learn'd  in  law, 
<  all  Robbery  and  Murder.     Should  he  live, 
He  lias  seen  nought  that  we  would  hide  from  him. 
AUCH.  Who  carries  the  forged  letter  to  the  veteran? 
Phi.  Why,  Niel  MacLellan,  who,  return'd  again 
To  his  own  tower,  as  if  to  pass  the  night  there, 
They  pass'd  on  him,  or  tried  to  pass,  a  story, 
As  if  they  wish'd  the  sergeant's  company, 
Without  the  young  comptroller's — that  is,  Quentin's ; 
And  he  became  an  agent  of  their  plot, 
That  he  might  better  carry  on  our  own. 

AUCH.  There's  life  in  it — yes,  there  is  life  in't ; 
And  we  will  have  a  mounted  party  ready 
To  scour  the  moors  in  quest  of  the  banditti 
That  kill'd  the  poor  old  man — they  shall  die  instantly. 
Dunbar  shall  see  us  use  sharp  justice  here, 
As  well  as  he  in  Teviotdale.     You  are  sure 
You  gave  no  hint  nor  impulse  to  their  purpose? 

Phi.  It  needed  none.    The  whole  pack  oped  at  once 
Upon  the  scent  of  dollars. — But  time  comes 
When  I  must  seek  the  tower,  and  act  with  Niel 
What  further's  to  be  done. 
Auch.  Alone  with  him  thou  goest  not.    He  bears 
grudge : 
Thou  art  my  only  son,  and  on  a  night 
When  such  wild  passions  are  so  free  abroad, 
When  such  wild  deeds  are  doing,  'tis  but  natural 
I  guarantee  thy  safety.    I'll  ride  with  thee. 

Phi.  E'en  as  you  will,  my  lord.    But,  pardon  me, — 
If  you  will  come,  let  us  not  have  a  word 
Of  conscience,  and  of  pity  and  forgiveness ; 
Fine  words  to-morrow,  out  of  place  to-night. 
Take  counsel  then,  leave  all  this  work  to  me ; 
(Jail  up  your  household,  make  fit  preparation 
In  love  and  peace  to  welcome  this  Earl  Justiciar, 
As  one  that's  free  of  guilt.     Go,  deck  the  castle 
As  for  an  honor'd  guest.     Hallow  the  chapel 
(If  they  have  power  to  hallow  it)  with  thy  prayers. 
Let  me  ride  forth  alone,  and  ere  the  sun 
Comes  o'er  the  eastern  hill,  thou  shalt  accost  him, 
"  Now  do  thy  worst,  thou  oft-returning  spy, 
Here's  nought  thou  canst  discover." 
Auch.  Yet  goest  thou  not  alone  with  that  Mac- 
Lellan ! 
He  deems  thou  bearest  will  to  injure  him, 
And  seek'st  occasion  suiting  to  such  will. 
Philip,  thou  art  irreverent,  fierce,  ill  nurtured, 
Stain'd  with  low  vices  which  disgust  a  father; 
Ye)  ridesf  thou  not  alone  with  yonder  man: 
Come  weal  come  woe,  myself  will  go  with  thee. 

[Exit,  and  calls  to  horse  behind  the  scene. 
Phi.  {alone).  Now  would  I  give  my  fleetest  horse 
to  know 
What  sudden  thought  roused  this  paternal  care, 
And  if  'tis  on  his  own  account  or  mine. 


'Tis  true,  he  hath  the  deepest  share  in  all 
That's  likely  now  to  hap,  or  which  has  happen'd ; 
Yet  strong  through  Nature's  universal  reign 
The  link  which  binds  the  parent  to  the  offspring: 
The  she-wolf  knows  it,  and  the  tigress  owns  it. 
So  that  dark  mau,  who,  shunning  what  is  vicious, 
Ne'er  turn'd  aside  from  an  atrocity, 
Hath  still  some  care  left  for  his  hapless  offspring. 
Therefore  'tis  meet,  though  wayward,  light,  and  stub- 
born, 
That  I  should  do  for  him  all  that  a  son 
Can  do  for  sire ;  and  his  dark  wisdom  join'd 
To  influence  my  bold  courses,  'twill  be  hard 
To  break  our  mutual  purpose. — Horses,  there ! 

[Exit. 


ACT   III— SCENE   I. 

It  is  moonlight.  The  scene  is  the  Beach  beneath  the 
Tower  which  was  exhibited  in  the  first  Scene;  the 
Vessel  is  gone  from  her  anchorage.  AUCHINDKANE 
and  Philip,  as  if  dismounted  from  their  horses, 
come  forward  cautiously. 

Phi.  The  nags  are  safely  stow'd ;  their  noise  might 
scare  him. 
Let  them  be  safe,  and  ready  when  we  need  them : 
The  business  is  but  short.     We'll  call  MacLellan 
To  wake  him,  and  in  quiet  bring  him  forth, 
If  he  be  so  disposed,  for  here  are  waters 
Enough  to  drown,  and  sand  enough  to  cover  him. 
But  if  he  hesitate,  or  fear  to  meet  us, 
By  heaven  I'll  deal  on  him  in  Chapeldonan 
With  my  own  hand ! 

Auch.  Too  furious  boy !  alarm  or  noise  undoes  us ; 
Our  practice  must  be  silent  as  'tis  sudden. 
Bethink  thee  that  conviction  of  this  slaughter 
Confirms  the  very  worst  of  accusations 
Our  foes  can  bring  against  us.    Wherefore  should  we, 
Who  by  our  birth  and  fortune  mate  with  nobles, 
And  are  allied  with  them,  take  this  lad's  life, — 
His  peasant  life, — unless  to  quash  his  evidence, 
Taking  such  pains  to  rid  him  from  the  world, 
Who  would,  if  spared,  have  fix'd  a  crime  upon  us? 

Phi.  Well,  I  do  own  me  one  of  those  wise  folks 
Who  think  that  when  a  deed  of  fate  is  plann'd, 
The  execution  cannot  be  too  rapid. 
But  do  we  still  keep  purpose  ?    Is't  determined 
He  sails  for  Ireland— and  without  a  wherry  ? 
Salt  water  is  his  passport — is  it  not  so? 

Auch.  I  would  it  could  be  otherwise. 
Might  he  not  go  there  while  in  life  and  limb, 
And  breathe  his  span  out  in  another  air? 
Many  seek  Ulster  never  to  return  ; 
Why  might  this  wretched  youth  not  harbor  there? 

Phi.  With  all  my  heart.    It  is  small  honor  to  me 
To  be  the  agent  in  a  work  like  this. 
Yet  this  poor  caitiff,  having  thrust  himself 
Into  the  secrets  of  a  noble  house, 


AUCHINDRANE;    OR,    THE   AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


789 


And  twined  himself  so  closely  with  our  safety 

That  we  must  perish,  or  that  he  must  die, 

I'll  hesitate  as  little  on  the  action 

As  I  would  do  to  slay  the  animal 

Whose  flesh  supplies  my  dinner.     "lis  as  harmless, 

That  deer  or  steer,  as  is  this  Quentin  Blane, 

And  not  more  necessary  is  its  death 

To  our  accommodation — so  we  slay  it 

Without  a  moment's  pause  or  hesitation. 

Auch.  'Tis  not,  my  son,  the  feeling  call'd  remorse 
That  now  lies  tugging  at  this  heart  of  mine, 
Engendering  thoughts  that  stop  the  lifted  hand. 
Have  I  not  heard  John  Knox  pour  forth  his  thunders 
Against  the  oppressor  and  the  man  of  blood, 
In  accents  of  a  minister  of  vengeance? 
Were  not  his  fiery  eyeballs  turn'd  on  me, 
As  if  he  said  expressly,  "  Thou'rt  the  man"  ? 
Yet  did  my  solid  purpose,  as  I  listen'd, 
Remain  unshaken  as  that  massive  rock. 

Pm.  Well,  then,  I'll  understand  'tis  not  remorse, — 
As  'tis  a  foible  little  known  to  thee, — 
That  interrupts  thy  purpose.     What,  then,  is  it  ? 
Is't  scorn,  or  is't  compassion  ?    One  thing's  certain, 
Either  the  feeling  must  have  free  indulgence, 
Or  fully  be  subjected  to  your  reason — 
There  is  no  room  for  these  same  treacherous  courses 
Which  men  call  moderate  measures. 
We  must  confide  in  Quentin,  or  must  slay  him. 

Auch.  In  Ireland  he  might  live  afar  from  us. 

Phi.  Among  Queen  Mary's  faithful  partisans, 
Your  ancient  enemies,  the  haughty  Hamiltons, 
The  stern  MacDonnells,  the  resentful  Graemes — 
With  these  around  him,  and  with  Cassilis'  death 
Exasperating  them  against  you,  think,  my  father, 
What  chance  of  Quentin's  silence. 

Auch.  Too  true— too  true.     He  is  a  silly  youth, 
too, 
Who  had  not  wit  to  shift  for  his  own  living — 
A  bashful  lover,  whom  his  rivals  laugh'd  at — 
Of  pliant  temper,  which  companions  play'd  on — 
A  moonlight  waker,  and  a  noontide  dreamer — 
A  torturer  of  phrases  into  sonnets, 
Whom  all  might  lead  that  chose  to  praise  his  rhymes. 

Phi.  I  marvel  that  your  memory  has  room 
To  hold  so  much  on  such  a  worthless  subject. 

Auch.  Base  in  himself,  and  yet  so  strangely  link'd 
With  me  and  with  my  fortunes,  that  I've  studied 
To  read  him  through  and  through,  as  I  would  read 
Some  paltry  rhyme  of  vulgar  prophecy, 
Said  to  contain  the  fortunes  of  my  house ; 
And,  let  me  speak  him  truly— He  is  grateful, 
Kind,  tractable,  obedient— a  child 
Might  lead  him  by  a  thread— He  shall  not  die ! 

Phi.    Indeed ! — then  have  we  had  our  midnight 
ride 
To  wondrous  little  purpose. 

Auch.  By  the  blue  heaven, 

Thou  shalt  not  murder  him,  cold  selfish  sensualist! 
Yon  pure  vault  speaks  it — yonder  summer  moon, 
With  its  ten  million  sparklers,  cries,  Forbear ! 


The  deep  earth  sighs  it  forth — Thou  shalt  not  mur- 
der ! — 
Thou  shalt  not  mar  the  image  of  thy  Maker ! 
Thou  shalt  not  from  thy  brother  take  the  life, 
The  precious  gift  which  God  alone  can  give ! — 

Phi.  Here  is  a  worthy  guerdon  now,  for  stuffing 
His  memory  with  old  saws  and  holy  sayings ! 
They  come  upon  him  in  the  very  crisis, 
And  when  his  resolution  should  be  firmest, 
They  shake  it  like  a  palsy — Let  it  be, 
He'll  end  at  last  by  yielding  to  temptation, 
Consenting  to  the  thing  which  must  be  done, 
With  more  remorse  the  more  he  hesitates. — 

[To  his  father,  who  has  stood  fixed  after  his  last 
speech. 
Well,  sir,  'tis  fitting  you  resolve  at  last 
How  the  young  clerk  shall  be  disposed  upon ; 
Unless  you  would  ride  home  to  Auchindrane, 
And  bid  them  rear  the  Maiden  in  the  court-yard, 
That  when  Dunbar  comes,  he  have  nought  to  do 
But  bid  us  kiss  the  cushion  and  the  headsman. 

Auch.  It  is  too  true — There  is  no  safety  for  us, 
Consistent- with  the  unhappy  wretch's  life! 
In  Ireland  he  is  sure  to  find  my  enemies. 
Arran  I've  proved — the  Netherlands  I've  tried, 
But  wilds  and  wars  return  him  on  my  hands. 

Phi.  Yet  fear  not,  father,  we'll  make  surer  work ; 
The  land  has  caves,  the  sea  has  whirlpools, 
Where  that  which  they  suck  in  returns  no  more. 
Auch.  I  will  know  nought  of  it,  hard-hearted  boy ! 
Phi.    Hard-hearted!     Why — my  heart  is  soft  as 
yours ; 
But  then  they  must  not  feel  remorse  at  once,    • 
We  can't  afford  such  wasteful  tenderness : 
I  can  mouth  forth  remorse  as  well  as  you. 
Be  executioner,  and  I'll  be  chaplain, 
And  say  as  mild  and  moving  things  as  you  can  ; 
But  one  of  us  must  keep  his  steely  temper. 
Auch.  Do  thou  the  deed — I  cannot  look  on  it. 
Phi.  So  be  it — walk  with  me — MacLellan  brings 
him. 
The  boat  lies  moor'd  within  that  reach  of  rock, 
And  'twill  require  our  greatest  strength  combined 
To  launch  it  from  the  beach.     Meantime,  MacLellan 
Brings  our  man  hither. — See  the  twinkling  light 
That  glances  in  the  tower. 
Auch.  Let  us  withdraw — for  should  he  spy  us  sud- 
denly, 
He  may  suspect  us,  and  alarm  the  family. 
Phi.   Fear  not,  MacLellan  has  his  trust  and  con- 
fidence, 
Bought  with  a  few  sweet  words  and  welcomes  home. 
Auch.   But  think  you  that  the  Ranger  may  be 

trusted  ? 
Phi.  I'll  answer  for  him — Let's  go  float  the  shal- 
lop. 

[  TJiey  go  off,  and  as  they  leave  the  stage,  Mac- 
Lellan is  seen  descending  from  the  tower 
with  QUENTIN.  The  former  bears  a  dark 
lantern.     They  come  upon  the  stage. 


790 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Mac.  [showing  the  light).  So — bravely  done — that's 
the  last  ledge  of  rocks, 
And  we  are  on  the  sands. — I  have  broke  your  slum- 
bers 
Somewhat  untimely. 

Que.  Do  not  think  so,  friend. 

These  six  years  past  I  have  been  used  to  stir 
When  the  reveille  rung;  and  that,  believe  me, 
( Ihooses  the  hours  for  rousing  me  at  random, 
And,  having  given  its  summons,  yields  no  license 
To  indulge  a  second  slumber.     Nay,  more,  I'll  tell 

thee, 
That,  like  a  pleased  child,  I  was  e'en  too  happy 
For  sound  repose. 

Mac.  The  greater  fool  were  you. 

Men  should  enjoy  the  moments  given  to  slumber; 
For  who  can  tell  how  soon  may  be  the  waking, 
Or  where  we  shall  have  leave  to  sleep  again  ? 

Que.    The  god  of  slumber   comes    not   at   com- 
mand. 
Last  night  the  blood  danced  merry  through  my  veins : 
Instead  of  finding  this  our  land  of  Carrick 
The  dreary  waste  my  fears  had  apprehended, 
I  saw  thy  wife,  MacLellan,  and  thy  daughter, 
And  had  a  brother's  welcome ; — saw  thee,  too, 
Renew'd  my  early  friendship  with  you  both, 
And  felt  once  more  that  I  had  friends  and  country. 
So  keen  the  joy  that  tingled  through  my  system, 
Join'd  with  the  searching  powers  of  yonder  wine, 
That  I  am  glad  to  leave  my  feverish  lair, 
Although  my  hostess  srnooth'd  my  couch  herself, 
To  cool  my  brow  upon  this  moonlight  beach, 
Gaze  on  the  moonlight  dancing  on  the  waves. 
Such  scenes  are  wont  to  soothe  me  into  melancholy ; 
But  such  the  hurry  of  my  spirits  now, 
That  every  thing  I  look  on  makes  me  laugh.         [tin, 

Mac.  I've  seen  but  few  so  gamesome,  Master  Quen- 
Being  roused  from  sleep  so  suddenly  as  you  were. 

Que.  Why,  there's  the  jest  on't.     Your  old  castle's 
haunted. 
In  vain  the  host,  in  vain  the  lovely  hostess, 
In  kind  addition  to  all  means  of  rest, 
Add  their  best  wishes  for  our  sound  repose, 
When  some  hobgoblin  brings  a  pressing  message: 
Montgomery  presently  must  see  his  sergeant, 
And  up  gets  Hildebrand,  and  off  he  trudges. 
I  can't  but  laugh  to  think  upon  the  grin 
With  which  he  doff'd  the  kerchief  he  had  twisted 
Around  his  brows,  and  put  bis  morion  on — 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mac.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  merry,  Quentin. 

Que.  Why,  faith,  my  spirits  are  but  transitory, 
And  you  may  live  with  me  a  month  or  more, 
And  never  see  me  smile.    Then  some  such  trifle 
As  yonder  little  maid  of  yours  would  laugh  at 
Will  serve  me  for  a  theme  of  merriment — 
Even  now,  I  scarce  can  keep  my  gravity; 
We  were  so  snugly  settled  in  our  quarters, 
With  full  intent  to  let  the  sun  be  high 
Ere  we  should  leave  our  beds — and  first  the  one 


And  then  the  other's  summon'd  briefly  forth, 

To  the  old  tune,  "  Black  Bandsmen,  up  and  march !" 

Mac.  Well !  you  shall  sleep  anon— rely  upon  it — 
And  make  up  time  misspent.     Meantime,  methinks, 
You  are  so  merry  on  your  broken  slumbers, 
You  ask'd  not  why  I  call'd  you. 

Que.  I  can  guess : 

You  lack  my  aid  to  search  the  weir  for  seals, 
You  lack  my  company  to  stalk  a  deer. 
Think  you  I  have  forgot  your  sylvan  tasks, 
Which  oft  you  have  permitted  me  to  share, 
Till  days  that  we  were  rivals  ? 

Mac.  You  have  memory 

Of  that  too  ?— 

Que.  Like  the  memory  of  a  dream, 

Delusion  far  too  exquisite  to  last. 

Mac.  You  guess  not  then  for  what  I  call  you  forth ; 
It  was  to  meet  a  friend — 

Que.  What  friend  ?    Thyself  excepted, 
The  good  old  man  who's  gone  to  see  Montgomery, 
And  one  to  whom  I  once  gave  dearer  title, 
I  know  not  in  wide  Scotland  man  or  woman 
Whom  I  could  name  a  friend. 

Mac.                                         Thou  art  mistaken. 
There  is  a  Baron,  and  a  powerful  one 

Que.  There  flies  my  fit  of  mirth.    You  have  a  grave 
And  alter'd  man  before  you. 

Mac.  Compose  yourself,  there  is  no  cause  for  fear, — 
He  will  and  must  speak  with  you. 

Que.  Spare  me  the  meeting,  Niel,  I  cannot  see  him. 
Say,  I'm  just  landed  on  my  native  earth ; 
Say,  that  I  will  not  cumber  it  a  day ; 
Say,  that  my  wretched  thread  of  poor  existence 
Shall  be  drawn  out  in  solitude  and  exile, 
Where  never  memory  of  so  mean  a  thing 
Again  shall  cross  his  path — but  do  not  ask  me 
To  see  or  speak  again  with  that  dark  man ! 

Mac.  Your  fears  are  now  as  foolish  as  your  mirth — 
What  should  the  powerful  Knight  of  Auchindrane 
In  common  have  with  such  a  man  as  thou? 

Que.  No  matter  what — Enough,  I  will  not  see  him. 

Mac.  He  is  thy  master,  and  he  claims  obedience. 

Que.  My  master  ?  Ay,  my  task-master — Ever  since 
I  could  write  man,  his  hand  hath  been  upon  me ; 
No  step  I've  made  but  cumber'd  with  his  chain, 
And  I  am  weary  on't — I  will  not  see  him. 

Mac.  You  must  and  shall — there  is  no  remedy. 

Que.  Take  heed  that  you  compel  me  not  to  find 
one. 
I've  seen  the  wars  since  we  had  strife  together; 
To  put  my  late  experience  to  the  test 
Were  something  dangerous — Ha,  I  am  betray'd! 

[  While  the  latter  part  of  this  dialogue  is  passing, 
Auchindrane  and  Philip  enter  on  the  stage 
from  behind,  and  suddenly  present  themselves. 

Auch.  What  says  the  runagate  ? 

Que.  {laying  aside  all  appearance  of  resistance). 
Nothing,  you  are  my  fate ; 
And  in  a  shape  more  fearfully  resistless, 
My  evil  angel  could  not  stand  before  me. 


AUCHINDRANE;    OR,    THE    AYRSHIRE   TRAGEDY. 


791 


Auch.  And  so  you  scruple,  slave,  at  my  command, 
To  meet  me  when  I  deign  to  ask  thy  presence  ? 

Que.  No,  sir;  I  had  forgot — I  am  your  bond-slave; 
But  sure  a  passing  thought  of  independence, 
For  which  I've  seen  whole  nations  doing  battle, 
Was  not,  in  one  who  has  so  long  enjoy'd  it, 
A  crime  beyond  forgiveness. 

Auch.  We  shall  see : 

Thou  wert  my  vassal,  born  upon  my  land, 
Bred  by  my  bounty — It  concern'd  me  highly, 
Thou  know'st  it  did — and  yet  against  my  charge 
Again  I  find  thy  worthlessness  in  Scotland. 

Que.  Alas !  the  wealthy  and  the  powerful  know  not 
How  very  dear  to  those  who  have  least  share  in't 
Is  that  sweet  word  of  country !     The  poor  exile 
Feels,  in  each  action  of  the  varied  day, 
His  doom  of  banishment.    The  very  air 
Cools  not  his  brow  as  in  his  native  land ; 
The  scene  is  strange,  the  food  is  loathly  to  him ; 
The  language,  nay,  the  music,  jars  his  ear.1 
Why  should  I,  guiltless  of  the  slightest  crime, 
Suffer  a  punishment  which,  sparing  life, 
Deprives  that  life  of  all  which  men  hold  dear? 

Auch.  Hear  ye  the  serf  I  bred,  begin  to  reckon 
Upon  his  rights  and  pleasure !     Who  am  I — 
Thou  abject,  who  am  I,  whose  will  thou  thwartest? 

Phi.  Well  spoke,  my  pious  sire.    There  goes  re- 
morse ! 
Let  once  thy  precious  pride  take  fire,  and  then, 
MacLellan,  you  and  I  may  have  small  trouble. 

Que.  Your  words  are  deadly,  and  your  power  re- 
sistless ; 
I'm  in  your  hands — but,  surely,  less  than  life 
May  give  you  the  security  you  seek, 
Without  commission  of  a  mortal  crime. 

Auch.  Who  is't  would  deign  to  think  upon  thy  life? 
I  but  require  of  thee  to  speed  to  Ireland, 
Where  thou  may'st  sojourn  for  some  little  space, 
Having  due  means  of  living  dealt  to  thee, 
And,  when  it  suits  the  changes  of  the  times, 
Permission  to  return. 

QUE.  Noble  my  lord, 

I  am  too  weak  to  combat  with  your  pleasure ; 
Yet  oh,  for  mercy's  sake,  and  for  the  sake 
Of  that  dear  land  which  is  our  common  mother, 
Let  me  not  part  in  darkness  from  my  country ! 
Pass  but  an  hour  or  two,  and  every  cajie, 
Headland,  and  bay,  shall  gleam  with  new-born  light, 
And  I'll  take  boat  as  gayly  as  the  bird 
That  soars  to  meet  the  morning. 
Grant  me  but  this— to  show  no  darker  thoughts 
Are  on  your  heart  than  those  your  speech  expresses ! 

Phi.  A  modest  favor,  friend,  is  this  you  ask ! 
Are  we  to  pace  the  beach  like  watermen, 

1  MS. :  "  The  strains  of  foreign  music  jar  his  ear." 

*  MS. :  "  my  antipathy, 

Strong  source  of  inward  hate,  arose  within  me, 


Waiting  your  worship's  pleasure  to  take  boat  ? 
No,  by  my  faith !  you  go  upon  the  instant. 
The  boat  lies  ready,  and  the  ship  receives  you 
Near  to  the  point  of  Turnberry. — Come,  we  wait  you ; 
Bestir  you! 

Que.  I  obey. — Then  farewell,  Scotland, 

And  Heaven  forgive  my  sins,  and  grant  that  mercy 
Which  mortal  man  deserves  not! 

AUCH.  (speaks  aside  to  his  son).  What  signal 

Shall  let  me  know  'tis  done  ? 

Phi.  When  the  light  is  quench'd, 

Your  fears  for  Quentin  Blane  are  at  an  end. — 
(lb  Que.)  Come,  comrade,  come,  we  must  begin  our 
voyage. 
Que.  But  when,  oh  when  to  end  it! 

[He  goes  off  reluctantly  with  Philip  and  Mac- 
Lellan.    Auchindrane  stands  looking  af- 
ter  them.      The  moon   becomes   overclouded, 
and   the   stage  dark.     Auchindrane,  who 
has  gazed  fixedly  and  eagerly  after  those  who 
have  left  the  stage,  becomes  animated,  and 
speaks. 
Auch.  It  is  no  fallacy  ! — The  night  is  dark, 
The  moon  has  sunk  before  the  deepening  clouds; 
I  cannot  on  the  murky  beach  distinguish 
The  shallop  from  the  rocks  which  lie  beside  it; 
I  cannot  see  tall  Philip's  floating  plume, 
Nor  trace  the  sullen  brow  of  Niel  MacLellan ; 
Yet  still  that  caitiff's  visage  is  before  me, 
With  chattering  teeth,  mazed  look,  and  bristling  hair, 
As  he  stood  here  this  moment ! — Have  I  changed 
My  human  eyes  for  those  of  some  night  prowler, 
The  wolf's,  the  tiger-cat's,  or  the  hoarse  bird's 
That  spies  its  prey  at  midnight?    I  can  see  him — 
Yes,  I  can  see  him,  seeing  no  one  else, — 
And  well  it  is  I  do  so.     In  his  absence, 
Strange  thoughts  of  pity  mingled  with  my  purpose, 
And  moved  remorse  within  me — But  they  vanish'd 
Whene'er  he  stood  a  living  man  before  me ; 
Then  my  antipathy  awaked  within  me, 
Seeing  its  object  close  within  my  reach, 
Till  I  could  scarce  forbear  him.2 — How  they  linger ! 
The  boat's  not  yet  to  sea ! — I  ask  myself, 
What  has  the  poor  wretch  done  to  wake  my  hatred — 
Docile,  obedient,  and  in  sufferance  patient  ? — 
As  well  demand  what  evil  has  the  hare 
Done  to  the  hound  that  courses  her  in  sport. 
Instinct  infallible  supplies  the  reason — 
And  that  must  plead  my  cause. — The  vision's  gone* 
Their  boat  now  walks  the  waves ;  a  single  gleam, 
Now  seen,  now  lost,  is  all  that  marks  her  course ; 
That  soon  shall  vanish  too — then  all  is  over! — 
Wotild  it  were  o'er,  for  in  this  moment  lies 
The  agony  of  ages  !3— Now,  'tis  gone — 


Seeing  its  object  was  within  my  reach, 
And  scarcely  could  forbear." 

"  In  that  moment,  o'er  his  soul 

Winters  of  memory  seem'd  to  roll." 

Byron.    The  Giaour. 


792 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


And  all  is  acted ! — no — she  breasts  again 

The  opposing  wave,  and  bears  the  tiny  sparkle 

Upon  her  crest — (A  faint  cry  heard  as  from  seaward.) 

Ah  !  there  was  fatal  evidence, 
All's  over  now,  indeed! — The  light  is  quench M — 
And  Quentin,  source  of  all  my  fear,  exists  not. — 
The  morning  tide  shall  sweep  his  corpse  to  sea, 
And  hide  all  memory  of  this  stern  night's  work. 

[lie  walks  in  a  slow  and  deeply  meditative  man- 
ner towards  the  side  of  the  stage,  and  sud- 
denly meets  Marion,  the  wife  of  MacLel- 
LAN,  who  has  descended  from  the  castle. 
Now,    how    to    meet    Dunbar — Ileaven    guard    my 

senses ! 
Stand!  who  goes  there? — Do  spirits  walk  the  earth 
Ere  yet  they've  left  the  body ! 

Mar.  Is  it  you, 

My  lord,  on  this  wild  beach  at  such  an  hour ! 

Auch.  It  is  MacLellan's  wife,  in  search  of  him, 
Or  of  her  lover — of  the  murderer, 
Or  of  the  murder'd  man. — Go  to,  Dame  Marion, 
Men  have  their  hunting-gear  to  give  an  eye  to, 
Their  snares  and    trackings  for  their   game.     But 

women 
Should  shun  the  night  air.    A  young  wife  also, 
Still  more  a  handsome  one,  should  keep  her  pillow 
Till  the  sun  gives  example  for  her  wakening. 
Oome,  dame,  go  back — back  to  your  bed  again. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  my  lord!  there  have  been  sights 

and  sounds 
That  terrified  my  child  and  me — Groans,  screams, 
As  if  of  dying  seamen,  came  from  ocean — 
A  corpse-light  danced  upon  the  crested  waves 
For  several  minutes'  space,  then  sunk  at  once. 
When  we  retired  to  rest  we  had  two  guests, 
Besides  my  husband  Niel — I'll  tell  your  lordship 

Who  the  men  were 

AUCH.  Pshaw,  woman,  can  you  think 

That  I  have  any  interest  in  your  gossips? 
Please  your  own  husband,  and  that  you  may  please 

him, 
Get  thee  to  bed,  and  shut  up  doors,  good  dame. 
Were  I  MacLellan,  I  should  scarce  be  satisfied 
To  find  thee  wandering  here  in  mist  and  moonlight, 
When  silence  should  be  in  thy  habitation, 
And  sleep  upon  thy  pillow. 

Mar.  Good  my  lord, 

This  is  a  holyday. — By  an  ancient  custom 
Our  children  seek  the  shore  at  break  of  day, 
And  gather  shells,  and  dance,  and  play,  and  sport 

them 
In  honor  of  the  Ocean.    Old  men  say 
The  custom  is  derived  from  heathen  times.     Our 

Isabel 
Is  mistress  of  the  feast,  and  you  may  think 
She  is  awake  already,  and  impatient 
To  be  the  first  shall  stand  upon  the  beach, 
And  bid  the  sun  good-morrow. 

Auch.  Ay,  indeed  ? 

Linger  such  dregs  of  heathendom  among  you  ? 


And  hath  Knox  preach'd,  and  Wishart  died,  in  vain  ? 
Take  notice,  I  forbid  these  sinful  practices, 
And  will  not  have  my  followers  mingle  in  them. 

Mar.  If  such  your  honor's  pleasure,  I  must  go 
And  lock  the  door  on  Isabel ;  she  is  willful, 
And  voice  of  mine  will  have  small  force  to  keep  her 
From  the  amusement  she  so  long  has  dream'd  of. 
But  I  must  tell  your  honor,  the  old  people, 
That  were  survivors  of  the  former  race, 
Prophesied  evil  if  this  day  should  pass 
Without  due  homage  to  the  mighty  Ocean. 

Auch.  Folly  and  Papistry !     Perhaps  the  ocean 
Hath  had  his  morning  sacrifice  already ; 
Or  can  you  think  the  dreadful  element, 
Whose  frown  is  death,  whose  roar  the  dirge  of  navies, 
Will  miss  the  idle  pageant  you  prepare  for  ? 
I've  business  for  you,  too— the  dawn  advances — 
I'd  have  thee  lock  thy  little  child  in  safety, 
And  get  to  Auchindrane  before  the  sun  rise ; 
Tell  them  to  get  a  royal  banquet  ready, 
As  if  a  king  were  coming  there  to  feast  him. 

Mar.  I   will  obey  your  pleasure.    But  my  hus- 
band  

Auch.  I  wait  him  on  the  beach,  and  bring  him  in 
To  share  the  banquet. 

Mar.  But  he  has  a  friend, 

Whom  it  would  ill  become  him  to  intrude 
Upon  your  hospitality. 

AUCH.  Fear  not ;  his  friend  shall  be  made  welcome 
too, 
Should  he  return  with  Niel. 

Mar.  He  must — he  will  return — he  has  no  option. 

Auch.  (apart).  Thus  rashly  do  we  deem  of  others-' 
destiny — 
He  has  indeed  no  option — but  he  comes  not. 
Begone  on  thy  commission — I  go  this  way 
To  meet  thy  husband. 

[Marion  goe^  to  her  tower,  and  after  entering 
it,  is  seen  to  come  out,  lock  the  door,  and  leave 
the  stage,  as  if  to  execute  Auchindrane'S 
commission.  He,  apparently  going  off  in  a 
different  direction,  has  watched  her  from  the 
side  of  the  stage,  and  on  her  departure  speaks. 

AUCH.  Fare  thee  well,  fond  woman, 
Most  dangerous  o"f  spies — thou  prying,  prating, 
Spying,  and  telling  woman  !  I've  cut  short 
Thy  dangerous  testimony— hated  word ! 
What  other  evidence  have  we  cut  short, 
And  by  what  fated  means,  this  dreary  morning! — 
Bright  lances  here  and  helmets? — I  must  shift 
To  join  the  others.  [Exit. 

Enter  from  the  other  side  the  Sergeant,  accompanied 
with  an  Officer  and  two  Pikemen. 
Ser.  'Twas  in  good  time  you  came ;  a  minute  later 
The  knaves  had  ta'en  my  dollars  and  my  life. 
Off.  You  fought  most  stoutly.    Two  of  them  were 
down 
Ere  we  came  to  your  aid. 
Ser.  Gramercy,  halberd ! 


AUCHINDEANE;   OE,   THE   AYESHIEE   TEAGEDY. 


'93 


And  well  it  happens,  since  your  leader  seeks 
This  Quentin  Blane,  that  you  have  fall'n  on  me; 
None  else  can  surely  tell  you  where  he  hides, 
Being  in  some  fear,  and  bent  to  quit  this  province. 

Off.   'Twill  do  our  Earl  good  service.     He  has 
sent 
Despatches  into  Holland  for  this  Quentin. 

Ser.  I  left  him  two  hours  since  in  yonder  tower, 
Under  the  guard  of  one  who  smoothly  spoke, 
Although  he  look'd  but  roughly — I  will  chide  him 
For  bidding  me  go  forth  with  yonder  traitor. 

Off.  Assure  yourself  'twas  a  concerted  stratagem. 
Montgomery's  been  at  Holyrood  for  months, 
And  can  have  sent  no  letter — 'twas  a  plan 
On  you  and  on  your  dollars,  and  a  base  one, 
To  which  this  ranger  was  most  likely  privy ; 
Such  men  as  he  hang  on  our  fiercer  barons, 
The  ready  agents  of  their  lawless  will ; 
Boys  of  the  belt,  who  aid  their  master's  pleasures, 
And  in  his  moods  ne'er  scruple  his  injunctions. 
But  haste,  for  now  we  must  unkennel  Quentin ; 
I've  strictest  charge  concerning  him. 

Ser.  Go  up,  then,  to  the  tower. 
You've  younger  limbs  than  mine — there  shall  you  find 

him 
Lounging  and  snoring,  like  a  lazy  cur 
Before  a  stable  door;  it  is  his  practice. 

[  The  Officer  goes  up  to  the  toiver,  and  after 
knocking  without  receiving  an  answer,  turns 
the  key  which  Marion  had  left  in  the  lock, 
and  enters;  Isabel,  dressed  as  if  for  her 
dance,  runs  out  and  descends  to  the  stage  ; 
the  Officer  follows. 

Off.  There's  no  one  in  the  house,  this  little  maid 
Excepted 

ISA.  And  for  me,  I'm  there  no  longer, 

And  will  not  be  again  for  three  hours  good  : 
I'm  gone  to  join  my  playmates  on  the  sands. 

Off.  {detaining  her).  You  shall,  when  you  have  told 
to  me  distinctly 
Where  are  the  guests  who  slept  up  there  last  night. 

ISA.  Why,  there  is  the  old  man,  he  stands  beside 
you, 
The  merry  old  man,  with  the  glistening  hair ; 
He  left  the  tower  at  midnight,  for  my  father 
Brought  him  a  letter. 

Ser.  In  ill  hour  I  left  you, 

I  wish  to  Heaven  that  I  had  stay'd  with  you ; 
There  is  a  nameless  horror  that  comes  o'er  me. — 
Speak,  pretty  maiden,  tell  us  what  chanced  next, 
And  thou  shalt  have  thy  freedom. 

ISA.  After  you  went  last  night,  my  father 
Grew  moody,  and  refused  to  doff  his  clothes, 
Or  go  to  bed,  as  sometimes  he  will  do 
When  there  is  aught  to  chafe  him.     Until  past  mid- 
night, 
He  wander'd  to  and  fro,  then  call'd  the  stranger, 
The  gay  young  man,  that  sung  such  merry  songs, 
Yet  ever  look'd  most  sadly  whilst  he  sung  them, 
And  forth  they  went  together. 


Off.  And  you've  seen 

Or  heard  nought  of  them  since  ? 

ISA.  Seen  surely  nothing,  and  I  cannot  think 
That  they  have  lot  or  share  in  what  I  heard. 
I  heard  my  mother  praying,  for  the  corpse-lights 
Were  dancing  on  the  waves ;  and  at  one  o'clock, 
Just  as  the  abbey  steeple  toll'd  the  knell, 
There  was  a  heavy  plunge  upon  the  waters, 
And  some  one  cried  aloud  for  mercy ! — mercy ! 
It  was  the  water-spirit,  sure,  which  promised 
Mercy  to  boat  and  fishermen,  if  we 
Perform'd  to-day's  rites  duly.    Let  me  go — 
I  am  to  lead  the  ring. 

Off.  (to  Ser.).  Detain  her  not.  She  cannot  tell  us 
more; 
To  give  her  liberty  is  the  sure  way 
To  lure  her  parents  homeward. — Strahan,  take  two 

men, 
And  should  the  father  or  the  mother  come, 
Arrest  them  both,  or  either.    Auchindrane 
May  come  upon  the  beach ;  arrest  him  also, 
But  do  not  state  a  cause.    I'll  back  again, 
And  take  directions  from  my  Lord  Dunbar. 
Keep  you  upon  the  beach,  and  have  an  eye 
To  all  that  passes  there.  [Exeunt  separately. 


SCENE  II. 

Scenechanges  to  aremote  androcky  part  of  the  Sea-beach. 
Enter  Auchindrane,  meeting  Philip. 

Auch.    The  devil's  brought  his  legions    to    this 
beach, 
That  wont  to  be  so  lonely ;  morions,  lances, 
Show  in  the  morning  beam  as  thick  as  glow-worms 
At  summer  midnight. 

Phi.  I'm  right  glad  to  see  them, 

Be  they  whoe'er  they  may,  so  they  are  mortal ; 
For  I've  contended  with  a  lifeless  foe, 
And  I  have  lost  the  battle.    I  would  give 
A  thousand  crowns  to  hear  a  mortal  steel 
Ring  on  a  mortal  harness. 

Auch.  How  now  ! — Art  mad,  or  hast  thou  done  the 
turn — 
The  turn  we  came  for,  and  must  live  or  die  by  ? 

Phi.  Tis  done,  if  man  can  do  it;  but  I  doubt 
If  this  unhappy  wretch  have  Heaven's  permission 
To  die  by  mortal  hands. 

Auch.  Where  is  he? — where's  MacLellan  ? 

Phi.  In  the  deep — 

Both  in  the  deep,  and  what's  immortal  of  them 
Gone  to  the  judgment-seat,  where   we    must    meet 
them. 

Auch.    MacLellan    dead,  and   Quentin  too? — So 
be  it 
To  all  that  menace  ill  to  Auchindrane, 
Or  have  the  power  to  injure  him  ! — Thy  words 
Are  full  of  comfort,  but  thine  eye  and  look 


794 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Have  in  this  pallid  gloom  a  ghastliness 
Which  contradicts  the  tidings  of  thy  tongue.1 

Phi.  Hear  me,  old  man — There  is  a  heaven  above 
us, 
As  you  have  heard  old  Knox  and  Wishart  preach, 
Though  little  to  your  boot.    The  dreaded  witness 
1-  slain,  and  silent.     But  his  misused  body 
Comes  right  ashore,  as  if  to  cry  for  vengeance ; 
It  rides  the  waters  like  a  living  thing,2 
Erect,  as  if  he  trod  the  waves  which  bear  him. 

AUCH.  Thou  speakest  frenzy,  when  sense  is  most 
required. 

Phi.  Hear  me  yet  more! — I  say  I  did  the  deed 
With  all  the  coolness  of  a  practiced  hunter 
When  dealing  with  a  stag.     I  struck  him  overboard, 
And  with  MacLellan's  aid  I  held  his  head 
Under  the  waters,  while  the  ranger  tied 
The  weights  we  had  provided  to  his  feet. 
We  cast  him  loose  when  life  and  body  parted, 
And  bid  him  speed  for  Ireland.    But  even  then, 
As  in  defiance  of  the  words  we  spoke, 
The  body  rose  upright  behind  our  stern, 
One  half  in  ocean,  and  one  half  in  air, 
And  tided  after  as  in  chase  of  us.3 

Auch.    It  was  enchantment! — Did  you  strike  at 
it? 

Phi.  Once  and  again.     But  blows  avail'd  no  more 
Than  on  a  wreath  of  smoke,  where  they  may  break 
The  column  for  a  moment,  which  unites 
And  is  entire  again.     Thus  the  dead  body 
Sunk  down  before  my  oar,  but  rose  unharm'd, 
And  dogg'd  us  closer  still,  as  in  defiance. 

AUCH.  'Twas  hell's  own  work ! 

Phi.  MacLellan  then  grew  restive 

And  desperate  in  his  fear,  blasphemed  aloud, 
Cursing  us  both  as  authors  of  his  ruin. 
Myself  was  wellnigh  frantic  while  pursued 
By  this  dead  shape,  upon  whose  ghastly  features 
The  changeful  moonbeam  spread  a  grisly  light; 
And,  baited  thus,  I  took  the  nearest  way4 
To  ensure  his  silence,  and  to  quell  his  noise ; 
I  used  my  dagger,  and  I  Hung  him  overboard, 
And  half  expected  his  dead  carcass  also 
Would  join  the  chase — but  he  sunk  down  at  once. 


"  Tins  man's  brow,  like  to  a  title  leaf, 


Fun-tells  tin-  nature  of  a  trauic  volume ; 

Thou  tremblest;  and  the  whiteness  in  thy  cheek 

Is  apter  than  thy  tongue  to  tell  thy  errand." 

2d  King  Henry  TV. 

2  "  walks  the  waters  like  a  thing  of  lite." 

Byron.     The,  Corsair. 

3  This  passage  was  probably  suggested  by  a  striking  one  in 
Southey'a  Life  of  Nelson,  touching  the  corpse  of  the  Neapol- 
itan Prince  Caraccjoli,  executed  on  board  the  Foudroyant, 
then  the  great  British  admiral's  flagship,  in  the  bay  of  Na- 
ples, in  1799.  The  circumstances  of  Caraccioli's  trial  and 
death  form,  it  is  almost  needless  to  observe,  the  most  un- 
pleasant chapter  in  Lord  Nelson's  history: — 

"  The  body,"  says  Southey,  "  was  carried  out  to  a  consider- 
able  distance  and  sunk  in  the  bay,  with  three  double-headed 
shot,  weighing  two  hundred  and  tifty  pounds,  tied  to  its  legs. 


Aucii.  ne  had  enough  of  mortal  sin  about  him 
To  sink  an  argosy. 

Phi.  But  now  resolve  you  what  defence  to  make, 
If  Quentin's  body  shall  be  recognized ; 
For  'tis  ashore  already ;  and  he  bears 
Marks  of  my  handiwork ;  so  does  MacLellan. 

Auch.  The  concourse  thickens  still — Away,  away ! 
We  must  avoid  the  multitude.  [They  rush  out. 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  changes  to  another  part  of  the  Beach.  Children 
are  seen  dancing,  and  Villagers  looking  on.  Isabel 
seems  to  take  the  management  of  the  Dance. 

VlL.  Wom.  How  well  she  queens  it,  the  brave  little 

maiden ! 
VlL.  Ay,  they  all  queen  it  from  their  very  cradle, 
These  willing  slaves  of  haughty  Auchindrane. 
But  now  I  hear  the  old  man's  reign  is  ended ; — 
'Tis  well — he  has  been  tyrant  long  enough. 
Second  Vil.  Finlay,  speak  low,  you  interrupt  the 

sports. 
Third  Vil.  Look  out  to  sea — There's  something 
coming  yonder, 
Bound  for  the  beach,  will  scare  us  from  our  mirth. 
Fourth  Vil.   Pshaw,  it  is  but  a  sea-gull  on  the 
wing, 
Between  the  wave  and  sky. 

Third  Vil.  Thou  art  a  fool, 

Standing  on  solid  land — 'tis  a  dead  body. 
Second  Vil.  And  if  it  be,  he  bears  him  like  a  live 
one, 
Not  prone  and  weltering  like  a  drowned  corpse, 
But  bold  erect,  as  if  he  trod  the  waters, 
And  used  them  as  his  path. 

Fourth  Vil.  It  is  a  merman, 

And  nothing  of  this  earth,  alive  or  dead. 

[By  degrees  all  the  dancers  break  off  from  their 
sport,  and  stand  gazing  to  seaward,  while  an 
object,  imperfectly  seen,  drifts  towards  the 
beach,  and  at  length  arrives  among  the  rocks 
which  border  the  tide. 


Between  two  or  three  weeks  afterwards,  when  the  king  (of 
Naples)  was  on  board  the  Foudroyant,  a  Neapolitan  fisher- 
man came  to  the  ship  and  solemnly  declared  that  Caraccioli 
had  risen  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  was  coming  as  fast 
as  he  could  to  Naples,  swimming  half  out  of  the  water.  Such 
an  account  was  listened  to  like  a  tale  of  idle  credulity.  The 
day  being  fair,  Nelson,  to  please  the  kin-,  stood  out  to  sea; 
but  the  ship  had  not  proceeded  far  before  a  body  was  dis- 
tinctly seen,  upright  in  the  water,  and  approaching  them.  It 
was  recognized  indeed  to  be  the  corpse  of  Caraccioli,  which 
had  risen  and  floated,  while  the  great  weights  attached  to 
the  legs  kept  the  body  in  a  position  like  that  of  a  living  man. 
A  fact  so  extraordinary  astonished  the  king,  and  perhaps 
excited  some  feelings  of  superstitious  fear  akin  to  regret. 
He  gave  permission  for  the  body  to  be  taken  on  shore  and 
receive  Christian  burial." — Life  of  Nelson,  chap.  vi. 
4  MS.:  "And,  baited  by  my  slave,  I  used  my  dagger." 


AUCHINDEANE;    OE,    THE   AYRSHIEE    TEAGEDY. 


795 


Third  Vil.  Perhaps  it  is  some  wretch  who  needs 
assistance ; 
Jasper,  make  in  and  see. 

Second  Vil.  Not  I,  my  friend ; 

E'en  take  the  risk  yourself,  you'd  put  on  others. 

[Hildebrand  hus  entered,  and  heard  the  two 
last  words. 
Ser.  What,  are  you  men  ? 
Fear  ye  to  look  on  what  you  must  be  one  day  ? 
I,  who  have  seen  a  thousand  dead  and  dying 
Within  a  flight-shot  square,  will  teach  you  how  in  war 
We  look  upon  the  corpse  when  life  has  left  it. 

[He  goes  to  the  back  scene,  and  seems  attempting 
to  turn  the  body,  which  has  come  ashore  with 
its  face  downwards. 
Will  none  of  you  come  aid  to  turn  the  body  ? 

ISA.  You're  cowards  all. — I'll  help  thee,  good  old 
man. 

[She  goes  to  aid  the  Sergeant  with  the  body, 
and  presently  gives  a  cry,  and  faints.     Hil- 
debrand comes  forward.     All  crowd  round 
him ;  he  speaks  with  an  expression  of  horror. 
Ser.  'Tis  Quentin  Blane !     Poor  youth,  his  gloomy 
bodings 
Have  been  the  prologue  to  an  act  of  darkness ; 
His  feet  are  manacled,  his  bosom  stabb'd, 
And  he  is  foully  murder'd.     The  proud  Knight 
And  his  dark  ranger  must  have  done  this  deed, 
For  which  no  common  ruffian  could  have  motive. 
A  Pea.  Caution  were  best,  old  man — Thou  art  a 
stranger, 
The  Knight  is  great  and  powerful. 

Ser.  Let  it  be  so. 

Call'd  on  by  Heaven  to  stand  forth  an  avenger, 
I  will  not  blench  for  fear  of  mortal  man. 
Have  I  not  seen  that  when  that  innocent 
Had  placed  her  hands  upon  the  murder'd  body, 
His  gaping  wounds,1  that  erst  were  soak'd  with  brine, 
Burst  forth  with  blood  as  ruddy  as  the  cloud 
Which  now  the  sun  doth  rise  on  ? 
Pea.  What  of  that? 


1  MS. :  "  His  unblooded  wounds,"  &c. 

2  "  The  poet,  in  his  play  of  '  Auchindrane,'  displayed  real 
tragic  power,  and  soothed  all  those  who  cried  out  before  for 
a  more  direct  story,  and  less  of  the  retrospective.  Several  of 
the  scenes  are  conceived  and  executed  with  all  the  powers  of 


Ser.  Nothing  that  can  affect  the  innocent  child, 
But  murder's  guilt  attaching  to  her  father, 
Since  the  blood  musters  in  the  victim's  veins 
At  the  approach  of  what  holds  lease  from  him 
Of  all  that  parents  can  transmit  to  children. 
And  here  comes  one  to  whom  I'll  vouch  the  circum- 
stance. 

The  Earl  of  Dunbar  enters  with  Soldiers  and  others, 
having  Auchindrane  and  Philip  prisoners. 

Dun.   Fetter  the  young  ruffian  and  his  trait'rous 
father ! 

[They  are  made  secure. 

Auch.    'Twas  a  lord  spoke  it — I  have  known  a 
knight, 
Sir  George  of  Home,  who  had  not  dared  to  say  so. 

Dun.  'Tis  Heaven,  not  I,  decides  upon  your  guilt. 
A  harmless  youth  is  traced  within  your  power, 
Sleeps  in  your  ranger's  house — his  friend  at  midnight 
Is  spirited  away.    Then  lights  are  seen, 
And  groans  are  heard,  and  corpses  come  ashore 
Mangled  with  daggers,  while  (to  Philip)  your  dagger 

wears 
The  sanguine  livery  of  recent  slaughter : 
Here,  too,  the  body  of  a  murder'd  victim 
(Whom  none  but  you  had  interest  to  remove) 
Bleeds  on  a  child's  approach,  because  the  daughter 
Of  one  the  abettor  of  the  wicked  deed. 
All  this,  and  other  proofs  corroborative, 
Call  on  us  briefly  to  pronounce  the  doom 
We  have  in  charge  to  utter. 

Auch.  If  my  house  perish,  Heaven's  will  be  done  f 
I  wish  not  to  survive  it;  but  oh,  Philip, 
Would  one  could  pay  the  ransom  for  us  both ! 

Phi.  Father,  'tis  fitter  that  we  both  should  die, 
Leaving  no  heir  behind. — The  piety 
Of  a  bless'd  saint,  the  morals  of  an  anchorite, 
Could  not  atone  thy  dark  hypocrisy, 
Or  the  wild  profligacy  I  have  practiced. 
Ruin'd  our  house,  and  shatter'd  be  our  towers, 
And  with  them  end  the  curse  our  sins  have  merited  !* 


the  best  parts  of  '  Waverley.'  The  verse,  too,  is  more  rough, 
natural,  and  nervous,  than  that  of  'Halidon  Hill ;'  but,  noble 
as  the  effort  was,  it  was  eclipsed  so  much  by  his  splendid 
romances  that  the  public  still  complained  that  he  had  not 
done  his  best,  and  that  his  genius  was  not  dramatic." — At.i.am 
Cunningham.    Athenmum,  14th  Dec.  1833. 


A  TRAGEDY. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

THIS  attempt  at  dramatic  composition  was  executed 
nearly  thirty  years  since,  when  the  magnificent  works 
of  Goethe  and  Schiller  were  for  the  first  time  made 
known  to  the  British  public,  and  received,  as  many 
now  alive  must  remember,  with  universal  enthusiasm. 
What  we  admire  we  usually  attempt  to  imitate ;  and 
the  author,  not  trusting  to  his  own  efforts,  borrowed 
the  substance  of  the  story  and  a  part  of  the  diction 
from  a  dramatic  romance  called  "  Der  Heilige  Vehme" 
(the  Secret  Tribunal),  which  fills  the  sixth  volume  of 
the  Sagen  der  Vorzeit  (Tales  of  Antiquity),  by  Beit 
Weber.  The  drama  must  be  termed  rather  a  rifa- 
cimento  of  the  original  than  a  translation,  since  the 
whole  is  compressed,  and  the  incidents  and  dialogue 
occasionally  much  varied.  The  imitator  is  ignorant  of 
the  real  name  of  his  ingenious  contemporary,  and  has 
been  informed  that  of  Beit  Weber  is  fictitious.1 

The  late  Mr.  John  Kemble  at  one  time  had  some 
desire  to  bring  out  the  play  at  Drury  Lane,  then 
adorned  by  himself  and  his  matchless  sister,  who  were 
to  have  supported  the  characters  of  the  unhappy  son 
and  mother :  but  great  objections  appeared  to  this  pro- 
posal. There  was  danger  that  the  main  spring  of  the 
story, — the  binding  engagements  formed  by  members 
of  the  secret  tribunal, — might  not  be  sufficiently  felt 
by  an  English  audience,  to  whom  the  nature  of  that 
singularly  mysterious  institution  was  unknown  from 
early  association.  There  was  also,  according  to  Mr. 
Kemble's  experienced  opinion,  too  much  blood,  too 
much  of  the  dire  catastrophe  of  Tom  Thumb,  when 
all  die  on  the  stage.  It  was  besides  esteemed  perilous 
to  place  the  fifth  act  and  the  parade  and  show  of  the 
secret  conclave  at  the  mercy  of  underlings  and  scene- 
shifters,  who,  by  a  ridiculous  motion,  gesture,  or  ac- 
cent, might  turn  what  should  be  grave  into  farce. 

The  author,  or  rather  the  translator,  willingly  ac- 
quiesced in  this  reasoning,  and  never  afterwards  made 
any  attempt  to  gain  the  honor  of  the  buskin.  The 
German  taste  also,  caricatured  by  a  number  of  imita- 
tors who,  incapable  of  copying  the  sublimity  of  the 
great  masters  of  the  school,  supplied  its  place  by  ex- 
travagance and  bombast,  fell  into  disrepute,  and  re- 
ceived a  coup  de  grace  from  the  joint  efforts  of  the  late 
lamented  Mr.  Canning  and  Mr.  Frere.  The  effect  of 
their  singularly  happy  piece  of  ridicule  called  "  The 


1  George  Wachter,  who  published  various  works  under 
the  pseudonym  of  Veil  Weber,  was  born  in  1763,  and  died  in 
1837.— En. 

(  796  ) 


Rovers,"  a  mock  play  which  appeared  in  the  Anti- 
jacobin,  was  that  the  German  school,  with  its  beau- 
ties and  its  defects,  passed  completely  out  of  fashion, 
and  the  following  scenes  were  consigned  to  neglect 
and  obscurity.  Very  lately,  however,  the  writer  chanced 
to  look  them  over  with  feelings  very  different  from 
those  of  the  adventurous  period  of  his  literary  life 
during  which  they  had  been  written,  and  yet  with 
such  as  perhaps  a  reformed  libertine  might  regard  the 
illegitimate  production  of  an  early  amour.  There  is 
something  to  be  ashamed  of,  certainly;  but,  after  all, 
paternal  vanity  whispers  that  the  child  has  a  resem- 
blance to  the  father. 

To  this  it  need  only  be  added  that  there  are  in  ex- 
istence so  many  manuscript  copies  of  the  following 
play  that  if  it  should  not  find  its  way  to  the  public 
sooner,  it  is  certain  to  do  so  when  the  author  can  no 
more  have  any  opportunity  of  correcting  the  press,  and 
consequently  at  greater  disadvantage  than  at  present. 
Being  of  too  small  a  size  or  consequence  for  a  separate 
publication,  the  piece  is  sent  as  a  contribution  to  the 
Keepsake,  where  its  demerits  may  be  hidden  amid  the 
beauties  of  more  valuable  articles.2 

Abbotsford,  1st  April,  1829. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  an  old  German  Warrior. 

George  of  Aspen,  )  a      _    „    7. 
„  .  \  Sons  to  Kudiqer. 

Henry  of  Aspen,    J  * 

Roderic,  Count  of  Maltingen,  Chief  of  a  department 
of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  and  the  hereditary  Enemy 
of  the  Family  of  Aspen. 

William,  Baron  of  Wolfstein,  Ally  of  Count  Rod- 
eric. 

Bertram  of  Ebersdorf,  Brother  to  the  former  Hus- 
band of  the  Baroness  of  Aspen,  disguised  as  a  Min- 
strel. 

Duke  of  Bavaria. 

Wiokerd,  1  FMowers  0f  the  Home  0f  Aspen. 
Reynold,  j  J 

Conrad,  Page  of  Honor  to  Henry  of  Aspen. 
Martin,  Squire  to  George  of  Aspen. 


«  See  Life  of  Scoli,  vol.  ii.  pp.  18,  20,  72 ;  iii.  2 ;  ix.  208. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


797 


Hugo,  Squire  to  Count  Eoderic. 
Peter,  an  ancient  Domestic  of  Rudiger. 
Father  Ludovic,  Chaplain  to  Rudiger. 

WOMEN. 
Isabella,  formerly  married  to  Arnold  of  Ebersdorf, 

now  Wife  of  Rudiger. 
Gertrude,  Isabella's  Niece,  betrothed  to  Henry. 

Soldiers,  Judges  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal, 
&e.  &c. 

Scene — The  Castle  of  Ebersdorf  in  Bavaria,  the  Ruins 
of  Grief enhaus,  and  the  adjacent  Country. 


Cfje  ^ouse  of  aspen. 


ACT   I.— SCENE   I. 

An  ancient  Gothic  Chamber  in  the  Castle  of  Ebersdorf. 
Spears,  crossbows,  and  arms,  with  the  horns  of  Buf- 
faloes and  of  Deer,  are  hung  around  the  wall.  An 
antique  Buffet  with  beakers  and  stone  bottles. 

Rudiger,  Baron  of  Aspen,  and  his  Lady,  Isabella, 
are  discovered  sitting  at  a  large  oaken  table. 

Pud.  A  plague  upon  that  roan  horse !  Had  he  not 
stumbled  with  me  at  the  ford  after  our  last  skirmish, 
I  had  been  now  with  my  sons.  And  yonder  the  boys 
are,  hardly  three  miles  off,  battling  with  Count  Rod- 
eric,  and  their  father  must  lie  here  like  a  worm-eaten 
manuscript  in  a  convent  library.  Out  upon  it !  Out 
upon  it !  Is  it  not  hard  that  a  warrior  who  has  trav- 
elled so  many  leagues  to  display  the  cross  on  the  walls 
of  Zion  should  be  now  unable  to  lift  a  spear  before  his 
own  castle  gate  I 

ISA.  Dear  husband,  your  anxiety  retards  your  re- 
covery. 

Eud.  May  be  so ;  but  not  less  than  your  silence  and 
melancholy.  Here  have  I  sat  this  month  and  more, 
since  that  cursed  fall !  Neither  hunting,  nor  feasting, 
nor  lance-breaking  for  me!  And  my  sons — George 
enters  cold  and  reserved,  as  if  he  had  the  weight  of 
the  empire  on  his  shoulders,  utters  by  syllables  a  cold 
"  How  is  it  with  you?"  and  shuts  himself  up  for  days 
in  his  solitary  chamber ;  Henry,  my  cheerful  Henry — 

ISA.  Surely  he  at  least — 

Rud.  Even  he  forsakes  me,  and  skips  up  the  tower 
staircase  like  lightning  to  join  your  fair  ward,  Ger- 
trude, on  the  battlements.  I  cannot  blame  him ;  for, 
by  my  knightly  faith,  were  I  in  his  place,  I  think  even 
these  bruised  bones  would  hardly  keep  me  from  her 
side.    Still,  however,  here  I  must  sit  alone. 

Isa.  Not  alone,  dear  husband.  Heaven  knows  what 
I  would  do  to  soften  your  confinement. 


Pud.  Tell  me  not  of  that,  lady.  When  I  first  knew 
thee,  Isabella,  the  fair  maid  of  Arnheim  was  the  joy 
of  her  companions,  and  breathed  life  wherever  she 
came.  Thy  father  married  thee  to  Arnolf  of  Ebers- 
dorf—not  much  with  thy  will,  'tis  true.  (She  hides 
her  face.)  Nay,  forgive  me,  Isabella — but  that  is 
over;  he  died,  and  the  ties  between  us,  which  thy 
marriage  had  broken,  were  renewed — but  the  sun- 
shine of  my  Isabella's  light  heart  returned  no  more. 

ISA.  (weeping).  Peloved  Rudiger,  you  search  my 
very  soul !  Why  will  you  recall  past  times — days  of 
spring  that  can  never  return?  Do  I  not  love  thee 
more  than  ever  wife  loved  husband  ? 

Pud.  (stretches  out  his  arms;  she  embraces  him). 
And  therefore  art  thou  ever  my  beloved  Isabella. 
But  still,  is  it  not  true?  Has  not  thy  cheerfulness 
vanished  since  thou  hast  become  Lady  of  Aspen? 
Dost  thou  repent  of  thy  love  to  Rudiger  ? 

ISA.  Alas,  no !  never,  never ! 

Pud.  Then  why  dost  thou  herd  with  monks  and 
priests,  and  leave  thy  old  knight  alone,  when,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  stormy  life,  he  has  rested  for  weeks 
within  the  walls  of  his  castle  ?  Hast  thou  committed  a 
crime  from  which  Rudiger's  love  cannot  absolve  thee  ? 

ISA.  Oh,  many,  many ! 

Pud.  Then  be  this  kiss  thy  penance.  And  tell  me, 
Isabella,  hast  thou  not  founded  a  convent,  and  en- 
dowed it  with  the  best  of  thy  late  husband's  lands? — 
ay,  and  with  a  vineyard  which  I  could  have  prized 
as  well  as  the  sleek  monks.  Dost  thou  not  daily  dis- 
tribute alms  to  twenty  pilgrims?  Dost  thou  ndt 
cause  ten  masses  to  be  sung  each  night  for  the  repose 
of  thy  late  husband's  soul  ? 

ISA.  It  will  not  know  repose. 

Pud.  Well,  well — God's  peace  be  with  Arnolf  of 
Ebersdorf!  The  mention  of  him  makes  thee  ever  sad, 
though  so  many  years  have  passed  since  his  death. 

ISA.  But  at  present,  dear  husband,  have  I  not  the 
most  just  cause  for  anxiety?  Are  not  Henry  and 
George,  our  beloved  sons,  at  this  very  moment  per- 
haps engaged  in  doubtful  contest  with  our  hereditary 
foe,  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  ? 

Rud.  Now,  there  lies  the  difference :  you  sorrow 
that  they  are  in  danger,  I  that  I  cannot  share  it  with 
them.  Hark !  I  hear  horses'  feet  on  the  drawbridge. 
Go  to  the  window,  Isabella. 

ISA.  (at  the  window).  It  is  Wiekerd,  your  squire. 

Rud.  Then  shall  we  have  tidings  of  George  and 
Henry.  (Enter  Wickerd.)  How  now,  Wiekerd? 
Have  you  come  to  blows  yet  ? 

Wic.  Not  yet,  noble  sir. 

Rud.  Not  yet!  Shame  on  the  boys'  dallying! — 
what  wait  they  for  ? 

Wic.  The  foe  is  strongly  posted,  sir  knight,  upon 
the  Wolfshill,  near  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus ;  there- 
fore your  noble  son,  George  of  Aspen,  greets  you  well, 
and  recpiests  twenty  more  men-at-arms,  and  after  they 
have  joined  him,  he  hopes,  with  the  aid  of  Saint  The- 
odore, to  send  you  news  of  victory. 

Pud.  (attempts  to  rise  hastily).  Saddle  my  black 


798 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


barb ;  I  will  head  them  myself.  (Site  down.)  A  mur- 
rain on  that  stumbling  roan!  I  had  forgot  my  dis- 
located bones.  Call  Reynold,  Wickerd,  and  bid  him 
take  all  whom  he  can  spare  from  defence  of  the  cas- 
tle. (WlCKEBD  is  going.)  And  ho !  Wickerd,  carry 
with  you  my  black  barb,  and  bid  George  charge  upon 
him.  (Exit  Wickerd.)  Now  see,  Isabella,  if  I  dis- 
regard the  boy's  safety :  I  send  him  the  best  horse 
ever  knight  bestrode.  When  we  lay  before  Ascalon, 
indeed,  I  had  a  bright  bay  Persian — Thou  dost  not 
heed  me. 

Isa.  Forgive  me,  dear  husband:  are  not  our  sons 
in  danger?  Will  not  our  sins  be  visited  upon  them? 
Is  not  their  present  situation 

Rud.  Situation  ?  I  know  it  well :  as  fair  a  field  for 
open  fight  as  I  ever  hunted  over.  See  here  (makes 
lines  on  the  table) — here  is  the  ancient  castle  of  Grie- 
fenhaus  in  ruins,  here  the  Woli'shill,  and  here  the 
marsh  on  the  right. 

ISA.  The  marsh  of  Griefenhaus ! 

Rud.  Yes;  by  that  the  boys  must  pass. 

ISA.  Pass  there !  (Apart.)  Avenging  Heaven !  thy 
hand  is  upon  us !  [Exit  hastily. 

Rud.  Whither  now?    Whither  now?    She  is  gone. 

Thus  it  goes.    Peter !    Peter !    (Enter  Petek.)    Help 

me  to  the  gallery,  that  I  may  see  them  on  horseback. 

[Exit,  leaning  on  Peter. 


SCENE  II. 

The  inner  court  of  the  Castle  of  Ebersdorf ;  a  quad- 
rangle, surrounded  with  Gothic  buildings ;  troopers, 
followers  of  Rudiger,  pass  and  repass  in  haste,  as 
if  preparing  for  an  excursion. 

Wickerd  comes  forward. 
WiC.    What,   ho!     Reynold!     Reynold!— By  our 
Lady,  the  spirit  of  the  Seven  Sleepers  is  upon  him — 
So  ho!  not  mounted  yet?     Reynold! 

Enter  Reynold. 

Rey.  Here !  here !  A  devil  choke  thy  bawling ! 
think'st  thou  old  Reynold  is  not  as  ready  for  a  skir- 
mish as  thou? 

Wic.  Nay,  nay :  I  did  but  jest ;  but,  by  my  sooth, 
it  were  a  shame  should  our  youngsters  have  yoked 
with  Count  Roderic  before  we  graybeards  come. 

Rey.  Heaven  forefend !  Our  troopers  are  but  sad- 
dling their  horses;  five  minutes  more  and  we  are  in 
our  stirrups,  and  then  let  Count  Roderic  sit  fast. 

Wic.  A  plague  on  him !  he  has  ever  lain  hard  on 
the  skirts  of  our  noble  master. 

Rey.  Especially  since  he  was  refused  the  hand  of 
our  lady's  niece,  the  pretty  Lady  Gertrude. 

Wic.  Ay,  marry !  would  nothing  less  serve  the  fox 
of  Maltingen  than  the  lovely  lamb  of  our  young  Baron 
Henry  ?  By  my  sooth,  Reynold,  when  I  look  upon 
these  two  lovers,  they  make  me  full  twenty  years 


younger ;  and  when  I  meet  the  man  that  would  divide 
them — I  say  nothing — but  let  him  look  to  it. 

Rey.  And  how  fare  our  young  lords  ? 

Wic.  Each  well  in  his  humor, — Baron  George 
stern  and  cold,  according  to  his  wont,  and  his  brother 
as  cheerful  as  ever. 

REY.  Well !— Baron  Henry  for  me. 

WiC.  Yet  George  saved  thy  life. 

Rey.  True— with  as  much  indifference  as  if  he  had 
been  snatching  a  chestnut  out  of  the  fire.  Now  Baron 
Henry  wept  for  my  danger  and  my  wounds.  There- 
fore George  shall  ever  command  my  life,  but  Henry 
my  love. 

Wic.  Nay,  Baron  George  shows  his  gloomy  spirit 
even  by  the  choice  of  a  favorite. 

Rey.  Ay, — Martin,  formerly  the  squire  of  Arnolf  of 
Ebersdorf,  his  mother's  first  husband.  I  marvel  he 
could  not  have  fitted  himself  with  an  attendant  from 
among  the  faithful  followers  of  his  worthy  father, 
whom  Arnolf  and  his  adherents  used  to  hate  as  the 
devil  hates  holy  water.  But  Martin  is  a  good  soldier, 
and  has  stood  toughly  by  George  in  many  a  hard 
brunt. 

WiC.  The  knave  is  sturdy  enough,  but  so  sulky 
withal — I  have  seen,  brother  Reynold,  that  when  Mar- 
tin showed  his  moody  visage  at  the  banquet,  our  noble 
mistress  has  dropped  the  wine  she  was  raising  to  her 
lips,  and  exchanged  her  smiles  for  a  ghastly  frown,  as 
if  sorrow  went  by  sympathy,  as  kissing  goes  by  favor. 

Rey.  His  appearance  reminds  her  of  her  first  hus- 
band, and  thou  hast  well  seen  that  makes  her  ever  sad. 

Wic.  Dost  thou  marvel  at  that  ?  She  was  married  to 
Arnolf  by  a  species  of  force,  and  they  say  that  before 
his  death  he  compelled  her  to  swear  never  to  espouse 
Rudiger.  The  priests  will  notabsolve  her  for  the  breach 
of  that  vow,  and  therefore  she  is  troubled  in  mind. 
For  d'ye  mark  me,  Reynold [Bugle  sounds. 

Rey.  A  truce  to  your  preaching !  To  horse !  and  a 
blessing  on  our  arms ! 

Wic.  Saint  George  grant  it !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. 

The  gallery  of  the  castle,  term  inaiingin  a  large  balcony 
commanding a  distant  prospect. —  Voices,  bugle-horns, 
kettle-drums,  trampling  of  horses,  &c.  are  heard  with- 
out. 

Rudiger,  leaning  on  Peter,  looks  from  the  balcony. 
Gertrude  and  Isabella  are  near  him. 

Rud.  There  they  go  at  length — look,  Isabella! 
look,  my  pretty  Gertrude — these  are  the  iron-handed 
warriors  who  shall  tell  Roderic  what  it  will  cost  him 
to  force  thee  from  my  protection.  (Flourish  without. 
Rudiger  stretches  his  arms  from  the  balcony.)  Go,  my 
children,  and  God's  blessing  with  you!  Look  at  my 
black  barb,  Gertrude.  That  horse  shall  let  daylight 
in  through  a  phalanx,  were  it  twenty  pikes  deep. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


799 


Shame  on  it  that  I  cannot  mount  him !  Seest  thou 
how  fierce  old  Reynold  looks  ? 

Gee.  I  can  hardly  know  my  friends  in  their  armor. 
[The  bugles  and  kettle-drums  are  heard  as  at 
a  greater  distance. 

Rud.  Now  I  could  tell  every  one  of  their  names, 
even  at  this  distance ;  ay,  and  were  they  covered,  as  I 
have  seen  them,  with  dust  and  blood.  He  on  the 
dapple-gray  is  Wickerd — a  hardy  fellow,  but  some- 
what given  to  prating.  That  is  young  Conrad  who 
gallops  so  fast,  page  to  thy  Henry,  my  girl. 

[Bugles,  &C-,  at  a  greater  distance  still. 

Gee.  Heaven  guard  them  !  Alas !  the  voice  of  war, 
that  calls  the  blood  into  your  cheeks,  chills  and  freezes 
mine. 

Rud.  Say  not  so.  It  is  glorious,  my  girl,  glorious ! 
See  how  their  armor  glistens  as  they  wind  round  yon 
hill !  how  their  spears  glimmer  amid  the  long  train  of 
dust !  Hark !  you  can  still  hear  the  faint  notes  of 
their  trumpets.  {Bugles  very  faint.) — And  Rudiger, 
old  Rudiger  with  the  iron  arm,  as  the  crusaders  used 
to  call  me,  must  remain  behind  with  the  priests  and 
the  women.     Well!  well! — (Sings.) 

"It  was  a  knight  to  battle  rode, 
And  as  his  war-horse  he  bestrode" — 

Fill  me  a  bowl  of  wine,  Gertrude;  and  do  thou, 
Peter,  call  the  minstrel  who  came  hither  last  night. — 
(Sings.) 

"Off  rode  the  horseman,  dash,  sa,  sa! 
And  stroked  his  whiskers,  tra,  la,  la." — 

(Petee  goes  out.  Rudigee  sits  down,  and  Geeteude 
helps  him  with  wine.)  Thanks,  my  love.  It  tastes  ever 
best  from  thy  hand.  Isabella,  here  is  glory  and  vic- 
tory to  our  boys.  (Drinks.) — Wilt  thou  not  pledge 
me? 

ISA.  To  their  safety,  and  God  grant  it!     (Drinks.) 

Miter  Beeteam  as  a  Minstrel,  with  a  boy  bearing  his 
harp.    Also  Petee. 

Rud.  Thy  name,  minstrel ! 

Bee.  Minhold,  so  please  you. 

Rud.  Art  thou  a  German  ? 

Bee.  Yes,  noble  sir ;  and  of  this  province. 

Rud.  Sing  me  a  song  of  battle. 

[Beeteam  sings  to  the  harp. 

Rtjd.  Thanks,  minstrel :  well  sung,  and  lustily. 
What  say'st-thou,  Isabella? 

ISA.  I  marked  him  not. 

Rud.  Nay,  in  sooth  you  are  too  anxious.  Cheer  up. 
And  thou,  too,  my  lovely  Gertrude :  in  a  few  hours 
thy  Henry  shall  return,  and  twine  his  laurels  into  a 
garland  for  thy  hair.  He  fights  for  thee,  and  he  must 
conquer. 

Gee.  Alas!  must  blood  be  spilled  for  a  silly  maiden? 

Rud.  Surely:  for  what  should  knights  break  lances 
but  for  honor  and  ladies'  love — ha,  minstrel  ? 


Bee.  So  please  you — also  to  punish  crimes. 

Rud.  Out  upon  it!  wouldst  have  us  executioners, 
minstrel  ?  Such  work  would  disgrace  our  blades.  We 
leave  malefactors  to  the  Secret  Tribunal. 

ISA.  Merciful  God!  Thou  hast  spoken  a  word,  Ru- 
diger, of  dreadful  import. 

Gee.  They  say  that,  unknown  and  invisible  them- 
selves, these  awful  judges  are  ever  present  with  the 
guilty;  that  the  past  and  the  present  misdeeds,  the 
secrets  of  the  confessional,  nay,  the  very  thoughts  of 
the  heart,  are  before  them ;  that  their  doom  is  as  sure 
as  that  of  fate,  the  means  and  executioners  unknown. 

Rud.  They  say  true — the  secrets  of  that  association, 
and  the  names  of  those  whose  compose  it,  are  as  inscru- 
table as  the  grave :  we  only  know  that  it  has  taken 
deep  root,  and  spread  its  branches  wide.  I  sit  down 
each  day  in  my  hall,  nor  know  I  how  many  of  these 
secret  judges  may  surround  me,  all  bound  by  the  most 
solemn  vow  to  avenge  guilt.  Once,  and  but  once,  a 
knight,  at  the  earnest  request  and  inquiries  of  the 
emperor,  hinted  that  he  belonged  to  the  society :  the 
next  morning  he  was  found  slain  in  a  forest;  the 
poniard  was  left  in  the  wound,  and  bore  this  label — 
"Thus  do  the  invisible  judges  punish  treachery." 

Gee.  Gracious !  aunt,  you  grow  pale. 

ISA.  A  slight  indisposition  only. 

Rud.  And  what  of  it  all  ?  We  know  our  hearts  are 
open  to  our  Creator :  shall  we  fear  any  earthly  inspec- 
tion ?  Come  to  the  battlements ;  there  we  shall  soon- 
est descry  the  return  of  our  warriors. 

[Exit  Rudigee  with  Geeteude  and  Petee. 

ISA.  Minstrel,  send  the  chaplain  hither.  (Exit  Bee- 
team.)  Gracious  Heaven!  the  guileless  innocence  of 
my  niece,  the  manly  honesty  of  my  upright-hearted 
Rudiger,  become  daily  tortures  to  me.  While  he  was 
engaged  in  active  and  stormy  exploits,  fear  for  his 
safety,  joy  when  he  returned  to  his  castle,  enabled  me 
to  disguise  my  inward  anguish  from  others.  But  from 
myself — Judges  of  blood,  that  lie  concealed  in  noon- 
tide as  in  midnight,  who  boast  to  avenge  the  hidden 
guilt,  and  to  penetrate  the  recesses  of  the  human 
breast,  how  blind  is  your  penetration,  how  vain  your 
dagger  and  your  cord,  compared  to  the  conscience  of 
the  sinner ! 

Enter  Fathee  Ludovic. 

Lud.  Peace  be  with  you,  lady ! 

ISA.  It  is  not  with  me :  it  is  thy  office  to  bring  it. 

Lud.  And  the  cause  is  the  absence  of  the  young 
knights? 

Isa.  Their  absence  and  their  danger. 

Lud.  Daughter,  thy  hand  has  been  stretched  out  in 
bounty  to  the  sick  and  to  the  needy.  Thou  hast  not 
denied  a  shelter  to  the  weary,  nor  a  tear  to  the  af- 
flicted. Trust  in  their  prayers,  and  in  those  of  the 
holy  convent  thou  hast  founded ;  peradventure  they 
will  bring  back  thy  children  to  thy  bosom. 

ISA.  Thy  brethren  cannot  pray  for  me  or  mine. 
Their  vow  binds  them  to  pray  night  and  day  for  an- 
other— to   supplicate,  without   ceasing,  the    Eternal 


800 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Mercy  for  the  soul  of  one  who — Oh,  only  Heaven 
knows  how  much  he  needs  their  prayer ! 

Lud.  Unbounded  is  the  mercy  of  Heaven.  The 
soul  of  thy  former  husband 

Isa.  I  charge  thee,  priest,  mention  not  the  word. 
{Apart.)  Wretch  that  I  am,  the  meanest  menial  in 
luy  train  has  power  to  goad  me  to  madness! 

Lud.  Hearken  to  me,  daughter ;  thy  crime  against 
Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf  cannot  bear  in  the  eye  of  Heaven 
so  deep  a  dye  of  guilt. 

ISA.  Repeat  that  once  more ;  say  once  again  that  it 
cannot — cannot  bear  so  deep  a  dye.  Prove  to  me  that 
ages  of  the  bitterest  penance,  that  tears  of  the  dearest 
blood,  can  erase  such  guilt.  Prove  but  that  to  me,  and 
I  will  build  thee  an  abbey  which  shall  put  to  shame 
the  fairest  fane  in  Christendom. 

Lud.  Nay,  nay,  daughter,  your  conscience  is  over 
tender.  Supposing  that,  under  dread  of  the  stern 
Arnolf,  you  swore  never  to  marry  your  present  hus- 
band, still  the  exacting  such  an  oath  was  unlawful, 
and  the  breach  of  it  venial. 

ISA.  {resuming  her  composure).  Be  it  so,  good  father ; 
I  yield  to  thy  better  reasons.  And  now  tell  me,  has 
thy  pious  care  achieved  the  task  I  intrusted  to  thee  ? 

Lud.  Of  superintending  the  erection  of  thy  new 
hospital  for  pilgrims  ?  I  have,  noble  lady ;  and  last 
night  the  minstrel  now  in  the  castle  lodged  there. 

ISA.  Wherefore  came  he  then  to  the  castle  ? 

Lud.  Reynold  brought  the  commands  of  the  Baron. 

ISA.  Whence  comes  he,  and  what  is  his  tale  ?  When 
he  sung  before  Rudiger,  I  thought  that  long  before  I 
had  heard  such  tones,  seen  such  a  face. 

Lud.  It  is  possible  you  may  have  seen  him,  lady, 
for  he  boasts  to  have  been  known  to  Arnolf  of  Ebers- 
dorf, and  to  have  lived  formerly  in  this  castle.  He 
inquires  much  after  Martin,  Arnolf's  squire. 

Isa.  Go,  Ludovic — go  quick,  good  father,  seek  him 
out,  give  him  this  purse,  and  bid  him  leave  the  castle, 
and  speed  him  on  his  way. 

Lud.  May  I  ask  why,  noble  lady? 

ISA.  Thou  art  inquisitive,  priest:  I  honor  the  ser- 
vants of  God,  but  I  foster  not  the  prying  spirit  of  a 
monk.    Begone ! 

Lud.  But  the  Baron,  lady,  will  expect  a  reason  why 
I  dismiss  his  guest. 

ISA,  True,  true  (recollecting  herself);  pardon  my 
warmth,  good  father:  I  was  thinking  of  the  cuckoo 
that  grows  too  big  for  the  nest  of  the  sparrow,  and 
strangles  its  foster-mother.  I)o  no  such  birds  roost 
in  convent-walls? 

Lud.  Lady,  I  understand  you  not. 

ISA.  Well,  then,  say  to  the  Baron  that  I  have  dis- 
missed  long  ago  all  the  attendants  of  the  man  of  whom 
thou  hast  spoken,  and  that  1  wish  to  have  none  of 
them  beneath  my  roof. 

Lud.  {iiii/iiisitiri-fi/).  Except  Martin? 

Isa.  {sharply).  Except  Martin !  who  saved  the  life 
of  my  son  George.  Do  as  I  command  thee.  [Exit. 
Manet  Ludovic. 

Lud.    Ever   the  same — stern  and  peremptory  to 


others  as  rigorous  to  herself;  haughty  even  to  me,  to 
whom,  in  another  mood,  she  has  knelt  for  absolution, 
and  whose  knees  she  has  bathed  in  tears.  I  can- 
not fathom  her.  The  unnatural  zeal  with  which  she 
performs  her  dreadful  penances  cannot  be  religion, 
for  shrewdly  I  guess  she  believes  not  in  their  blessed 
efficacy.  Well  for  her  that  she  is  the  foundress  of 
our  convent,  otherwise  we  might  not  have  erred  in 
denouncing  her  as  a  heretic !  [Exit. 


ACT  II.— SCENE   I. 

A  Woodland  Prospect. — Through  a  long  Avenue,  half 
grown  up  by  brambles,  are  discerned  in  the  back- 
ground the  Ruins  of  the  ancient  Castle  of  GV/</<  n- 
haus. —  The  distant  noise  of  Battle  is  heard  d/wring 
this  Scene. 

Enter  GEORGE  OF  Aspen,  armed,  ivith  a  battle-axe  in 
his  hand,  as  from  horseback.  He  supports  Martin, 
and  brings  him  forward. 

Geo.  Lay  thee  down  here,  old  friend.  The  enemy's 
horsemen  will  hardly  take  their  way  among  these 
brambles  through  which  I  have  dragged  thee. 

Mar.  Oh,  do  not  leave  me!  leave  me  not  an  in- 
stant! My  moments  are  now  but  few,  and  I  would 
profit  by  them. 

Geo.  Martin,  you  forget  yourself  and  me — I  must 
back  to  the  field. 

Mar.  {attempts  to  rise).  Then  drag  me  back  thither 
also;  I  cannot  die  but  in  your  presence— I  dare  not 
be  alone.    Stay,  to  give  peace  to  my  parting  soul. 

Geo.  I  am  no  priest,  Martin.     {Going.) 

Mar.  {raising  himself  with  great  pain) .  Baron  George 
of  Aspen,  I  saved  thy  life  in  battle:  for  that  good 
deed,  hear  me  but  one  moment. 

Geo.  I  hear  thee,  my  poor  friend.     {Returning.) 

Mar.  But  come  close — very  close.  Seest  thou,  sir 
knight — this  wound  I  bore  for  thee — and  this — and 
this — dost  thou  remember  ? 

Geo.  I  do.     • 

Mar.  I  have  served  thee  since  thou  wast  a  child ; 
served  thee  faithfully — was  never  from  thy  side. 

Geo.  Thou  hast. 

Mar.  And  now  I  die  in  thy  service. 

Geo.  Thou  may'st  recover. 

Mar.  I  cannot.  By  my  long  service — by  my  scars — 
by  this  mortal  gash,  and  by  the  death  that  I  am  to 
die — oh,  do  not  hate  me  for  what  I  am  now  to  unfold! 

Geo.  Be  assured  I  can  never  hate  thee. 

.Mar.    Ah,   thou   little    knowest Swear   to   me 

thou  wilt  speak  a  word  of  comfort  to  my  parting  soul. 

Geo.  (takes  his  hand).  I  swear  I  will.  {Alarm  and 
shouting.)     But  be  brief — thou  knowest  my  haste. 

Mar.  Hear  me,  then.  I  was  the  squire,  the  be- 
loved and  favorite  attendant,  of  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf. 
Arnolf  was  savage  as  the  mountain  bear.    He  loved 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


801 


the  Lady  Isabel,  but  she  requited  not  his  passion. 
She  loved  thy  father;  but  her  sire,  old  Aruheim,  was 
the  friend  of  Arnolf,  and  she  was  forced  to  marry  him. 
By  midnight,  in  the  chapel  of  Ebersdorf,  the  ill- 
omened  rites  were  performed;  her  resistance,  her 
screams  were  in  vain.  These  arms  detained  her  at 
the  altar  till  the  nuptial  benediction  was  pronounced. 
Canst  thou  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  I  do  forgive  thee.  Thy  obedience  to  thy  sav- 
age master  has  been  obliterated  by  a  long  train  of 
services  to  his  widow. 

Mar.  Services !  ay,  bloody  services !  for  they  com- 
menced— do  not  quit  my  hand — they  commenced  with 
the  murder  of  my  master.  (George  quits  his  hand, 
and  stands  aghast  in  speechless  horror.)  Trample  on 
me !  pursue  me  with  your  dagger !  I  aided  your 
mother  to  poison  her  first  husband !  I  thank  Heaven, 
it  is  said. 

Geo.  My  mother  ?  Sacred  Heaven !  Martin,  thou 
ravest — the  fever  of  thy  wound  has  distracted  thee. 

Mar.  No !  I  am  not  mad !  Would  to  God  I  were ! 
Try  me !  Yonder  is  the  Wolfshill — yonder  the  old 
castle  of  Griefenhaus — and  yonder  is  the  hemlock 
marsh  (in  a  whisper)  where  I  gathered  the  deadly 
plant  that  drugged  Arnolf's  cup  of  death.  (George 
traverses  the  stage  in  the  utmost  agitation,  and  some- 
times stands  over  Martin  with  his  hands  clasped 
together.)  Oh,  had  you  seen  him  when  the  potion 
took  effect !  Had  you  heard  his  ravings,  and  seen  the 
contortions  of  his  ghastly  visage ! — He  died  furious 
and  impenitent,  as  he  lived ;  and  went — where  I  am 
shortly  to  go.     You  do  not  speak  ? 

Geo.  (with  exertion).  Miserable  wretch !  how  can  I? 

Mar.  Can  you  not  forgive  me  ? 

Geo.  May  God  pardon  thee— I  cannot ! 

Mar.  I  saved  thy  life 

Geo.  For  that,  take  my  curse!  (He  snatches  up 
his  battle-axe,  and  rushes  out  to  the  side  from  ivhich  the 
noise  is  heard.) 

Mar.  Hear  me !  yet  more — more  horror !  (At- 
tempts to  rise,  and  falls  heavily.    A  loud  alarm.) 

Enter  Wickerd,  hastily. 

Wic.  In  the  name  of  God,  Martin,  lend  me  thy 
brand ! 

Mar.  Take  it. 

Wic.  Where  is  it? 

Mar.  (looks  wildly  at  him).  In  the  chapel  at  Ebers- 
dorf, or  buried  in  the  hemlock  marsh. 

Wic.  The  old  grumbler  is  crazy  with  his  wounds. 
Martin,  if  thou  hast  a  spark  of  reason  in  thee,  give 
me  thy  sword.    The  day  goes  sore  against  us. 

Mar.  There  it  lies.  Bury  it  in  the  heart  of  thy 
master  George ;  thou  wilt  do  him  a  good  office— the 
office  of  a  faithful  servant. 

Enter  CONRAD. 
Con.  Away,  Wickerd !  to  horse,  and  pursue !    Ba- 
ron George  has  turned  the  day ;  he  fights  more  like  a 
fiend  than  a  man :  he  has  unhorsed  Roderic  and  slain 
51 


six  of  his  troopers — they  are  in  headlong  flight — the 
hemlock  marsh  is  red  with  their  gore!  (Martin 
gives  a  deep  groan,  and  faints.)  Away  !  away  !  (They 
hurry  off,  as  to  the  pursuit.) 

Enter  Ronmiic  OF  Maltingen,  without  his  helmet,  his 

arms  disordered  and  broken,  holding  the  truncheon  of 

a  spear  in  his  hand;  with  him,  Baron  WOLFSTEIN. 

Rod.  A  curse  on  fortune,  and  a  double  curse  upon 
George  of  Aspen !  Never,  never  will  I  forgive  him 
my  disgrace — overthrown  like  a  rotten  trunk  before  a 
whirlwind ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted,  Count  Roderic ;  it  is  well  we 
have  escaped  being  prisoners.  See  how  the  troopers 
of  Aspen  pour  along  the  plain,  like  the  billows  of  the 
Rhine !     It  is  good  we  are  shrouded  by  the  thicket. 

Rod.  Why  took  he  not  my  life,  when  he  robbed  me 
of  my  honor  and  of  my  love  ?  Why  did  his  spear  not 
pierce  my  heart,  when  mine  shivered  on  his  arms  like 
a  frail  bulrush?  (Throws  down  the  broken  spear.) 
Bear  witness,  heaven  and  earth,  I  outlive  this  disgrace 
only  to  avenge ! 

Wolf.  Be  comforted ;  the  knights  of  Aspen  have 
not  gained  a  bloodless  victory.  And  see,  there  lies 
one  of  George's  followers — (seeing  Martin.) 

Rod.  His  squire  Martin  ;  if  he  be  not  dead,  we  will 
secure  him :  he  is  the  depositary  of  the  secrets  of  his 
master.  Arouse  thee,  trusty  follower  of  the  house  of 
Aspen ! 

Ma  R.  (reviving).  Leave  me  not !  leave  me  not,  Baron 
George !  my  eyes  are  darkened  with  agony !  I  have 
not  yet  told  all. 

Wolf.  The  old  man  takes  you  for  his  master. 

Rod.  What  wouldst  thou  tell  ? 

Mar.  Oh,  I  would  tell  all  the  temptations  by  which 
I  was  urged  to  the  murder  of  Ebersdorf ! 

Rod.  Murder ! — this  is  worth  marking.    Proceed. 

Mar.  I  loved  a  maiden,  daughter  of  Arnolf's 
steward ;  my  master  seduced  her — she  became  an  out- 
cast, and  died  in  misery — I  vowed  vengeance — and  I 
did  avenge  her. 

Rod.  Hadst  thou  accomplices  ? 

Mar.  None  .but  thy  mother. 

Rod.  The  Lady  Isabella ! 

Mar.  Ay :  she  hated  her  husband :  he  knew  her 
love  to  Rudiger,  and  when  she  heard  that  thy  father 
was  returned  from  Palestine,  her  life  was  endangered 
by  the  transports  of  his  jealousy — thus  prepared  for, 
evil,  the  fiend  tempted  us,  and  we  fell. 

Rod.  (breaks  into  a  transport).  Fortune !  thou  hast 
repaid  me  all !  Love  and  vengeance  are  my  own ! — 
Wolfstein,  recall  our  followers !  quick,  sound  thy 
bugle.    (Wolfstein  sounds.) 

Mar.  (stares  wildly  round).  That  was  no  note  of 
Aspen — Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen — Heaven !  what 
have  I  said ! 

Rod.  What  thou  canst  not  recall. 

Mar.  Then  is  my  fate  decreed !  'Tis  as  it  should 
be !  in  this  very  place  was  the  poison  gathered — 'tis 
retribution ! 


802 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Enter  three  or  four  soldiers  of  Roderic. 

Rod.  Secure  this  wounded  trooper;  biud  his  wounds, 
and  guard  him  well :  carry  him  to  the  ruius  of  Grie- 
fenhaus,  and  conceal  him  till  the  troopers  of  Aspen 
have  retired  from  the  pursuit; — look  to  him,  as  you 
love  your  lives. 

Mar.  (led  off  by  soldiers).  Ministers  of  vengeance ! 
my  hour  is  come !  [Exeunt. 

Rod.  Hope,  joy,  and  triumph,  once  again  are  ye 
mine !  Welcome  to  my  heart,  long-absent  visitants ! 
One  lucky  chance  has  thrown  dominion  into  the  scale 
of  the  house  of  Maltingen,  and  Aspen  kicks  the  beam. 

WOLF.  I  foresee,  indeed,  dishonor  to  the  family  of 
Aspen,  should  this  wounded  squire  make  good  his  tale. 

Rod.  And  how  thinkest  thou  this  disgrace  will  fall 
on  them  ? 

Wolf.  Surely,  by  the  public  punishment  of  Lady 
Isabella. 

Rod.  And  is  that  all  ? 

Wolf.  What  more? 

Rod.  Shortsighted  that  thou  art,  is  not  George  of 
Aspen,  as  well  as  thou,  a  member  of  the  holy  and  in- 
visible circle,  over  which  I  preside? 

Wolf.  Speak  lower,  for  God's  sake!  these  are 
things  not  to  be  mentioned  before  the  sun. 

Rod.  True :  but  stands  he  not  bound  by  the  most 
solemn  oath  religion  can  devise,  to  discover  to  the 
tribunal  whatever  concealed  iniquity  shall  come  to  his 
knowledge,  be  the  perpetrator  whom  he  may — ay,  were 
that  perpetrator  his  own  father — or  mother ;  and  can 
you  doubt  that  he  has  heard  Martin's  confession  ? 

Wolf.  True :  but,  blessed  Virgin  !  do  you  think  he 
will  accuse  his  own  mother  before  the  invisible  judges  ? 

Rod.  If  not,  he  becomes  forsworn,  and,  by  our  law, 
must  die.  Either  way  my  vengeance  is  complete — 
perjured  or  parricide,  I  care  not ;  but  as  the  one  or 
the  other  shall  I  crush  the  haughty  George  of  Aspen. 

Wolf.  Thy  vengeance  strikes  deep. 

ROD.  Deep  as  the  wounds  I  have  borne  from  this 
proud  family.  Rudiger  slew  my  father  in  battle — 
George  has  twice  baffled  and  dishonored  my  arms, 
and  Henry  has  stolen  the  heart  of  my  beloved :  but 
no  longer  can  Gertrude  now  remain  under  the  care  of 
the  murderous  dam  of  this  brood  of  wolves ;  far  less 
can  she  wed  the  smooth-cheeked  boy,  when  this  scene 
of  villainy  shall  be  disclosed.  [Bugle. 

Wolf.  Hark  !  they  sound  a  retreat :  let  us  go  deeper 
into  the  wood. 

1  Rod.  The  victors  approach!  I  shall  dash  their 
triumph ! — Issue  the  private  summons  for  convoking 
the  members  this  very  evening ;  I  will  direct  the  other 
measures. 

Wolf.  What  place  ? 

Rod.  The  old  chapel  in  the  ruins  of  Griefenhaus,  as 
usual.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE   II. 

Enter  George  of  Aspen,  as  from  the  pursuit. 
Geo.  (comes  slowly  forward).  How  many  wretches 


have  sunk  under  my  arm  this  day,  to  whom  life  was 
sweet,  though  the  wretched  bondsmen  of  Count  Rod- 
eric! And  I — I  who  sought  death  beneath  every 
lifted  battle-axe,  and  offered  my  breast  to  every  arrow 
— I  am  cursed  with  victory  and  safety.  Here  I  left 
the  wretch Martin ! — Martin  ! — what,  ho  !  Mar- 
tin ! Mother  of   God !   he   is   gone !      Should   he 

repeat  the  dreadful  tale  to  any  other Martin ! — 

He  answers  not.  Perhaps  he  has  crept  into  the 
thicket,  and  died  there — were  it  so,  the  horrible  secret 
is  only  mine. 

Enter  HENRY  OF  ASPEN,  with  WlCKERD,  REYNOLD, 
and  followers. 

Hen.  Joy  to  thee,  brother !  though,  by  St.  Francis, 
I  would  not  gain  another  field  at  the  price  of  seeing 
thee  fight  with  such  reckless  desperation.  Thy  safety 
is  little  less  than  miraculous. 

Rey.  By'r  Lady,  when  Baron  George  struck,  I 
think  he  must  have  forgot  that  his  foes  were  God's 
creatures.  Such  furious  doings  I  never  saw,  and  I 
have  been  a  trooper  these  forty-two  years  come  St. 
Barnaby 

Geo.  Peace !     Saw  any  of  you  Martin  ? 

Wic.  Noble  sir,  I  left  him  here  not  long  since. 

Geo.  Alive  or  dead? 

Wic.  Alive,  noble  sir,  but  sorely  wounded.  I  think 
he  must  be  prisoner,  for  he  could  not  have  budged 
else  from  hence. 

GEO.  Heedless  slave !     Why  didst  thou  leave  him? 

Hen.  Dear  brother,  Wickerd  acted  for  the  best :  he 
came  to  our  assistance  and  the  aid  of  his  companions. 

Geo.  I  tell  thee,  Henry,  Martin's  safety  was  of 
more  importance  than  the  lives  of  any  ten  that  stand 
here. 

WlC.  (muttering).  Here's  much  to  do  about  an  old 
crazy  trencher-shifter. 

Geo.  What  mutterest  thou  ? 

WlC.  Only,  sir  knight,  that  Martin  seemed  out  of 
his  senses  when  I  left  him,  and  has  perhaps  wandered 
into  the  marsh,  and  perished  there. 

Geo.  How — out  of  his  senses?  Did  he  speak  to 
thee  ? — (apprehensively.) 

Wic.  Yes,  noble  sir. 

Geo.  Dear  Henry,  step  for  an  instant  to  yon  tree — 
thou  wilt  see  from  thence  if  the  foe  rally  upon  the 
Wolfshill.  (HENRY  retires.)  And  do  you  stand  back 
(to  the  soldiers).  [He  brings  Wickerd  forward. 

GEO.  (with  marked  apprehension).  What  did  Martin 
say  to  thee,  Wickerd  ? — tell  me,  on  thy  allegiance. 

WlC.  Mere  ravings,  sir  knight — offered  me  his 
sword  to  kill  you. 

Geo.  Said  he  aught  of  killing  any  one  else? 

WlC.  No :  the  pain  of  his  wound  seemed  to  have 
brought  on  a  fever. 

Geo.  (clasps  his  hands  together).  I  breathe  again — I 
spy  comfort.  Why  could  I  not  see  as  well  as  this  fel- 
low that  the  wounded  wretch  may  have  been  dis- 
tracted? Let  me  at  least  think  so  till  proof  shall  show 
the  truth  (aside).  Wickerd,  think  not  on  what  I  said — 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


803 


the  heat  of  the  battle  had  chafed  my  blood.     Thou 
hast  wished  for  the  Nether  farm  at  Ebersdorf— it  shall 
be  thine. 
Wic.  Thanks,  my  noble  lord. 

Re-enter  Henry. 

Hen.  No,  they  do  not  rally — they  have  had  enough 
of  it — but  Wickerd  and  Conrad  shall  remain,  with 
twenty  troopers  and  a  score  of  crossbowmen,  and  scour 
the  woods  towards  Griefenhaus,  to  prevent  the  fugi- 
tives from  making  head.  We  will,  with  the  rest,  to 
Ebersdorf.    What  say  you,  brother? 

Geo.  Well  ordered.  Wickerd,  look  thou  search 
everywhere  for  Martin :  bring  him  to  me  dead  or  alive ; 
leave  not  a  nook  of  the  wood  unsought. 

Wic.  I  warrant  you,  noble  sir,  I  shall  find  him, 
could  he  clew  himself  up  like  a  dormouse. 

Hen.  I  think  he  must  be  prisoner. 

Geo.  Heaven  forefend !  Take  a  trumpet,  Eustace 
(to  an  attendant) ;  ride  to  the  castle  of  Maltingen,  and 
demand  a  parley.  If  Martin  is  prisoner,  offer  any 
ransom  :  offer  ten — twenty — all  our  prisoners  in  ex- 
change. 

Eus.  It  shall  be  done,  sir  knight. 

Hen.  Ere  we  go,  sound  trumpets — strike  up  the 
song  of  victory. 


Joy  to  the  victors !  the  sons  of  old  Aspen ! 

Joy  to  the  race  of  the  battle  and  scar ! 
Glory's  proud  garland  triumphantly  grasping ; 
Generous  in  peace,  and  victorious  in  war. 
Honor  acquiring, 
Valor  inspiring, 
Bursting,  resistless,  through  foemen  they  go : 
War-axes  wielding, 
Broken  ranks  yielding, 
Till  from  the  battle  proud  Roderic  retiring, 
Yields  in  wild  rout  the  fair  palm  to  his  foe. 

Joy  to  each  warrior,  true  follower  of  Aspen ! 
Joy  to  the  heroes  that  gain'd  the  bold  day ! 
Health  to  our  wounded,  in  agony  gasping ; 
Peace  to  our  brethren  that  fell  in  the  fray ! 
Boldly  this  morning, 
Roderic's  power  scorning, 
Well  for  their  chieftain  their  blades  did  they  wield ; 
Joy  blest  them  dying, 
As  Maltingen  flying, 
Low  laid  his  banners,  our  conquest  adorning, 
Their  death-clouded  eyeballs  descried  on  the  field ! 

Now  to  our  home,  the  proud  mansion  of  Aspen, 

Bend  we,  gay  victors,  triumphant  away ; 
There  each  fond  damsel,  her  gallant  youth  clasping, 
Shall  wipe  from  his  forehead  the  stains  of  the 
fray. 
Listening  the  prancing 
Of  horses  advancing, 
E'en  now  on  the  turrets  our  maidens  appear. 


Love  our  hearts  warming, 
Songs  the  night  charming, 
Round  goes  the  grape  in  the  goblet  gay  dancing ; 
Love,  wine,  and  song,  our  blithe  evening  shall  cheer ! 

Hen.  Now  spread  our  banners,  and  to  Ebersdorf  in 
triumph.  We  carry  relief  to  the  anxious,  joy  to  the 
heart  of  the  aged,  brother  George.     (Going  off.) 

Geo.  Or  treble  misery  and  death. 

[Apart,  and  following  slowly. 

The  music  sounds,  and  the  followers  of  Aspen  begin  to 
file  across  the  stage.     The  curtain  falls. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I. 

Castle  of  Ebersdorf. 

Rudiger,  Isabella,  and  Gertrude. 

Rud.  I  prithee,  dear  wife,  be  merry.  It  must  be 
over  by  this  time,  and  happily,  otherwise  the  bad  news 
had  reached  us. 

ISA.  Should  we  not,  then,  have  heard  the  tidings  of 
the  good  ? 

Rud.  Oh  !  these  fly  slower  by  half.  Besides,  I  war- 
rant all  of  them  engaged  in  the  pursuit.  Oh !  not  a 
page  would  leave  the  skirts  of  the  fugitives  till  they 
were  fairly  beaten  into  their  holds ;  but  had  the  boys 
lost  the  day,  the  stragglers  had  made  for  the  castle. 
Go  to  the  window,  Gertrude :  seest  thou  anything  ? 

Ger.  I  think  I  see  a  horseman. 

ISA.  A  single  rider  ?  then  I  fear  me  much. 

Ger.  It  is  only  Father  Ludovic. 

Rud.  A  plague  on  thee !  didst  thou  take  a  fat  friar 
on  a  mule  for  a  trooper  of  the  house  of  Aspen  ? 

Ger.  But  yonder  is  a  cloud  of  dust. 

Rud.  (eagerly).  Indeed ! 

Ger.  It  is  only  the  wine  sledges  going  to  my  aunt's 
convent. 

Rud.  The  devil  confound  the  wine  sledges,  and  the 
mules,  and  the  monks !  Come  from  the  window,  and 
torment  me  no  longer,  thou  seer  of  strange  sights. 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  what  can  I  do  to  amuse  you? 
Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  dreamed  this  morning? 

Rud.  Nonsense :  but  say  on ;  any  thing  is  better 
than  silence. 

Ger.  I  thought  I  was  in  the  chapel,  and  they  were 
burying  my  aunt  Isabella  alive.  And  who  do  you 
think,  aunt,  were  the  gravediggers  who  shovelled  in 
the  earth  upon  you?  Even  Baron  George  and  old 
Martin. 

Isa.  (appears  shocked).  Heaven  !  what  an  idea ! 

Ger.  Do  but  think  of  my  terror — and  Minhold  the 
minstrel  played  all  the  while  to  drown  your  screams. 

Rud.  And  old  Father  Ludovic  danced  a  saraband, 
with  the  steeple  of  the  new  convent  upon  his  thick 


804 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


skull  by  way  of  mitre.  A  truce  to  this  nonsense. 
Give  us  a  song,  my  love,  and  leave  thy  dreams  and 
visions. 

Ger.  What  shall  I  sing  to  you  ? 

RCD.  Sing  to  me  of  war. 

Ger.  I  cannot  sing  of  battle ;  but  I  will  sing  you 
the  Lament  of  Eleanor  of  Toro,  when  her  lover  was 
slain  in  the  wars. 

Isa.  Oh,  no  laments,  Gertrude. 

Rcd.  Then  sing  a  song  of  mirth. 

ISA.  Dear  husband,  is  this  a  time  for  mirth  ? 

Rcd.  Is  it  neither  a  time  to  sing  of  mirth  nor  of 
sorrow  ?  Isabella  would  rather  hear  Father  Ludovic 
chant  the  "  De  profundis." 

Ger.  Dear  uncle,  be  not  angry.  At  present,  I  can 
only  sing  the  lay  of  poor  Eleanor.  It  comes  to  my 
heart  at  this  moment  as  if  the  sorrowful  mourner  had 
been  niy  own  sister. 

SONG.1 
Sweet  shone  the  sun  on  the  fair  lake  of  Toro, 

Weak  were  the  whispers  that  waved  the  dark  wood, 
As  a  fair  maiden,  bewilder'd  in  sorrow, 

Sigh'd  to  the  breezes  and  wept  to  the  flood. — 
"  Saints,  from  the  mansion  of  bliss  lowly  bending, 

Virgin,  that  hear'st  the  poor  suppliant's  cry, 
Grant  my  petition,  in  anguish  ascending, 

My  Frederick  restore,  or  let  Eleanor  die." 

Distant  and  faint  were  the  sounds  of  the  battle ; 

With  the  breezes  they  rise,  with  the  breezes  they  fail, 
Till  the  shout,  and  the  groan,  and  the  conflict's  dread 
rattle, 

And  the  chase's  wild  clamor,  came  loading  the  gale. 
Breathless  she  gazed  through  the  woodland  so  dreary, 

Slowly  approaching,  a  warrior  was  seen  ; 
Life's  ebbing  tide  mark'd  his  footsteps  so  weary, 

Cleft  was  his  helmet,  and  woe  was  his  mien. 

"  Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  our  armies  are  flying ; 

Save  thee,  fair  maid,  for  thy  guardian  is  low ; 
Cold  on  yon  heath  thy  bold  Frederick  is  lying, 

Fast  through  the  woodland  approaches  the  foe." 

[  The  voice  of  Gertrude  sinks  by  degrees,  till 
she  bursts  into  tears. 

Rcd.  How  now,  Gertrude  ? 

Ger.  Alas!  may  not  the  fate  of  poor  Eleanor  at 
this  moment  be  mine? 

Rcd.  Never,  my  girl,  never!     (Military  music  is 

heard.)  Hark  !  hark!  to  the  sounds  that  tell  thee  so. 

[All  rise  and  run  to  the  window. 

Rcd.  Joy!  joy!  they  come,  and  come  victorious. 
( The  chorus  of  the  war-song  is  heard  without.)  Wel- 
come !  welcome !  once  more  have  my  old  eyes  seen 
the  banners  of  the  house  of  Maltingen  trampled  in 
the  dust. — Isabella,  broach  our  oldest  casks :  wine  is 
sweet  after  war. 


i  Compare  with  "  The  Maid  of  Toro,"  ante,  p.  631. 


Enter  HENRY,  followed  by  REYNOLD  and  troopers. 

Rcd.  Joy  to  thee,  my  boy!  let  me  press  thee  to 
this  old  heart. 

ISA.  Bless  thee,  my  son — (embraces  him) — Oh,  how 
many  hours  of  bitterness  are  compensated  by  this 
embrace !  Bless  thee,  my  Henry !  where  hast  thou 
left  thy  brother? 

Hen.  Hard  at  hand:  by  this  he  is  crossing  the 
drawbridge.  Hast  thou  no  greetings  for  me,  Ger- 
trude ?     ( Goes  to  her.) 

Ger.  I  joy  not  in  battles. 

Rcd.  But  she  had  tears  for  thy  clanger. 

Hen.  Thanks,  my  gentle  Gertrude.  See,  I  have 
brought  back  thy  scarf  from  no  inglorious  field. 

Ger.  It  is  bloody ! — (shocked.) 

Rcd.  Dost  start  at  that,  my  girl?  Were  it  his 
own  blood,  as  it  is  that  of  his  foes,  thou  shouldst  glory 
in  it. — Go,  Reynold,  make  good  cheer  with  thy  fel- 
lows. [Exit  Reynold  and  soldiers. 

Enter  GEORGE  pensively. 

Geo.  (goes  straight  to  Rcdigerj.  Father,  thy 
blessing. 

Rcd.  Thou  hast  it,  boy. 

ISA.  (rushes  to  embrace  him — he  avoids  her).  How  ? 
art  thou  wounded  ? 

Geo.  No. 

Rcd.  Thou  lookest  deadly  pale. 

Geo.  It  is  nothing. 

ISA.  Heaven's  blessing  on  my  gallant  George ! 

Geo.  (aside).  Dares  she  bestow  a  blessing?  Oh, 
Martin's  tale  was  frenzy ! 

ISA.  Smile  upon  us  for  once,  my  son ;  darken  not 
thy  brow  on  this  day  of  gladness — few  are  our  mo- 
ments of  joy — should  not  my  sons  share  in  them  ? 

Geo.  (aside).  She  has  moments  of  joy — it  was 
frenzy  then  ! 

ISA.  Gertrude,  my  love,  assist  me  to  disarm  the 
knight.     (She  loosens  and  takes  off  his  casque.) 

Ger.  There  is  one,  two,  three  hacks,  and  none  has 
pierced  the  steel. 

Rcd.  Let  me  see.    Let  me  see.    A  trusty  casque  ! 

Ger.  Else  hadst  thou  gone. 

ISA.  I  will  reward  the  armorer  with  its  weight  in 
gold. 

Geo.  (aside).  She  must  be  innocent. 

Ger.  And  Henry's  shield  is  hacked,  too !  Let  me 
show  it  to  you,  uncle.  (She  carries  Henry's  to  Rcdi- 
ger.) 

Rcd.  Do,  my  love ;  and  come  hither,  Henry,  thou 
shalt  tell  me  how  the  day  went. 

[Henry  and  Gertrcde  converse  apart  with 
Rcdiger  ;  George  comes  forward ;  Isa- 
rella  comes  to  him. 

ISA.  Surely,  George,  some  evil  has  befallen  thee. 
Grave  thou  art  ever,  but  so  dreadfully  gloomy — 

Geo.  Evil,  indeed.— (Aside.)     Now  for  the  trial. 

Isa.  Has  your  loss  been  great  ? 

Geo.  No  ! — Yes  ! — (Apart.)    I  cannot  do  it. 

Isa.  Perhaps  some  friend  lost  ? 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


805 


Geo.  It  must  be. — Martin  is  dead. — (He  regards 
her  with  apprehension,  but  steadily,  as  he  pronounces 
these  words.) 

ISA.  [starts,  then  shows  a  ghastly  expression  of  joy). 
Dead! 

Geo.  (almost  overcome  by  his  feelings).  Guilty ! 
guilty ! — (apart.) 

ISA.  (without  observing  his  emotion).  Didst  thou  say 
dead? 

Geo.  Did  I  ? — no — I  only  said  mortally  wounded. 

ISA.  Wounded?  only  wounded?  Where  is  he? 
Let  me  fly  to  him. — (Going.) 

Geo.  (sternly).  Hold,  lady!  Speak  not  so  loud! 
Thou  canst  not  see  him  :  he  is  a  prisoner. 

ISA.  A  prisoner,  and  wounded !  Fly  to  his  deliver- 
ance! Offer  wealth,  lands,  castles, — all  our  posses- 
sions,— for  his  ransom.  Never  shall  I  know  peace 
till  these  walls  or  till  the  grave  secures  him. 

Geo.  (apart).  Guilty!  guilty! 

Enter  Peter. 

Pet.  Hugo,  squire  to  the  Count  of  Maltingen,  has 
arrived  with  a  message. 

Rm>.  I  will  receive  him  in  the  hall. 

[Exit,  leaning  on  Gertrude  and  Henry. 

Isa.  Go,  George — see  after  Martin. 

Geo.  (firmly).  No — I  have  a  task  to  perform ;  and 
though  the  earth  should  open  and  devour  me  alive,  I 
will  accomplish  it.  But  first — but  first — Nature,  take 
thy  tribute. — (He  falls  on  his  mother's  neck,  and  weeps 
bitterly.) 

ISA.  George !  my  son !  for  Heaven's  sake,  what 
dreadful  frenzy ! 

Geo.  (walks  two  turns  across  the  stage,  and  composes 
himself).  Listen,  mother.  I  knew  a  knight  in  Hun- 
gary, gallant  in  battle,  hospitable  and  generous  in 
peace.  The  king  gave  him  his  friendship,  and  the 
administration  of  a  province ;  that  province  was  in- 
fested by  thieves  and  murderers.     You  mark  me? 

ISA.  Most  needfully. 

Geo.  The  knight  was  sworn — bound  by  an  oath 
the  most  dreadful  that  can  be  taken  by  man — to  deal 
among  offenders  even-handed,  stern,  and  impartial 
justice.    Was  it  not  a  dreadful  vow  ? 

ISA.  (with  an  affectation  of  composure).  Solemn, 
doubtless,  as  the  oath  of  every  magistrate. 

Geo.  And  inviolable? 

Isa.  Surely — inviolable. 

Geo.  Well !  it  happened  that  when  he  rode  out 
against  the  banditti,  he  made  a  prisoner.  And  who 
think  you  that  prisoner  was? 

ISA.  I  know  not  (with  increasing  terror). 

Geo.  (trembling,  but  proceeding  rapidly).  His  own 
twin  brother,  who  sucked  the  same  breasts  with  him, 
and  lay  in  the  bosom  of  the  same  mother ;  his  brother, 
whom  he  loved  as  his  own  soul.  What  should  that 
knight  have  done  unto  his  brother? 

Isa.  (almost  speechless).  Alas!  what  did  he  do? 

Geo.  He  did  (turning  his  head  from  her,  and  with 
clasped  hands)  what  I  can  never  do : — he  did  his  duty. 


Isa.  My  son !  my  son ! — Mercy !  mercy !  ( Clings 
to  him.) 

Geo.  Is  it  then  true  ? 

Isa.  What? 

Geo.  What  Martin  said.  (Isabella  hides  her 
face.)    It  is  true ! 

Isa.  (looks  up  with  an  air  of  dignity).  Hear,  Framer 
of  the  laws  of  nature !  the  mother  is  judged  by  the 
child.  (Turns  towards  him.)  Yes,  it  is  true — true 
that,  fearful  of  my  own  life,  I  secured  it  by  the  mur- 
der of  my  tyrant.  Mistaken  coward !  I  little  knew 
on  what  terrors  I  ran  to  avoid  one  moment's  agony. 
— Thou  hast  the  secret ! 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  to  whom  thou  hast  told  it? 

Isa.  To  my  son. 

Geo.  No  !  no ! — to  an  executioner ! 

Isa.  Be  it  so;  go,  proclaim  my  crime,  and  forget 
not  my  punishment — forget  not  that  the  murderess  of 
her  husband  has  dragged  out  years  of  hidden  remorse, 
to  be  brought  at  last  to  the  scaffold  by  her  own  cher- 
ished son. — Thou  art  silent. 

Geo.  The  language  of  Nature  is  no  more!  How 
shall  I  learn  another? 

Isa.  Look  upon  me,  George; — should  the  execu- 
tioner be  abashed  before  the  criminal?  Look  upon 
me,  my  son.    From  my  soul  do  I  forgive  thee. 

Geo.  Forgive  me  what? 

Isa.  What  thou  dost  meditate.  Be  vengeance 
heavy,  but  let  it  be  secret;  add  not  the  death  of  a 
father  to  that  of  the  sinner.  Oh,  Rudiger !  Rudiger ! 
innocent  cause  of  all  my  guilt  and  all  my  woe,  how 
wilt  thou  tear  thy  silver  locks  when  thou  shalt  hear 
her  guilt  whom  thou  hast  so  often  clasped  to  thy 
bosom — hear  her  infamy  proclaimed  by  the  son  of 
thy  fondest  hopes!     (  Weeps.) 

Geo.  (struggling  for  breath).  Nature  will  have 
utterance !  Mother,  dearest  mother,  I  will  save  you 
or  perish.  (Throws  himself  into  her  arms.)  Thus 
fall  my  vows ! 

ISA.  Man  thyself;  I  ask  not  safety  from  thee. 
Never  shall  it  be  said  that  Isabella  of  Aspen  turned 
her  son  from  the  path  of  duty,  though  his  footsteps 
must  pass  over  her  mangled  corpse.    Man  thyself. 

Geo.  No!  no!  The  ties  of  nature  were  knit  by 
God  himself:  cursed  be  the  stoic  pride  that  would 
rend  them  asunder,  and  call  it  virtue ! 

Isa.  My  son !  my  son !  how  shall  I  behold  thee 
hereafter  ? 

[Three  knocks  are  heard  upon  the  door  of  the 
apartment. 

Geo.  Hark !  One — two — three.  Roderic,  thou  art 
speedy!     (Apart.) 

ISA.  (opens  the  door).  A  parchment  stuck  to  the 
door  with  a  poniard !  ( Opens  it.)  Heaven  and  earth ! 
— a  summons  from  the  invisible  judges !  (Drops  the 
parchment.) 

Geo.  (reads  with  emotion).  "  Isabella  of  Aspen,  ac- 
cused of  murder  by  poison,  we  conjure  thee,  by  the 
cord  and  by  the  steel,  to  appear  this  night  before  the 
avengers  of  blood,  who  judge  in  secret  and  avenge  in 


806 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


secret,  like  the  Deity.  As  thou  art  innocent  or  guilty, 
so  be  thy  deliverance." — Martin,  Martin,  thou  hast 
played  false ! 

ISA.  Alas !  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 

Geo.  Thou  canst  not  fly :  instant  death  would  fol- 
low the  attempt ;  a  hundred  thousand  arms  would  be 
raised  against  thy  life ;  every  morsel  thou  didst  taste, 
every  drop  which  thou  didst  drink,  the  very  breeze 
of  heaven  that  fanned  thee,  would  come  laden  with 
destruction.  One  chance  of  safety  is  open : — obey  the 
summons. 

Isa.  And  perish. — Yet  why  should  I  still  fear 
death  ?    Be  it  so. 

Geo.  No  !  I  have  sworn  to  save  you ;  I  will  not  do 
the  work  by  halves.  Does  any  one  save  Martin  know 
df  the  dreadful  deed  ? 

ISA.  None. 

Geo.  Then  go — assert  your  innocence,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me. 

Isa.  Wretch  that  I  am!  How  can  I  support  the 
task  you  would  impose  ? 

Geo.  Think  on  my  father ;  live  for  him :  he  will 
need  all  the  comfort  thou  canst  bestow.  Let  the 
thought  that  his  destruction  is  involved  in  thine 
carry  thee  through  the  dreadful  trial. 

Isa.  Be  it  so.  For  Rudiger  I  have  lived — for  him 
I  will  continue  to  bear  the  burden  of  existence ;  but 
the  instant  that  my  guilt  comes  to  his  knowledge  shall 
be  the  last  of  my  life.  Ere  I  would  bear  from  him  one 
glance  of  hatred  or  of  scorn,  this  dagger  should  drink 
my  blood.     (Puts  the  poniard  into  her  bosom.) 

Geo.  Fear  not;  he  can  never  know:  no  evidence 
shall  appear  against  you. 

ISA.  How  shall  I  obey  the  summons,  and  where 
find  the  terrible  judgment-seat? 

Geo.  Leave  that  to  the  judges.  Resolve  but  to 
obey,  and  a  conductor  will  be  found.  Go  to  the 
chapel ;  there  pray  for  your  sins  and  for  mine.  (He 
leads  her  out,  and  returns.) — Sins  indeed !  I  break  a 
dreadful  vow,  but  I  save  the  life  of  a  parent ;  and  the 
penance  I  will  do  for  my  perjury  shall  appall  even 
the  judges  of  blood. 

Enter  Reynold. 
Rey.  Sir  knight,  the  messenger  of  Count  Roderic 
desires  to  speak  with  you. 
Geo.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Count  Roderic  of  Maltingen  greets  you.  He 
says  he  will  this  night  hear  the  bat  flutter  and  the 
owlet  scream ;  and  he  bids  me  ask  if  thou  also  wilt 
listen  to  the  music. 

Geo.  I  understand  him.    I  will  be  there. 

Hug.  And  the  Count  says  to  you  that  he  will  not 
ransom  your  wounded  squire,  though  you  would 
downweigh  his  best  horse  with  gold ;  but  you  may  send 
him  a  confessor,  for  the  Count  says  he  will  need  one. 

Geo.  Is  he  so  near  death  ? 

Hug.  Not  as  it  seems  to  me.  He  is  weak  through 
loss  of  blood;  but  since  his  wound  was  dressed  he 


can  both  stand  and  walk.  Our  Count  has  a  notable 
balsam,  which  has  recruited  him  much. 

Geo.  Enough  ;  I  will  send  a  priest.  (Exit  HUGO. ) 
I  fatliom  his  plot:  he  would  add  another  witness  to 
the  tale  of  Martin's  guilt.  But  no  priest  shall  ap- 
proach him.  Reynold,  thinkest  thou  not  we  could 
send  one  of  the  troopers,  disguised  as  a  monk,  to  aid 
Martin  in  making  his  escape  ? 

Rey.  Noble  sir,  the  followers  of  your  house  are  so 
well  known  to  those  of  Maltingen  that  I  fear  it  is 
impossible. 

Geo.  Knowest  thou  of  no  stranger  who  might  be 
employed  ?    His  reward  shall  exceed  even  his  hopes. 

Rey.  So  please  you,  I  think  the  minstrel  could 
well  execute  such  a  commission.  He  is  shrewd  and 
cunning,  and  can  write  and  read  like  a  priest. 

Geo.  Call  him.  (Exit  Reynold.)  If  this  fails,  I 
must  employ  open  force.  Were  Martin  removed,  no 
tongue  can  assert  the  bloody  truth. 

Enter  Minstrel. 

Geo.  Come  hither,  Minhold.  Hast  thou  courage 
to  undertake  a  dangerous  enterprise? 

Ber.  My  life,  sir  knight,  has  been  one  scene  of 
danger  and  of  dread.     I  have  forgotten  how  to  fear. 

Geo.  Thy  speech  is  above  thy  seeming.  Who  art 
thou? 

Ber.  An  unfortunate  knight,  obliged  to  shroud 
myself  under  this  disguise. 

Geo.  What  is  the  cause  of  thy  misfortunes  ? 

Ber.  I  slew,  at  a  tournament,  a  prince,  and  was 
laid  under  the  ban  of  the  empire. 

Geo.  I  have  interest  with  the  Emperor :  swear  to 
perform  what  task  I  shall  impose  on  thee,  and  I  will 
procure  the  recall  of  the  ban. 

Ber.  I  swear. 

Geo.  Then  take  the  disguise  of  a  monk,  and  go 
with  the  follower  of  Count  Roderic,  as  if  to  confess 
my  wounded  squire  Martin.  Give  him  thy  dress,  and 
remain  in  prison  in  his  stead.  Thy  captivity  shall  be 
short,  and  I  pledge  my  knightly  word  I  will  labor  to 
execute  my  promise,  when  thou  shalt  have  leisure  to 
unfold  thy  history. 

Ber.  I  will  do  as  you  direct.  Is  the  life  of  your 
squire  in  danger? 

Geo.  It  is,  unless  thou  canst  accomplish  his  release. 

Ber.  I  will  essay  it.  [Exit. 

Geo.  Such  are  the  mean  expedients  to  which 
George  of  Aspen  must  now  resort !  No  longer  can  I 
debate  with  Roderic  in  the  field.  The  depraved,  the 
perjured  knight  must  contend  with  him  only  in  the 
arts  of  dissimulation  and  treachery.  Oh,  mother! 
mother !  the  most  bitter  consequence  of  thy  crime  has 
been  the  birth  of  thy  first-born !  But  I  must  warn 
my  brother  of  the  impending  storm.  Poor  Henry ! 
how  little  can  thy  gay  temper  anticipate  evil !  What 
ho,  there!  (Enter  an  Attendant.)  Where  is  Baron 
Henry? 

Att.  Noble  sir,  he  rode  forth,  after  a  slight  refresh- 
ment, to  visit  the  party  in  the  field. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


807 


Geo.  Saddle  my  steed ;  I  will  follow  him. 

Att.  So  please  you,  your  noble  father  has  twice  de- 
manded your  presence  at  the  banquet. 

Geo.  It  matters  not — say  that  I  have  ridden  forth 
to  the  Wolfshill.    Where  is  thy  lady  ? 

Att.  In  the  chapel,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  'Tis  well — saddle  my  bay  horse — (apart)  for 
the  last  time.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I. 

The  Wood  of  Criefenhaus,  with  the  Ruins  of  the  Castle. 
A  nearer  view  of  the  Castle  than  in  Act  Second,  but 
still  at  some  distance. 

Enter  RpDEBlc,  Wolfstein,  and  Soldiers,  as  from  a 
reconnoitring  party. 

Wolf.  They  mean  to  improve  their  success,  and 
will  push  their  advantage  far.  We  must  retreat  be- 
times, Count  Roderic. 

Rod.  We  are  safe  here  for  the  present.  They  make 
no  immediate  motion  of  advance.  I  fancy  neither 
George  nor  Henry  is  with  their  party  in  the  wood. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  Noble  sir,  how  shall  I  tell  what  has  hap- 
pened? 

Rod.  What? 

Hug.  Martin  has  escaped. 

Rod.  Villain,  thy  life  shall  pay  it!  (Strikes  at 
Hugo — is  held  by  Wolfstein.) 

Wolf.  Hold,  hold,  Count  Roderic !  Hugo  may  be 
blameless. 

Rod.  Reckless  slave !  how  came  he  to  escape? 

Hug.  Under  the  disguise  of  a  monk's  habit,  whom 
by  your  orders  we  brought  to  confess  him. 

Rod.  Has  he  been  long  gone? 

Hug.  An  hour  or  more  since  he  passed  our  sen- 
tinels, disguised  as  the  chaplain  of  Aspen :  but  he 
walked  so  slowly  and  feebly,  I  think  he  cannot  yet 
have  reached  the  posts  of  the  enemy. 

Rod.  Where  is  the  treacherous  priest? 

Hug.  He  waits  his  doom  not  far  from  hence. 

Rod.  Drag  him  hither.  The  miscreant  that  snatched 
the  morsel  of  vengeance  from  the  lion  of  Maltingen 
shall  expire  under  torture. 

[Exit  Hugo. 

Re-enter  Hugo,  with  Bertram  and  Attendants. 

Rod.  Villain !  what  tempted  thee,  under  the  garb 
of  a  minister  of  religion,  to  steal  a  criminal  from  the 
hand  of  justice? 

Ber.  I  am  no  villain,  Count  Roderic ;  and  I  only 
aided  the  escape  of  one  wounded  wretch  whom  thou 
didst  mean  to  kill  basely. 

Rod.  Liar  and  slave !  thou  hast  assisted  a  murderer, 
upon  whom  justice  had  sacred  claims. 


Ber.  I  warn  thee  again,  Count,  that  I  am  neither 
liar  nor  slave.  Shortly  I  hope  to  tell  thee  I  am  once 
more  thy  equal. 

Rod.  Thou!  Thou! 

Ber.  Yes ;  the  name  of  Bertram  of  Ebersdorf  was 
once  not  unknown  to  thee. 

Rod.  (astonished).  Thou  Bertram!  the  brother  of 
Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  first  husband  of  the  Baroness 
Isabella  of  Aspen  ? 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  Who,  in  a  quarrel  at  a  tournament,  many 
years  since,  slew  a  blood-relation  of  the  Emperor,  and 
was  laid  under  the  ban  ? 

Ber.  The  same. 

Rod.  And  who  has  now,  in  the  disguise  of  a  priest, 
aided  the  escape  of  Martin,  squire  to  George  of  As- 
pen? 

Ber.  The  same — the  same. 

Rod.  Then,  by  the  holy  cross  of  Cologne,  thou  hast 
set  at  liberty  the  murderer  of  thy  brother  Arnolf! 

BER.  How  !     What!     I  understand  thee  not! 

Rod.  Miserable  plotter ! — Martin,  by  his  own  con- 
fession, as  Wolfstein  heard,  avowed  having  aided  Isa- 
bella in  the  murder  of  her  husband.  I  had  laid  such 
a  plan  of  vengeance  as  should  have  made  all  Germany 
shudder.  And  thou  hast  counteracted  it — thou,  the 
brother  of  the  murdered  Arnolf! 

Ber.  Can  this  be  so,  Wolfstein  ? 

Wolf.  I  heard  Martin  confess  the  murder. 

Ber.  Then  am  I  indeed  unfortunate ! 

Rod.  What,  in  the  name  of  evil,  brought  thee 
here? 

Ber.  I  am  the  last  of  my  race.  When  I  was  out- 
lawed, as  thou  knowest,  the  lands  of  Ebersdorf,  my 
rightful  inheritance,  were  declared  forfeited,  and  the 
Emperor  bestowed  them  upon  Rudiger  when  he  mar- 
ried Isabella.  I  attempted  to  defend  my  domain,  but 
Rudiger — hell  thank  him  for  it! — enforced  the  ban 
against  me  at  the  head  of  his  vassals,  and  I  was  con- 
strained to  fly.  Since  then  I  have  warred  against  the 
Saracens  in  Spain  and  Palestine. 

Rod.  But  why  didst  thou  return  to  a  land  where 
death  attends  thy  being  discovered? 

Ber.  Impatience  urged  me  to  see  once  more  the 
land  of  my  nativity,  and  the  towers  of  Ebersdorf.  I 
came  there  yesterday,  under  the  name  of  the  minstrel 
Minhold. 

Rod.  And  what  prevailed  on  thee  to  undertake  to 
deliver  Martin? 

Ber.  George,  though  I  told  not  my  name,  engaged 
to  procure  the  recall  of  the  ban ;  besides,  he  told  me 
Martin's  life  was  in  danger,  and  I  accounted  the  old 
villain  to  be  the  last  remaining  follower  of  our  house. 
But,  as  God  shall  judge  me,  the  tale  of  horror  thou 
hast  mentioned  I  could  not  have  even  suspected.  Re- 
port ran  that  my  brother  died  of  the  plague. 

Wolf.  Raised  for  the  purpose,  doubtless,  of  pre- 
venting attendance  upon  his  sick-bed,  and  an  inspec- 
tion of  his  body. 

Ber.  My  vengeance  shall  be  dreadful  as  its  cause ! 


808 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


The  usurpers  of  my  inheritance,  the  robbers  of  my 
honor,  the  murderers  of  my  brother,  shall  be  cut  off, 
root  and  branch ! 

Rod.  Thou  art,  then,  welcome  here;  especially  if 
thou  art  still  a  true  brother  to  our  invisible  order. 

Ber.  I  am. 

Rod.  There  is  a  meeting  this  night  on  the  business 
of  thy  brother's  death.  Some  are  now  come.  I  must 
despatch  them  in  pursuit  of  Martin. 

Enter  Hugo. 

Hug.  The  foes  advance,  sir  knight. 

Rod.  Back !  back  to  the  ruins !  Come  with  us, 
Bertram;  on  the  road  thou  shalt  hear  the  dreadful 
history.  [Exeunt. 

From  the  opposite  side  enter  George,  Henry, 
Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  Soldiers. 

Geo.  No  news  of  Martin  yet? 

WlC.  None,  sir  knight. 

Geo.  Nor  of  the  minstrel  ? 

Wic.  None. 

Geo.  Then  he  has  betrayed  me,  or  is  prisoner — 
misery  either  way.  Begone,  and  search  the  wood, 
Wickerd.  [Exeunt  Wickerd  and  followers. 

Hen.  Still  this  dreadful  gloom  on  thy  brow,  brother  ? 

Geo.  Ay !  what  else  ? 

Hen.  Once  thou  thoughtest  me  worthy  of  thy  friend- 
ship. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  art  young — 

Hen.  Shall  I  therefore  betray  thy  confidence  ? 

Geo.  No!  but  thou  art  gentle  and  well-natured. 
Thy  mind  cannot  even  support  the  burden  which  mine 
must  bear,  far  less  wilt  thou  approve  the  means  I  shall 
use  to  throw  it  oflf.  ' 

Hen.  Try  me. 

Geo.  I  may  not. 

Hen.  Then  thou  dost  no  longer  love  me. 

Geo.  I  love  thee,  and  because  I  love  thee,  I  will  not 
involve  thee  in  my  distress. 

Hen.  I  will  bear  it  with  thee. 

Geo.  Shouldst  thou  share  it,  it  would  be  doubled 
to  me ! 

HEN,  Fear  not,  I  will  find  a  remedy. 

Geo.  It  would  cost  thee  peace  of  mind,  here  and 
hereafter. 

HEN.  I  take  the  risk. 

Geo.  It  may  not  be,  Henry.  Thou  wouldst  become 
the  confidant  of  crimes  past — the  accomplice  of  others 
to  come. 

Hen.  Shall  I  guess? 

Geo.  I  charge  thee,  no  ! 

Hen.  I  must.     Thou  art  one  of  the  secret  judges. 

Geo.  Unhappy  boy  I  what  hast  thou  said  ? 

Hen.  Is  it  not  so? 

Geo.  Dost  thou  know  what  the  discovery  has  cost 
thee? 

Hen.  I  care  not. 

Geo.  He  who  discovers  any  part  of  our  mystery 
must  himself  become  one  of  our  number. 


Hen.  How  so? 

Gi:o.  If  he  does  not  consent,  his  secrecy  will  be 
speedily  ensured  by  his  death.  To  that  we  are  sworn — 
take  thy  choice! 

Hen.  Well,  are  you  not  banded  in  secret  to  punish 
those  offenders  whom  the  sword  of  justice  cannot 
reach,  or  who  are  shielded  from  its  stroke  by  the 
buckler  of  power? 

Geo.  Such  is  indeed  the  purpose  of  our  fraternity; 
but  the  end  is  pursued  through  paths  dark,  intricate, 
and  slippery  with  blood.  Who  is  he  that  shall  tread 
them  with  safety  ?  Accursed  be  the  hour  in  which  I 
entered  the  labyrinth,  and  doubly  accursed  that  in 
which  thou  too  must  lose  the  cheerful  sunshine  of  a 
soul  without  a  mystery ! 

Hen.  Yet  for  thy  sake  will  I  be  a  member. 

Geo.  Henry,  thou  didst  rise  this  morning  a  free 
man.  No  one  could  say  to  thee,  "  Why  dost  thou  so?" 
Thou  layest  thee  down  to-night  the  veriest  slave  that 
ever  tugged  at  an  oar — the  slave  of  men  whose  actions 
will  appear  to  thee  savage  and  incomprehensible,  and 
whom  thou  must  aid  against  the  world,  upon  peril  of 
thy  throat. 

Hen.  Be  it  so.     I  will  share  your  lot. 

Geo.  Alas,  Henry !  Heaven  forbid !  But  since  thou 
hast  by  a  hasty  word  fettered  thyself,  I  will  avail  my- 
self of  thy  bondage.  Mount  thy  fleetest  steed,  and  hie 
thee  this  very  night  to  the  Duke  of  Bavaria.  He  is 
chief  and  paramount  of  our  chapter.  Show  him  this 
signet  and  this  letter ;  tell  him  that  matters  will  be 
this  night  discussed  concerning  the  house  of  Aspen. 
Bid  him  speed  him  to  the  assembly,  for  he  well  knows 
the  president  is  our  deadly  foe.  He  will  admit  thee 
a  member  of  our  holy  body. 

Hen.  Who  is  the  foe  whom  you  dread  ? 

Geo.  Young  man,  the  first  duty  thou  must  learn  is 
implicit  and  blind  obedience. 

Hen.  Well !  I  shall  soon  return  and  see  thee  again. 

Geo.  Return,  indeed,  thou  wilt ;  but  for  the  rest — 
well !  that  matters  not. 

Hen.  I  go ;  thou  wilt  set  a  watch  here  ? 

Geo.  I  will.  (Henry  going.)  Return,  my  dear 
Henry;  let  me  embrace  thee,  shouldst  thou  not  see 
me  again. 

Hen.  Heaven!  what  mean  you? 

Geo.  Nothing.  The  life  of  mortals  is  precarious; 
and,  should  we  not  meet  again,  take  my  blessing  and 
this  embrace — and  this — (embraces  him  warmly.)  And 
now  haste  to  the  Duke.  (Exit  Henry.)  Poor  youth, 
thou  little  knowest  what  thou  hast  undertaken.  But 
if  Martin  has  escaped,  and  if  the  Duke  arrives,  they 
will  not  dare  to  proceed  without  proof. 

Re-enter  WlCKERD  and  followers. 

WlC.  We  have  made  a  follower  of  Maltingen  pris- 
oner, Baron  George,  who  reports  that  Martin  has 
escaped. 

Geo.  Joy !  joy !  such  joy  as  I  can  now  feel !  Set 
him  free  for  the  good  news — and,  Wickerd,  keep  a 
good  watch  in  this  spot  all  night.    Send  out  scouts  to 


THE    HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


809 


find  Martin,  lest  he  should  not  be  able  to  reach  Ebers- 
dorf. 
WlC.  I  shall,  noble  sir. 

[The  kettle-drums  and  trumpets  flourish  as  for 
setting  the  watch :  the  scene  closes. 


SCENE  II. 


The  Chapel  at  Ebersdorf,  an  ancient  Gothic  building. 

Isabella  is  discovered  rising  from  before  the  altar,  on 
which  burn  two  tapers. 

ISA.  I  cannot  pray.  Terror  and  guilt  have  stifled 
devotion.  The  heart  must  be  at  ease — the  hands  must 
be  pure  when  they  are  lifted  to  Heaven.  Midnight  is 
the  hour  of  summons :  it  is  now  near.  How  can  I 
pray,  when  I  go  resolved  to  deny  a  crime  which  every 
drop  of  my  blood  could  not  wash  away !  And  my  son  ! 
Oh !  he  will  fall  the  victim  of  my  crime !  Arnolf ! 
Arnolf!  thou  art  dreadfully  avenged!  {Tap  at  the 
door.)  The  footstep  of  my  dreadful  guide.  {Tap 
again.)  My  courage  is  no  more.  {Enter  Gertrude 
by  the  door.)  Gertrude !  is  it  only  thou  ?  {Embraces 
her.) 

Ger.  Dear  aunt,  leave  this  awful  place;  it  chills 
my  very  blood.  My  uncle  sent  me  to  call  you  to  the 
hall. 

ISA.  Who  is  in  the  hall? 

Ger.  Only  Reynold  and  the  family,  with  whom  my 
uncle  is  making  merry. 

ISA.  Sawest  thou  no  strange  faces  ? 

Ger.  No ;  none  but  friends. 

ISA.  Art  thou  sure  of  that  ?     Is  George  there  ? 

Ger.  No,  nor  Henry;  both  have  ridden  out.  I 
think  they  might  have  staid  one  day  at  least.  But 
come,  aunt,  I  hate  this  place ;  it  reminds  me  of  my 
dream.  See,  yonder  was  the  spot  where  methought 
they  were  burying  you  alive,  below  yon  monument 
{pointing). 

ISA.  {starting).  The  monument  of  my  first  husband. 
Leave  me,  leave  me,  Gertrude.  I  follow  in  a  moment. 
( Exit  Gertrude.)  Ay,  there  he  lies !  forgetful  alike 
of  his  crimes  and  injuries!  Insensible,  as  if  this 
chapel  had  never  rung  with  my  shrieks,  or  the  castle 
resounded  to  his  parting  groans  !  When  shall  I  sleep 
so  soundly  ?  {As  she  gazes  on  the  monument,  a  figure 
muffled  inblack appears  frombehindit.)  Merciful  God ! 
is  it  a  vision,  such  as  has  haunted  my  couch  ?  {It  ap- 
proaches :  she  goes  on  with  mingled  terror  and  resolu- 
tion.) Ghastly  phantom,  art  thou  the  restless  spirit  of 
one  who  died  in  agony,  or  art  thou  the  mysterious  being 
that  must  guide  me  to  the  presence  of  the  avengers  of 
blood  ?  {Figure  bends  its  head  and  beckons.) — To-mor- 
row !  To-morrow !  I  cannot  follow  thee  now !  {Figure 
shows  a  dagger  from,  beneath  its  cloak.)  Compulsion  ! 
I  understand  thee :  I  will  follow.  {She  follows  the 
figure  a  little  way  ;  he  turns  and  wraps  a  black  veil  round 
her  head,  and  takes  her  hand :  then  both  exeunt  behind 
the  monument.) 


SCENE  III. 

The  Wood  of  Grief enhaus. — A  Watch-fire,  round  which 
sit  Wickerd,  Conrad,  and  others,  in  their  watch- 
cloaks. 

Wic.  The  night  is  bitter  cold. 
Con.  Ay,  but  thou  hast  lined  thy  doublet  well  with 
old  Rhenish. 
Wic.   True;   and  I  will  give  you  warrant  for  it. 

{Sings.) 

(rhein-wein  lied.) 
What  makes  the  trooper's  frozen  courage  muster? 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine. 
Upon  the  Rhine,  upon  the  Rhine  they  cluster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine ! 

Let  fringe  and  furs,  and  many  a  rabbit  skin,  sirs, 

Bedeck  your  Saracen ; 
He'll  freeze  without  what  warms  our  hearts  within, 
sirs, 

When  the  night-frost  crusts  the  fen. 

But  on  the  Rhine,  but  on  the  Rhine  they  cluster, 

The  grapes  of  juice  divine, 
That  make  our  troopers'  frozen  courage  muster : 

Oh,  blessed  be  the  Rhine  ! 

Con.  Well  sung,  Wickerd  ;  thou  wert  ever  a  jovial 
soul. 

Enter  a  trooper  or  two  more. 

Wic.  Hast  thou  made  the  rounds,  Frank  ? 

Frank.  Yes,  up  to  the  hemlock  marsh.  It  is  a 
stormy  night;  the  moon  shone  on  the  Wolfshill,  and 
on  the  dead  bodies  with  which  to-day's  work  has  cov- 
ered it.  We  heard  the  spirit  of  the  house  of  Maltin- 
gen  wailing  over  the  slaughter  of  its  adherents;  I 
durst  go  no  farther. 

Wic.  Hen-hearted  rascal !  The  spirit  of  some  old 
raven,  who  was  picking  their  bones. 

Con.  Nay,  Wickerd ;  the  churchmen  say  there  are 
such  things. 

Frank.  Ay ;  and  Father  Ludovic  told  us  last  ser- 
mon, how  the  devil  twisted  the  neck  of  ten  farmers  at 
Kletterbach,  who  refused  to  pay  Peter's  pence. 

Wic.  Yes,  some  church  devil,  no  doubt. 

Frank.  Nay,  old  Reynold  says  that  in  passing,  by 
midnight,  near  the  old  chapel  at  our  castle,  he  saw  it 
all  lighted  up,  and  heard  a  chorus  of  voices  sing  the 
funeral  service. 

Another  Soldier.  Father  Ludovic  heard  the 
same. 

Wic.  Hear  me,  ye  hare-livered  boys  !  Can  you  look 
death  in  the  face  in  battle,  and  dread  such  nursery 
bugbears  ?  Old  Reynold  saw  his  vision  in  the  strength 
of  the  grape.  As  for  the  chaplain,  far  be  it  from  me 
to  name  the  spirit  which  visits  him ;  but  I  know  what 
I  know,  when  I  found  him  confessing  Bertrand's 
pretty  Agnes  in  the  chestnut  grove. 


810 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


CON.  But,  Wickerd,  though  I  have  often  heard  of 
strange  tales  which  I  could  not  credit,  yet  there  is  one 
in  our  family  so  well  attested  that  I  almost  believe  it. 
Shall  I  tell  it  you? 

All  Soldiers.  Do  !  do  tell  it,  gentle  Conrad. 

WlO.  And  I  will  take  t'other  sup  of  Rhenish  to 
fence  against  the  horrors  of  the  tale. 

Con.  It  is  about  my  own  uncle  and  godfather,  Albert 
of  Horsheim. 

Wic.  I  have  seen  him — he  was  a  gallant  warrior. 

Con.  Well !  He  was  long  absent  in  the  Bohemian 
wars.  In  an  expedition  he  was  benighted,  aud  came 
to  a  lone  house  on  the  edge  of  a  forest:  he  and  his 
followers  knocked  repeatedly  for  entrance  in  vain. 
They  forced  the  door,  but  found  no  inhabitants. 

Frank.  And  they  made  good  their  quarters  ? 

Con.  They  did ;  and  Albert  retired  to  rest  in  an  up- 
per chamber.  Opposite  to  the  bed  on  which  he  threw 
himself  was  a  large  mirror.  At  midnight  he  was 
awaked  by  deep  groans:  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  the 
mirror,  and  saw 

Frank.  Sacred  Heaven  !    Heard  you  nothing  ? 

Wic.  Ay,  the  wind  among  the  withered  leaves.  Go 
on,  Conrad.     Your  uncle  was  a  wise  man. 

Con.  That's  more  than  gray  hairs  can  make  other 
folks. 

Wic.  Ha!  stripling,  art  thou  so  malapert?  Though 
thou  art  Lord  Henry's  page,  I  shall  teach  thee  who 
commands  this  party. 

All  Soldiers.  Peace,  peace,  good  Wickerd:  let 
Conrad  proceed. 

Con.  Where  was  I  ? 

Frank.  About  the  mirror. 

Con.  True.  My  uncle  beheld  in  the  mirror  the 
reflection  of  a  human  face,  distorted  and  covered  with 
blood.  A  voice  pronounced  articulately,  "  It  is  yet 
time."  As  the  words  were  spoken,  my  uncle  discerned 
in  the  ghastly  visage  the  features  of  his  own  father. 

Soldier.  Hush !  By  St.  Francis  I  heard  a  groan. 
( They  start  up  all  but  WlCKERD.) 

Wic.  The  croaking  of  a  frog,  who  has  caught  cold 
in  this  bitter  night,  and  sings  rather  more  hoarsely 
than  usual. 

Frank.  Wickerd,  thou  art  surely  no  Christian. 
(  They  git  down,  and  close  round  the  fire.) 

Con.  Well — my  uncle  called  up  his  attendants,  and 
they  searched  every  nook  of  the  chamber,  but  found 
nothing.  So  they  covered  the  mirror  with  a  cloth, 
and  Albert  was  left  alone;  but  hardly  had  he  closed 
his  eyes  when  the  same  voice  proclaimed,  "  It  is  now 
too  late ; "  the  covering  was  drawn  aside,  and  he  saw 
the  figure 

Frank.  Merciful  Virgin!     It  comes.     (All  rise.) 

WlC.  Where?  what? 

Con.  See  yon  figure  coming  from  the  thicket! 

Enter  Martin,  in  the  monk's  dress,  much  disordered  : 
his  face  is  very  pale  and  his  steps  slmr. 
Wic.  {levelling  his  pike).  Man  or  devil,  which  thou 
wilt,  thou  shalt  feel  cold  iron  if  thou  budgest  a  foot 


nearer.  (Martin  slops.)  Who  art  thou?  What 
dost  thou  seek  ? 

Mar.  To  warm  myself  at  your  fire.  It  is  deadly 
cold. 

Wic.  See  there,  ye  cravens,  your  apparition  is  a 
poor  benighted  monk:  sit  down,  father.  (They place 
Martin  by  the  fire.)  By  heaven,  it  is  Martin — our 
Martin  !  Martin,  how  fares  it  with  thee  ?  We  have 
sought  thee  this  whole  night. 

Mar.  So  have  many  others  (vacantly). 

C'ON.  Yes,  thy  master. 

Mar.  Did  you  see  him  too? 

CON.  Whom  ?  Baron  George  ? 

Mar.  No!  my  first  master,  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf. 

Wic.  He  raves. 

Mar.  He  passed  me  but  now  in  the  wood,  mounted 
upon  his  old  black  steed;  its  nostrils  breathed  smoke 
and  flame ;  neither  tree  nor  rock  stopped  him.  He 
said,  "  Martin,  thou  wilt  return  this  night  to  my  ser- 
vice!" 

Wic.  Wrap  thy  cloak  around  him,  Francis ;  he  is 
distracted  with  cold  and  pain.  Dost  thou  not  recol- 
lect me,  old  friend  ? 

Mar.  Yes,  you  are  the  butler  at  Ebersdorf:  you 
have  the  charge  of  the  large  gilded  cup,  embossed 
with  the  figures  of  the  twelve  apostles.  It  was  the 
favorite  goblet  of  my  old  master. 

Con.  By  our  Lady,  Martin,  thou  must  be  distracted 
indeed,  to  think  our  master  would  intrust  Wickerd 
with  the  care  of  the  cellar. 

Mar.  I  know  a  face  so  like  the  apostate  Judas  on 
that  cup.  I  have  seen  the  likeness  when  I  gazed  on 
a  mirror. 

Wic.  Try  to  go  to  sleep,  dear  Martin ;  it  will  re- 
lieve thy  brain.  (Footsteps  are  heard  in  the  wood.)  To 
your  arms !     ( They  lake  their  arms.) 

Enter  two  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  muffled 
in  their  cloaks. 
Con.  Stand !     Who  are  you  ? 
1  Mem.  Travellers  benighted  in  the  wood. 
Wic.  Are  ye  friends  to  Aspen  or  Maltingen? 

1  Mem.  We  enter  not  into  their  quarrel:  we  are 
friends  to  the  right. 

Wic.  Then  are  ye  friends  to  us,  and  welcome  to 
pass  the  night  by  our  fire. 

2  Mem.  Thanks.  (They  approach  the  fire,  and  re- 
gard Martin  very  earnestly.) 

Con.  Hear  ye  any  news  abroad  ? 
_'  M  EM.  None;  but  that  oppression  and  villainy  are 
rife  and  rank  as  ever. 
Wic.  The  old  complaint. 

1  M km.  No!  never  did  former  age  equal  this  in 
wickedness;  and  yet,  as  if  the  daily  commission  of 
enormities  were  not  enough  to  blot  the  sun,  every 
hour  discovers  crimes  which  have  lain  concealed  for 
years. 

Con.  Pity  the  Holy  Tribunal  should  slumber  in  its 
office. 

2  Mem.  Young  man,  it  slumbers  not.    When  crini- 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


811 


inals  are  ripe  for  its  vengeance,  it  falls  like  the  bolt 
of  Heaven. 

Mar.  {attempting  to  rise).  Let  me  be  gone. 

Con.  (detaining  him).  Whither  now,  Martin? 

Mar.  To  mass. 

1  Mem.  Even  now,  we  heard  a  tale  of  a  villain 
who,  ungrateful  as  the  frozen  adder,  stung  the  bosom 
that  had  warmed  him  into  life. 

Mar.  Conrad,  bear  me  off;  I  would  be  away  from 
these  men. 
Con.  Be  at  ease,  and  strive  to  sleep. 
Mar.  Too  well  I  know — I  shall  never  sleep  again. 

2  Mem.  The  wretch  of  whom  we  speak  became, 
from  revenge  and  lust  of  gain,  the  murderer  of  the 
master  whose  bread  he  did  eat. 

WlC.  Out  upon  the  monster ! 

1  Mem.  For  nearly  thirty  years  was  he  permitted 
to  cumber  the  ground.  The  miscreant  thought  his 
crime  was  concealed ;  but  the  earth  which  groaned 
under  his  footsteps — the  winds  which  passed  over  his 
unhallowed  head — the  stream  which  he  polluted  by 
his  lips — the  fire  at  which  he  warmed  his  blood- 
stained hands — every  element  bore  witness  to  his 
guilt. 

Mae.  Conrad,  good  youth,  lead  me  from  hence, 
and  I  will  show  thee  where,  thirty  years  since,  I  de- 
posited a  mighty  bribe.  [Rises. 

CON. 'Be  patient,  good  Martin. 

WlC.  And  where  was  the  miscreant  seized  ? 

[The  two  Members  suddenly  lay  hands  on 
Martin,  and  draw  their  daggers;  the  sol- 
diers spring  to  their  arms. 

1  Mem.  On  this  very  spot. 

WlC.  Traitors,  unloose  your  hold ! 

1  Mem.  In  the  name  of  the  Invisible  Judges,  I 
charge  ye,  impede  us  not  in  our  duty. 

[All  sink  their  weapons,  and  stand  motionless. 

Mar.  Help!  help! 

1  Mem.  Help  him  with  your  prayers ! 

[He  is  dragged  off.     The  scene  shuts. 


ACT  V.— SCENE  I. 

The  subterranean  Chapel  of  the  Castle  of  Griefenhaus. 
It  seems  deserted  mid  in  decay.  There  are  four  en- 
trances, each  defended  by  an  iron  portal.  At  each  door 
stands  a  Warder  clothed  in  black,  and  masked,  armed 
with  a  naked  sword.  During  the  whole  Scene  they  re- 
main motionless  on  their  posts.  In  the  centre  of  the 
Chapel  is  the  ruinous  Altar,  half  sunk  in  the  ground, 
on  which  lie  a  large  book,  a  dagger,  and  a  coil  of 
ropes,  besides  two  lighted  tapers.  Antique  stone 
benches  of  different  heights  around  the  Chapel.  In 
the  back  Scene  is  seen  a  dilapidated  entrance  into 
the  Sacristy,  which  is  quite  dark. 

Various  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal  enter  by  the 
four  different  doors  of  the  Chapel.    Each  whispers 


something  as  he  passes  the  Warder,  which  is  answered 
by  an  inclination  of  the  head.  The  costume  of  the 
Members  is  a  long  black  robe,  capable  of  muffling  the 
face:  some  wear  it  in  this  manner;  others  have  their 
faces  uncovered,  unless  on  the  entrance  of  a  stranger  : 
they  place  themselves  in  profound  silence  upon  the 
stone  benches. 

Enter  Count  Roderic,  dressed  in  a  scarlet  cloak  of 

the  same  form  with  those  of  the  other  Members.     lie 

takes  his  place  on  the  most  elevated  bench. 

Rod.  Warders,  secure  the  doors!  (The  doors  are 
barred  with  great  care.)     Herald,  do  thy  duty ! 

[Members  all  rise — Herald  stands  by  the  altar. 

Her.  Members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  who  judge 
in  secret,  and  avenge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity,  are 
your  hearts  free  from  malice,  and  your  hands  from 
blood -guiltiness? 

[All  the  members  incline  their  heads. 

Rod.  God  pardon  our  sins  of  ignorance,  and  pre- 
serve us  from  those  of  presumption. 

[Again  the  members  solemnly  incline  their  heads. 

Her.  To  the  east,  and  to  the  west,  and  to  the 
north,  and  to  the  south,  I  raise  my  voice;  wherever 
there  is  treason,  wherever  there  is  blood-guiltiness, 
wherever  there  is  sacrilege,  sorcery,  robbery,  or  per- 
jury, there  let  this  curse  alight,  and  pierce  the  mar- 
row and  the  bone.  Raise,  then,  your  voices,  and  say 
with  me,  woe !  woe,  unto  offenders ! 

All.  Woe !  woe !  [Members  sit  down. 

Her.  He  who  knoweth  of  an  unpunished  crime, 
let  him  stand  forth  as  bound  by  his  oath  when  his 
hand  was  laid  upon  the  dagger  and  upon  the  cord, 
and  call  to  the  assembly  for  vengeance ! 

Mem.  (rises,  his  face  covered).  Vengeance!  venge- 
ance !  vengeance ! 

Rod.  Upon  whom  dost  thou  invoke  vengeance  ? 

Accuser.  Upon  a  brother  of  this  order,  who  is  for- 
sworn and  perjured  to  its  laws. 

Rod.  Relate  his  crime. 

Accu.  This  perjured  brother  was  sworn,  upon  the 
steel  and  upon  the  cord,  to  denounce  malefactors  to 
the  judgment  seat,  from  the  four  quarters  of  heaven, 
though  it  were  the  spouse  of  his  heart,  or  the  son 
whom  he  loved  as  the  apple  of  his  eye ;  yet  did  he 
conceal  the  guilt  of  one  who  was  dear  unto  him ;  he 
folded  up  the  crime  from  the  knowledge  of  the  tribu- 
nal ;  he  removed  the  evidence  of  guilt,  and  withdrew 
the  criminal  from  justice.  What  does  his  perjury  de- 
serve ? 

Rod.  Accuser,  come  before  the  altar ;  lay  thy  hand 
upon  the  dagger  and  the  cord,  and  swear  to  the  truth 
of  thy  accusation. 

Accu.  (his  hand  on  the  altar).   I  swear ! 

Rod.  Wilt  thou  take  upon  thyself  the  penalty  of 
perjury,  should  it  be  found  false  ? 

Accu.  I  will. 

Rod.  Brethren,  what  is  your  sentence  ? 

[The  members  confer  a  moment  in  whispers — a 
silence. 


812 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Eldest  Mem.  Our  voice  is,  that  the  perjured  bro- 
ther merits  death. 

Rod.  Accuser,  thou  hast  heard  the  voice  of  the  as- 
sembly ;  name  the  criminal. 

Accu.  George,  Baron  of  Aspen. 

[A  murmur  in  the  assembly. 

A  Mem.  (suddenly  rising).  I  am  ready,  according  to 
our  holy  laws,  to  swear,  by  the  steel  and  the  cord, 
that  George  of  Aspen  merits  not  this  accusation,  and 
that  it  is  a  foul  calumny. 

Accu.  Rash  man !  gagest  thou  an  oath  so  lightly  ? 

Mem.  I  gage  it  not  lightly.  I  proffer  it  in  the  cause 
of  innocence  and  virtue. 

Accu.  What  if  George  of  Aspen  should  not  himself 
deny  the  charge? 

Mem.  Then  would  I  never  trust  man  again. 

Accu.  Hear  him,  then,  bear  witness  against  himself. 
(Throws  back  his  mantle.) 

Rod.  Baron  George  of  Aspen ! 

Geo.  The  same— prepared  to  do  penance  for  the 
crime  of  which  he  stands  self-accused. 

Rod.  Still,  canst  thou  disclose  the  name  of  the  crim- 
inal whom  thou  hast  rescued  from  justice,  on  that 
condition  alone  thy  brethren  may  save  thy  life. 

Geo.  Thinkest  thou  I  would  betray  for  the  safety 
of  my  life  a  secret  I  have  preserved  at  the  breach  of 
my  word  ? — No !  I  have  weighed  the  value  of  my  ob- 
ligation— I  will  not  discharge  it — but  most  willingly 
will  I  pay  the  penalty! 

Rod.  Retire,  George  of  Aspen,  till  the  assembly 
pronounce  judgment. 

Geo.  Welcome  be  your  sentence — I  am  weary  of 
your  yoke  of  iron.  A  light  beams  on  my  soul.  Woe 
to  those  who  seek  Justice  in  the  dark  haunts  of  mys- 
tery and  of  cruelty !  She  dwells  in  the  broad  blaze  of 
the  sun,  and  Mercy  is  ever  by  her  side.  Woe  to  those 
who  would  advance  the  general  weal  by  trampling 
upon  the  social  affections !  they  aspire  to  be  more  than 
men — they  shall  become  worse  than  tigers.  I  go: 
better  for  me  your  altars  should  be  stained  with  my 
blood  than  my  soul  blackened  with  your  crimes. 

[Exit  George,  by  the  ruinous  door  in  the  back 
scene,  into  the  sacristy. 

Rod.  Brethren,  sworn  upon  the  steel  and  upon  the 
cord  to  judge  and  to  avenge  in  secret,  without  favor 
and  without  pity,  what  is  your  judgment  upon  George 
<■!'  Aspen,  self-accused  of  perjury  and  resistance  to  the 
laws  of  our  fraternity  ? 

[Long  and  earnest  murmurs  in  the  assembly. 

Rod.  Speak  your  doom. 

Eldest  Mem.  George  of  Aspen  has  declared  him- 
self perjured; — the  penalty  of  perjury  is  death ! 

Rod.  Father  of  the  secret  judges — Eldest  among 
those  who  avenge  in  secret — take  to  thee  the  steel  and 
the  cord; — let  the  guilty  no  longer  cumber  the  land. 

Eldest  Mem.  I  am  fourscore  and  eight  years  old. 
My  eyes  are  dim,  and  my  hand  is  feeble;  soon  shall 
I  be  called  before  the  throne  of  my  Creator; — How 
shall  I  stand  there,  stained  with  the  blood  of  such  a 
man? 


Rod.  now  wilt  thou  stand  before  that  throne,  load- 
ed with  the  guilt  of  a  broken  oath?    The  blood  of  the 
criminal  be  upon  us  and  ours  ! 
Eldest  Mem.  So  be  it,  in  the  name  of  God ! 

[He  takes  the  dagger  from  the  altar,  goes  slowly 
towards  the  back  scene,  and  rehictantly  enters 
the  sacristy. 
Eldest  Judge  (from  behind  the  scene).    Dost  thou 
forgive  me? 
Geo.  (behind).  I  do!     (He  is  heard  to  fall  heavily.) 
[lie-enter  the  old  judge  from  the  sacristy.    He 
lays  on  the  altar  the  bloody  dagger. 
Rod.  Hast  thou  done  thy  duty? 
Eldest  Mem.  I  have.    (He  faints.) 
Rod.  He  swoons.     Remove  him. 

[He  is  assisted  off  the  stage.   During  this  four 
members  enter  the  sacristy,  and  bring  out  a 
bier  covered  ivith  a  pall,  which  they  place  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar.    A  deep  silence. 
Rod.  Judges  of  evil,  dooming  in  secret,  and  aveng- 
ing in  secret,  like  the  Deity :  God  keep  your  thoughts 
from  evil,  and  your  hands  from  guilt. 

Ber.  I  raise  my  voice  in  this  assembly,  and  cry, 
Vengeance!  vengeance!  vengeance! 

Rod.  Enough  has  this  night  been  done — (he  rises 
and  brings  Bertram  forward.)  Think  what  thou 
doest — George  has  fallen — it  were  murder  to  slay  both 
mother  and  son. 

Ber.  George  of  Aspen  was  thy  victim — a  sacrifice 
to  thy  hatred  and  envy.  I  claim  mine,  sacred  to  jus- 
tice and  to  my  murdered  brother.  Resume  thy  place ! 
— thou  canst  not  stop  the  rock  thou  hast  put  in  mo- 
tion. 

Rod.  (resumes  his  seat).  Upon  whom  callest  thou  for 
vengeance  ? 
Ber.  Upon  Isabella  of  Aspen. 
Rod.  She  has  been  summoned. 
Herald.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  accused  of  murder  by 
poison,  I  charge  thee  to  appear,  and  stand  upon  thy 
defence. 

[Three  kyiocks  are  heard  at  one  of  the  doors — it 
is  opened  by  the  warder. 

Enter  Isabella,  the  veil  still  wrapped  around  her 

head,   led    by  her    conductor.      All    the    members 

muffle  their  faces. 

Rod.  Uncover  her  eyes. 

[  The  veil  is  removed.    Isabella  looks  wildly 
rouinl . 

Rod.  Knowest  thou,  lady,  where  thou  art? 

Isa.  I  guess. 

Rod.  Say  thy  guess. 

Isa.  Before  the  avengers  of  blood. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  why  thou  art  called  to  their 
presence  ? 

Isa.  No. 

Rod.  Speak,  accuser. 

Ber.  I  impeach  thee,  Isabella  of  Aspen,  before  this 
awful  assembly,  of  having  murdered,  privily  and  by 
poison,  Arnolf  of  Ebersdorf,  thy  first  husband. 


THE   HOUSE   OF   ASPEN. 


813 


Rod.  Canst  thou  swear  to  the  accusation  ? 

Ber.  (Ms  hand  on  the  altar).  I  lay  my  hand  on  the 
steel  and  the  cord,  and  swear. 

Rod.  Isabella  of  Aspen,  thou  hast  heard  thy  accu- 
sation.   What  canst  thou  answer? 

ISA.  That  the  oath  of  an  accuser  is  no  proof  of  guilt ! 

Rod.  Hast  thou  more  to  say  ? 

Isa.  I  have. 

Rod.  Speak  on. 

Isa.  Judges  invisible  to  the  sun,  and  seen  only  by 
the  stars  of  midnight !  I  stand  before  you,  accused  of 
an  enormous,  daring,  and  premeditated  crime.  I  was 
married  to  Arnolf  when  I  was  only  eighteen  years 
old.  Arnolf  was  wary  and  jealous ;  ever  suspecting 
me  without  a  cause,  unless  it  was  because  he  had  in- 
jured me.  How  then  should  I  plan  and  perpetrate 
such  a  deed  ?  The  lamb  turns  not  against  the  wolf, 
though  a  prisoner  in  his  den. 

Rod.  Have  you  finished  ? 

ISA.  A  moment.  Years  after  years  have  elapsed 
without  a  whisper  of  this  foul  suspicion.  Arnolf  left 
a  brother:  though  common  fame  had  been  silent, 
natural  affection  would  have  been  heard  against  me — 
why  spoke  he  not  my  accusation  ?  Or  has  my  conduct 
justified  this  horrible  charge?  No!  awful  judges,  I 
may  answer,  I  have  founded  cloisters,  I  have  endowed 
hospitals.  The  goods  that  Heaven  bestowed  on  me  I 
have  not  held  back  from  the  needy.  I  appeal  to  you, 
judges  of  evil,  can  these  proofs  of  innocence  be  down- 
weighed  by  the  assertion  of  an  unknown  and  disguised, 
perchance  a  malignant,  accuser? 

Ber.  No  longer  will  I  wear  that  disguise  (throws 
back  his  mantle).    Dost  thou  know  me  now? 

ISA.  Yes ;  I  know  thee  for  a  wandering  minstrel, 
relieved  by  the  charity  of  my  husband. 

Ber.  No,  traitress !  know  me  for  Bertram  of  Ebers- 
dorf,  brother  to  him  thou  didst  murder.  Call  her  ac- 
complice, Martin.    Ha !  turnest  thou  pale  ? 

ISA.  May  I  have  some  water? — (Apart.)  Sacred 
Heaven  !  his  vindictive  look  is  so  like — 

[  Water  is  brought. 

A  Mem.  Martin  died  in  the  hands  of  our  brethren. 

Rod.  Dost  thou  know  the  accuser,  lady? 

Isa.  (reassuming  fortitude).  Let  not  the  sinking  of 
nature  under  this  dreadful  trial  be  imputed  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  guilt.  I  do  know  the  accuser — know 
him  to  be  outlawed  for  homicide,  and  under  the  ban 
of  the  empire :  his  testimony  cannot  be  received. 

Eldest  Judge.  She  says  truly. 

Ber.  (to  Roderic).  Then  I  call  upon  thee  and 
William  of  Wolfstein  to  bear  witness  to  what  you 
know. 

Rod.  Wolfstein  is  not  in  the  assembly,  and  my  place 
prevents  me  from  being  a  witness. 

Ber.  Then  I  will  call  another :  meanwhile  let  the 
accused  be  removed. 

Rod.  Retire,  lady.    [Isabella  is  led  to  the  sacristy. 

Isa.  (in  going  off).  The  ground  is  slippery — 
Heavens  !  it  is  floated  with  blood ! 

[Exit  into  the  sacristy. 


Rod.  (apart  to  Bertram).  Whom  dost  thou  mean 
to  call?  [Bertram  whispers. 

B,od.  This  goes  beyond  me.  (After  a  moment's 
thought.)  But  be  it  so.  Maltingen  shall  behold  Aspen 
humbled  in  the  dust.  (Aloud.)  Brethren,  the  accu- 
ser calls  for  a  witness  who  remains  without :  admit 
him.  [All  muffle  their  faces. 

Enter  Rudiger,  h  is  eyes  bound  or  covered,  leaning  upon 

two  members;  they  place  a  stool  for  him,  and  unbind 

his  eyes. 

Rod.  Knowest  thou  where  thou  art,  and  before 
whom  ? 

Rud.  I  know  not,  and  I  care  not.  Two  strangers 
summoned  me  from  my  castle  to  assist,  they  said,  at 
a  great  act  of  justice.  I  ascended  the  litter  they 
brought,  and  I  am  here. 

Rod.  It  regards  the  punishment  of  perjury  and 
the  discovery  of  murder.  Art  thou  willing  to  assist 
us? 

Rud.  Most  willing,  as  is  my  duty. 

Rod.  What  if  the  crime  regard  thy  friend? 

Rud.  I  will  hold  him  no  longer  so. 

Rod.  What  if  thine  own  blood  ? 

Rud.  I  Mould  let  it  out  with  my  poniard. 

Rod.  Then  canst  thou  not  blame  us  for  this  deed  of 
justice.  Remove  the  pall.  ( The  pall  is  lifted,  beneath 
wh  ich  is  discovered  the  body  of  GEORGE  pale  and  bloody. 
Rl'DlGER  staggers  towards  it.) 

Rud.  My  George !  my  George !  Not  slain  manly  in 
battle,  but  murdered  by  legal  assassins.  Much,  much 
may  I  mourn  thee,  my  beloved  boy ;  but  not  now — 
not  now :  never  will  I  shed  a  tear  for  thy  death  till  I 
have  cleared  thy  fame. — Hear  me,  ye  midnight  mur- 
derers, he  was  innocent  (raising  his  voice) — upright  as 
the  truth  itself.  Let  the  man  who  dares  gainsay  me 
lift  that  gage.  If  the  Almighty  does  not  strengthen 
these  frail  limbs  to  make  good  a  father's  quarrel,  I 
have  a  son  left  who  will  vindicate  the  honor  of  Aspen, 
or  lay  his  bloody  body  beside  his  brother's. 

Rod.  Rash  and  insensate!  Hear  first  the  cause. 
Hear  the  dishonor  of  thy  house. 

Isa.  (from  the  sacristy).  Never  shall  he  hear  it  till 
the  author  is  no  more !  (Rudiger  attempts  to  rush  to- 
wards the  sacristy,  but  is  prevented.  Isabella  enters 
wounded,  and  throws  herself  on  GEORGE'S  body.) 

Isa.  Murdered  for  me — for  me !  my  dear,  dear 
son! 

Rud.  (still  held).  Cowardly  villains,  let  me  loose! 
Maltingen,  this  is  thy  doing !  Thy  face  thou  wouldst 
disguise,  thy  deeds  thou  canst  not !  I  defy  thee  to  in- 
stant and  mortal  combat ! 

ISA.  (looking  up).  No !  no  !  endanger  not  thy  life  ! 
Myself!  myself!  I  could  not  bear  thou  shouldst  know 
Oh!  (Dies.) 

Rud.  Oh !  let  me  go — let  me  but  try  to  stop  her 
blood,  and  I  will  forgive  all. 

Rod.  Drag  him  off  and  detain  him.  The  voice  of 
lamentation  must  not  disturb  the  stern  deliberation  of 
justice. 


814 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Rud.  Blood-hound  of  Maltingen!  Well  beseems 
thee  thy  base  revenge  !  The  marks  of  my  son's  lance 
are  still  on  thy  eraven  crest !  Vengeance  on  the  band 
of  ye !  [Rudigee  is  dragged  off  to  the  sacristy. 

ROD.  Brethren,  we  stand  discovered !  What  is  to 
be  done  to  him  who  shall  descry  our  mystery  ? 

Eldest  Judge.  He  must  become  a  brother  of  our 
order,  or  die ! 

Rod.  This  man  will  never  join  us !  He  cannot  put 
his  hand  into  ours,  which  are  stained  with  the  blood 
of  his  wife  and  son  :  he  must  therefore  die !  (Mur- 
murs in  the  assembly.)  Brethren!  I  wonder  not  at 
your  reluctance ;  but  the  man  is  powerful,  has  friends 
and  allies  to  buckler  his  cause.  It  is  over  with  us, 
and  with  our  order,  unless  the  laws  are  obeyed. 
(Fainter  murmurs.)  Besides,  have  we  not  sworn  a 
deadly  oath  to  execute  these  statutes  ?  (A  dead  silence.) 
Take  to  thee  the  steel  and  the  cord  (to  the  eldest 
judge). 

Eldest  Judge.  He  has  done  no  evil — he  was  the 
companion  of  my  battle — I  will  not  I 

Rod.  (to  another).  Do  thou — and  succeed  to  the 
rank  of  him  who  has  disobeyed.  Remember  your  oath ! 
( Me  ruber  takes  the  dagger,  and  goes  irresolutely  forward  ; 
looks  into  the  sacristy,  and  comes  back.) 

Mem.  He  has  fainted — fainted  in  anguish  for  his 
wife  and  his  son  ;  the  bloody  ground  is  strewed  with 
his  white  hairs,  torn  by  those  hands  that  have  fought 
for  Christendom.  I  will  not  be  your  butcher. — ( Throws 
down  the  dagger.) 

Ber.  Irresolute  and  perjured !  the  robber  of  my  in- 
heritance, the  author  of  my  exile,  shall  die ! 

Rod.  Thanks,  Bertram.  Execute  the  doom— secure 
the  safety  of  the  holy  tribunal ! 

[Bertram  seizes  the  dagger,  and  is  about  to 
rush  into  the  sacristy,  when  three  loud  knoclcs 
are  heard  at  the  door. 
ALL.  Hold !  Hold  ! 

[The  Duke  of  Bavaria,  attended  by  many 
members  of  the  Invisible  Tribunal,  enters, 
dressed  in  a  scarlet  mantle  trimmed  with  er- 
mine, and  wearing  a  ducal  crown.    He  car- 
ries a  rod  in  his  hand.    All  rise.    A  murmur 
among  the  members,  tvho  whisper  to  each 
other,  "  The  Duke,"  "  The  Chief,"  &c. 
Rod.  The  Duke  of  Bavaria !  I  am  lost. 
Duke  (sees  the  bodies).  I  am  too  late — the  victims 
have  fallen. 

Hen.  (who  enters  with  the  Duke).  Gracious  Heaven  ! 
Oh,  George ! 

Rud.  (from  the  sacristy).  Henry — it  is  thy  voice — 
save  me !  [Henry  rushes  into  the  sacristy. 


Duke.  Roderic  of  Maltingen,  descend  from  the  seat 
which  thou  hast  dishonored.  (Roderic  leaves  his 
place,  which  the  Duke  occupies.)  Thou  standest  accused 
of  having  perverted  the  laws  of  our  order;  for  that, 
being  a  mortal  enemy  to  the  House  of  Aspen,  thou 
hast  abused  thy  sacred  authority  to  pander  to  thy 
private  revenge ;  and  to  this  Wolfstein  has  been  wit- 
ness. 

Rod.  Chief  among  our  circles,  I  have  but  acted 
according  to  our  laws. 

Duke.  Thou  hast  indeed  observed  the  letter  of  our 
statutes,  and  woe  am  I  that  they  do  warrant  this 
night's  bloody  work!  I  cannot  do  unto  thee  as  I 
would,  but  what  I  can  I  will.  Thou  hast  not  indeed 
transgressed  our  law,  but  thou  hast  wrested  and  abused 
it:  kneel  down,  therefore,  and  place  thy  hands  betwixt 
mine.  (Roderic  kneels  as  directed.)  I  degrade  thee 
from  thy  sacred  office.  (Spreads  his  hands,  as  pushing 
Roderic  from  him.)  If  after  two  days  thou  darest 
to  pollute  Bavarian  ground  by  thy  footsteps,  be  it  at 
the  peril  of  the  steel  and  the  cord.  (Roderic  rises.)  I 
dissolve  this  meeting.  (All  rise.)  Judges  and  con- 
demners  of  others,  God  teach  you  knowledge  of  your- 
selves !  (All  bend  their  heads — Duke  breaks  his  rod, 
and  comes  forward.) 

Rod.  Lord  Duke,  thou  hast  charged  me  with  treach- 
ery— thou  art  my  liege  lord — but  who  else  dares  main- 
tain the  accusation,  lies  in  his  throat. 

Hen.  (rushing  from  the  sacristy).  Villain!  I  accept 
thy  challenge ! 

Rod.  Vain  boy  !  my  lance  shall  chastise  thee  in  the 
lists — there  lies  my  gage. 

Duke.  Henry,  on  thy  allegiance,  touch  it  not.  (To 
Roderic.)  Lists  shalt  thou  never  more  enter ;  lance 
shalt  thou  never  more  wield.  (Draws  his  sword.)  With 
this  sword  wast  thou  dubbed  a  knight;  with  this 
sword  I  dishonor  thee — I  thy  prince  (strikes  him 
slightly  with  the  flat  of  the  sword),  I  take  from  thee 
the  degree  of  knight,  the  dignity  of  chivalry.  Thou 
art  no  longer  a  free  German  noble ;  thou  art  honor- 
less  and  rightless ;  the  funeral  obsequies  shall  be 
performed  for  thee  as  for  one  dead  to  knightly  honor 
and  to  fair  fame ;  thy  spurs  shall  be  hacked  from  thy 
heels ;  thy  arms  baffled  and  reversed  by  the  common 
executioner.  Go,  fraudful  and  dishonored,  hide  thy 
shame  in  a  foreign  land !  (Roderic  shows  a  dumb  ex- 
pression of  rage.)  Lay  hands  on  Bertram  of  Ebersdorf : 
as  I  live,  he  shall  pay  the  forfeiture  of  his  outlawry. 
Henry,  aid  us  to  remove  thy  father  from  this  charnel- 
house.  Never  shall  he  know  the  dreadful  secret.  Be 
it  mine  to  soothe  his  sorrows,  and  to  restore  the  honor 
of  the  House  of  Aspen. 


<£oet?  of  ISetlidnngnt,  toirt)  ti)e  ton  f^atrtr.1 


PREFACE. 

Goetz  OF  Beklichingen,  the  hero  of  the  follow- 
ing drama,  flourished  in  the  fifteenth  century,  during 
the  reign  of  Maximilian  the  First,  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many. Previous  to  this  period  every  German  noble 
holding  a  fief  immediately  from  the  emperor  exercised 
on  his  estate  a  species  of  sovereignty  subordinate  to 
the  imperial  authority  alone.  Thus,  from  the  princes 
and  prelates  possessed  of  extensive  territories,  down 
to  the  free  knights  and  barons,  whose  domains  con- 
sisted of  a  castle  and  a  few  acres  of  mountain  and 
forest  ground,  each  was  a  petty  monarch  upon  his 
own  property,  independent  of  all  control  but  the 
remote  supremacy  of  the  enqjeror. 

Among  the  extensive  rights  conferred  by  such  a 
constitution,  that  of  waging  war  against  each  other  by 
their  own  private  authority  was  most  precious  to  a 
race  of  proud  and  military  barons.  These  private 
wars  were  called  feuds,  and  the  privilege  of  carrying 
them  on  was  named  Faustrecht  (club-law).  As  the 
empire  advanced  in  civilization,  the  evils  attending 
feuds  became  dreadfully  conspicuous;  each  petty 
knight  was  by  law  entitled  to  make  war  upon  his 
neighbors  without  any  further  ceremony  than  three 
days  previous  defiance  by  a  written  form  called  Fehd- 
brief.  Even  the  Golden  Bull,  which  remedied  so 
many  evils  in  the  Germanic  body,  left  this  dangerous 
privilege  in  full  vigor.  In  time,  the  residence  of 
every  free  baron  became  a  fortress,  from  which,  as  his 
passions  or  avarice  dictated,  sallied  a  band  of  ma- 
rauders, to  back  his  quarrel,  or  to  collect  an  extorted 
revenue  from  the  merchants  who  presumed  to  pass 
through  his  domain.  At  length  whole  bands  of  these 
freebooting  nobles  used  to  league  together  for  the 
purpose  of  mutual  defence  against  their  more  powerful 
neighbors,  as  likewise  for  that  of  predatory  incursions 
against  the  princes,  free  towns,  and  ecclesiastic  states 
of  the  empire,  whose  wealth  tempted  the  needy  barons 
to  exercise  against  them  their  privilege  of  waging 
private  war.  These  confederacies  were  distinguished 
by  various  titles  expressive  of  their  object :  we  find 
among  them  the  Brotherhood  of  the  Mace,  the  Knights 
of  the  Bloody  Sleeve,  &c,  &c.  If  one  of  the  brother- 
hood was  attacked,  the  rest  marched  without  delay  to 
his  assistance ;  and  thus,  though  individually  weak, 


1  Goetz  of  Berlichingen,  with  the  Iron  Hand,  a  Tragedy, 
from  the  German  of  Goethe.  By  Walter  Scott,  Esq.,  Advo- 
cate, Edinburgh.  London :  Printed  for  J.  Bell,  No.  148  Ox- 
ford Street,  opposite  New  Bond  Street.    1799. 


the  petty  feudatories  maintained  their  ground  agairst 
the  more  powerful  members  of  the  empire.  Their 
independence  and  privileges  were  recognized  and 
secured  to  them  by  many  edicts;  and  though  hated 
and  occasionally  oppressed  by  the  princes  and  eccle- 
siastic authorities,  to  whom  in  return  they  were  a 
scourge  and  a  pest,  they  continued  to  maintain  tena- 
ciously the  good  old  privilege  (as  they  termed  it)  of 
Faustrecht,  which  they  had  inherited  from  their 
fathers.  Amid  the  obvious  mischiefs  attending  such 
a  state  of  society,  it  must  be  allowed  that  it  was  fre- 
quently the  means  of  calling  into  exercise  the  highest 
heroic  virtues.  Men  daily  exposed  to  danger,  and 
living  by  the  constant  exertions  of  their  courage, 
acquired  the  virtues  as  well  as  the  vices  of  a  savage 
state;  and  among  many  instances  of  cruelty  and 
rapine  occur  not  a  few  of  the  most  exalted  valor  and 
generosity.  If  the  fortress  of  a  German  knight  was 
the  dread  of  the  wealthy  merchant  and  abbot,  it  was 
often  the  ready  and  hospitable  refuge  of  the  weary 
pilgrim  and  oppressed  peasant.  Although  the  owner 
subsisted  by  the  plunder  of  the  rich,  yet  he  was  fre- 
quently beneficent  to  the  poor,  and  beloved  by  his 
own  family  dependents  and  allies.  The  spirit  of  chiv- 
alry doubtless  contributed  much  to  soften  the  character 
of  these  marauding  nobles.  A  respect  for  themselves 
taught  them  generosity  towards  their  prisoners,  and 
certain  acknowledged  rules  prevented  many  of  the 
atrocities  which  it  might  have  been  expected  would 
have  marked  these  feuds.  No  German  noble,  for  ex- 
ample, if  made  captive,  was  confined  in  fetters  or  in 
a  dungeon,  but  remained  a  prisoner  at  large  upon  his 
parole  (which  was  called  knightly  ward),  either  in  the 
castle  of  his  conqueror  or  in  some  other  place  assigned 
to  him.  The  same  species  of  honorable  captivity  was 
often  indulged  by  the  emperor  to  offenders  of  a  noble 
rank,  of  which  some  instances  will  be  found  in  the 
following  pages. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  German  nobles,  when, 
on  the  7th  of  August,  1495,  was  published  the  memo- 
rable edict  of  Maximilian  for  the  establishment  of  the 
public  peace  of  the  empire.  By  this  ordinance  the 
right  of  private  war  was  totally  abrogated,  under  the 
penalty  of  the  ban  of  the  empire,  to  be  enforced  by 
the  Imperial  Chamber  then  instituted.  This  was  at 
once  a  sentence  of  anathema  secular  and  spiritual, 
containing  the  dooms  of  outlawry  and  excommuni- 
cation. This  ordinance  was  highly  acceptable  to  the 
princes,  bishops,  and  free  towns,  who  had  little  to  gain 
and  much  to  lose  in  these  perpetual  feuds ;  and  they 
combined  to  enforce  it  with  no  small  severity  against 
the  petty  feudatories.    These,  on   the    other  hand, 

(815) 


816 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


sensible  thai  the  very  root  of  their  importance  con- 
sisted in  their  privilege  of  declaring  private  war, 
without  which  they  foresaw  they  would  not  long  be 
able  to  maintain  their  independence,  struggled  hard 
against  the  execution  of  this  edict ;  by  which  their 
confederacies  were  declared  unlawful,  and  all  means 
taken  from  them  of  resisting  their  richer  neighbors. 

Upon  the  jarring  interests  of  the  princes  and  clergy 
on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  free  knights  and  petty 
imperial  feudatories  on  the  other,  arise  the  incidents 
of  the  following  drama.  The  hero,  Goetz  of  Berlich- 
ingen,  was  in  reality  a  zealous  champion  for  the 
privileges  of  the  free  knights,  and  was  repeatedly  laid 
under  the  ban  of  the  empire  for  the  feuds  in  which 
he  was  engaged,  from  which  he  was  only  released  in 
consequence  of  high  reputation  for  gallantry  and  gen- 
erosity. His  life  was  published  at  Nuremberg,  1731, 
and  some  account  of  his  exploits,  with  a  declaration 
of  feud  (Fehdbrief)  issued  by  him  against  that  city, 
will  be  found  in  Meusel's  Enquiry  into  History, 
vol.  iv. 

While  the  princes  and  free  knights  were  thus 
banded  against  each  other,  the  peasants  and  bondsmen 
remained  in  the  most  abject  state  of  ignorance  and 
oppression.  This  occasioned  at  different  times  the 
most  desperate  insurrections,  resembling  in  their 
nature,  and  in  the  atrocities  committed  by  the  furious 
insurgents,  the  rebellions  of  Tyler  and  Cade  in  Eng- 
land, or  that  of  the  Jacquerie  in  France.  Such  an 
event  occurs  in  the  following  tragedy.  There  is  also 
a  scene  founded  upon  the  noted  institution  called  the 
Secret  or  Invisible  Tribunal.  With  this  extraordinary 
judicatory,  the  members  and  executioners  of  which 
were  unknown,  and  met  in  secret  to  doom  to  death 
those  criminals  whom  other  courts  of  justice  could  not 
reach,  the  English  reader  has  been  made  acquainted 
by  several  translations  from  the  German,  particularly 
the  excellent  romances  called  Merman  of  Unna  and 
Alf  von  Duilman. 

The  following  drama  was  written  by  the  elegant 
author  of  the  Sorrows  of  Werter,  in  imitation,  it  is 
said,  of  the  manner  of  Shakspeare.  This  resemblance 
is  not  to  be  looked  for  in  the  style  or  expression,  but 
in  the  outline  of  the  characters  and  mode  of  con- 
ducting  the  incidents  of  the  piece.  In  Germany  it  is 
the  object  of  enthusiastic  admiration;  partly  owing, 
doubtless,  to  the  force  of  national  partiality  towards  a 
performance  in  which  the  ancient  manners  of  the 
country  are  faithfully  and  forcibly  painted.  Losing, 
however,  this  advantage,  and  under  all  the  defects  of 
a  translation,  the  translator  ventures  to  hope  that  in 
the  following  pages  there  will  still  be  found  something 
to  excite  interest.  Some  liberties  have  been  taken 
with  the  original,  in  omitting  two  occasional  disquisi- 
tions upon  the  civil  law  as  practiced  in  Germany. 
Literal  accuracy  has  been  less  studied  in  the  transla- 
tion than  an  attempt  to  convey  the  spirit  and  general 
effect  of  the  piece.  Upon  the  whole,  it  is  hoped  the 
version  will  be  found  faithful ;  of  which  the  trans- 
lator is  less  distrustful,  owing  to  the  friendship  of 


a  gentleman  of  high  literary  eminence,  who  has 
obligingly  taken  the  trouble  of  superintending  the 
publication. 

Edinburgh,  3d  February,  1799. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 

Maximilian,  Emperor  of  Germany. 

Goetz  von   Beklichingen,  a  free  Knight  of  the 

Empire. 
Elizabeth,  his  Wife. 
Maria,  his  Sister. 
Charles,  his  Son — a  boy. 
George,  his  Page. 
Bishop  of  Bamberg. 
Adelbert  von  Weislingen,  a  free  German  Knight 

of  the  Empire. 
Adela  von  Walldorf,   Widow  of  the   Count  von 

Walldorf. 
Liebtraut,  a  Courtier  of  the  Bishop's. 
Abbot  of  Fuldah,  residing  at  the  Bishop's  Court. 
Olearius,  a  Doctor  of  Laivs. 
Brother  MARTIN,  a  3Ionk. 

Hans  von  Selbiss,  -\Free  Knights  in  alii- 

Francis  von  Seckingen,  /     ance  with  Goetz. 
Lerse,  a  Cavalier. 
Francis,  Squire  to  Weislingen. 
Female  Attendant  on  Adela. 
President,  Accuser,  and  Avenger  of  tlve  Secret  Tri~ 

bunal. 
Mezler, 

SlEVERS, 

Link, 
Kohl, 
Wild, 

Imperial  Commissioners. 

Two  Merchants  of  Nuremberg. 

Magistrates  of  Ileilbron. 

Maximilian  Stumf,  a  Vassal  of  the  Palsgrave. 

An  Unknoim. 

Bride's  Father,  } 

Bride,  f  Peasants. 

Bridegroom,       ) 

Gipsy  Captain. 

Gipsy  Mother  and  Women. 

Sticks  and  Wolf,  Gipsies. 

Imperial  Captain. 

Imperial  Officers. 

Innkeeper. 

Sentinel. 

Scrgcant-at-arms. 

Imperial  Soldiers — Troopers  belonging  to  Goetz,  to 
Selbiss,  to  Seckingen,  and  to  Weislingen — Peasants — 
Gipsies — Judges  of  the  Secret  Tribunal — Gaolers, 
Courtiers,  dec,  &c,  &c. 


Leaders  of  the  Insurgent  Peasantry. 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


817 


(Suet?  of  ISerUcfimgen. 


ACT  I.— SCENE  I. 
An  Inn  at  Schwarzenberg  in  Franconia. 

Mezler  and  Sievers,  two  Swabian  Peasants,  are 

seated  at  a  table — At  the  fire,  at  some  distance  from 

them,  two  Cavaliers  from  Bamberg — The  Innkeeper. 

Siev.  Hansel !  another  cup  of  brandy — and  Chris- 
tian measure. 

Innk.  Thou  art  a  Never-enough. 

Mez.  (apart  to  Sievers).  Eepeat  again  that  about 
Berlichingen — These  Bambergers  seem  to  take  of- 
fence ;  they  look  sulky. 

Siev.  Bambergers  ! — What  are  they  about  here  ? 

Mez.  Weislingen  has  been  two  days  up  yonder  at 
the  castle  with  the  Earl — they  came  with  him  from  I 
know  not  where;  they  are  his  attendants — He  is 
about  to  return  back  to  Bamberg. 

Siev.  Who  is  that  Weislingen? 

Mez.  The  Bishop  of  Bamberg's  right  hand !  a 
powerful  lord,  who  lies  lurking  for  the  means  of 
playing  Goetz  some  trick. 

Siev.  He  had  better  take  care  of  himself. 

Mez.  Prithee  tell  that  story  once  more.  (Aloud.) 
How  long  is  it  since  Goetz  had  a  new  dispute  with 
the  Bishop?  I  thought  all  had  been  reconciled  and 
smoothed  up  between  them. 

Siev.  Ay !  reconciliation  with  priests ! — When  the 
Bishop  saw  he  could  do  no  good,  and  always  got  the 
worse  at  hard  blows,  he  complained  to  the  Circle,  and 
took  care  to  make  a  good  accommodation ;  while 
honest  Berlichingen  was  condemned  unheard,  as  he 
always  is,  even  when  he  has  the  right. 

Mez.  God  bless  him !  a  worthy  nobleman. 

Siev.  Only  think  I  Was  it  not  shameful  ?  They 
have  now  imprisoned  a  page  of  his,  even  without  the 
least  crime ;  but  they  will  be  soon  mauled  for  that. 

Mez.  How  stupidly  the  last  enterprise  misgave! 
The  Priest  would  have  been  in  a  furious  chafe. 

Siev.  I  do  not  believe  it  was  owing  to  negligence — 
Look  you,  all  had  been  discovered  by  Goetz's  spies  ; 
we  had  the  very  best  intelligence  when  the  Bishop 
would  come  from  the  baths,  with  how  many  attend- 
ants, and  which  way ;  and,  had  it  not  been  betrayed 
by  some  false  brother,  Goetz  would  have  blessed  his 
bath  for  him. 

1st  Bam.  What  are  you  prating  there  about  our 
Bishop?     I  think  you  seek  a  scuffle. 

Siev.  Mind  your  own  matters ;  you  have  nothing 
to  do  with  our  table. 

2d  Bam.  Who  taught  you  to  speak  disrespectfully 
of  our  Bishop  ? 

Siev.  Am  I  to  answer  your  questions  ? — Only  mind 
the  gluttons.     ( The  1st  Bamberger  strikes  him  a  box 
on  the  ear.) 
52 


Mez.  Fell  the  hound  dead. 

2d  Bam.  Here,  if  you  dare — 

[They  fall  upon  each  other;  a  scuffle. 

Innk.  (separating  them).  Will  you  remain  quiet? 
Zounds !  Get  out  of  the  house  if  you  have  any  thing 
to  do  together :  in  this  place  I  will  have  order  and 
decency.  (He  gets  the  Bamberg  cavaliers  out  at  the 
door. )    And  what  did  you  want,  ye  asses  ? 

Mez.  No  bad  names,  Hansel !  your  glasses  may  suf- 
fer.  Come,  comrade,  we'll  go  and  have  the  game  out. 

Enter  ttvo  Cavaliers. 

1st  Cav.  What's  the  matter ! 

Siev.  Ah!  Good  day,  Peter!— Good  day,  Beta!— 
From  whence  ? 

2d  Cav.  (making  signs).  You  understand,  not  to 
mention  whom  we  serve. 

Siev.  Is  your  master  Goetz  far  from  this  at  present? 

1st  Cav.  Hold  your  peace ! — Have  you  had  a  quar- 
rel? 

Siev.  You  must  have  met  the  fellows  without — 
they  are  Bambergers. 

1st  Cav.  What  brings  them  here? 

Siev.  They  attend  Weislingen,  who  is  above  with 
the  Earl  at  the  Castle. 

1ST  Cav.  Weislingen  ? 

2d  Cav.  (aside  to  his  companion).  Peter,  we  have 
found  the  game. — How  long  has  he  been  here  ? 

Mez.  Two  days — but  he  goes  off  to-day,  as  I  heard 
one  of  the  rascals  say. 

1ST  Cav.  (aside).  Did  I  not  tell  thee  he  was  here? — 
We  have  now  no  time  to  spare — Come — 

Siev.  Help  us  first  to  drub  the  Bambergers. 

2d  Cav.  There  are  already  two  of  you — We  must 
away — Adieu !  [Exeunt  both  cavaliers. 

Siev.  Flinching  dogs,  these  troopers !  They  won't 
fight  a  stroke  without  pay. 

Mez.  I  could  swear  they  have  something  on  hand. 
Whom  do  they  serve  ? 

Siev.  I  should  hardly  tell They  serve  Goetz. 

Mez.  So  ! — Well,  now  will  we  out  upon  these  dogs 
— While  I  have  a  quarterstaff,  I  care  not  for  their 
spits. 

Siev.  If  we  durst  but  once  drub  their  masters  so, 
who  drag  the  skin  over  our  ears !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  the  front  of  a   Cottage  in  a  thick 
forest. 

Goetz  von  Berlichingen  discovered  walking 
among  the  trees  before  the  door. 

Goetz.  Where  linger  my  servants  ? — I  must  waUc 
up  and  down,  or  sleep  will  overcome  me — Five  days 
and  njghts  already  upon  the  watch — But  freedom 
gives  relish  to  this  mode  of  life ;  and  when  I  have 
thee,  Weislingen,  I  may  have  some  rest.     (Fills  a 


818 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


glass  of  mine  and  drinks;  looks  at  the  flask.)    Again 

empty George ! — While  this  and  my  courage  last, 

I  can  laugh  at  their  principalities  and  powers ! — They 
send  round  their  favorite  Weislingen  to  their  uncles 
and  cousins  to  calumniate  my  character — Very  well 
— I  am  awake. — Thou  didst  escape  me,  Bishop ;  but 
thy  dear  Weislingen  may  pay  the  score. — George ! — 
Does  the  boy  not  hear? — George !  George  I 

Enter  GEORGE,  endeavoring  to  put  off  the  corselet  of  a 
full-grown  man. 

Goetz.  What  kept  thee?  Wert  thou  asleep? — 
What  masquerade  is  this,  in  the  devil's  name  ? — Come 
hither;  thou  dost  not  look  amiss.  Don't  be  ashamed, 
boy ;  thou  art  gallant.  Ah !  if  thou  couldst  but  fill 
it  I — Is  it  Hans's  cuirass? 

Geo.  He  wished  to  sleep  a  little,  and  unclasped  it. 

Goetz.  He  is  more  delicate  than  his  master. 

Geo.  Do  not  be  angry !  I  took  it  gently  away  and 
put  it  on,  and  took  my  father's  old  sword  from  the 
wall,  and  sallied  out  to  the  meadow— 

Goetz.  And  laid  about  you? — Fine  work  among 
the  brambles  and  thorns ! — Is  Hans  asleep  ? 

Geo.  He  started  up  and  cried  to  me  when  you 
called — I  was  trying  to  unclasp  it  when  I  heard  you 
twice  or  thrice. 

Goetz.  Go  take  back  his  cuirass  to  him,  and  tell 
him  to  be  ready  with  the  horses. 

Geo.  I  have  fed  them  and  rubbed  them  well  down ; 
they  may  come  out  when  you  will. 

Goetz.  Bring  me  a  stoup  of  wine.  Give  Hans  a 
glass,  and  tell  him  to  be  merry — there  is  good  cause ; 
I  expect  the  return  of  my  scouts  every  moment. 

Geo.  Ah !  mighty  sir ! 

Goetz.  What's  the  matter  with  thee  ? 

Geo.  May  I  not  go  along? 

Goetz.  Another  time,  George!  When  we  are  in- 
tercepting merchants  and  plundering  wagons— 

Geo.  Another  time ! — you  have  said  that  so  often. — 
Oh,  this  time,  this  time!  I  will  only  skulk  behind — 
just  peep  at  a  side;  I  will  gather  up  all  the  shot 
arrows  for  you. 

Goetz.  The  next  time,  George! — You  must  first 
have  a  proper  dress ;  a  hauberk,  and  a  lance. 

Geo.  Take  me  with  you !  Had  I  been  with  you 
last  time,  you  would  not  have  lost  your  crossbow. 

Goetz.  Do  you  know  that? 

Geo.  You  threw  it  at  your  antagonist's  head  ;  one 
■  of  his  squires  picked  it  up,  and  ran  off  with  it.  Don't 
I  know  it? 

Goetz.  Did  my  people  tell  you  so  ? 

Geo.  Oh,  yes;  and  for  doing  so,  I  play  them  all 
sorts  of  tunes  on  the  fife  while  they  dress  the  horses, 
and  teach  them  such  charming  songs 

Goetz.  Thou  art  a  brave  boy. 

Geo.  Take  me  with  you  to  prove  myself  so. 

Goetz.  The  next  time,  on  my  word! — thou  must 
not  go  to  battle  unarmed  as  thou  art — Besides,  the 
approaching  hour  requires  men.  I  tell  thee,  my  boy, 
it  will  be  a  dear  time — Princes  shall  beg  their  treas- 


ure from  a  man  they  hate.  Go,  George,  give  Hans 
his  armor  again,  and  bring  me  wine.  {Exit  George.) 
Where  can  my  people  stay  ?    It  is  incomprehensible ! 

A    monk ! — What    brings    him    here  ?      (Enter 

Brother  Martin.)  Worthy  father,  good  evening! 
Whither  so  late?  Though  a  man  of  sacred  peace, 
thou  shamest  many  knights. 

Mar.  Thanks,  noble  sir.  I  stand  before  you  an 
unworthy  brother  of  the  order  of  St.  Augustin;  my 
christened  name  Martin,  from  the  holy  saint. 

Goetz.  You  are  tired,  brother  Martin,  and  without 
doubt  thirsty.  (Enter  George  with  wine.)  Here/  in 
good  time,  comes  wine ! 

Mar.  For  me  a  draught  of  water.  I  dare  drink  no 
wine. 

GOETZ.  Is  it  against  your  vow  ? 

Mar.  Noble  sir,  to  drink  wine  is  not  against  my 
vow ;  but  because  wine  when  drunken  is  against  my 
vow,  therefore  I  drink  it  not. 

Goetz.  How  do  you  mean  ? 

Mar.  When  thou  hast  eaten  and  drunken,  thou 
art  as  it  were  new  born — stronger,  bolder,  apter  for 
action.  After  wine  thou  art  double  what  thou  shouldst 
be — twice  as  ingenious,  twice  as  enterprising,  and 
twice  as  active. 

Goetz.  True,  I  feel  it  so. 

Mar.  Therefore  shouldst  thou  drink  it — but  we 

[George  brings  water.    Goetz  speaks  to  him 
apart. 

Goetz.  Go  to  the  road  from  Darbach ;  lie  down 
with  thy  ear  to  the  earth,  and  listen  for  the  tread  of 
horses.     Beturn  immediately.  [George  goes  out. 

Mar.  But  we,  on  the  other  hand,  when  we  have 
eaten  and  drunken,  are  the  reverse  of  what  we  should 
be.  Our  sleepy  digestion  depresses  our  mental  pow- 
ers ;  in  a  weak  body  such  sloth  excites  desires,  which 
increase  with  the  cause  which  produced  them. 

Goetz.  One  glass,  brother  Martin,  will  not  set  you 
asleep.  You  have  come  far  to-day.  (Helps  him  to 
wine.)    Here's  to  all  warriors ! 

Mar.  In  God's  name ! — I  cannot  defend  idle  people 
—yet  all  monks  are  not  idle ;  they  do  what  they  can : 
I  am  just  come  from  St.  Bede,  where  I  slept  last  night. 
The  Prior  carried  me  into  their  garden,  where  they 
had  raised  beans,  excellent  salad,  cabbages  to  a  wish, 
and  such  cauliflowers  and  artichokes  as  you  will 
hardly  find  in  Europe. 

Goetz.  That  is  no  part  of  your  business? 

[Goes  out  and  looks  anxiously  after  the  boy. 
Returns. 

Mar.  Would  God  had  made  me  a  gardener,  or  some 
other  laborer ;  I  might  then  have  been  happy  !  My 
Abbot  loves  me ;  the  convent  is  involved  in  business ; 
he  knows  I  cannot  rest  idle,  and  so  he  sends  me  to 
manage  what  is  to  be  done :  I  go  to  the  Bishop  of 
Constance. 

Goetz.  Another  glass — A  happy  expedition ! 

Mar.  The  like 

Goetz.  Why  do  you  look  at  me  so  fixedly,  brother? 

Mar.  I  was  admiring  your  armor. 


GOETZ   OF   BEELICHINGEK 


819 


Goetz.  Would  you  have  liked  a  suit?  It  is  heavy, 
and  toilsome  to  bear. 

Mar.  What  is  not  toilsome  in  this  world?  But 
what  so  much  so  as  to  renounce  our  very  nature ! 
Poverty,  chastity,  obedience — three  vows,  each  of 
which  singly  is  dreadful  to  humanity — united,  insup- 
portable ;  and  to  spend  a  lifetime  under  this  burden, 
or  to  pant  comfortless  under  the  depressing  load  of 
an  offended  conscience — Ah !  sir  knight,  what  are  the 
toils  of  your  life  compared  to  the  sorrows  of  a  state 
which,  from  a  misinterpreted  notion  of  the  Deity, 
condemns  as  crimes  even  those  actions  and  desires 
through  which  we  exist  ? 

Goetz.  Were  your  vow  less  sacred,  I  would  give 
you  a  suit  of  armor  and  a  steed,  and  we  should  go 
together. 

Mar.  Would  to  heaven  my  shoulders  had  strength 
to  bear  harness,  and  my  arm  to  unhorse  an  enemy! — 
Poor  weak  hand,  accustomed  to  swing  censers,  to  bear 
crosses  and  banners  of  peace,  how  couldst  thou  man- 
age the  lance  and  falchion  ?  My  voice,  tuned  only  to 
Aves  and  Halleluiahs,  would  be  a  herald  of  my  weak- 
ness to  a  superior  enemy ;  otherwise  should  no  vows 
keep  me  from  entering  an  order  founded  by  the 
Creator  himself. 

Goetz.  To  our  happy  return !     (Drinks.) 

Mar.  I  pledge  you  upon  your  account  only!  Return 
to  my  prison  must  be  to  me  ever  unhappy.  When  you, 
sir  knight,  return  to  your  walls  with  the  consciousness 
of  your  strength  and  gallantry,  which  no  fatigue  can 
diminish ;  when  you,  for  the  first  time  after  a  long 
absence,  stretch  yourself  unarmed  upon  your  bed 
secure  from  the  attack  of  enemies,  and  give  yourself 
up  to  a  sleep  sweeter  than  the  draught  after  thirst, — 
then  can  I  speak  of  happiness. 

Goetz.  And  accordingly  it  comes  but  seldom ! 

Mar.  But  when  it  does  come,  it  is  a  foretaste  of 
paradise.  When  you  return  back  laden  with  hostile 
spoils,  and  tell,  "  Such  a  one  I  struck  from  his  horse 
ere  he  could  discharge  his  piece — such  another  I  over- 
threw, horse  and  man," — then  you  ride  your  castle 
around,  and 

Goetz.  What  mean  you  ? 

Mar.  And  your  wife — (Fills  a  glass.) — To  the  health 
of  your  lady !     You  have  one  ? 

Goetz.  A  virtuous,  noble  wife ! 

Mar.  Well  for  him  who  can  say  so ;  his  life  is 
doubled.  The  blessing  was  denied  for  me,  yet  was  it 
the  finishing  crown  of  creation.     (He  wipes  his  eyes.) 

Goetz  (aside).  I  grieve  for  him.  The  sense  of  his 
situation  chills  his  heart. 

Enter  George,  breathless., 

Geo.  My  Lord,  my  Lord,  horses  at  the  gallop! — 
two  of  them They  for  certain — 

Goetz.  Bring  out  my  steed;  let  Hans  mount. 
Farewell,  dear  brother!  Be  cheerful  and  duteous; 
God  will  give  space  for  exertion. 

Mar.  Let  me  request  your  name. 

Goetz.  Pardon  me — Farewell !  ( Gives  his-left  hand.) 


Mar.  Why  the  left? — Am  I  unworthy  of  the 
knightly  right  hand  ? 

Goetz.  Were  you  the  Emperor,  you  must  be  satis- 
fied with  this.  My  right  hand,  though  not  useless 
in  combat,  is  unresjionsive  to  the  grasp  of  affection. 
It  is  one  with  its  mailed  gauntlet — You  see,  it  is 
iron  ! 

Mar.  Then  art  thou  Goetz  of  Berlichingen.  I 
thank  thee,  Heaven,  who  hast  shown  me  the  man 
whom  princes  hate,  but  to  whom  the  oppressed 
throng !     Let  me  kiss  this  hand,  let  me  kiss  it. 

Goetz.  You  must  not ! 

Mar.  Let  me — let  me — Thou  hand,  more  worth 
than  the  relic  through  which  the  most  sacred  blood 
has  flowed !  dead  though  thou  seemest,  thou  livest  a 
witness  of  the  noblest  confidence  in  God. 

[Goetz  adjusts  his  helmet  and  takes  his  lance. 

Mar.  There  was  a  monk  among  us  about  a  year, 
who  visited  you  when  your  hand  was  shot  off  before 
Landshut.  How  he  used  to  tell  us  what  you  suffered, 
and  your  grief  at  being  disabled  for  your  profession 
of  arms ;  till  you  heard  of  one  who  had  also  lost  a 
hand,  and  yet  served  long  a  gallant  knight.  I  shall 
never  forget  it. 

Enter  Peter  and  the  other  Cavalier.      They  speak 
apart  with  Goetz. 

Mar.  (going  on).  I  shall  never  forget  his  words  in 
the  most  noble,  the  most  unreserved  confidence  in 
God :  "  If  I  had  twelve  hands,  what  would  they  avail 
me  without  his  grace  ?  then  may  I  with  only  one  and 
heaven  to  friend  " 

Goetz.  In  the  wood  of  Haslach  too  ?  (Returns  to 
Martin.)     Farewell,  worthy  brother! 

Mar.  Forget  me  not,  as  I  shall  never  forget 
thee! 

[Exeunt  Goetz  and  his  troopers. 

Mar.  The  sight  of  him  touched  my  heart — He 
spoke  not,  and  my  spirit  sunk  under  his — Yet  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  have  seen  a  great  man. 

Geo.  Worthy  sir,  you  will  sleep  here  ? 

Mar.  Can  I  have  a  bed  ? 

Geo.  No,  sir !  I  know  a  bed  only  by  hearsay ;  in 
our  lodgings  there  is  but  straw. 

Mar.  It  will  serve.    What  is  thy  name  ? 

Geo.  George,  sir. 

Mar.  George  !— Thou  hast  a  gallant  patron  saint. 

Geo.  They  say  he  was  a  knight ;  that  would  I  like 
to  be! 

Mar.  Stop !  ( Takes  a  picture  from,  his  breviary  and 
gives  it  to  the  page.)  There  thou  hast  him — follow  his 
example ;  be  brave,  and  fear  God. 

[Exit  into  the  cottage. 

Geo.  Ah !  what  a  charming  gray  steed ! — If  I  had 
but  one  like  that — and  the  gilded  armor — There  is  an 
ugly  dragon— At  present,  I  shoot  nothing  but  spar- 
rows. Oh,  St.  George !  make  me  but  tall  and  strong ; 
give  me  a  lance,  armor,  and  a  horse,  and  then  let  the 
dragon  come  against  me  when  it  will. 

[Exit. 


820 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


SCENE  III. 

An  apartment  in  Jaxthausen,  the  Castle  of  Goetz  of 
Berlichingen. 

Elizabeth,  Maria,  and  Charles  discovered. 

Char.  Pray  now,  dear  aunt,  tell  me  again  that  story 
of  the  good  child;  it  is  so  pretty — 

Maria.  Do  ¥ou  tell  it  to  me,  little  rogue !  that  I 
inav  see  if  you  pay  attention. 

CHAR.  Wait  then  till  I  think "There  was  once 

upon" — Yes — "  There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  child, 
and  his  mother  was  sick;  so  the  child  went" — 

Maria.  No,  no ! — "  Then  said  his  mother" — 

Char.  "  I  am  sick" — 

Maria.  "  And  cannot  go  out ;" — 

Char.  "And  gave  him  money,  and  said,  Go  and 
buy  yourself  a  breakfast." 

Maria.  "  The  child  went. — There  met  him  an  old 
man  that  was" — Now,  Charles! 

Char.  — "that  was — old" — 

Maria.  Indeed ! — "  that  was  not  able  to  walk,  and 
said,  Dear  child  " — 

Char.  — "give  me  something;  I  have  eat  not  a 
morsel  yesterday  or  to-day.  Then  the  child  gave  him 
the  money" — 

Maria.  — "  that  should  have  bought  his  breakfast." 

Char.  "  Then  said  the  old  man" — 

Maria.  "  Then  the  old  man  took  the  child  by  the 
hand"— 

Char.  — "  by  the  hand,  and  said — and  became  a 
fine  beautiful  saint,  and  said  " — 

Maria.  "  Dear  child !  the  sacred  Virgin  rewards 
thee  for  thy  benevolence  through  me ;  whatever  sick 
person  thou  touchest" — 

Char.  — "  with  the  hand  " It  was  the  right 

hand,  I  think. 

Maria.  Yes. 

Char.  — "  he  will  immediately  become  well." 

Maria.  "  Then  the  child  went  home,  and  could  not 
speak  for  joy  " — 

Char.  — "  and  fell  upon  his  mother's  neck  and 
wept." 

Id  ASIA.  "  Then  the  mother  cried,  What's  the  matter 
with  me?  and  became" — 

Char.  — "became — became" — 

Maria.  You  do  not  mind — "and  became  well.  And 
the  child  cured  kings  and  emperors,  and  became  so 
rich  that  he  built  a  great  abbey." 

Eliz.  I  cannot  understand  why  my  husband  stays. 
Die  has  been  away  five  days  and  nights,  and  he  ex- 
pected to  have  done  his  business  much  sooner. 

Maria.  I  am  very  uneasy  about  it.  Were  I  married 
to  a  man  who  ever  incurred  such  danger,  I  should  die 
the  first  day. 

Eliz.  Therefore  I  thank  God,  who  has  made  me  of 
harder  stuff! 

Char.  But  must  my  father  always  ride  out,  when 
it  is  so  dangerous  ? 


Maria.  Such  is  his  good  pleasure. 

Eliz.  Indeed  he  must,  dear  Charles ! 

Char.  Why? 

Eliz.  Do  you  not  remember  the  last  time  he  rode 
out,  when  he  brought  you  these  fine  things? 

Char.  Will  he  bring  me  any  thing  now? 

Eliz.  I  believe  so.  Listen :  There  was  a  poor  man 
at  Stutgard  who  shot  excellently  with  the  bow,  and 
gained  a  prize  from  the  magistrates — 

Char.  How  much  ? 

Eliz.  A  hundred  dollars ; — and  afterwards  they 
would  not  pay  him. 

Maria.  That  was  base,  Charles. 

Char.  Shabby  people ! 

Eliz.  The  poor  man  came  to  your  father,  and  be- 
sought him  to  help  him  to  his  money ;  then  your  father 
rode  out  and  intercepted  two  convoys  of  merchandise, 
and  plagued  them  till  they  paid  the  money.  Would 
not  you  have  ridden  out  too  ? 

Char.  No — For  one  must  go  through  thick  woods, 
where  there  are  gipsies  and  witches — 

Eliz.  You  little  rogue ! — Afraid  of  witches — 

Maria.  You  are  right,  Charles !  Live  at  home  in 
your  castle,  like  a  quiet  Christian  knight — One  may 
do  a  great  deal  of  good  out  of  one's  own  fortune. 
These  redressers  of  wrongs  do  more  harm  than  good 
by  their  interference. 

Eliz.  Sister,  you  know  not  what  you  are  saying — 
God  grant  our  boy  may  turn  brave  as  he  grows  up,  and 
pull  down  that  Weislingen,  who  has  dealt  so  faith- 
lessly with  my  husband ! 

Maria.  We  cannot  agree  in  this,  Eliza — My  brother 
is  highly  incensed,  and  thou  art  so  also;  but  I  am 
cooler  in  the  business,  and  can  be  less  inveterate. 

Eliz.  Weislingen  cannot  be  defended. 

Maria.  What  I  have  heard  of  him  has  pleased  me 
— Even  thy  husband  speaks  him  good  and  affectionate 
— How  happy  was  their  youth  when  they  were  both 
pages  of  honor  to  the  Margrave ! 

Eliz.  That  may  be : — But  only  tell  me,  how  can  the 
man  be  good  who  lays  ambushes  for  his  best  and  truest 
friend  ?  who  has  sold  his  service  to  the  enemies  of  my 
husband  ?  and,  by  invidious  misrepresentations,  alien- 
ates from  us  our  noble  Emperor,  naturally  so  gracious  ? 

[.4  horn  winded. 

Char.  Papa!  Papa! 

[The  warder  sounds  his  horn.     The  gate  opens. 

Eliz.  There  he  comes  with  booty ! 

Enter  Peter. 

Peter.  We  have  hunted— we  have  caught  the 
game ! — God  save  you,  noble  ladies ! 

Eliz.  Have  you  Weislingen? 

Peter.  Himself,  and  three  followers. 

Eliz.  How  came  you  to  stay  so  long  ? 

Peter.  We  watched  for  him  between  Nuremberg 
and  Bamberg,  but  he  did  not  come,  though  we  knew 
he  had  set  out.  At  length  we  found  him ;  he  had 
struck  off  sideways,  and  was  living  quietly  with  the 
Earl  at  Schwarzenberg. 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


821 


Eliz.  Then  will  my  husband  have  him  next  for  an 
enemy. 

Peter.  I  told  this  immediately  to  my  master — Up 
and  away  we  rode  for  the  forest  of  Haslach.  And  it 
was  curious,  while  we  were  riding  thither  that  night, 
that  a  shepherd  was  watching,  and  five  wolves  fell 
upon  the  flock,  and  were  taken.  Then  my  master 
laughed  and  said,  Good  luck  to  us  all,  dear  compan- 
ion, both  to  you  and  us ! — And  the  good  omen  over- 
joyed us. — Just  then  Weislingen  came  riding  along 
with  four  attendants — 

Maria.  My  heart  shudders  in  my  bosom. 

Peter.  My  comrade  and  I  threw  ourselves  suddenly 
on  him,  and  clung  to  him  as  if  we  were  one  body, 
while  my  master  and  the  others  fell  upon  the  servants. 
They  were  all  taken,  except  one  who  escaped. 

Eliz.  I  am  curious  to  see  him — Will  they  come 
soon? 

Peter.  Immediately.  They  are  riding  over  the  hill. 

Maria.  He  will  be  cast  down  and  dejected. 

Peter.  He  looks  gloomy  enough. 

Maria.  The  sight  of  his  distress  will  grieve  me ! 

Eliz.  Oh !  I  must  get  food  ready.  You  must  be  all 
hungry. 

Peter.  Right  hungry,  truly. 

Eliz.  Take  the  cellar  keys  and  draw  the  best  wine. 
You  have  deserved  the  best.  [Exit  Elizabeth. 

Char.  I'll  go  with  aunt. 

Maria.  Come  then,  you  rogue. 

[Exeunt  Charles  and  Maria. 

Peter.  He'll  never  be  his  father — At  his  years  he 
was  in  the  stable — 

Enter  Goetz,  "Weislingen,  Hans,  and  other  Cav- 
aliers as  from  horseback. 

Goetz  {laying  his  helmet  and  sword  on  a  table).  Un- 
clasp my  armor,  and  give  me  my  doublet — Ease  will 
refresh  me.  Brother  Martin  said  well. — You  have 
put  us  out  of  wind,  Weislingen ! 

[Weislingen  answers  nothing,  but  paces  up 
and  down. 

Goetz.  Be  of  good  heart!  Come,  unarm  yourself! 
— Where  are  your  clothes ! — Not  lost,  I  hope,  in  the 
scuffle?  (To  the  attendants.)  Go,  ask  his  servants; 
open  the  trunks,  and  see  that  nothing  is  missing. — Or 
I  can  lend  you  some  of  mine. 

Weis.  Let  me  remain  as  I  am — It  is  all  one. 

Goetz.  I  can  give  you  a  handsome  clean  doublet, 
but  it  is  only  of  linen — It  has  grown  too  little  for  me 
— I  had  it  on  at  the  marriage  of  the  Lord  Palsgrave, 
when  your  Bishop  was  so  incensed  at  me.  About  a 
fortnight  before  I  had  sunk  two  of  his  vessels  upon 
the  Maine — I  was  going  up  stairs  to  the  venison  in  the 
inn  at  Heidelberg,  with  Francis  of  Seckingen.  Before 
you  get  quite  up,  there  is  a  landing-place  with  iron 
rails;  there  stood  the  Bishop,  and  gave  Frank  his 
hand  as  he  passed,  and  the  like  to  me  that  was  close 
behind  him.  I  laughed  in  my  sleeve,  and  went  to  the 
Landgrave  of  Hanau,  who  was  always  my  noble  friend, 
and  told  him,  "  The  Bishop  has  given  me  his  hand, 


but  I  wot  well  he  did  not  know  me."  The  Bishop 
heard  me,  for  I  was  speaking  loud — He  came  to  us 
angrily,  and  said,  "  True,  I  gave  thee  my  hand,  be- 
cause I  knew  thee  not  indeed."  To  which  I  answered, 
"  I  marked  that,  my  Lord ;  and  so  take  your  shake  of 
the  hand  back  again !"  The  manikin's  neck  grew 
red  as  a  crab  for  spite,  and  he  went  up  the  room  and 
complained  to  the  Palsgrave  Lewis  and  the  Princess 
of  Nassau. — But  we  have  had  much  to  do  together 
since  that. 

Weis.  I  wish  you  would  leave  me  to  myself! 

Goetz.  Why  so  ?  I  entreat  you  be  at  rest.  You 
are  in  my  power,  and  I  will  not  misuse  it. 

Weis.  That  I  am  little  anxious  about — Your  duty 
as  a  knight  prescribes  your  conduct. 

Goetz.  And  you  know  how  sacred  it  is  to  me. 

Weis.  I  am  taken — What  follows  is  indifferent. 

Goetz.  You  should  not  say  so.  Had  you  been  taken 
by  a  prince,  and  shut  up  fettered  in  a  dungeon,  your 
gaoler  directed  to  drive  sleep  from  your  eyes 

Enter  Servants  with  clothes.  Weislingen  unarms  and 
shifts  himself.     Enter  CHARLES. 

Char.  Good  morrow,  papa ! 

Goetz  (kisses  him).  Good  morrow,  boy !  How  have 
you  been  behaving? 

Char.  Very  well.    Aunt  says  I  am  a  good  boy. 

Goetz.  That's  right. 

Char.  Have  you  brought  me  any  thing? 

GOETZ.  Nothing  this  time. 

Char.  I  have  learned  a  great  deal — 

Goetz.  Ay! 

Char.  Shall  I  tell  you  about  the  good  boy  ? 

Goetz.  After  dinner. 

Char.  And  I  know  something  else. 

Goetz.  What  may  that  be  ? 

Char.  "  Jaxthausen  is  a  village  and  castle  upon  the 
Jaxt,  which  has  appertained  in  property  and  heritage 
for  two  hundred  years  to  the  Lords  of  Berlichingen  " — 

Goetz.  Do  you  know  the  Lord  of  Berlichingen? 
(Charles  stares  at  him.)  With  all  his  extensive 
learning  he  does  not  know  his  own  father. — Whom 
does  Jaxthausen  belong  to  ? 

Char.  "  Jaxthausen  is  a  village  and  castle  -upon 
the  Jaxt " — 

Goetz.  I  did  not  ask  about  that— I  knew  every 
path,  pass,  and  ford  about  the  place,  before  ever  I 

knew  the  name  of  the  village,  castle,  or  river. Is 

your  mother  in  the  kitchen  ? 

Char.  Yes,  papa !  They  are  dressing  a  lamb,  with 
nice  white  turnips. 

Goetz.  Do  you  know  that  too,  Jack  Turnspit? 

Char.  And  my  aunt  is  roasting  an  apple  for  me  to 
eat  after  dinner — 

Goetz.  Can't  you  eat  it  raw  ? 

Char.  It  tastes  better  roasted. 

Goetz.  You  must  have  a  tid-bit,  must  you  ? — Weis- 
lingen, I  will  be  with  you  immediately — I  go  to  see 
my  wife. — Come,  Charles! 

Char.  Who  is  that  man  ? 


822 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


GOETZ.  Bid  him  welcome. — Tell  him  to  be  cheerful. 

Char.  There's  my  hand,  man! — Be  cheerful — for 
the  dinner  will  be  ready  soon. 

Wins,  [takes  up  the  child  and  kisses  him).  Happy 
hoy  !  that  knowest  no  worse  evil  than  the  delay  of 
dinner.  May  you  live  to  have  much  joy  in  your  sou, 
Berlichingen  I 

GOETZ.  Where  there  is  most  light,  the  shades  are 
deepest.  Yet  I  thank  God  for  him. — We'll  see  what 
they  are  about. 

[Exit  with  Charles  and  servants. 

Weis.  Oh  that  I  could  but  wake  aud  find  this  all  a 
dream! — In  the  power  of  Berlichingen! — of  him  from 
whom  I  had  so  far  detached  myself — whose  remem- 
brance I  shunned  like  fire — whom  I  hoped  to  over- 
power!— and  he  still  the  old  true-hearted  Goetz! — 
Oh,  Adelbert !  couldst  thou  recall  the  days  when  we 
played  as  children,  and  drove  the  mimic  chase  round 
this  hall ;  then  thou  lovedst  him,  prizedst  him  as  thy 
soul !  Who  can  be  near  him  and  hate  him  ? — Alas ! 
I  am  not  here  such  as  I  was — Happy  days !  ye  are 
gone — There  in  his  chair  by  the  chimney  sat  old  Ber- 
lichingen, while  we  played  around  him,  and  loved 

each   other  like  cherubs ! How  anxious  will  be 

the  Bishop  and  all  my  friends ! — Well ;  I  wot  the 
whole  country  will  sympathize  with  my  misfortune. 
But  what  does  it  avail  ?  Can  that  reflection  give  me 
the  peace  after  which  I  struggle  ? 

Re-enter  Goetz  with  wine,  and  beakers. 

Goetz.  We'll  take  a  glass  till  dinner  is  ready. 
Come,  sit  down — think  yourself  at  home !  Consider 
you  are  once  more  the  guest  of  Goetz.  It  is  long  since 
we  have  sat  side  by  side  and  emptied  a  flagon  together. 
(Fills.)    Come:  a  light  heart! 

Weis.  Those  times  are  over. 

Goetz.  God  forbid!  We  shall  hardly  find  more 
pleasant  days  than  those  which  we  spent  together  at 
the  Margrave's  Court — when  we  were  inseparable 
night  and  day.  I  think  with  pleasure  on  the  days  of 
my  youth. — Do  you  remember  the  battle  I  had  with 
the  Polander,  and  how  I  broke  his  frizzled  pate  for 
him? 

Weis.  It  was  at  table ;  and  he  struck  at  you  with 
a  knife. 

Goetz.  However,  I  came  off  conopjeror — And  you 
had  a  quarrel  upon  the  account  with  his  comrade. 
We  always  stuck  together  like  brave  boys.  (Fills  and 
hands  to  Weislingen.)  I  shall  never  forget  how  the 
Margrave  used  to  call  us  Castor  and  Pollux :  it  does 
me  L.r'"iil  to  think  of  it. 

Wr.is.  The  Bishop  of  Wurtzburg  called  us  so  first. 

GOETZ.  That  Bishop  was  a  learned  clerk,  and  withal 
so  gentle — I  shall  remember  as  long  as  I  live  how  he 
used  to  caress  us,  praise  our  union,  and  describe  the 
good  fortune  of  the  man  who  has  an  adopted  brother 
in  a  friend. 

Weis.  No  more  of  that! 

Goetz.  Does  it  displease  you  ?  Iknownothingmore 
delightful  after  fatigue  than  to  talk  over  old  stories. 


Indeed,  when  I  recall  to  mind  how  we  were  almost 
the  same  being,  body  and  soul,  and  how  I  thought  we 
were  to  continue  so  all  our  lives — Was  not  that  my 
sole  comfort  when  this  hand  was  shot  away  at  Land- 
shut,  and  when  you  nursed  and  tended  me  like  a 
brother  ? — I  hoped  Adelbert  would  in  future  be  my 
right  hand. — And  now — 

Weis.  Alas! 

Goetz.  Hadst  thou  followed  me  when  I  wished  thee 
to  go  to  Brabant  with  me,  all  would  have  remained 
well.  But  then  that  unhappy  turn  for  Court-dangling 
seized  thee,  and  thy  coquetting  and  flirting  with  idle 
women.  I  always  told  thee,  when  thou  wouldst  mix 
with  these  lounging,  begging,  court  sycophants,  and 
entertain  them  with  gossipping  about  unlucky  matches 
and  seduced  girls,  and  such  trash  as  they  are  interested 
about — I  always  told  thee,  Adelbert,  thou  wilt  become 
a  rogue. 

Weis.  Why  all  this  ? 

Goetz.  Would  to  God  I  could  forget  it,  or  that  it 
were  otherwise!  Art  thou  not  as  free  and  as  nobly 
born  as  any  in  Germany,  independent,  holding  under 
the  Emperor  alone — and  dost  thou  not  crouch  amongst 
vassals  ?  What  is  the  Bishop  to  thee  ?  Allow  he  is 
thy  neighbor,  and  can  do  thee  a  shrewd  turn,  hast 
thou  not  an  arm  and  friends  to  requite  him  in  kind  ? 
Art  thou  ignorant  of  the  noble  situation  of  a  free 
knight,  who  rests  only  upon  God,  the  Emperor,  and 
himself,  that  thou  canst  bear  thus  to  crawl  at  the  foot- 
stool of  a  selfish,  malicious  priest? 

Weis.  Let  me  speak ! 

Goetz.  What  canst  thou  say? 

Weis.  You  look  upon  the  princes  as  the  wolf  i»pon 
the  shepherd.  And  yet,  canst  thou  blame  them  for 
uniting  in  the  defence  of  their  territories  and  prop- 
erty? Are  they  a  moment  secure  from  the  unruly 
chivalry  of  your  free  knights,  who  plunder  their  vas- 
sals upon  the  very  highroads,  and  sack  their  castles 
and  towns?  While  upon  the  frontiers  the  public 
enemy  threaten  to  overrun  the  lands  of  our  dear  Em- 
peror, and,  while  he  needs  their  assistance,  they  can 
scarce  maintain  their  own  security — is  it  not  our  gocd 
genius  which  at  this  moment  suggests  a  mean  of  bring- 
ing peace  to  Germany,  of  securing  the  administration 
of  justice,  and  giving  to  great  and  small  the  blessings 
of  quiet?  For  this  purpose  is  our  confederacy ;  and 
dost  thou  blame  us  for  securing  the  protection  of  the 
powerful  princes  our  neighbors,  instead  of  relying  on 
that  of  the  Emperor,  who  is  so  far  removed  from  us, 
and  is  hardly  able  to  protect  himself? 

Goetz.  Yes,  yes,  I  understand  you.  Weislingen, 
were  the  princes  as  you  paint  them,  we  should  be  all 
agreed — all  at  peace  and  quiet !  Yes,  every  bird  of 
prey  naturally  likes  to  eat  its  plunder  undisturbed. 
The  general  weal !  They  will  hardly  acquire  untimely 
gray  hairs  in  studying  for  that ! — And  with  the  Em- 
peror they  play  a  fine  game — Every  day  comes  some 
new  adviser  and  gives  his  opinion.  The  Emperor 
means  well,  and  would  gladly  put  things  to  rights— 
but  because  a  great  man  can  soon  give  an  order,  and 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


823 


by  a  single  word  put  a  thousand  hands  into  motion, 
he  therefore  thinks  his  orders  will  be  as  speedily  ac- 
complished. Then  come  ordinances  upon  ordinances 
contradictory  of  each  other,  while  the  princes  all  the 
while  obey  those  only  which  serve  their  own  interest, 
and  help  them  to  press  under  their  footstool  their  less 
powerful  neighbors — and  all  the  while  they  talk  of 
the  quiet  and  peace  of  the  empire !  I  will  be  sworn, 
many  a  one  thanks  God  in  his  heart  that  the  Turk 
keeps  the  Emperor  from  looking  into  these  affairs ! 

Weis.  You  view  things  your  own  way. 

Goetz.  So  does  every  one.  The  question  is,  which 
is  the  right  light  in  which  they  should  be  regarded  ? — 
And  your  plans  are  of  the  darkest. 

Weis.  You  may  say  what  you  will;  I  am  your 
prisoner. 

Goetz.  When  your  conscience  is  free,  so  are  you. — 
But  we  talked  of  the  general  tranquillity — I  stood  as 
a  boy  of  sixteen  with  the  Margrave  at  an  Imperial 
Diet.  What  harangues  the  princes  made  !  and  worst 
of  all,  your  spiritual  allies — The  Bishop  rung  into 
the  Emperor's  ears  his  regard  for  justice,  till  one  won- 
dered again — And  now  he  has  imprisoned  a  page  of 
mine,  at  the  very  time  when  our  quarrels  were  all 
accommodated,  and  I  thought  of  nothing  less.  Is  not 
all  betwixt  us  settled  ?  What  is  his  business  with  the 
boy? 

Weis.  It  was  done  without  his  knowledge. 

Goetz.  Then  why  does  he  not  release  him  ? 

Weis.  He  has  not  borne  himself  as  he  should  do. 

Goetz.  Not  as  he  should  do?  By  my  honor,  he 
has  done  as  he  should  do,  as  surely  as  he  was  impris- 
oned both  with  your  knowledge  and  the  Bishop's ! 
Do  you  think  I  am  come  into  the  world  this  very  day, 
that  I  cannot  see  the  tendency  of  all  this  ? 

Weis.  Your  suspicions  do  us  injustice. 

Goetz.  Weislingen,  shall  I  tell  you  the  truth?  In- 
considerable as  I  am,  I  am  a  thorn  in  your  eyes,  and 
Selbiss  and  Seckingeu  are  no  less  so,  while  we  retain 
our  firm  resolution  to  die  sooner  than  to  thank  any 
one  but  God  for  the  air  we  breathe,  or  pledge  our 
faith  and  homage  to  any  one  but  the  Emperor.  Hence 
they  goad  me  from  every  quarter,  blacken  my  char- 
acter with  the  Emperor,  and  among  my  friends  and 
neighbors,  and  spy  about  for  advantage  against  me. 
They  would  fain  take  me  out  of  the  way ;  that  was 
the  reason  for  imprisoning  the  page  whom  I  had  dis- 
patched for  intelligence :  and  you  now  say  he  did 
not  bear  himself  as  he  should  do,  because  he  would 
not  betray  my  secrets — And  thou,  Weislingen,  art 
their  tool ! 

Weis.  Berlichingen ! 

Goetz.  No  more  about  it — I  am  an  enemy  to  long 
explanations;  they  deceive  either  the  maker  or  the 
hearer,  and  for  the  most  part  both. 

Enter  Charles. 
Char.  Dinner,  father ! 

Goetz.  Good  news ! — Come,  I  hope  the  company  of 
my  women  folks  will  revive  you — You  always  liked 


the  girls — Ay,  ay,  they  can  tell  many  pretty  stories  of 
you.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Bishop  of  Bamberg's  Palace. 

The  Bishop,  the  Abbot  of  Fuldah,  Oleaeius,  Lieij- 

tkaut,  and  Courtiers  at  table — The  dessert  and 

wine  before  them. 

Bishop.  Are  there  many  of  the  German  nobility  at 
your  academy  of  Bologna  ? 

Oleae.  Both  of  nobles  and  burghers ;  and,  without 
exaggeration,  they  acquire  the  most  brilliant  reputa- 
tion. It  is  a  proverb  in  the  university,  "  As  studious 
as  a  German  noble." 

Abbot.  Ay! 

Lieb.  As  studious  as  a  German  noble !  What  may 
one  not  live  to  hear?  That  have  I  never  heard 
before. 

Oleae.  Yes,  they  are  the  admiration  of  the  whole 
university.  Some  of  the  oldest  and  most  learned  will 
be  created  even  doctors.  The  Emperor  will  doubtless 
be  happy  to  intrust  to  them  the  highest  offices. 

Abbot.  Do  you  know,  for  instance,  a  young  man — a 
Hessian — 

Olear.  There  are  many  Hessians  with  us. 

Abbot.  His  name  was Does  nobody  remember 

it?  His  mother  was  of  the  What-d'ye-call-them's? — 
Oh ! — his  father  has  but  one  eye — and  is  a  marshal — 

Lieb.  Von  Wildenholz ! 

Oleae.  I  know  him  well.  He  is  highly  esteemed 
for  his  force  in  disputation. 

Abbot.  He  has  that  from  his  mother. 

Lieb.  But  I  never  heard  that  his  father  esteemed 
her  the  more  for  it. 

Bishop.  How  call  you  the  emperor  that  wrote  your 
Corpus  Juris  ? 

Oleae.  Justinian. 

Bishop.  A  worthy  prince : — To  his  health ! 

Olear.  To  his  memory!     (They  drink.) 

ABBOT.  That  must  be  a  charming  book. 

Olear.  It  may  be  called  the  book  of  books,  com- 
prehending every  rule. 

Abbot.  Every  rule ! — Then  the  ten  commandments 
must  be  in  it. 

Oleae.  By  implication ;  not  explicitly. 

Abbot.  I  meant  so ;  plainly  set  down,  without  any 
explication. 

Bishop.  But  the  best  is,  you  tell  us  that  a  state  can 
be  maintained  in  the  surest  peace  and  obedience  by 
receiving  that  statute-book. 

Oleae.  Doubtless. 

Bishop.  All  doctors  of  laws !     (They  drink.) 

Oleae.  Would  men  spoke  thus  in  my  country! 

Abbot.  Whence  come  you,  most  learned  sir? 

Olear.  From  Frankfort,  at  your  Eminence's  ser- 
vice. 


824 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL  WORKS. 


BisnOP.  Are  you  not  on  good  terms  with  your 
countrymen  ? — How  comes  that  ? 

Olear.  It  is  odd  enough — but  when  I  went  last 
there  to  collect  my  father's  effects,  the  populace 
pelted  me  with  stones  when  they  heard  I  was  a 
civilian. 

Abbot.  God  keep  us ! 

Olear.  It  is  because  their  tribunal,  which  they 
hold  in  great  resjiect,  is  occupied  by  vulgar  people, 
ignorant  of  the  Roman  law.  They  decide  according 
to  certain  edicts  of  their  own,  and  some  old  customs 
recognized  in  the  city  and  neighborhood. 

Abbot.  That's  very  right. 

Olear.  Yes;  but  then  the  life  of  man  is  short,  and 
in  one  generation  causes  of  every  description  cannot 
be  decided ;  therefore  it  is  better  to  preserve  a  collec- 
tion of  rules  to  be  observed  through  all  ages — and 
such  is  our  Corpus  Juris,  which  ensures  us  against  the 
mutability  of  judges. 

Abbot.  That's  a  great  deal  better. 

Olear.  But  the  people  are  ignorant  of  that ;  and, 
curious  as  they  are  after  novelties,  hate  any  innova- 
tion in  their  laws,  be  it  ever  so  much  for  the  better. 
They  hate  a  jurist  as  if  he  were  a  cut-purse  or  a  sub- 
verter  of  the  state,  and  become  furious  if  one  attenrpts 
to  settle  among  them. 

Lieb.  You  come  from  Frankfort? — I  know  the 
place  well — we  tasted  of  your  good  cheer  there  at  the 
Emperor's  coronation;  but  I  know  no  one  in  that 
town  of  your  name. 

Olear.  My  father's  name  was  Oilman — but  after 
the  example  of  many  Curlians,  for  the  decoration  of 
the  title-page  of  my  legal  treatises,  I  have  Latinized 
the  name  to  Olearius. 

Lieb.  You  did  well  to  disguise  it: — a  prophet  is 
not  honored  in  his  own  country — nor  in  the  language 
thereof. 

Olear.  That  was  not  the  cause. 

Lieb.  Every  thing  has  two  reasons. 

ABBOT.  A  prophet  is  not  honored  in  his  own  coun- 
try. 

Lieb.  But  do  you  know  why,  most  reverend  sir? 

Abbot.  Because  he  was  born  and  bred  up  there. 

Lieb.  Well,  that  may  be  one  reason — Another  is, 
that  upon  a  nearer  acquaintance  with  these  gentle- 
men, the  rays  of  glory  and  honor  that  appear  at  a 
distance  to  invest  them  totally  disappear.  They  are 
just  like  old  worsted  stockings  in  a  frosty  night — 
Draw  near,  and  the  splendor  is  gone  ! 

Olear.  It  seems  you  are  placed  here  to  tell  pleas- 
ant truths. 

Lieb.  When  I  can  discover  them,  my  mouth  seldom 
fails  to  utter  them. 

Olear.  Yet  you  hardly  seem  to  distinguish  manner 
and  place. 

Lieb.  There  is  no  matter  where  you  place  a  cup- 
ping-glass, provided  it  draws  blood. 

Olear.  Buffoons  are  privileged,  and  we  know  them 
by  their  scurvy  jests — But  in  future  let  me  advise 
you  to  bear  the  badge  of  your  order — a  cap  and  bells ! 


Lieb.  A  cap ! — True — should  I  take  a  fancy  to  have 
one,  will  you  direct  me  to  the  place  where  you  bought 
yours  ? 

Bishop.  Some  other  subject — Not  so  warm,  gentle- 
men !  At  table  all  should  be  fair  and  quiet — Choose 
another  subject,  Liebtraut. 

Lieb.  Near  Frankfort  is  an  ample  building  called 
the  correction-house 

Olear.  What  of  the  Turkish  expedition,  please 
your  Excellence? 

Bishop.  The  Emperor  has  it  much  at  heart  to  re- 
store peace  to  the  empire,  stop  feuds,  and  secure  the 
rigid  administration  of  justice :  then,  according  to 
report,  he  goes  in  person  against  the  Turk.  At  pres- 
ent domestic  dissensions  find  him  enough  to  do ;  and 
the  empire,  spite  of  four  years  of  external  peace,  is 
one  scene  of  murder.  Franconia,  Swabia,  the  Upper 
Rhine,  and  the  surrounding  countries  are  laid  waste 
by  presumptuous  and  restless  knights — And  here, 
Seckingen,  Selbiss  with  one  leg,  and  Goetz  with  the 
iron  hand,  sport  with  the  imperial  mandates. 

Abbot.  If  his  Majesty  does  not  exert  himself,  these 
fellows  will  carry  us  off  in  their  portmanteaus. 

Lieb.  He  would  be  a  sturdy  fellow  indeed  who 
should  carry  off  the  wine-butt  of  Fuldah  in  a  port- 
manteau ! 

Bishop.  Besides,  the  last  has  been  for  many  years 
my  mortal  foe,  and  molests  me  hourly — But  it  will  not 
last  long,  I  hope.  The  Emperor  holds  his  court  at 
Augsburg — we  have  taken  our  measures. — Doctor,  do 
you  know  Adelbert  of  Weislingen  ? 

Olear.  No,  please  your  Eminence. 

Bishop.  If  you  stay  till  his  arrival,  you  will  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  most  noble,  most  accom- 
plished, and  most  gallant  knight. 

Olear.  He  must  be  excellent  indeed  who  deserves 
such  praises  from  such  a  mouth. 

Lieb.  And  he  was  bred  at  no  university. 

Bishop.  We  know  that.  ( The  attendants  throng  to 
the  window.)    What's  the  matter? 

Attend.  Just  now,  Farber,  Weislingen's  servant, 
rode  in  at  the  Castle  gate. 

Bishop.  See  what  he  brings.  He  will  announce  his 
master. 

{Exit  Liebtraut.     They  stand  up  and  drink 
round. 

Liebtraut  re-enters. 

Bishop.  What  news? 

Lieb.  I  wish  it  had  been  told  by  another — Weis- 
lingen is  a  prisoner! 

Bishop.  How? 

Lieb.  Berlichingen  seized  him  and  three  attend- 
ants near  Haslach — One  is  escaped  to  tell  you. 

Abbot.  A  Job's  messenger ! 

Olear.  I  grieve  from  my  heart. 

Bishop.  I  will  see  the  servant — Bring  him  up — I 
will  speak  with  him  myself.  Conduct  him  into  my 
cabinet. 

{Exit  Bishop. 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


825 


Abbot  {sitting  down).  Another  draught,  however. 
[The  servants  Jill  round. 

Olear.  Does  your  Reverence  not  think  of  a  turn  in 
the  garden?  "Post  ccenam  stabis,  seu  passus  mille 
meatus  ?" 

Lieb.  In  truth,  sitting  is  unhealthy  for  you,  who 
are  threatened  with  an  apoplexy.  [The  Abbot  rises.) 
Can  I  but  once  get  these  grave  ones  out  of  doors,  I 
shall  exercise  their  tempers  a  little  !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. 

Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen. 

Maria,  Weislingen. 

Maria.  You  love  me,  you  say— Alas!  I  am  per- 
haps but  too  much  inclined  to  believe  it. 

Weis.  Why  not  believe  what  I  feel  so  well,  that  I 
am  entirely  thine !     (Embraces  her.) 

Maria.  Softly ! — I  gave  you  one  kiss  for  earnest, 
but  you  must  encroach  no  further. 

Weis.  You  are  too  strict,  Maria ! — Innocent  love  is 
pleasing  in  the  sight  of  Heaven. 

Maria.  It  may  be  so — But  I  must  not  build  upon 
what  you  say ;  for  I  have  been  taught  that  caresses 
are  as  strong  as  fetters,  and  that  damsels  when  they 
love  are  weaker  than  Samson  when  he  lost  his  locks. 

Weis.  Who  taught  you  so  ? 

Maria.  The  abbess  of  my  convent.  Till  my  seven- 
teenth year  I  was  with  her — and  only  with  you  for 
the  first  time  have  I  ceased  to  regret  her  company. 

She  had  loved,  and  could  tell She  had  a  most 

affectionate  heart — Oh !  she  was  an  excellent  woman ! 

Weis.  Then  you  resemble  her.  (Takes  her  hand.) 
What  would  become  of  me  were  I  to  lose  you? 

Maria.  That,  I  hope,  is  not  likely  to  happen — But 
you  must  away. 

Weis.  I  know  it,  dearest !  and  I  will — Well  do  I 
feel  what  a  treasure  I  have  purchased  by  this  sacri- 
fice ! — Now,  blessed  be  your  brother,  and  the  day  on 
which  he  undertook  to  seize  me ! 

Maria.  His  heart  overflowed  with  hope  for  you 
and  himself.  Farewell,  he  said ;  I  go  to  recover  my 
friend. 

Weis.  That  has  he  done.  Would  that  I  had  studied 
the  arrangement  and  security  of  my  property,  instead 
of  neglecting  it,  and  dallying  at  that  worthless  Court ! 
— then  couldst  thou  have  been  instantly  mine. 

Maria.  Delay  enhances  pleasure. 

Weis.  Say  not  so,  Maria,  lest  I  dread  that  thy  feel- 
ings are  less  keen  than  mine. — True,  I  deserved 
punishment,  deserved  to  lose  every  glimpse  of  this 
heavenly  prospect — But  now !  to  be  wholly  thine,  to 
live  only  in  thee  and  in  thy  circle  of  friends — far  re- 
moved from  the  world,  to  live  for  the  enjoyment  of 
all  the  raptures  which  two  hearts  can  bestow — What 
is  the  favor  of  princes,  what  applauses  of  the  uni- 
verse, to  such  simple  yet  unequalled  felicity  ?    Many 


have  been  my  hopes  and  wishes;  henceforth  I  am 
equally  above  both. 

Enter  GOETZ. 

GOETZ.  Your  page  is  returned  already.  He  can 
scarcely  bring  out  a  word  for  hunger  and  fatigue — 
My  wife  has  ordered  the  poor  knave  to  be  taken  care 
of.  This  much  I  have  picked  out — the  Bishop  will 
not  give  up  my  boy — an  imperial  commission  is  to  be 
granted,  under  which  all  matters  are  to  be  adjusted. 
But  be  it  as  he  will,  Adelbert,  you  are  free : — Pledge 
me  but  your  hand,  that  you  will  neither  give  open  nor 
under-hand  assistance  to  my  avowed  enemies. 

Weis.  Here  I  grasp  thy  hand.  From  this  moment 
be  our  union  and  friendshij)  as  firm  and  unalterable 
as  a  primaiy  law  of  nature ! — let  me  take  this  hand 
also  (takes  Maria's  hand),  and  with  it  the  possession 
of  this  lovely  lady. 

Goetz.  Dare  I  promise  for  you  ? 

Maria  (timidly).  If— if  it  is  your  wish 

Goetz.  By  good  luck  our  wishes  will  not  differ  on 

this  point. Thou  needst  not  blush — the  glance  of 

thy  eye  betrays  thee.  Well  then,  Weislingen,  join 
hands,  and  I  say  Amen! — My  friend  and  brother! — 
I  thank  thee,  sister ;  thou  spin'st  more  than  flax,  for 
thou  hast  drawn  a  thread  which  can  fetter  this  wan- 
dering bird  of  Paradise.  Yet  thou  look'st  not  quite 
open,  Adelbert — What  ails  thee  ?  I  am  fully  happy ! 
WThat  I  but  hoped  in  a  dream,  I  now  see  with  my 
eyes,  and  feel  as  if  I  still  dreamed.  Now  my  vision  is 
out — I  thought  to-night,  that,  in  token  of  reconcilia- 
tion, I  gave  thee  this  iron  hand ;  and  that  you  held  it 
so  fast  that  it  broke  away  from  my  arm : — I  started, 
and  awoke.  Had  I  but  dreamed  a  little  longer,  I 
should  have  seen  how  thou  didst  make  me  a  new 
living  hand. — You  must  away  this  instant,  to  put  in 
order  thy  castle  and  property.  That  damned  Court 
has  detained  you  long  from  both. — I  must  call  my 
wife — Elizabeth ! 

Maria.  How  transported  is  my  brother ! 

Weis.  Yet  I  am  still  more  so. 

Goetz  (to  Maria).  You  will  have  pleasant  quar- 
ters. 

Maria.  They  say  Franconia  is  a  fine  country. 

Weis.  And  I  may  venture  to  say  that  my  castle 
lies  in  the  most  delicious  part  of  it. 

Goetz.  That  thou  may'st,  and  I  will  swear  to  it — 
Look  you,  here  flows  the  Maine,  around  a  hill  clothed 
with  cornfields  and  vineyards,  its  top  crowned  with  a 
Gothic  castle — then  the  river  makes  a  sharp  turn,  and 
glides  round  behind  the  very  rock  on  which  it  stands. 
The  windows  of  the  great  hall  look  perpendicularly 
down  upon  the  river — a  prospect  which  would  detain 
one  for  hours. 

Enter  Elizabeth. 
Eliz.  What  wouldst  thou  ? 

Goetz.  You  too  must  give  your  hand,  and  say  God 
bless  you ! — They  are  a  pair. 
Eliz.  So  soon  ? 


826 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


Goetz.  But  not  unexpected. 

Eliz.  May  ye  ever  love  each  other  with  the  same 
affection  as  now — and  as  your  love,  so  be  your  hap- 
piness ! 

WEIB.  Amen!     On  that  condition  I  ensure  it. 

GOETZ.  The  bridegroom,  my  dear,  must  perforce 
away  for  a  while;  for  this  great  event  makes  it  need- 
ful for  him  to  settle  some  concerns  at  home.  He  must 
bid  adieu  to  the  Bishop's  Court,  in  order  that  that 
connection  may  be  broken  off  by  degrees — Then  he 
must  rescue   his  property  from  the  hands  of  some 

selfish    stewards — and But     come,    sister — come, 

Elizabeth ;  his  squire  has  perhaps  some  private  mes- 
sage to  him. 

Weis.  None  but  what  you  may  hear. 

Goetz.  Needless: — FranconiansandSwabians!  now 
that  you  are  one  of  us,  we  may  bid  their  mightinesses 
the  princes  defiance  to  their  beard. 

[Exeunt  Goetz,  Elizabeth,  Maria. 

Weis.  (alone).  God  in  heaven! — and  canst  thou 
have  reserved  such  happiness  for  one  so  unworthy  ? 
It  is  too  much  for  my  heart.  How  meanly  I  depended 
upon  wretched  fools,  whom  I  thought  I  was  governing 
by  superiority  of  intrigue,  subservient  to  the  glance 
of  homage-demanding  princes ! — Goetz,  my  faithful 
Goetz,  thou  hast  restored  me  to  myself — and  my 
beloved  Maria  has  completed  my  reformation.  I  feel 
free,  as  if  brought  from  a  dungeon  into  the  open  air. 
Bamberg  will  I  never  more  see — will  snap  all  the 
shameful  bands  that  have  connected  it  and  me.  My 
heart  rejoices,  never  more  to  undergo  the  degradation 
of  struggling  for  boons  that  may  be  refused — He 
alone  is  great  and  happy  who  fills  his  own  station  of 
independence,  and  has  neither  to  command  nor  to 
obey. 

Enter  Francis. 

Fran.  God  greet  you,  noble  sir!  I  bring  you  so 
many  salutations,  that  I  know  not  with  which  to 
begin — Bamberg,  and  ten  miles  around,  bid  God 
greet  you. 

WEIS.  Welcome,  Francis!  Bring'st  thou  aught 
else? 

Fran.  You  are  in  such  consideration  at  Court  that 
it  cannot  be  expressed. 

Weis.  That  will  not  last  long. 

Fran.  As  long  as  you  live — and  after  your  death  it 
will  shine  more  lasting  than  the  marble  inscription 
upon  your  monument. — How  they  took  your  misfor- 
tune to  heart ! 

Weis.  And  what  said  the  Bishop? 

Fran.  His  ardent  curiosity  poured  out  question 
upon  question,  without  giving  me  time  to  answer. 
He  knew  your  accident  already ;  for  Farber,  who 
galloped  from  Haslach,  had  brought  him  the  tidings — 
But  he  would  hear  every  particular — He  asked  so 
anxiously  whether  you  were  not  wounded — I  told  him 
you  were  safe  from  the  hair  of  your  scalp  to  the  nail 
of  your  toe. 

Weis.  And  what  said  he  to  the  treaty  ? 


Fran.  He  would  have  given  up  the  page  and  a 
ransom  to  boot  for  your  liberty.  But  he  heard  you 
were  to  be  dismissed  upon  your  parole,  otherwise  he 
had  granted  to  Berlichingen  all  he  could  ask.  He 
charged  me  with  a  thousand  messages  to  you — more 
than  I  can  ever  utter.  Oh  how  he  harangued !  and 
concluded,  "  I  cannot  live  without  Weislingen." 

Weis.  He  must  learn. 

Fran.  What  mean  ye? — He  bids  you  hasten  to 
him — All  the  Court  expects  you. 

Weis.  Let  them  expect  on — The  Court  will  I  never, 
never  again  see. 

Fran.  Not  see  the  Court ! — My  gracious  Lord,  how 
comes  that  ?  Did  you  know  what  I  know — could  you 
but  dream  what  I  have  seen — 

Weis.  What  may  it  be  ? 

Fran.  The  bare  recital  would  put  me  mad. — Bam- 
berg is  no  longer  Bamberg — An  angel  of  heaven,  in 
semblance  of  woman,  has  taken  her  abode  in  it,  and 
it  is  become  Paradise. 

Weis.  No  more  than  that  ? 

Fran.  May  I  become  a  shaven  friar,  if  the  bare 
glimpse  of  her  does  not  drive  you  frantic. 

Weis.  Who  is  it,  then  ? 

Fran.  Adela  von  Walldorf. 

Weis.  She !     I  have  heard  much  of  her  beauty. 

Fran.  Heard ! — As  well  might  you  say  I  have  seen 
music.  So  far  is  the  tongue  from  being  able  to  re- 
hearse the  slightest  article  of  her  beauty,  that  the 
very  eye  which  beholds  her  cannot  drink  it  all  in. 

Weis.  You  are  mad. 

Fran.  That  may  well  be.  The  last  time  I  was  in 
her  company,  I  had  no  more  sense  than  if  I  had  been 
drunk ;  or,  I  may  rather  say,  I  felt  at  that  moment 
like  a  glorified  saint  enjoying  the  angelic  vision! — All 
my  senses  exalted,  and  more  lively  than  ever — yet  not 
one  at  their  owner's  command. 

Weis.  Enthusiast! 

Fran.  As  I  took  leave  of  the  Bishop,  she  sat  by 
him — they  played  at  chess — He  was  very  gracious — 
gave  me  his  hand  to  kiss,  and  said  much,  of  which  I 
understood  never  a  syllable.  As  I  looked  on  his  fair 
antagonist,  her  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  board,  as  if 
meditating  a  grand  stroke — Traces  of  attentive  intel- 
ligence around  the  mouth  and  cheek — I  could  have 
wished  to  be  the  ivory  king — The  mixture  of  dignity 
and  feeling  on  the  brow — and  the  dazzling  lustre 
of  her  neck  and  breast,  overshaded  by  her  raven 
ringlets — 

Weis.  Thou  art  become  a  poet  upon  the  subject. 

Fran.  I  felt  at  the  moment  the  inspiration  of  a 
bard— my  whole  faculties  were  concentrated  in  one 
object.  As  the  Bishop  ended  and  I  made  my  obei- 
sance, she  looked  up  and  said,  "Carry  your  master 
the  best  wishes  of  an  unknown.  He  must  not  despise 
them,  though  he  is  already  so  rich  in  old  friends." 
I  would  have  answered  somewhat,  but  the  passage 
betwixt  my  heart  and  my  tongue  was  choked.  I 
would  have  given  my  whole  revenue  for  permission 
to  touch  but  one  of  her  fingers !     As  I  stood  thus, 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


827 


the  Bishop  threw  down  a  pawn,  and  in  stooping  to 
lift  it,  I  kissed  the  hem  of  her  garment.  Transport 
thrilled  through  my  limbs,  and  I  scarce  know  how  I 
left  the  room. 

Weis.  Is  her  husband  at  Court  ? 

Fran.  She  has  been  a  widow  these  four  months, 
and  is  at  the  Court  of  Bamberg  to  divert  her  melan- 
choly. You  will  see  her — and  to  see  her  is  to  stand 
in  the  sun  of  spring ! 

Weis.  She  would  make  little  impression  on  me. 

Fran.  I  hear  you  are  as  good  as  married. 

Weis.  Would  I  were  really  so !  My  gentle  Maria 
will  be  the  happiness  of  my  life.  The  sweetness  of 
her  soul  beams  through  her  mild  blue  eyes ;  and,  like 
an  angel  composed  of  innocence  and  love,  she  guides 

me  to  the  paths  of  peace  and  felicity ! Pack  up — 

and  then  to  my  castle — Never  will  I  behold  Bamberg, 
should  St.  Bede  come  to  guide  me  in  person. 

[Exit  Weislingen. 

Fran,  {alone).  God  forbid! — But  let  me  hope  the 
best.  Maria  is  beautiful  and  amiable,  and  I  can  ex- 
cuse a  prisoner  and  an  invalid  for  loving  her.  In 
her  eye  is  compassion  and  a  melancholy  sympathy — 

But  in  thine,  Adela,  is  life — fire — spirit. Would  to 

— I  am  a  fool — Such  has  one  glance  made  me.  My 
master  must  hence — I  too  must  hence,  and  either 
recover  my  senses,  or  gaze  them  quite  away.      [Exit. 


ACT  II.— SCENE  I. 

Bamberg. — A  Hall  in  the  Bishop's  Palace. 

The  Bishop,  Adela,  Liebtraut,  Ladies  and  Cour- 
tiers discovered. 

Bishop.  He  will  not  return,  they  say. 

Adela.  I  beseech  you  put  him  out  of  your  head. 

Bishop.  What  can  it  mean  ? 

Lieb.  Poh !  The  message  has  been  repeated  to  him 
like  a  paternoster.  He  has  taken  a  fit  of  obstinacy ; 
but  I  think  I  could  soon  cure  him. 

Bishop.  Do  so — Ride  to  him  instantly. 

Lieb.  My  commission — 

Bishop.  Shall  be  instantly  made  out.  Spare  noth- 
ing to  bring  him  back. 

Lieb.  May  I  venture  to  use  your  name,  gracious 
lady? 

Adela.  Ay,  with  all  manner  of  propriety. 

Lieb.  Know  you  that's  a  wide  commission? 

Adela.  Know  you  not  my  rank  and  sex  sufficiently 
to  understand  in  what  tone  I  am  to  be  spoken  of  to  an 
unknown  nobleman  ? 

Lieb.  In  the  tone  of  a  speaking-trumpet,  think  I  ? 

Adela.  You  will  always  be  a  madcajj. 

Bishop.  Well,  well,  take  the  best  horse  in  my  stable 
— choose  your  own  servants,  and  bring  him  hither. 

Lieb.  If  I  do  not,  say  that  an  old  woman  who  deals 
in  curing  warts  and  freckles  knows  more  of  sympathy 
than  I. 


Bishop.  Yet,  what  will  it  avail  ?  Goetz  has  wholly 
gained  him — He  will  be  no  sooner  here  than  he  will 
wish  to  return. 

Lieb.  He  will  wish  it,  doubtless;  but  can  he  do  it? 
The  squeeze  of  the  hand  from  a  prince,  and  the  smiles 
of  a  beauty — from  these  could  no  Weislingen  ever 
escape. — I  have  the  honor  to  take  my  leave 

Bishop.  A  good  journey ! 

Adela.  Adieu !  [Exit  Liebtraut. 

Bishop.  When  he  is  once  here,  I  must  trust  to  you. 

Adela.  Would  you  make  me  your  lime-twig  ? 

Bishop.  By  no  means. 

Adela.  Your  decoy-duck,  then  ? 

Bishop.  No — that  part  plays  Liebtraut.  I  beseech 
you  do  not  refuse  to  do  what  no  other  can. 

Adela.  I  will  not.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 


Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen — A  Hall  in  Goetz's  Castle. 

Enter  Goetz  and  Hans  von  Selbiss. 

Sel.  Every  one  will  applaud  you  for  denouncing 
feud  against  the  Nurembergers. 

Goetz.  It  would  have  been  a  thorn  in  my  very  heart 
had  I  remained  long  their  debtor.  It  is  clear  that 
they  betrayed  my  page  to  the  Bishop — They  shall 
have  cause  to  remember  me. 

Sel.  They  have  an  old  grudge  at  you. 

Goetz.  And  I  at  them.  I  am  glad  they  have  begun 
the  fray. 

Sel.  These  free  towns  ever  hold  part  with  the 
priests. 

Goetz.  Ay,  truly  do  they ! 

Sel.  But  we  will  make  hell  hot  for  them. 

Goetz.  I  wish  the  Burgomaster,  with  his  gold  chain, 
would  come  to  take  a  peep  at  us — He  would  stare  his 
wits  away. 

Sel.  I  hear  Weislingen  is  one  of  us — Does  lie  really 
join  in  our  league  ? 

Goetz.  Not  immediately — There  are  some  reasons 
which  prevent  his  instantly  giving  us  assistance ;  but 
it  is  quite  enough  that  he  is  not  against  us.  The 
priest  without  him  is  what  the  mass  would  be  without 
the  priest. 

Sel.  When  do  we  set  forward  ? 

Goetz.  To-morrow  or  next  day.  There  are  mer- 
chants coming  from  Bamberg  and  Nuremberg  to  the 
fair  at  Frankfort— We  may  strike  a  good  blow. 

Sel.  So  be  it,  in  God's  name. 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  returns  to  the  Bishop's  Palace  at  Bamberg. 

Adela  and  her  Waiting-maid. 
Adela.  He  is  here,  sayest  thou  ?    I  can  scarce  be- 
lieve it. 


828 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOKKS. 


Maid.  Had  I  not  seen  him  myself,  I  should  have 
doubted  it. 

Adela.  Then  Liebtraut  may  coin  the  Bishop  into 
gold  for  such  a  masterpiece  of  skill. 

Maid.  I  saw  him  as  he  was  about  to  enter  the 
palace — he  rode  a  gray — The  horse  started  when  he 
came  on  the  bridge,  and  would  not  move  forward — 
The  populace  thronged  up  the  street  to  see  him — They 
rejoiced  at  the  delay  of  the  unruly  horse — He  was 
greeted  on  all  sides,  and  he  thanked  them  gracefully 
all  around.  He  sat  the  curvetting  steed  with  an  easy 
indifference,  and  betwixt  threats  and  soothing  brought 
him  to  the  gate,  followed  by  Liebtraut  and  a  few  ser- 
vants. 

Adela.  How  did  he  please  thee  ? 

Maid.  Never  man  so  much — He  is  as  like  that 
portrait  of  the  Emperor  as  if  he  were  his  son  (point- 
ing to  a  picture).  The  nose  somewhat  less— but  just 
such  kindly  light-brown  eyes,  and  such  fine  light 
hair,  curled  like  a  boy's — a  half  melancholy  impres- 
sion on  his  face — I  know  not  how — but  he  pleased  me 
so  well — 

Adela.  I  am  curious  to  see  him. 

Maid.  There  were  a  lord  for  you ! 

Adela.  You  little  fool! 

Maid.  Fools  and  children  speak  truth,  quoth  the 
proverb. 

Enter  Liebtraut. 

Lieb.  Now,  madam,  what  do  I  deserve  ? 

Adela.  Horns  from  your  wife ! — for,  from  the  de- 
scription I  hear,  you  have  endangered  the  honor  of 
many  a  family. 

Lieb.  Not  so,  gracious  lady — you  yourself  will  en- 
sure their  tranquillity. 

Adela.  How  did  you  contrive  to  bring  him  ? 

Lieb.  You  know  well  enough  how  they  catch  wood- 
cocks— and  why  should  I  detail  my  little  stratagems 
to  you  ? — First,  I  pretended  not  to  have  heard  a  word 
of  his  design  of  retirement,  and  put  him  upon  telling 
me  the  whole  story  at  length — Then  I  saw  the  matter 
quite  in  a  different  light — could  not  find,  could  not 
see,  and  so  forth — Then  I  spoke  of  Bamberg,  and 
carelessly  recalled  to  his  memory  old  connections; 
knitted  together  many  a  broken  association  of  ideas. 
He  knew  not  what  to  say — felt  a  new  attraction  to 
Bamberg,  but  durst  not  give  way  to  it.  When  I  found 
him  begin  to  waver,  and  saw  him  too  much  occupied 
with  his  own  feelings  to  suspect  my  sincerity,  T  threw 
the  halter  over  his  head,  and  by  the  triple  bond  of 
beauty,  court  favor,  and  flattery,  dragged  him  in 
triumph  hither. 

Adela.  What  said  you  nf  mo? 
Lieb.  The  mere  truth — Said  you  were  apprehen- 
sive about  your  property,  and  had  hoped  in  his  interest 
with  the  Emperor  for  its  security. 
Adela.  'Tis  well. 

Lieb.  The  Bishop  will  introduce  him  to  you. 
Adela.  I  expect  them.    {Exit  Liebtraut.)    And 
with  such  feelings  have  I  seldom  expected  a  visit. 


SCENE  IV. 

Scene  changes  to  Spessart,  the  Castle  of  Sclbiss. 

Enter  Selbiss,  Goetz,  and  George  in  the  armor 
and  dress  of  a  cavalier. 

Goetz.  So,  thou  didst  not  find  him,  George? 

Geo.  He  had  ridden  to  Bamberg  the  day  before 
with  Liebtraut  and  two  servants. 

Goetz.  I  cannot  see  the  reason  of  that. 

Sel.  I  see  it  well — Your  reconciliation  was  too 
speedy  to  be  lasting — Liebtraut  is  a  cunning  fellow, 
and  has  inveigled  him  over. 

Goetz.  Think'st  thou  he  would  become  a  turn- 
coat? 

Sel.  The  first  step  is  taken. 

Goetz.  I  will  never  believe  it.  Who  knows  what 
he  may  have  to  do  at  Court?  his  affairs  are  unar- 
ranged.    Let  us  hope  the  best. 

Sel.  Would  to  God  he  may  deserve  your  good 
opinion,  and  do  the  best. 

Goetz.  A  thought  strikes  me ! — George  shall  to 
Bamberg,  disguised  in  the  spoils  of  the  Bamberg 
trooper,  and  force  the  fellow  to  give  him  the  pass- 
word— He  may  then  ride  to  the  town  and  see  how 
matters  stand. 

Geo.  I  have  long  wished  to  see  Bamberg. 

Goetz.  It  is  thy  first  expedition.  Take  care,  my 
boy ;  I  should  be  sorry  if  ill  luck  attended  it. 

Geo.  Never  fear — I  shall  not  go  wrong,  were  fifty 
of  them  to  gabble  about  me.  [Exit  GEORGE. 


SCENE  V. 
Scene  returns  to  the  Bishop's  Palace — His  Cabinet. 

The  Bishop  and  Weislingen. 

Bishop.  Then  thou  wilt  stay  no  longer? 

Weis.  You  would  not  wish  me  to  break  my  oath  ? 

Bishop.  I  could  wish  indeed  thou  hadst  not  sworn 
to  them.  But  what  evil  spirit  possesses  thee  ?  Can  I 
not  procure  thee  a  release  from  that  oath?  Is  my 
credit  so  trifling  at  the  imperial  and  Roman  Courts  ? 

Weis.  The  thing  is  done ! — excuse  it  as  you  can. 

Bishop.  I  cannot  comprehend  where  there  was  the 
least  necessity  for  taking  such  a  step— Were  there  not 
a  thousand  other  ways  of  procuring  thy  freedom?— 
Had  we  not  his  page?  And  would  I  not  have  given 
gold  enough  to   hoot?     Our  operations  against  him 

and  his  confederates  had  gone  so  far But,  alas!  I 

do  not  reflect  that  I  talk  to  his  friend,  who  has  joined 
him  against  me,  and  can  easily  counterwork  the  mines 
he  himself  has  dug. 

Weis.  Gracious  my  Lord 

Bishop.  And  yet,  when  I  again  look  on  thy  face, 
again  hear  thy  voice — it  is  impossible — impossible ! 

Weis.  Farewell,  good  my  Lord ! 


GOETZ  OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


829 


BlSHOP.  I  give  thee  my  blessing — Formerly  when 
we  parted,  I  was  wont  to  say  "  Till  we  meet  again !" — 
Now — would  to  God  we  part  for  ever ! 

Weis.  It  cannot  be  otherwise. 

Bishop.  Perhaps  I  may  next  see  thee  as  an  enemy 
before  my  walls,  carrying  havoc  through  the  fertile 
plains  of  which  till  now  thou  hast  been  the  protector ! 

Weis.  Never,  my  gracious  Lord ! 

Bishop.  You  cannot  say  so.  My  temporal  neigh- 
bors have  long  had  a  grudge  at  me — but  while  thou 

wert  mine Go  then,  Weislingen  ! — I  have  no  more 

to  say — Thou  hast  undone  much — Go — 

Weis.  I  know  not  what  to  answer. 

[Exit  Bishop. 

Enter  FEANCIS. 

Fran.  The  Lady  Adela  expects  you.  She  is  not 
well — but  she  will  not  let  you  go  without  bidding  her 
farewell. 

Weis.  Come. 

Fran.  Do  we  go  then  for  certain  ? 

Weis.  This  very  night. 

Fran.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  to  leave  the  world — 

Weis.  And  I — yet  I — yet  I  know  not  wherefore. 


SCENE  VI. 
Scene  changes  to  Adela' s  Apartment. 

Adela  and  Waiting-maid. 

Maid.  You  are  pale,  gracious  lady ! 

Adela.  I  love  him  not,  yet  I  would  wish  him  to 
stay — Seest  thou,  I  may  wish  his  company,  yet  dis- 
like him  for  my  husband. 

Maid.  Does  your  ladyship  think  he  will  go  ? 

Adela.  He  has  bid  the  Bishop  farewell. 

Maid.  He  has  yet  a  severe  struggle  to  make. 

Adela.  What  meanest  thou  ? 

Maid.  Gracious  lady,  the  barbed  hook  is  in  his 
heart— ere  he  tear  it  away,  he  must  bleed. 

Enter  Weislingen. 

Weis.  You  are  not  well,  gracious  lady! 

Adela.  That  is  indifferent  to  you — you  leave  us, 
leave  us  for  ever :  why  do  you  ask  whether  we  live 
or  die? 

Weis.  You  do  not  know  me. 

Adela.  I  judge  you  by  your  actions. 

Weis.  Appearances  are  deceitful. 

Adela.  Then  you  are  a  chameleon. 

Weis.  Could  you  see  my  heart— 

Adela.  I  should  see  fine  things  there. 

Weis.  Surely,  your  own  image — 

Adela.  Thrust  into  some  corner  like  an  old  family 
picture !  I  beseech  you,  Weislingen,  consider  with 
whom  you  speak — Fair  words  are  a  foul  insult  when 
they  are  belied  by  actions — A  discovered  masquerader 


plays  but  a  pitiful  part.  Your  deeds  tell  us  how  to 
think  of  you. 

Weis.  Be  it  as  you  will — I  am  so  agonized  at  re- 
flecting on  what  I  am,  that  I  little  reck  what  the 
world  thinks  me. 

Adela.  You  came  to  take  farewell. 

Weis.  Permit  me  to  kiss  your  hand,  and  I  will  say 

adieu ! You  clear  up — I  did  not  think — But  I  am 

troublesome — 

Adela.  I  only  wished  to  assist  your  resolution. — 
Then  you  will  away  ? 

Weis.  Oh,  say  rather,  I  must.  Am  I  not  compelled 
by  my  knightly  word — my  solemn  engagement  ? 

Adela.  Go!  go!  Talk  of  that  to  some  forsaken 
damsel  whose  Corydon  has  proved  forsworn. — 
Knightly  word  ! — Nonsense ! 

Weis.  You  do  not  think  so  ? 

Adela.  On  my  honor,  you  deceive  yourself.  What 
have  you  promised?  and  to  whom?  You  have 
pledged  your  alliance  to  a  traitor  to  the  Emperor,  at 
the  very  moment  when  he  incurred  the  ban  of  the 
empire  for  kidnapping  you  upon  the  imperial  high- 
road. Such  an  agreement  is  no  more  binding  than 
an  extorted  unjust  oath.  Every  child  knows  what 
faith  is  to  be  kept  with  robbers — And  there  is  more 
behind — By  this  oath  you  are  to  become  an  enemy  to 
the  peace  of  the  empire — a  disturber  of  domestic  hap- 
piness and  tranquillity — a  rebel  to  the  Emperor — the 
associate  of  robbers  and  marauders — of  Goetz  of  Ber- 
lichingen,  Frank  of  Seckingen,  and  Hans  of  Selbiss ; 
men  with  hearts  hard  as  the  steel  of  their  blades — 
With  these  freebooters  canst  thou  have  aught  in 
common  ? — thou,  Weislingen,  with  thy  gentle  temper ! 

Weis.  Did  you  but  know  them — 

Adela.  I  would  Justice  knew  that  Goetz !  He  has 
a  high  domineering  soul — and  woe  to  thee,  therefore, 
Weislingen ! — Go,  and  try  to  be  his  companion — Go, 
and  receive  his  commands  : — Thou  art  mild,  gentle — 

Weis.  And  he  too — 

Adela.  But  you  are  yielding,  and  he  stubborn. 
Soon  will  he  drive  thee  from  thy  own  opinion.  Thou 
wilt  become  the  slave  of  a  marauding  baron ;  thou 
that  may'st  command  princes ! — 'Twere  a  pity  to  dis- 
suade you  from  so  glorious  a  situation. 

Weis.  Did  you  but  know  how  kindly  he  received 
me — 

Adela.  Gentle  soul ! — Think  you  so  much  of  that? 
It  was  his  duty  as  a  knight— And  what  would  he  have 
gained  by  acting  otherwise — or  what  wouldst  thou 
have  lost? — You  would  have  been  but  the  more  wel- 
come here.    An  overbearing  man  like — 

Weis.  You  speak  of  your  enemy. 

Adela.  I  speak  for  your  freedom ;  yet  I  know  not 
why  I  should  take  interest  in  it — Farewell ! 

Weis.  Permit  me  but  a  moment.  ( Takes  her  hand. 
A  pause.) 

Adela.  Have  you  aught  to  say  ? 

Weis.  I  must  hence. 

Adela.  Then  go — 

Weis.  Gracious  lady,  I  cannot. 


830 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Adela.  You  must. 
Weis.  Must  this  be  the  last — 
Adela.  I  am  ill — very  unable  to — 
Weis.  Look  not  on  me  thus ! 
Adela.  Thou  art  our  enemy — Should  we  smile  at 
thee! 
Weis.  Adela! 

Enter  FRANCIS. 

Fran.  Noble  sir,  the  Bishop  inquires  for  you. 

Adela.  Go!  go! 

Fran.  He  begs  you  to  come  instantly. 

Adela.  Be  gone !  be  gone ! 

Weis.  I  do  not  say  adieu :  I  shall  see  you  again. 

[Exeunt  Weislingen  and  Francis. 

Adela.  Me  again?  We  must  provide  for  that. 
Margaret,  when  he  comes,  refuse  him  admittance.  Say 
I  am  ill — have  a  headachy— sleep — any  thing.  This 
detains  him,  or  nothing.  [Exeunt. 

A  pause.    Re-enter  Weislingen  and  Francis. 

Weis.  She  will  not  see  me ! 

Fran.  Night  draws  on ;  shall  we  saddle  ? 

WEI8.  She  will  not  see  me  ! 

Fran.  Are  you  pleased  to  want  the  horses? 

Weis.  It  is  too  late ;  we  stay  here. 

Fran.  God  be  praised !  [Exit. 

Weis.  {alone).  Thou  dost  stay ! — Be  on  thy  guard — 
the  risk  is  infinite.  My  horse  started  at  the  entrance 
of  the  palace  gate — It  was  my  good  angel  stood  before 
him — he  knew  the  dangers  I  was  hurrying  to  meet. 
Yet  it  would  be  unjust  to  leave  in  confusion  the  affairs 
intrusted  to  me  by  the  Bishop,  at  least  without  arrang- 
ing them,  so  that  they  may  be  understood  by  my  suc- 
cessor. That  I  can  do  without  breach  of  faith  to  Ber- 
lichingen  and  his  league — and  that  done  they  shall 
not  detain  me — Yet  it  would  have  been  better  that  I 
had  never  come.  But  I  will  away  to-morrow  or  next 
day — 'Tis  decided.  [Exit. 


SCENE  VII. 

Scene  changes  to  a  Cottage — The  Bridal  of  a  Peasant. 

The  Bride's  Father,  Bride,  Bridegroom,  and  other 
country-folks,  Goetz  of  Berlichingen,  and  Hans 
of  Selbiss,  all  discovered  at  table — Troopers,  Cava- 
liers, and  Peasants  attend. 

Goetz.  It  was  a  good  fancy  to  make  up  your  law- 
suit by  a  merry  bridal. 

Bride's  Fa.  Better  than  ever  I  could  have  dreamed 
of,  noble  sir — to  spend  my  days  peaceably  and  quietly 
with  my  neighbor,  and  my  daughter  to  look  after  me. 
Bridegr.  And  I  to  get  the  bone  of  contention  and 
a  pretty  wife  into  the  bargain  !  Ay,  the  prettiest  in 
the  whole  village.  Would  to  God  we  had  consulted 
your  Honor  sooner! 


Goetz.  How  long  have  you  been  at  law  ? 
Bride's  Fa.   About  eight  years — For  these  per- 
iwigged gentry  never  give  a  decision  unless  you  can 
tear  it  out  of  their  very  heart.    The  devil  fly  away  with 
the  assessor  Sapupi  for  a  damned  swarthy  Italian ! 

Bridegr.  Yes,  he's  a  pretty  fellow ;  I  was  before 
him  twice. 

Bride's  Fa.  I  thrice — and  it  cost  me  many  a  fair 
guelder. 

Goetz.  Come,  good  luck  to  the  bride !     (Drinks.) 

Bride's  Fa.  Amen ! — Ay,  the  assessor  alone  picked 
from  me  eighteen  gold  guelders.     God  curse  him ! 

Bridegr.  Who? 

Bride's  Fa.  Why,  who  else  but  Sapupi  ? 

Goetz.  The  judge  ! — that  is  infamous. 

Bride's  Fa.  He  asked  twenty :  and  there  had  I  to 
pay  them  in  his  fine  country-house.  I  thought  my 
heart  would  have  broken  with  anxiety.  For,  look  you, 
my  Lord,  I  am  well  enough  off  with  my  house  and 
little  farm,  but  how  could  I  raise  the  ready  cash  ?  He 
did  not  even  leave  me  a  single  gold  cross  to  carry  me 
on  my  journey — At  last  I  took  courage  and  told  him 
my  case :  when  he  saw  I  was  desperate,  he  thrust  me 
from  him,  and  pushed  me  out  of  doors. 

Bridegr.  Impossible! — Sapupi? 

Bride's  Fa.  Ay,  just  he ;  what  do  you  start  at? 

Bridegr.  The  devil!  He  took  fifteen  guelders 
from  me  too ! 

Bride's  Fa.  Curse  him ! 

Sel.  They  call  us  robbers,  Goetz ! 

Bride's  Fa.  Bribed  on  both  sides! — That  delayed 
the  judgment — Oh  the  scoundrel ! 

Goetz.  This  must  not  be  unavenged. 

Bride's  Fa.  What  can  we  do? 

Goetz.  Why,  go  to  Spurs,  where  there  is  an  impe- 
rial visitation  ;  make  your  complaint ;  they  must  listen 
to  it,  and  help  you  to  your  own  again. 

Bridegr.  Does  your  Honor  think  we  shall  suc- 
ceed? 

Goetz.  I  could  promise  you  more  surely  if  I  had 
him  by  the  ears. 

Sel.  The  sum  is  worth  the  journey. 

Goetz.  Ay ;  many  is  the  day  I  have  ridden  out  for 
the  fourth  part  of  it. 

Bride's  Fa.  {to  Bridegroom).  What  think'st 
thou? 

Bridegr.  We'll  try,  go  as  it  may. 

Enter  a  Cavalier. 

Cav.  The  Nurembergers  are  set  out. 

Goetz.  Whereabout  are  they  by  this  time  ? 

Cav.  If  we  ride  sharply  we  shall  just  catch  them 
in  the  wood  betwixt  Burheim  and  Muhlbach. 

Sel.  Excellent! 

Goetz.  Well,  my  children,  God  bless  you,  and  help 
every  man  to  his  own ! 

Bride's  Fa.  Thanks,  gallant  sir!  Will  you  not 
pass  the  night  here? 

Goetz.  It  may  not  be.    Adieu ! 

[Exeunt  Goetz,  Selbiss,  and  soldiers. 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


831 


SCENE  VIII. 

Scene  returns  to  a  Hall  in  the  Bishop's  Palace  at 
Bamberg. 

Adela  and  Weislingen  discovered. 

Adela.  Time  begins  to  hang  inexpressibly  heavy 
here.  I  dare  not  speak  seriously,  and  I  am  ashamed 
to  trifle  with  you — Ennui  is  worse  a  hundred  times 
than  a  slow  fever. 

Weis.  Tired  of  me  already ! 

Adela.  Not  so  much  of  you  as  of  your  irresolution. 
I  would  you  were  where  you  wished  to  go,  and  that 
we  had  not  detained  you ! 

Weis.  Such  is  your  sex : — First,  they  cherish  with 
maternal  care  our  infant  hopes — then,  like  the  stupid 
ostrich,  leave  them  to  destruction. 

Adela.  You  rail  at  women,  as  the  losing  gambler 
tears  and  curses  the  harmless  cards  which  have  been 
the  instruments  of  his  loss.  But  let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing about  men — What  are  you  that  talk  of  fickle- 
ness? You  that  are  seldom  even  what  you  would 
wish  to  be,  never  what  you  should  be.  Holiday 
princes !— the  envy  of  those  who  see  but  your  outside. 
Oh,  what  would  a  tailor's  wife  give  for  a  necklace  of 
the  pearls  on  the  skirt  of  your  frock ! 

Weis.  You  are  severe. 

Adela.  It  is  but  the  antistrophe  to  your  satire.  Ere 
I  knew  you,  Weislingen,  I  felt  something  like  the  poor 
tailor's  wife — Hundred-tongued  rumor,  to  speak  with- 
out a  figure,  had  exerted  so  many  mouths  in  your 
praise,  that  I  was  tempted  to  think,  Oh  that  I  could 
but  see  this  quintessence  of  manhood,  this  phoenix 
Weislingen ! — I  had  my  wish — 

Weis.  And  found  the  phoenix  a  common  bird. 

Adela.  No,  Weislingen,  I  took  an  interest  in  you — 

Weis.  So  it  appears. 

Adela.  So  it  was — for  you  really  surpassed  your 
reputation.  The  multitude  prize  only  the  show  of 
worth ;  but  I  do  not  examine  so  superficially  as  the 
multitude  those  whom  I  esteem — After  some  time's  ac- 
quaintance, something,  I  knew  not  what,  was  missing 
about  you ;  at  length  my  eyes  were  opened :  I  saw 
the  energetic  being  never  dead  to  the  thoughts  of 
fame — that  being  who  was  wont  to  -pile  princely  pro- 
ject on  project,  till,  like  the  mountains  of  the  giants, 
they  reached  the  clouds — I  saw  him  at  once  become  as 
querulous  as  a  sick  poet,  as  melancholy  as  a  forsaken 
damsel,  and  as  moody  as  an  old  bachelor.  At  length 
I  supposed  something  of  importance  lay  at  your  heart, 
and  excused  you  as  well  as  I  could;  but  now,  that 
from  day  to  day  it  becomes  worse,  we  must  really 
break  off  our  treaty ;  I  hope  you  will  find  a  compan- 
ion for  life  better  able  to  bear  with  you. 

Weis.  Dismiss  me,  then. 

Adela.  Not  till  all  chance  of  your  recovery  is  lost 
— Solitude  is  fatal  in  your  distemper — Alas !  poor 
soul!  you  need, as  much  petting  as  one  that  has  lost 
his  first  true  love — and  yet  I  won't  give  you  up.     Give 


me  your  hand,  and  pardon  what  my  affection  has 
dictated. 

Weis.  Couldst  thou  but  love  me,  couldst  thou  but 
return  the  fervor  of  my  passion  with  the  least  glow 
of  sympathy— Adela,  thy  reproaches  are  very  unjust. 
Couldst  thou  but  guess  the  hundredth  part  of  my 
sufferings,  you  would  not  treat  me  with  mockery,  in- 
difference, and  contempt — thou  wouldst  not  torture 

me  in  every  way  so  cruelly You  smile — To  be 

satisfied  with  myself  after  the  step  I  have  taken  must 
be  the  work  of  more  than  one  day — To  plot  against 
him  who  is  yet  warm  in  my  affection — 

Adela.  Strange  being! — To  love  him  against 
whom  you  plot,  is  to  send  provisions  to  an  enemy. 

Weis.  I  well  know  there  needs  no  dallying.  He 
now  knows  that  I  am  again  Weislingen ;  and  he  is  not 
a  man  to  brook  what  I  have  done.  Besides,  Adela, 
we  are  not  so  sluggish  as  you  think.  Our  forces  are 
hardy  and  watchful,  our  schemes  are  going  forward, 
and  the  Diet  of  Augsburg  will,  I  hope,  bring  them  to 
a  favorable  issue. 

Adela.  You  go  there  ? 

Weis.  If  I  could  carry  a  glimpse  of  hope  with  me ! 
(Kisses  her  hand.) 

Adela.  Ah !  infidel ! — always  signs  and  wonders 
required.  Go,  Weislingen,  and  accomplish  the  great 
work !  The  interest  of  the  Bishop,  yours,  mine,  are 
all  so  wrapped  together,  that  were  it  but  policy — 

Weis.  You  jest. 

Adela.  I  do  not  jest.  The  haughty  Duke  has 
seized  my  property — Yours  will  not  long  escape 
Goetz;  and  if  we  do  not  unite  together,  and  sway  the 
Emperor  to  our  side,  we  are  lost. 

Weis.  I  fear  nothing.  The  greater  part  of  the 
princes  are  on  our  side — The  Emperor  needs  assist- 
ance against  the  Turks,  and  is  therefore  willing  to 
favor  us.  What  rapture  for  me  to  rescue  your  for- 
tune from  rapacious  invaders — to  crush  the  mutinous 
chivalry  of  Swabia — to  restore  peace  to  the  bishopric, 
and  then ! — 

Adela.  One  day  brings  on  another,  and  Fate  is 
mistress  of  the  future. 

Weis.  But  we  must  lend  our  good-will. 

Adela.  We  do  so. 

Weis.  But  seriously. 

Adela.  Well  then  seriously — Do  but  go — 

Weis.  Enchantress!  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IX. 
Scene  changes  to  Spessart. 

Enter  Goetz,  Selbiss,  and  Geokge. 

Sel.  You  see  it  is  as  I  prophesied. 

Goetz.  No,  no,  no. 

Geo.  I  tell  you  truth,  believe  me.  I  did  as  you 
directed,  and  with  the  dress  and  password  escorted  some 
peasants  of  the  Lower  Rhine  to  Bambenr,  who  paid 
my  expenses  for  my  convoy  as  a  trooper  of  the  Bishop. 


832 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


See.  In  that  disguise  ?  It  might  have  cost  thee  dear. 

Geo.  So  I  thought  afterwards.  But  a  trooper  who 
thinks  too  much  beforehand  will  never  make  a  bold 
stroke.  I  came  to  Bamberg,  and  in  the  very  inn  I 
heard  them  tell  how  the  Bishop  and  Weislingen  were 
friends  again,  and  how  Weislingen  was  to  marry  the 
widow  of  Walldorf. 

Goetz.  Hearsay! 

Geo.  I  saw  her  as  she  rose  from  table.  She  is 
lovely,  by  my  faith,  lovely !  He  was  with  her.  "We  all 
bowed — she  thanked  us  all — He  nodded,  and  seemed 
so  pleased — They  passed  forwards,  and  every  body 
cried,  What  a  handsome  pair ! 

Goetz.  That  may  be. 

Geo.  Listen  further: — The  next  day  he  went  to 
mass — I  threw  myself  in  his  way ;  he  was  attended 
by  only  one  squire ;  I  stood  at  the  steps,  and  whis- 
pered to  him  as  he  passed,  "  Two  words  from  your 
friend  Berlichingen."  He  started— I  marked  the 
consciousness  of  guilt  in  his  face.  He  had  scarcely 
the  heart  to  look  upon  me — me,  a  poor  horseboy  ! 

Sel.  His  conscience  is  more  degrading  than  thy 
situation. 

Geo.  "Art  thou  of  Bamberg?"  said  he. — "  I  bring 
a  message  from  the  Knight  of  Berlichingen,"  said  I, 

"  and   am  to  inquire  " "  Come  to  my  apartment 

to-morrow  early,"  quoth  he,  "and  we  will  speak 
further." 

Goetz.  And  you  went? 

Geo.  Yes,  truly  I  went,  and  waited  in  his  ante- 
chamber long — long;  and  his  silken-jacketed  pages 
flouted  me  on  all  hands.  Flout  on,  thought  I,  if  I 
had  you — At  length  I  was  introduced.  He  seemed 
displeased — But  what  cared  I  ? — I  discharged  my 
errand.  When  he  had  heard  me  out,  he  put  on  just 
such  an  angry  blustering  look  as  a  coward  that  wants 
to  look  brave.  He  wondered  most  dreadfully  that 
you  should  send  a  message  to  him  by  a  horseboy.  That 
piqued  me.  "There  are  but  two  sorts  of  people," 
said  I,  "  the  gallant  and  the  base — and  I  serve  Goetz 
of  Berlichingen."  Then  he  began,  took  every  thing 
wrong ;  said,  that  you  had  hurried  his  motions,  that 
he  owed  you  no  allegiance,  and  would  have  nothing 
to  do  with  you. 

Goetz.  Hadst  thou  that  from  his  own  mouth  ? 

GEO.  That,  and  yet  more — He  threatened  me — 

Goetz.  It  is  enough.  He  is  lost  for  ever.  Confi- 
dence and  credulity  have  again  blinded  me.  Poor 
Mary !  how  shall  I  tell  this  to  thee  ? 

Sel.  I  would  rather  have  lost  my  other  leg  than 
have  been  such  a  turncoat. 


ACT  III.— SCENE  I. 

The  Imperial  Garden  at  Augsburg. 

Enter  two  Merchants  of  Nuremberg. 
1st  Mer.  We'll  stand  here  till  the  Emperor  shall 
pass — He  is  just  coming  up  the  long  avenue. 


2d  Mer.  Who  is  with  him? 

1st  Mer.  Adelbert  von  Weislingen. 

2d  Mer.  The  friend  of  the  Bishop — That's  lucky ! 

1ST  Mer.  We'll  prostrate  ourselves,  and  I'll  speak. 

2d  Mer.  See!  they  come. 

Enter  the  Emperor  and  Weislingen. 

1st  Mer.  He  looks  displeased. 

Emp.  I  want  courage,  Weislingen.  When  I  review 
my  past  life,  well  may  I  be  dismayed  at  the  recollec- 
tion of  so  many  half— ay,  and  wholly — ruined  under- 
takings ;  and  all  because  the  pettiest  feudatory  of  the 
empire  prefers  his  own  whims  to  its  welfare. 

[The  merchants  throw  themselves  at  his  feet. 

1ST  Mer.  Most  mighty !  most  gracious  ! 

Emp.  Who  are  ye  ?  what  seek  ye  ? 

1st  Mer.  Poor  merchants,  from  your  imperial  city 
of  Nuremberg :— Goetz  von  Berlichingen  and  Hans 
von  Selbiss  fell  upon  thirteen  of  us  as  we  journeyed 
from  the  fair  at  Frankfort,  under  an  escort  from  Bam- 
berg— they  overpowered  and  plundered  us.  We  re- 
quest your  imperial  assistance  and  redress,  else  must 
we  beg  our  bread. 

Emp.  Sacred  heaven  !  what  is  this  ?  The  one  has 
but  one  hand,  the  other  but  one  leg — with  two  hands 
and  two  legs  what  would  they  have  done ! 

1ST  Mer.  We  most  humbly  beseech  your  Majesty  to 
look  with  compassion  upon  our  unfortunate  situation. 

Emp.  Thus  it  goes : — If  a  merchant  loses  a  bag  of 
pepper,  all  Germany  must  be  in  arms ;  but  when  busi- 
ness occurs  in  which  the  imperial  majesty  is  interested, 
should  it  concern  dukedoms,  principalities,  or  king- 
doms, not  a  man  must  be  disturbed. 

Weis.  You  come  at  an  unsuitable  time.  Go,  and 
stay  here  for  a  few  days. 

Merchants.  We  recommend  ourselves  to  your 
protection.  [Exeunt  merchants. 

Emp.  Still  new  disturbances — they  spring  like  the 
hydra's  heads ! 

Weis.  Which  can  only  be  checked  by  fire  and  sword. 

Emp.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Weis.  Nothing  can  be  more  certain,  since  your 
Majesty  and  the  princes  of  the  empire  have  accom- 
modated your  other  disputes.  It  is  not  the  body  of 
the  state  that  complains  of  this  malady — Franconia 
and  Swabia  only  glow  with  the  embers  of  civil  dis- 
cord ;  and  even  there  are  many  of  the  nobles  and  free 
barons  that  wish  for  quiet.  Had  we  but  once  crushed 
Seckingen,  Selbiss— and— and— and  Berlichingen,  the 
others  would  fall  asunder ;  for  it  is  their  spirit  which 
enlivens  the  rest. 

Emp.  Fain  would  I  excuse  these  knights— they  are 
noble  and  hardy.  Should  I  be  engaged  in  war,  they 
would  follow  me  to  the  field. 

Weis.  It  is  to  be  wished  they  might  know  their 
duty— Though  even  in  that  case  it  would  be  danger- 
ous to  encourage  their  mutinous  bravery  by  posts  of 
trust.  For  it  is  the  imperial  mercy  and  mildness  that 
they  so  dreadfully  abuse,  upon  which  the  hope  and 
confidence  of  their  league  rests;  and  it  cannot  be 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


833 


quelled  till  we  withdraw  the  encouragement  of  their 
presumption,  and  destroy  their  power  before  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  world. 

Emp.  You  advise  force,  then  ? 

Weis.  I  see  no  other  means  of  quelling  the  spirit  of 
insurrection  which  has  spread  itself  abroad.  And  do 
we  not  hear  the  bitterest  complaints  from  the  nobles, 
that  their  vassals  and  bondsmen  attach  themselves  to 
the  side  of  these  restless  beings?— a  practice  which 
destroys  all  feudal  subordination,  and  must  produce 
the  most  fearful  consequences. 

Emp.  I  shall  despatch  a  strong  force  against  Ber- 
lichingen  and  Selbiss ;  but  I  will  not  have  them  per- 
sonally injured.  Could  they  be  seized  prisoners,  they 
should  swear  to  renounce  their  feuds,  and  to  remain 
in  their  own  castles  and  territories  upon  their  knightly 
parole.  At  the  next  session  of  the  Diet  we  will  pro- 
pose this  plan. 

Weis.  A  general  exclamation  of  assent  and  joy  will 
spare  your  Majesty  the  trouble  of  particular  detail. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 
Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen. 

Enter  Goetz  and  Francis  von  Seckingen. 

Seck.  Yes,  my  friend,  I  come  to  request  the  heart 
and  hand  of  your  fair  sister. 

Goetz.  I  would  you  had  come  sooner — Weislingen 
during  his  imprisonment  obtained  her  affections,  and 
I  gave  my  consent.  I  let  the  bird  loose — and  he  now 
despises  the  benevolent  hand  that  fed  him  in  his  cage 
— He  has  flown  to  seek  his  mate  God  knows  where  I 

Seck.  Is  this  so  ? 

Goetz.  As  I  tell  you. 

Seck.  He  has  broken  a  double  band.  'Tis  well  for 
you  that  you  were  not  still  more  nearly  connected  with 
the  traitor. 

Goetz.  Yonder  sits  the  poor  maiden,  wasting  her 
life  in  lamentation  and  prayer. 

Seck.  I  will  comfort  her. 

Goetz.  What !  Would  you  think  of  marrying  a 
forsaken — 

Seck.  It  is  to  the  honors  of  both  that  you  have 
been  betrayed  by  him.  Should  the  poor  girl  be  caged 
in  a  cloister  because  the  first  man  she  knew  proved  a 
worthless  renegade?  Not  so — I  keep  my  purpose — 
She  shall  be  empress  of  my  castle  and  heart ! 

Goetz.  I  tell  you  he  was  not  indifferent  to  her. 

Seck.  Do  you  think  I  cannot  efface  the  recollection 
of  such  a  wretch  ?  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Camp  of  the  party  sent  to  execute 
the  imperial  mandate. 

Imperial  Captain  and  Officers  discovered. 
Capt.  We  must  be  cautious,  and  spare  our  people 
63 


as  much  as  possible.  Besides,  it  is  our  strict  orders  to 
overpower  and  seize  him  alive.  It  will  be  difficult  to 
obey — for  who  will  match  him  hand  to  hand? 

1st  Off.  'Tis  true.  And  he  will  bear  himself  like 
a  wild  boar.  Besides,  in  his  whole  life  he  has  never 
injured  any  of  us,  so  each  will  willingly  leave  to  the 
others  the  honor  of  risking  their  legs  and  arms  in 
behalf  of  the  Emperor. 

2d  Off.  'Twere  shame  to  us  should  we  not  fight 
him.  Had  I  him  once  by  the  ears,  he  should  not 
easily  shake  himself  clear. 

1st  Off.  If  his  jaws  had  hold  of  you,  they  might 
chance  to  spoil  your  straight  back.  My  gentle,  young 
sir  knight,  such  people  don't  fight  like  a  coy  wench  1 

2d  Off.  We  shall  see. 

Capt.  By  this  time  he  must  have  had  our  summons 
— We  must  not  dally.  I  mean  to  despatch  a  troop  to 
seek  him  out. 

2d  Off.  Let  me  lead  it. 

Capt.  You  are  unacquainted  with  the  country. 

2d  Off.  I  have  a  servant  who  was  born  and  bred 
here. 

Capt.  I  am  glad  to  hear  it — Forward !       [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 

Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen. 

Seckingen  alone. 
Seck.  It  goes  to  my  wish  I  She  looked  at  me  from 
head  to  foot,  comparing  me  no  doubt  to  her  gallant. — 
Thank  God  I  can  stand  the  scrutiny ! — She  answered 
little  and  confusedly,  then  with  more  composure — Oh, 
it  will  do  some  day !  A  proposal  of  marriage  does  not 
come  amiss  after  such  a  cruel  disappointment. 

Enter  Goetz. 

Seck.  How  goes  it,  brother? 

Goetz.  Ill : — Laid  under  the  ban. 

Seck.  How? 

Goetz.  There  is  the  summons ! — The  Emperor  has 
despatched  a  party  to  give  my  body  to  the  beasts  of 
the  earth  and  the  fowls  of  heaven. 

Seck.  They  shall  first  furnish  them  with  a  dinner 
themselves — I  am  here  in  the  very  nick. 

Goetz.  No,  Seckingen,  you  must  leave  me.  Your 
great  undertakings  will  be  ruined  should  you  become 
the  enemy  of  the  Emperor  at  so  unseasonable  a  time. 
Besides,  you  can  be  of  more  use  to  me  by  remaining 
neuter.  The  worst  that  can  happen  is  my  being 
made  prisoner ;  and  then  your  timely  good  word  with 
the  Emperor,  who  esteems  you,  may  rescue  me  out  of 
the  distress  into  which  your  untimely  assistance  will 
irremediably  plunge  us  both.  To  what  purpose  should 
you  do  otherwise  ?  The  cry  is  against  me ;  and  could 
they  say  we  were  united,  it  would  be  only  so  much 
the  louder.  The  Emperor  pours  forth  this  tide  against 
me ;  and  I  should  be  utterly  ruined,  were  it  as  easy 


834 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


to  inspire  courage  into  soldiers  as  to  collect  them  into 
a  body. 

Seck.  But  I  can  privately  send  you  a  score  of 
troopers. 

Goetz.  Good ! — I  have  already  sent  George  to  Sel- 
bi^s  and  to  my  people  in  the  neighborhood.  My  dear 
brother,  when  my  forces  are  collected,  they  will  be 
such  a  little  troop  as  few  princes  cau  bring  together. 

Seck.  It  will  be  small  against  the  multitude. 

Goetz.  One  wolf  is  too  many  for  a  whole  flock  of 
sheep. 

Seck.  But  if  they  have  a  good  shepherd  ? 

Goetz.  Never  fear !— They  are  mere  hirelings ;  and 
even  the  best  knight  can  do  little  if  he  has  not  his 
motions  at  his  own  command.  It  happened  once  to 
me,  that,  to  oblige  the  Palsgrave,  I  went  to  serve 
against  Conrad  Schotten ;  then  they  presented  me  with 
a  paper  of  instructions  from  the  Chancery,  and  said, 
Thus  you  must  conduct  yourself.  I  threw  down  the 
paper  before  the  magistrates,  and  told  them  I  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it;  that  something  might 
happen  unprovided  for  in  my  instructions,  and  that  I 
must  order  my  motions  from  the  information  of  my 
own  eyes. 

Seck.  Good  luck,  brother!  I  will  hence, and  send 
thee  what  men  I  can  collect  in  haste. 

Goetz.  Come  first  to  the  women — I'll  have  you 
together :  I  would  thou  hadst  her  promise  before  thou 
goest ! — Then  send  me  the  troopers,  and  come  here  in 
private  to  carry  away  my  Maria ;  for  my  castle,  I  fear 
me,  will  be  shortly  no  abode  for  women. 

Seck.  We  will  hope  the  best.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. 

Scene  changes  to  Bamberg — Adda's  chamber. 

Adela  and  Francis. 

ADELA.  So  the  ban  is  to  be  enforced  against  both  ? 

Fran.  Yes — and  my  master  has  the  happiness  to 
march  against  your  enemy  the  Duke.  Gladly  would 
I  have  gone  too,  had  I  not  had  the  still  greater  pleas- 
ure of  being  despatched  to  you.  But  I  will  away 
instantly,  and  soon  return  with  pleasant  news — my 
master  so  commanded  me. 

Adela.  How  is  it  with  him  ? 

Fran.  He  is  cheerful — and  commanded  me  to  kiss 
your  hand. 

Adela.  There !— Thy  lips  glow. 

Fran,  {aside,  pressing  his  breast).  Here  glows 
somewhat  yet  more  fiery. — Gracious  lady,  your  ser- 
vants are  the  most  fortunate  of  beings ! 

Adela.  Who  goes  against  Berlichingen? 

Fran.  The  Baron  von  Sirau.  Farewell !— Best, 
most  gracious  lady,  I  must  away — Forget  me  not ! 

Adela.  Thou  must  first  take  some  rest  and  re- 
freshment. 


Fran.  I  need  none— I  have  seen  you!— I  am 
neither  weary  nor  hungry. 

ADELA.  I  know  thy  fidelity. 

Fran.  Ah,  gracious  lady  ! 

ADELA.  You  can  never  hold  out;  you  must  repose 
and  refresh  yourself. 

Fran.  Such  care  for  a  poor  youth !  [Exit. 

Adela.  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  He  interests 
me  from  the  heart.  Never  did  man  love  so  warmly 
and  so  true.  ^Lj.-L 


SCENE  VI. 

Scene  returns  to  Jaxthausen. 

Goetz  and  George. 
Geo.  He  would  speak  with  you  in  person.    I  know 
him  not — a  tall,  well-made  man,  with  dark  keen  eyes. 
Goetz.  Bring  him  in.  [Exit  George. 

Enter  Lerse. 

GOETZ.  God  greet  you ! — What  bring  you  ? 

Lerse.  Myself: — it  is  not  much,  but  that  is  all  I 
have  to  offer. 

Goetz.  You  are  welcome,  doubly  welcome ! — A  gal- 
lant man,  and  at  a  time  when,  far  from  expecting  new 
friends,  I  trembled  for  the  wavering  fidelity  of  the 
old — Your  name? 

Lerse.  Francis  Lerse. 

Goetz.  I  thank  you,  Francis,  for  having  made  me 
acquainted  with  a  brave  man. 

Lerse.  I  made  you  acquainted  with  him  once  be- 
fore, when  you  did  not  thank  me  for  my  pains. 

Goetz.  I  remember  nothing  of  it. 

Lerse.  I  am  sorry  for  that.  Do  you  recollect  when, 
to  please  the  Palsgrave,  you  rode  against  Conrad 
Schotten,  and  went  through  Hassfurt  on  an  Allhal- 
low's  eve  ? 

Goetz.  I  remember  it  well. 

Lerse.  And  twenty-five  troopers  encountered  you 
in  a  village  by  the  way  ? 

Goetz.  Exactly.  I  took  them  only  for  twelve — and 
divided  my  party,  which  amounted  but  to  sixteen, 
leaving  part  in  the  town,  and  riding  forwards  with  the 
others,  in  hopes  they  would  pass  me,  and  be  thus 
placed  betwixt  two  fires. 

Lerse.  But  we  saw  you,  and  guessed  your  intention. 
We  drew  up  on  the  heights  above  the  village,  in  hopes 
you  would  attack  us :  when  we  observed  you  keep  the 
road  and  go  past,  then  we  rode  down  on  you. 

Goetz.  And  then  I  first  saw  that  I  had  put  my  hand 
into  the  wolf's  mouth.  Five-and-twenty  against  tight 
is  no  jesting  business.  Everard  Truchsess  killed  one 
of  my  followers.  Had  they  all  behaved  like  him  and 
one  other  trooper,  it  had  been  over  with  me  and  my 
little  band. 

Lerse.  And  that  trooper — 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


835 


Goetz.  Was  as  gallant  a  fellow  as  I  ever  saw.  He 
attacked  me  fiercely ;  and  when  I  thought  I  had  given 
him  enough,  and  was  engaged  elsewhere,  he  was 
upon  me  again,  and  laid  on  like  a  fury ;  he  cut  quite 
through  my  cuirass,  and  gave  me  a  flesh  wound. 

Lerse.  Have  you  forgiven  him  ? 

Goetz.  I  had  but  too  much  reason  to  be  pleased 
with  him. 

Lekse.  I  hope  then  you  have  cause  to  be  contented 
with  me,  since  my  pattern  exhibition  was  on  your 
own  person. 

Goetz.  Art  thou  he  ? — Oh  welcome !  welcome ! — 
Canst  thou  say,  Maximilian,  thou  hast  such  a  heart 
amongst  all  thy  servants ! 

Lerse.  I  wonder  you  did  not  sooner  inquire  after 
me. 

Goetz.  How  could  I  think  that  the  man  would  en- 
gage in  my  service  who  attacked  me  so  desperately? 

Lerse.  Even  so,  my  Lord — From  my  youth  up- 
wards I  have  served  as  a  cavalier,  and  have  had  to  do 
with  many  a  knight.  I  was  overjoyed  to  learn  we 
were  to  attack  you ;  for  I  had  heard  of  your  fame,  and 
I  wished  to  know  you.  You  saw  I  gave  way,  and  you 
saw  it  was  not  from  cowardice,  for  I  returned  to  the 
charge — In  short,  I  did  learn  to  know  you,  and  from 
that  hour  I  resolved  to  serve  you. 

Goetz.  How  long  wilt  thou  engage  with  me? 

Lerse.  For  a  year — without  pay. 

Goetz.  No — thou  shalt  have  as  the  others,  and  as 
the  foremost  among  them. 

Enter  GEORGE. 

Geo.  Hans  of  Selbiss  greets  you: — To-morrow  he 
is  here  with  fifty  men. 

Goetz.  'Tis  well. 

Geo.  It  is  coming  to  sharps — There  is  a  troop  of 
imperialists  come  forwards,  without  doubt,  to  recon- 
noitre. 

Goetz.  How  many  ? 

Geo.  About  fifty  or  so. 

Goetz.  No  more ! — Come,  Lerse,  we'll  have  a  crash 
with  them,  that  when  Selbiss  comes  he  may  find  some 
work  done  to  his  hand. 

Lerse.  'Twill  be  a  royal  foretaste. 

Goetz.  To  horse  !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  VII. 
Scene,  a  Wood ;  on  one  side,  a  Morass. 

Two  Imperial  Troopers  meeting. 

1st  Imp.  What  makest  thou  here? 

2d  Imp.  I  have  leave  of  absence  for  a  little— Ever 
since  our  quarters  were  beat  up  last  night,  I  have  had 
such  violent  fits  of  illness  that  I  cannot  sit  my  horse 
for  a  minute. 

1st  Imp.  Is  the  party  far  advanced? 

2d  Imp.  A  good  way  from  the  wood. 


1ST  Imp.  Then  why  do  you  linger  here  ? 

2d  Imp.  I  prithee  betray  me  not,  I  will  to  the  next 
village  and  get  something  comfortable  ;  it  may  help 
my  complaint.    But  whence  comest  thou  ? 

1st  Imp.  I  am  bringing  our  officer  some  wine  and 
meat  from  the  nearest  village. 

2d  Imp.  So,  so  !  he  makes  much  of  himself  before 
our  very  faces,  and  we  must  starve — a  fine  example ! 

1ST  Imp.  Come  back  with  me,  rascal. 

2d  Imp.  Call  me  fool  then !  There  are  plenty  of 
our  troop  that  would  gladly  fast  three  days  to  be  as 
far  from  it  as  I  am.  [Trampling  of  horses  heard. 

1st  Imp.  Hear'st  thou? — Horses ! 

2d  Imp.  Alas !  alas ! 

1st  Imp.  I'll  get  up  into  this  tree. 

2d  Imp.  And  I  into  the  marsh.  [They  hide  themselves. 

Enter,  on  horseback,  Goetz,  Lerse,  George,  and 
Cavaliers,  all  completely  armed. 

GOETZ.  Away  into  the  wood,  by  the  ditch  on  the 
left — then  we  have  them  in  the  rear.   [  They  gallop  out. 

1ST  Imp.  (descending).  This  is  a  bad  business — 
Michael ! — He  answers  not — Michael,  they  are  gone  ! 
( Goes  towards  the  marsh.)  Alas,  he  is  sunk ! — Michael ! 
— He  hears  me  not:  he  is  suffocated — Poor  coward, 
art  thou  done  for?  (Loud  alarm  and  trampling  of 
horses.)  We  are  slain — Enemies!  Enemies  on  all 
hands ! 

Re-enter  GOETZ  and  GEORGE  on  horseback. 

Goetz.  Halt,  fellow,  or  thou  diest ! 

Imp.  Spare  my  life  ! 

Goetz.  Thy  sword ! — George,  carry  him  to  the  other 
prisoners,  whom  Lerse  is  guarding  behind  the  wood — 
I  must  pursue  their  fugitive  leader.  [Exit. 

Imp.  Pray,  sir,  what  is  become  of  the  knight,  our 
officer  ? 

Geo.  My  master  threw  him  head  over  heels  from 
his  horse ;  his  feather-bush  was  the  first  thing  reached 
the  mire.  His  troopers  got  him  up  and  ran  as  if  the 
devil  drove — March,  fellow !  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  VIII. 
Camp  of  Imperialists. 

Captain  and  First  Officer. 

1ST  Off.  They  fly  from  afar  towards  the  camp. 

Capt.  He  will  be  hard  at  their  haunches— Draw 

out  fifty  as  far  as  the  mill ;  if  he  follows  the  pursuit 

too  far,  you  may  perhaps  entrap  him.        [Exit  officer. 

[The  second  officer  is  borne  in. 

Capt.  How  now,  my  young  sir,  how  like  you  the 
wolf's  jaws  ? 

2d  Off.  Oh,  curse  your  jokes  !  The  stoutest  lance 
went  to  shivers  like  glass. — He  is  the  devil ! — He  ran 
upon  me  as  if  he  had  been  that  moment  unchained  : 
by  heaven,  you  would  have  thought  him  a  thunder- 
bolt. 


836 


SCOTT'S   POETICAL  WORKS. 


Capt.  Thank  God  that  you  have  come  off  at  all ! 
2d  Off.  There  is  little  to  be  thankful  for ;  two  of  my 
ribs  are  broken— Where's  the  surgeon  ? 

[He  is  carried  off.    Exeunt. 


SCENE  IX. 
Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen. 

Enter  Goetz  and  SELBISS. 

Goetz.  And  what  say  you  to  this  business  of  the 
ban,  Selbiss  ? 

Sel.  'Tis  a  stroke  of  Weislingen. 

Goetz.  Thinkest  thou  ? 

Sel.  I  do  not  think  it — I  know  it. 

Goetz.  How? 

Sel.  He  was  at  the  Diet,  I  tell  thee,  and  with  the 
Emperor. 

Goetz.  Well,  shall  we  give  them  another  touch  to- 
night? 

Sel.  I  hope  so. 

Goetz.  We'll  away  then  to  course  these  hares. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  X. 
The  Imperial  Camp. 

Captain,  Officers,  and  Followers. 

Capt.  This,  sirs,  is  doing  nothing.  He  beats  one 
squadron  after  another;  and  whoever  escapes  death 
or  captivity  would  rather  fly  to  Turkey  than  return 
to  the  camp.  We  must  attack  him  once  for  all  in  a 
body,  and  seriously.  I  will  go  myself,  and  he  shall 
find  with  whom  he  has  to  do. 

Off.  I  am  glad  of  it — But  he  is  so  well  acquainted 
with  the  country,  and  knows  every  pass  and  ravine  so 
thoroughly,  that  he  will  be  as  difficult  to  find  as  a 
mouse  in  a  corn  magazine. 

Capt.  I  warrant  you  we'll  manage  to  find  him — On 
for  Jaxthausen ;  at  all  events  he  must  appear  to  defend 
his  castle. 

Off.  Shall  we  all  march  ? 

Capt.  Yes,  truly — Don't  you  know  that  a  hundred 
are  melted  away  already  ? 

Off.  Then  let  us  away  with  speed,  before  the  whole 
snowball  dissolves ;  for  this  is  warm  work,  and  we  stand 
here  like  butter  in  the  sun.  [Exeunt — A  march  sounded. 


SCENE  XI. 

A  Hill  and  Wood. 

Goetz,  Selbiss,  and  Troopers. 
Goetz.  They  come  in  full  force — Seckingen's  troop- 
ers joined  us  in  good  time. 


Sel.  We  had  better  divide  our  force — I  will  take 
the  left  hand  by  the  hill. 

Goetz.  And  do  thou,  Lerse,  carry  fifty  men  straight 
through  the  wood  on  the  right — Let  them  keep  the 
high-road — I  will  draw  up  opposite  to  them — George, 
thou  stayest  by  me — When  you  see  them  attack  me, 
then  do  you  fall  upon  their  flanks;  we'll  beat  the 
knaves  into  mummy — they  little  think  we  can  hold 
them  at  the  sword's  point.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  XII. 

Scene  changes  to  a  neighboring  part  of  the  Wood — A 
high-road — On  one  side  an  eminence  with  a  ruined 
Watchtower  ;  on  the  other  the  Forest. 

Enter,  on  march,  the  Captain  of  the  Imperialists,  with 
Officers,  and  his  Squadron — Drums  and  Standards. 

Capt.  He  halts  upon  the  high-road  !  That's  too 
impudent.  He  shall  repent  it — What !  not  to  fear  the 
torrent  that  bursts  loose  upon  him  I 

Off.  You  will  not  run  upon  iron  pikes  ?  He  looks 
as  if  he  means  to  plant  the  first  that  comes  upon  him 
in  the  mire  with  his  head  downmost — Here  let  us  wait 
him. 

Capt.  Not  so. 

Off.  I  entreat  you — 

Capt.  Sound,  trumpeter — and  let  us  blow  him  to 
hell !  [A  charge  sounded — Exeunt  in  full  career. 

SELBISS,  with  his  Troopers,  comes  from  behind  the  hill 
galloping. 
SEL.  Follow  me ! — Shout — shout ! 

[They  gallop  across  the  stage,  and  exeunt. 

Loud  alarm — LERSE  and  his  party  sally  from  the  wood. 
Lerse.  Fly  to  the  help  of  Goetz !    He  is  surrounded. 
— Gallant  Selbiss,  thou  hast  cut  thy  way — we  will  sow 
the  high-road  with  these  thistle  heads. 

[Gallop  off.    A  loud  alarm,  with  shouts  and  firing 
for  some  minutes. 

Selbiss  is  borne  in  wounded,  by  two  Troopers. 

Sel.  Leave  me  here,  and  hasten  to  Goetz. 

1st  Troop.  Let  us  stay — you  need  our  aid. 

Sel.  Get  one  of  you  on  the  watchtower,  and  tell 
me  how  it  goes. 

1st  Troop.  How  shall  I  get  up? 

2d  Troop.  Get  upon  my  shoulder ;  you  can  then 
reach  the  ruined  part. 

[First  trooper  gets  up  into  the  tower. 

1st  Troop.  Alas !  alas ! 

Sel.  What  seest  thou  ? 

1st  Troop.  Your  cavaliers  fly  to  the  hill. 

Sel.  Hellish  cowards ! — I  would  that  they  stood, 
and  I  had  a  ball  through  my  head ! — Ride  one  of 
you  full  speed — Curse  and  thunder  them  back  to  the 
field — Seest  thou  Goetz?  [Exit  second  trooper. 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


837 


Troop.  I  see  the  three  black  feathers  in  the  midst 
of  the  tumult. 

Sel.  Swim,  brave  swimmer — I  lie  here. 

Troop.  A  white  plume — Whose  is  that  ? 

Sel.  The  captain. 

Troop.  Goetz  gallops  upon  him — Crash !  Down  he 
goes ! 

Sel.  The  captain? 

Troop.  Yes. 

Sel.  Brave !  brave ! 

Troop.  Alas !  alas !  I  see  Goetz  no  more. 

Sel.  Then  die,  Selbiss. 

Troop.  A  dreadful  tumult  where  he  stood — 
George's  blue  plume  vanishes  too. 

Sel.  Climb  higher — Seest  thou  Lerse  ? 

Troop.  No  ! — Every  thing  is  in  confusion ! 

Sel.  No  further — come  down — How  do  Seckingen's 
men  bear  themselves  ? 

Troop.  So  so — One  of  them  flies  to  the  wood — an- 
other— another — a  whole  troop. — Goetz  is  lost ! 

Sel.  Come  down — tell  me  no  more. 

Troop.  I  cannot — Bravo!  bravo!  I  see  Goetz — I 
see  George — I  see  Lerse ! 

Sel.  On  horseback  ? 

Troop.  Ay,  ay,  high  on  horseback — Victory !  vic- 
tory !— They  fly ! 

Sel.  The  imperialists? 

Troop.  Standard  and  all,  Goetz.  behind  them — He 
seizes  the  standard — he  has  it! — a  handful  of  men  with 
him — My  comrade  reaches  him — they  come  this  way. 

Enter  Goetz,  George,  Lerse,  and  Cavaliers,  on 
horseback. 

Sel.  Joy  to  thee,  Goetz ! — Victory !  victory ! 

Goetz  (dismounting).  Dearly,  dearly  bought — 
Thou  art  sorely  wounded,  Selbiss ! 

Sel.  But  thou  dost  live,  and  hast  conquered ! — I 
have  done  little ;  and  the  dogs  my  troopers — How  hast 
thou  come  off? 

Goetz.  For  the  present,  well.  And  here  I  thank 
George,  and  thee,  Lerse,  for  my  life.  I  unhorsed  the 
captain — They  stabbed  my  steed,  and  broke  in  upon 
me.  George  hewed  his  way  to  me,  and  sprang  off. 
I  threw  myself  like  lightning  on  his  horse,  and  he  ap- 
peared suddenly  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  another. — 
How  earnest  thou  by  thy  steed  ? 

Geo.  A  fellow  struck  at  you  from  behind  : — As  he 
raised  his  cmirass  in  the  exertion,  I  stabbed  him  with 
my  dagger.  Down  he  came ! — and  so  I  rid  you  of  a 
backbiter,  and  helped  myself  to  a  horse. 

Goetz.  Then  we  stuck  together  till  Francis  here 
came  to  our  help ;  and  then  we  cut  our  way  out. 

Lerse.  The  hounds  whom  I  led  made  a  good  show 
at  first ;  but  when  we  came  to  close,  they  fled  like  im- 
perialists. 

Goetz.  Friend  and  foe  fled,  except  this  little  party 
of  my  own  domestics  who  protected  our  rear.  I  had 
enough  to  do  with  the  fellows  in  front;  but  the  fall  of 
their  captain  dismayed  them — they  wavered,  and  they 
fled.     I  have  their  banner,  and  a  few  prisoners. 


Sel.  The  captain  has  escaped  you? 

Goetz.  They  rescued  him  during  the  scuffle. 
Come,  boys — come,  Selbiss — make  a  bier  of  lances  and 
boughs — Thou  canst  not  to  horse — come  to  my  castle. 
They  are  scattered,  but  we  are  very  few ;  and  I  know 
not  what  troops  they  may  have  in  reserve.  I  will  be 
your  host  and  physician. — Wine  tastes  so  well  after 
action.  [Exeunt,  carrying  SELBISS. 


SCENE  XIII. 

The  Camp. 

The  Captain  and  Imperialists. 
Capt.  I  could  crush  you  all  with  one  hand.  What ! 
to  give  way!  He  had  not  a  handful  of  people  re- 
maining. To  give  way  before  one  man!  No  one 
would  believe  it  but  for  a  joke's  sake.  Ride  round 
the  country,  you,  and  you,  and  you: — bring  up  the 
reserve  troops,  and  collect  our  scattered  soldiers,  or 
cut  them  down  wherever  you  find  them.  We  must 
grind  these  notches  out  of  our  blades,  or  make  prun- 
ing-hooks  of  them.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  XIV. 


Jaxthausen. 


Goetz,  Lerse,  and  George. 
Goetz.  Poor  Selbiss  is  gone !  We  must  not  lose  a 
moment.  My  good  fellows,  I  dare  allow  you  no  rest. 
Gallop  round  and  collect  our  cavaliers.  Most  of  them 
dwell  near  Weilern,  and  there  they  will  most  likely 
be  found.  Should  we  dally  a  moment,  they  will  be 
before  the  castle.  (Exeunt  Lerse  and  George.)  I 
must  send  out  scouts.  It  begins  to  be  warm — Yet  had 
I  but  a  few  stout  fellows — but  not  of  such  fellows  are 
the  many  composed.  [Exit. 

Enter  Seckingen  and  Maria. 

Maria.  I  beseech  thee,  Seckingen,  leave  not  my 
brother  !  His  own  horsemen,  Selbiss's,  yours,  all  are 
scattered ;  he  is  alone. — Selbiss  is  brought  here  dead, 
or  mortally  wounded.     I  fear  the  worst. 

Seck.  Be  composed — I  will  not  leave  him. 

Enter  Goetz. 
Goetz.  Come  to  the  chapel — the  chaplain  waits — 
In  five  minutes  you  shall  be  made  one. 
Seck.  Let  me  remain  here. 
Goetz.  To  the  chapel ! 
Seck.  Goetz ! 

Goetz.  Will  you  not  to  the  chapel? 
Seck.  Willingly,  and  then — 
Goetz.  Then  you  go  your  way. 
Seck.  Goetz! 
Goetz.  To  the  chapel ! — Come,  come.         [Exeunt. 


838 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


SCENE  XV. 
Camp. 

Captain  and  Officers. 

Capt.  How  many  in  all  ? 

Off.  A  hundred  and  fifty  odd — 

Capt.  Out  of  five  hundred.— Set  on  the  march 
towards  Jaxthausen,  before  he  again  collects  his  forces 
and  attacks  us  on  the  way.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  XVI. 
Jaxthausen, 

Goetz,  Elizabeth,  Maria,  and  Seckingen. 

Goetz.  God  bless  you,  and  give  you  happy  days, 
and  support  the  children  with  which  he  shall  bless 
you! 

Eliz.  And  may  they  be  virtuous  as  yourselves — 
theu  let  that  come  which  will. 

Seck.  I  thank  you! — And  you,  my  Maria!  as  I  led 
you  to  the  altar,  you  shall  lead  me  to  happiness. 

Maria.  Our  pilgrimage  will  be  in  company  towards 
that  distant  and  high-praised  land. 

Goetz.  Good  luck  to  your  journey! 

Maria.  That  was  not  what  I  meant — We  do  not 
leave  you. 

Goetz.  You  must,  sister. 

Maria.  You  were  not  wont  to  be  so  harsh. 

Goetz.  You  are  more  affectionate  than  prudent. 

Enter  George. 

Geo.  I  can  gather  no  troopers:  one  was  persuaded, 
but  he  changed  his  mind,  and  would  not  come. 

Goetz.  "lis  well,  George.  Fortune  begins  to  look 
cold  upon  me.  Seckingen,  I  entreat  you  to  depart 
this  very  evening.  Persuade  Mary — you  are  her 
husband — let  her  feel  it. — When  women  regulate  our 
motions,  they  are  more  dangerous  than  enemies  in 
the  field. 

Enter  a  Cavalier. 

Cav.  The  imperial  squadron  is  on  full  and  rapid 
march  hither. 

Goetz.  I  have  diminished  them  by  skirmishes. 
How  many  are  they  ? 

Cav.  About  two  hundred — They  cannot  be  far  from 
hence. 

Goetz.  Have  they  passed  the  river  yet? 

Cav.  No,  my  Lord. 

Goetz.  Had  I  but  fifty  men,  they  should  come  no 
farther. — Hast  thou  not  seen  Lerse? 

Cav.  No,  my  Lord. 

Goetz.  Tell  all  to  hold  themselves  ready. — Weep 
on,  my  gentle  Mary — Many  a  moment  of  pleasure 
shall  be  thy  reward — It  is  better  thou  shouldst  weep 


on  thy  wedding-day  than  that  too  great  joy  should 
be  the  forerunner  of  future  misery. — Farewell,  Mary  ! 
— Farewell,  brother! 

Maria.  I  cannot  away  from  you,  sister— Dear 
brother,  let  us  stay.  Dost  thou  hold  my  husband  so 
cheap  as  to  refuse  his  help  in  thy  extremity  ? 

Goetz.  Yes — it  is  gone  far  with  me.  Perhaps  my 
fall  is  near — You  are  but  beginning  life,  and  should 
separate  your  lot  from  mine.  I  have  ordered  your 
horses  to  be  saddled — you  must  away  instantly  ! 

Maria.  Oh,  brother !  brother ! 

Eliz.  (to  Seckingen).  Assist  him  to  persuade  her — 
Speak  to  her. 

Seck.  What  can  I  say  ? — Dear  Maria,  we  must  go ! 

Maria.  Thou  too? — My  heart  will  break ! 

Goetz.  Then  stay — In  a  few  minutes  my  castle  will 
be  besieged. 

Maria  [weeping  bitterly).  Alas !  alas  ! 

Goetz.  We  will  defend  ourselves  as  we  can. 

Maria.  Mother  of  God,  have  compassion  upon  us ! 

Goetz.  And  at  last  we  must  die  or  surrender — Thy 
tears  will  then  have  involved  thy  noble  husband  in 
the  same  miserable  lot  with  me. 

Maria.  Thou  torturest  me ! 

Goetz.  Remain,  remain ! — Seckingen,  thou  wilt  fall 
into  the  grave  with  me,  out  of  which  I  had  hoped 
thou  shouldst  help  me. 

Maria.  We  will  away — Sister — sister ! 

Goetz.  Place  her  in  safety,  and  then  remember  me. 

Seck.  Never  shall  I  repose  a  night  till  I  know  thou 
art  out  of  danger. 

Goetz.  Sister!  dear  sister!    (Kisses  her.) 

Seck.  Away  !  away ! 

Goetz.  Yet  one  moment ! — I  shall  see  you  again — 
Be  comforted,  I  shall  see  you  again.  (Exeunt  SECK- 
INGEN and  Maria.)  I  drive  her  away — yet  when 
she  goes,  what  would  I  give  to  detain  her!— Eliza, 
thou  stay'st  by  me — 

Eliz.  Till  death !  [Exit. 

Goetz.  Whom  God  loves,  he  gives  such  a  wife ! 

Enter  George. 

Geo.  They  are  near ! — I  saw  them  from  the  tower. 
The  sun  is  rising,  and  I  perceived  their  lances  glitter. 
I  minded  them  no  more  than  a  cat  would  do  a  whole 
army  of  mice.     'Tis  true  we  play  the  rats  at  present. 

Goetz.  Go  to  the  battlements— Look  to  the  gates- 
See  they  are  provided  with  stones  and  beams.  We'll 
find  exercise  for  their  patience,  and  their  fury  may 
discharge  itself  at  the  expense  of  their  own  nails. 
(A  trumpet  from,  without ;  Goetz  goes  to  the  window.) 
Aha!  there  comes  a  red-gowned  rascal  to  ask  me 
whether  I  will  be  a  scoundrel!  What  says  he? 
( The  voice  of  the  Herald  is  heard  indistinctly,  as  from 
a  distance.  Goetz  speaks  at  intervals.)  A  rope  for 
thy  throat!  (Voice  again.)  " Offended  majesty !"— 
Some  parson  has  drawn  up  the  proclamation.  ( Voice 
concludes,  and  Goetz  answers  from  the  window.) 
Surrender  myself— surrender  myself  at  all  discretion ! 
—With  whom  speak  ye?     Am  I  a  robber?     Tell 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICIIINGEN. 


839 


your  captain  that  for  his  imperial  Majesty  I  enter- 
tain, as  ever,  all  due  respect;  but  for  himself,  he 
may— 

[Shuts  the  window  with  violence — A  sharp  discharge 
of  musketry,  answered  by  firing  from  the  castle. 


SCENE  XVII. 
The  Kitchen. 

Elizabeth  preparing  food — to  her  Goetz. 

Goetz.  You  have  hard  work,  my  poor  wife ! 

Eliz.  Would  it  could  but  last ! — but  you  can  hardly 
hold  out  long. 

Goetz.  We  have  not  had  time  to  provide  ourselves — 

Eliz.  And  so  many  people  to  feed ! — The  wine  is 
wellnigh  finished. 

Goetz.  If  we  hold  out  a  certain  time,  they  must 
give  us  articles.  We  keep  them  at  a  fine  distance — 
They  may  shoot  the  whole  day,  and  wound  our  walls, 
and  break  our  windows. — That  Lerse  is  a  gallant  fel- 
low— He  slips  about  with  his  gun;  if  a  rogue  comes 
too  nigh — Bah ! — there  he  lies  J  [Firing. 

Enter  a  Cavalier. 
Cav.  We  want  live  coals,  gracious  lady ! 
Goetz.  For  what  ? 

Cav.  Our  bullets  are  spent ;  we  must  cast  new. 
Goetz.  How  lasts  the  powder  ? 
Cav.  There  is  yet  no  want :  we  spare  our  fire. 

[Firing  at  intervals.    Exeunt  Go„ETZ  and 
Elizabeth. 

Enter  Lerse  with  a  bullet-mould. 
Lerse.  Go,  seek  for  lead  about  the  house — mean- 
while I  will  make  a  shift  with  this.  (Goes  to  the  win- 
dow and  takes  out  the  lead  frames.)  Every  thing  is 
fair.  So  it  is  in  this  world — no  one  knows  what  a 
thing  may  come  to :  the  glazier  that  made  these  frames 
little  knew  that  the  work  of  his  hands  was  to  give 
some  fellow  his  last  headache;  and  the  father  that 
got  me  little  thought  that  the  fowls  of  heaven  and  the 
beasts  of  the  field  were  to  pick  my  bones. 

Enter  George  with  a  leaden  spout. 

Geo.  Here's  lead  for  thee!— When  we  have  used 
the  half  of  it,  there  will  none  return  to  tell  his  Majesty 
"  we  have  not  sped." 

Lerse  (cutting  it  doion).  A  famous  prize! 

Geo.  The  rain  must  seek  some  other  way — But 
never  mind  that — a  gallant  trooper  and  a  smart 
shower  will  always  find  their  road.      [They  cast  balls. 

Lerse.  Hold  the  crucible.  (Goes  to  the  window.) 
Yonder  comes  a  fellow  creeping  forward  with  his  pop- 
gun ;  he  thinks  our  fire  is  spent — He  shall  have  the 
bullet  warm  from  the  pan.        [He  loads  his  carabine. 

Geo.  (sets  down  the  mould).  Let  me  see — 


Lerse  (fires  from  the  windoic).  Yonder  lies  the 
game. 

Geo.  One  of  them  fired  at  me  as  I  got  out  on  the 
roof  to  get  the  spout — He  killed  a  pigeon  that  sat 
near  me;  it  fell  into  the  spout — I  thanked  him  for 
my  dinner,  and  stepped  in  with  the  double  booty. 

[They  cast  balls. 

Lerse.  Now  let  us  load,  and  go  through  the  castle 
to  earn  our  dinner. 

Enter  Goetz. 

Goetz.  Stay,  Lerse,  I  must  speak  with  thee. — I 
will  not  keep  thee,  George,  from  the  sport. 

[Exit  George. 

Goetz.  They  demand  a  parley. 

Lerse.  I  will  out  and  hear  what  they  have  to  say. 

Goetz.  They  will  require  me  to  enter  myself  into 
ward  in  some  town  on  my  knightly  parole. 

Lerse.  That's  a  trifle — What  if  they  would  allow 
us  free  liberty  of  departure?  for  we  can  expect  no 
relief  from  Seckingen.  We  will  bury  all  valuables 
where  they  shall  never  find  them,  leave  them  the 
bare  walls,  and  come  out  with  flying  colors. 

Goetz.  They  will  not  permit  us. 

Lerse.  It  is  but  asking — We  will  demand  a  safe- 
conduct,  and  I  will  sally  out.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  XVIII. 


A  Hall. 


Goetz,  Elizabeth,  George,  and  Troopers,  at  table. 

Goetz.  Danger  draws  us  together,  my  friends  !  Be 
cheery — don't  forget  the  bottle!  The  flask  is  empty 
— Come,  another,  my  dear  wife !  (Elizabeth  shakes 
her  head.)     Is  there  no  more  ? 

Eliz.  (low).  Only  one,  which  I  set  apart  for  you. 

Goetz.  Not  so,  my  love ! — Bring  it  out ;  they  need 
strengthening  more  than  I. 

Eliz.  Hand  it  from  the  cabinet. 

Goetz.  It  is  the  last,  and  I  feel  as  if  we  need  not 
spare  it.  It  is  long  since  I  have  been  so  much  dis- 
posed for  joy.  ( They  fill.)  To  the  health  of  the  Em- 
peror ! 

All.  Long  live  the  Emperor ! 

Goetz.  Be  it  our  last  word  when  we  die  !  I  love 
him,  for  our  fate  is  similar ;  and  I  am  happier  than  he. 
— He  must  direct  his  imperial  squadrons  against  mice, 
while  the  rats  gnaw  his  parchment  edicts.  I  know  he 
often  wishes  himself  rather  dead  than  to  be  the  soul 
of  such  a  crippled  body  as  the  empire.  (They  fill.) 
It  will  go  but  once  more  round — And  when  our  blood 
runs  low,  like  this  flask — when  we  pour  out  its  last 
ebbing  drop  (empties  the  wine  dropways  into  his  gob- 
let), what  then  shall  be  our  word  ? 

Geo.  Freedom! 

Goetz.  Freedom ! 

All.  Freedom ! 


840 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Goetz.  And  if  that  survives  us,  we  shall  die  happy : 
our  spirits  shall  Bee  OUT  sons,  and  the  Emperor  of  our 
sous,  happy! — Did  the  servants  of  princes  show  the 
same  filial  attachment  to  their  masters  as  you  to  me — 
did  their  masters  serve  the  Emperor  as  I  would  serve 
him — 

GEO.  It  is  widely  different. 

Goetz.  Not  so  much  so  as  would  appear.  Have  I 
not  known  worthy  men  among  the  princes?  And 
can  the  breed  be  extinct? — Men  happy  in  their  own 
minds  and  in  their  undertakings,  that  could  bear 
a  petty  brother  in  their  neighborhood  without  feeling 
either  dread  or  envy ;  whose  hearts  were  opened 
when  they  saw  their  table  surrounded  by  their  free 
equals,  and  who  did  not  think  free  knights  unfit 
company  till  they  had  degraded  themselves  by  court 
homage. 

Geo.  Have  you  known  such  princes  ? 

Goetz.  Well ! — I  recollect,  when  the  Landgrave  of 
Hanau  made  a  grand  hunting-party,  the  princes  and 
free  feudatories  enjoyed  themselves  under  the  open 
heaven,  and  the  vassals  were  as  happy  as  they ;  it  was 
no  selfish  masquerade,  instituted  for  his  own  private 
pleasure  or  vanity — To  see  the  great  round-headed 
peasant  lads  and  the  pretty  brown  girls,  the  sturdy 
hinds,  and  the  respectable  ancients,  all  as  happy  as 
if  they  rejoiced  in  the  pleasures  of  their  master, 
which  he  shared  with  them  under  God's  free  sky ! 

Geo.  He  must  have  been  such  a  master  as  you. 

Goetz.  And  shall  we  not  hope  that  many  such  will 
rule  together  some  future  day — to  whom  reverence  to 
the  Emperor,  peace  and  friendship  with  neighbors, 
and  the  love  of  vassals,  shall  be  the  best  and  dearest 
family  treasure  handed  down  from  father  to  son? 
Every  one  will  then  keep  and  improve  his  own, 
instead  of  reckoning  nothing  gained  that  is  not 
ravaged  from  their  neighbors. 

Geo.  And  shall  we  then  have  no  skirmishing? 

Goetz.  Would  to  God  there  was  no  restless  spirit 
in  all  Germany,  and  still  we  should  have  enough  to 
do !  We  might  then  chase  the  wolves  from  the  cliffs, 
and  bring  our  peaceful,  laborious  neighbor  a  dish 
of  game  from  the  wood,  and  eat  it  together.  Were 
that  too  little,  we  would  join  our  brethren,  and,  like 
cherubims  with  flaming  swords,  defend  the  frontiers 
against  those  wolves  the  Turks,  against  those  foxes  the 
French,  and  guard  for  our  beloved  Emperor  both 
extremities  of  his  empire.  There  would  be  a  life, 
George! — to  risk  one's  head  for  the  safety  of  all  Ger- 
many.    (George  springs  up.)     Whither  away  ? 

Geo.  Alas !  I  forgot  we  were  besieged — besieged 
by  that  very  Emperor ;  and  before  we  can  expose  our 
lives  in  his  defence,  we  must  risk  them  for  our  liberty. 

Goetz.  Be  of  good  cheer. 

Enter  Lekse. 
Lerse.  Freedom  !  freedom !  You  are  cowardly  pol- 
troons— hesitating,  irresolute  asses — You  are  to  depart 
with  men,  weapons,  horses,  and  armor — Provisions 
you  are  to  leave  behind. 


Goetz.  They  will  hardly  find  enough  to  tire  their 
jaws. 

Lerse  (aside  to  Goetz).  Have  you  hid  the  plate 
and  money? 

Goetz.  No! — Wife,  go  with  Lerse,  and  hear  what 
he  has  to  say  to  thee. 


SCENE  XIX. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Court  of  the  Castle. 

GEORGE  in  the  stable  curries  his  horse,  and  sings — 

It  was  a  little  naughty  page, 

Ha!  ha! 
Would  catch  a  bird  was  closed  in  cage. 

Sa!  sa! 

Ha!  ha! 

Sa!  sa! 
He  seized  the  cage,  the  latch  did  draw, 

Ha!  ha! 
And  in  he  thrust  his  knavish  paw, 

Sa!  sa! 

Ha ! ha ! 

Sa!  sa! 
The  bird  dash'd  out,  and  gain'd  the  thorn, 

Ha!  ha! 
And  laugh'd  the  silly  fool  to  scorn ! 

Sa!  sa! 

Ha!  ha! 

Sa!  sa! 

Enter  GOETZ. 
Goetz.  How  goes  it  ? 
Geo.  (brings  out  his  horse).  All  saddled  ! 
Goetz.  Thou  takest  it  cheerily. 
Geo.  As  the  bird  that  got  out  of  the  cage. 

Enter  all  the  besieged. 
Goetz.  Have  you  all  your  carabines  ? — Not  yet. 
Go,  take  the  best  from  the  armory — 'Tis  all  one — 
we'll  ride  out. 

Geo.  And  laugh  the  silly  fools  to  scorn. 
Ha!  ha! 
Sa!  sa! 
Ha!  ha! 


SCENE  XX. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Armory. 

Two  Cavaliers  choosing  guns. 
1ST  Cav.  I  take  this. 
2d  Cav.  I  this — But  yonder's  a  better. 
1ST  Cav.  Never  mind — Make  ready. 

[  Tumult  and  firing  without. 
2d  Cav.  Hark ! 

1st  Cav.  (springs  to  the  window).  Sacred  heaven, 
they  nmrder  our  master! — He  is  unhorsed! — George 
is  down ! 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


841 


2d  Cav.  How  shall  we  get  off?— By  the  garden 
wall,  and  so  to  the  country.  [Exit. 

1st  Cav.  Lerse  keeps  his  ground — I  will  to  him.  If 
they  die,  I  will  not  survive  them. 


ACT  IV.— SCENE  I. 
An  Inn  in  the  City  of  Heilbron. 

Goetz  solus. 

GOETZ.  I  am  like  the  evil  spirit  conjured  into  a 
circle — I  fret  and  labor,  but  all  in  vain — The  false, 
envious  slaves!  (Enter  Elizabeth.)  What  news, 
Eliza,  of  my  dear,  my  trusty  followers  ? 

Eliz.  Nothing  certain :  some  are  slain,  some  are  pris- 
oners ;  no  one  could  or  would  tell  me  more  particulars. 

Goetz.  Is  that  the  reward  of  faith,  of  filial  obedi- 
ence?— For  thy  sake— Goetz! — Oh,  thou  hast  lived 
too  long ! 

Eliz.  Murmur  not  against  our  heavenly  Father,  my 
dear  husband  !  They  have  their  reward — It  was  born 
with  them,  a  noble  and  generous  heart — Even  in  the 
dungeon  they  are  free. — Think  now  of  appearing  be- 
fore the  Imperial  Commissioners — Their  awful  pres- 
ence, the  splendor  of  their  dress,  and  the  golden 
chains  which  mark  their  dignity — 

Goetz.  Become  them  like  a  necklace  on  a  sow ! — 
Would  I  could  see  George  and  Lerse  in  their  dungeon ! 

Eliz.  It  were  a  sight  to  make  an  angel  weep. 

Goetz.  I  would  not  weep — I  would  grind  my  teeth, 

and  gnaw  my  lip  in  fury. What!  the  apples  of  my 

eye  in  fetters ! — and  have  not  the  dear  boys  loved  me? 

Never  will  I  rest  till  I  see  them. What !  to  break 

their  word  pledged  in  the  name  of  the  Emperor ! 

Eliz.  Forget  that — You  must  appear  before  the 
Commissioners — you  are  in  an  evil  mood  to  meet 
them,  and  I  fear  the  worst. 

Goetz.  When  will  they  admit  me? 

Eliz.  They  will  send  a  sergeant-at-arms. 

Goetz.  What — The  ass  of  justice  that  carries  the 
sacks  to  the  mill,  and  the  dung  to  the  field  ? — What 
now? 

Enter  Sergeant-at-arms. 

Seeg.  The  Lords  Commissioners  are  at  the  Council- 
house,  and  require  your  presence. 

Goetz.  I  come. 

Serg.  I  am  to  escort  you. 

Goetz.  Too  much  honor. 

Eliz.  Be  but  cool. 

Goetz.  Fear  me  not.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

The  Council-house  at  Heilbron. 

The  Imperial  Commissioners  seated  in  judgment — The 
Captain  and  the  Magistrates  of  the  City  attending. 
MAG.  We  have,  according  to  your  order,  collected 


the  stoutest  and  most  hardy  of  our  burghers  to  wait 
in  the  neighborhood. 

Com.  We  will  communicate  to  his  imperial  Majesty 
the  zeal  with  which  you  have  obeyed  our  illustrious 
commander — Are  they  artisans? 

Mag.  Smiths,  coopers,  and  carpenters,  men  with 
hands  hardened  by  labor — and  resolute  here.  (Points 
to  his  breast.) 

Com.  'Tiswell! 

Enter  Sergeant. 
Seeg.  Goetz  von  Berlichingen  waits  at  the  door. 
COM.  Admit  him. 

Enter  Goetz. 

Goetz.  God  greet  you,  my  Lords !  What  would  ye 
with  me? 

Com.  First,  that  you  consider  where  you  are,  and 
with  whom. 

Goetz.  By  my  faith,  I  know  it  well,  my  Lords ! 

Com.  You  do  but  your  duty  in  owning  it. 

Goetz.  From  the  bottom  of  my  heart ! 

Com.  Be  seated.    (Points  to  a  stool.) 

Goetz.  What,  there  ?— Down  below  ?— I  can  stand* 
— That  stool  smells  of  the  criminal ;  as  indeed  does 
its  whole  apparatus. 

Com.  Stand,  then. 

Goetz.  To  business,  if  you  please. 

Com.  We'll  go  on  in  order. 

Goetz.  I  am  happy  to  hear  it.  Would  every  one 
did  as  much ! 

COM.  You  know  how  you  fell  into  our  hands,  and 
are  a  prisoner  at  discretion. 

Goetz.  What  will  you  give  me  if  I  know  no  such 
thing? 

Com.  Could  I  give  you  good  manners,  I  would  do 
you  a  good  office. 

Goetz.  A  good  office! — Can  you  render  any? — 
Good  offices  are  more  difficult  than  the  deeds  of  de- 
struction. 

Sec.  Shall  I  enter  all  this  on  record  ? 

Com.  Only  what  is  to  the  point. 

Goetz.  Do  as  you  please,  for  my  part. 

Com.  You  know  how  you  fell  into  the  power  of  the 
Emperor,  whose  paternal  goodness  overpowered  his 
justice,  and,  instead  of  a  dungeon,  ordered  you  to 
wait  your  future  doom,  upon  your  knightly  parole,  in 
his  beloved  city  of  Heilbron. 

Goetz.  Well— I  am  here,  and  wait  it. 

Com.  And  we  are  here  to  intimate  to  you  his  im- 
perial Majesty's  grace  and  clemency.  He  is  pleased 
to  forgive  your  rebellion,  to  release  you  from  the  ban, 
and  all  well-deserved  punishment ;  provided  you  do, 
with  suppliant  humility,  receive  his  bounty,  and  sub- 
scribe the  articles  which  shall  be  read  unto  you. 

Goetz.   I  am  his  Majesty's  true  servant  as  ever. 
One  word  ere  you  go  further— My  people— where  are 
they  ?  what  is  to  become  of  them  ? 
COM.  That  concerns  you  not. 
Goetz.  So  may  the  Emperor  turn  his  face  from  you 


842 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WOKKS. 


in  your  need ! — They  were  my  companions,  and  they 
are  so — What  have  you  done  with  them  ? 

COM.  We  owe  you  no  account  of  that. 

GOETZ.  Ah !  I  had  forgot — Never  was  promise  kept 
by  you  to  the  oppressed.     But,  hush  ! 

Com.  Our  business  is  to  lay  the  articles  before  you. — 
Throw  yourself  at  the  Emperor's  feet,  and  by  humble 
supplication  you  may  find  the  true  way  to  save  the 
life  and  freedom  of  your  associates. 

Goetz.  Your  paper ! 

Com.  Secretary,  read  it. 

Sec.  (reads).  "  I  Goetz  of  Berlichingen  make  public 
acknowledgment,  by  these  presents,  that  I  having 
lately  risen  in  rebellion  against  the  Emperor  and 
empire  " 

Goetz.  'Tis  false ! — I  never  offended  either. 

COM.  Compose  yourself,  and  hear  further. 

Goetz.  I  will  not  compose  myself,  and  I  will  hear 
no  further.  Let  any  one  arise  and  bear  witness — Have 
I  ever  taken  a  step  against  the  Emperor,  or  against 
the  House  of  Austria? — Have  I  not  in  all  my  feuds 
conducted  myself  as  one  who  felt  what  all  Germany 
owes  to  its  head — and  what  the  free  knights  and 
feudatories  owe  to  their  liege  lord  the  Emperor? — I 
should  be  a  liar  and  a  slave  could  I  be  persuaded  to 
subscribe  that  paper. 

COM.  Yet  we  have  strict  orders  to  persuade  you  by 
fair  means,  or  else  to  throw  you  into  jail. 

Goetz.  Into  jail ! — Me  ? 

COM.  Where  you  may  expect  your  fate  from  the 
hands  of  Justice,  since  you  will  not  take  it  from  those 
of  Mercy. 

Goetz.  To  jail !  You  abuse  the  imperial  power. — 
To  jail !  That  was  never  his  command.  What,  ye 
traitors,  to  dig  a  pit  for  me,  and  hang  out  your  oath, 
your  knightly  honor,  as  the  lure!  To  promise  me 
permission  to  ward  myself  on  parole,  and  then  to 
break  your  treaty ! 

Com.  We  owe  no  faith  to  robbers. 

Goetz.  Wert  thou  not  the  representative  of  my 
prince,  whom  I  respect  even  in  the  vilest  counterfeit, 
thou  shouldst  swallow  that  word,  or  choke  upon  it.  I 
was  taken  in  honorable  though  private  war.  Thou 
mightest  thank  God  that  gave  thee  glory,  hadst  thou 
ever  done  as  gallant  deeds  as  the  least  with  which  I 
am  charged.  ( The  Commissioner  makes  a  sign  to  the 
Magistrates  of  Heilbron,  who  go  out.)  Because  I 
would  not  join  the  iniquitous  confederacy  of  the 
great,  because  I  would  not  grasp  at  the  souls  and 
livings  of  the  helpless — 'Tis  in  this  lies  my  crime! — 
I  defended  my  own  life  and  the  freedom  of  my 
children — See  ye  any  rebellion  in  that?  The  Em- 
peror and  empire  were  blinded  to  our  hard  case  by 
your  flatteries.  I  have,  God  be  praised!  one  hand, 
and  I  have  done  my  best  to  use  it  well. 

Enter  a  party  of  Artisans  armed  with  halberds  and 
swords. 
Goetz.  What  means  this  ? 
COM.  Ye  will  not  hearken Apprehend  him! 


Goetz.  Is  that  the  purpose?  Let  not  the  man 
whose  ear  does  not  itch  come  too  near  me;  one  salu- 
tation from  my  trusty  iron  fist  shall  cure  him  of  head- 
ache, toothache,  and  every  ache  under  the  wide 
heaven ! 

[They  make  at  him — He  strikes  one  down,  and 
snatches  a  sword  from  another — They  stand 
aloof. 

COM.  Surrender! 

Goetz  (with  the  sword  drawn).  What !  Wot  ye  not 
that  depends  but  upon  myself  to  make  way  through 
all  these  hares  and  gain  the  open  field?  But  I  will 
teach  you  how  a  man  should  keep  his  word. — Promise 
to  allow  me  free  ward,  and  I  give  up  my  sword,  and 
am  again  your  prisoner. 

Com.  How  !  Would  you  treat  with  your  Emperor 
sword  in  hand? 

Goetz.  God  forbid ! — only  with  you  and  your  wor- 
thy companions ! — You  may  go  home,  good  people ; 
here  deliberation  is  of  no  avail,  and  from  me  there  is 
nothing  to  gain  save  bruises. 

COM.  Seize  him,  I  say! — What!  does  your  allegi- 
ance to  the  Emperor  supply  you  with  no  courage  ? 

Goetz.  No  more  than  the  Emperor  supplies  them 
with  plaster  for  the  wounds  which  their  courage  would 
earn  for  them. 

A  Police  Officer  enters  hastily. 

Off.  The  warder  has  just  discovered  from  the 
castle-tower  a  troop  of  more  than  two  hundred  horse- 
men hastening  towards  the  town.  They  have  already 
gained  the  hill,  and  seem  to  threaten  an  attack. 

Com.  Alas !  alas !  what  can  this  mean  ? 

A  Soldier  enters. 

Sol.  Francis  of  Seckingen  waits  at  the  drawbridge, 
and  informs  you  that  he  has  heard  how  perfidiously 
you  have  dealt  with  his  brother-in-law,  and  how  fruit- 
less has  been  every  ajtpeal  to  the  justice  of  the  Coun- 
cil of  Heilbron.  He  is  now  come  to  insist  upon  that 
justice;  and  if  refused  it,  he  will  fire  the  four  corners 
of  your  town  within  an  hour,  and  abandon  it  to  be 
plundered  by  his  vassals. 

Goetz.  My  gallant  brother ! 

Com.  Withdraw,  Goetz !  (He  steps  aside.)  What 
is  to  be  done  ? 

Mag.  Have  compassion  upon  us  and  our  town ! — 
Seckingen  is  inexorable  in  his  wrath— he  will  keep 
his  vow. 

Com.  Shall  we  forget  what  is  due  to  ourselves  and 
the  Emperor? 

Capt.  Well  said,  if  we  had  but  men  to  support  our 
dignity ;  but  as  we  are,  a  show  of  resistance  would 
only  make  matters  worse.    We  must  gain  time. 

Mag.  We  had  better  apply  to  Goetz  to  speak  a 
good  word  for  us— -I  feel  as  the  flames  were  rising 
already. 

Com.  Let  Goetz  approach. 

Goetz.  What  would  ye  ? 

Com.  Thou  wilt  do  well  to  dissuade  thy  brother- 


GOETZ   OF    BERLICHINGEN. 


843 


in-law  from  his  rebellious  interference.  Instead  of 
rescuing  thee,  he  will  only  plunge  thee  deeper  in 
destruction,  and  become  the  companion  of  thy  fall ! 

Goetz  (spies  Elizabeth  at  the  door,  and  speaks  to 
her  aside).  Go — tell  him  instantly  to  break  in  and 
force  his  way  hither,  only  to  spare  the  town.  As  for 
the  rascals  here,  if  they  oppose  him,  let  him  use  force; 
there  would  be  no  great  matter  had  he  a  fair  pretext 
for"knocking  them  all  upon  the  head. 

[Trampling  and  galloping  heard. — All  the  mag- 
istrates show  signs  of  consternation. 


SCENE  III. 

Scene  changes  to  the  front  of  the  Council-house,  beset 
by  Seckingen's  Cavaliers.    A  pause. 

Enter  Seckingen  and  Goetz  from  the  Council-house. 

GOETZ.  This  was  help  from  Heaven ! — How  earnest 
thou  so  much  to  our  wish,  and  beyond  our  hope, 
brother  ? 

Seck.  Without  witchcraft.  I  had  despatched  two 
or  three  messengers  to  learn  how  it  fared  with  thee, 
and  heard  from  them  of  this  villainy ;  I  set  out  in- 
stantly, and  now  you  have  the  power  in  your  hand. 

GOETZ.  I  ask  nothing  but  knightly  ward  upon  my 
parole. 

Seck.  You  are  too  moderate.  Avail  yourself  of  for- 
tune, which  for  once  has  placed  worth  above  malice ! 
They  were  doing  injustice;  we'll  greet  them  with  no 
kisses  for  their  pains.  They  have  misused  the  royal 
authority,  and,  if  I  know  the  Emperor,  he  will  make 
thee  ample  reparation. — You  ask  too  little. 

Goetz.  I  have  ever  been  content  with  little. 

Seck.  And  hence  hast  thou  ever  been  cut  short  even 
of  that  little.  My  proposal  is,  that  they  shall  release 
your  servants,  and  permit  you  all  to  return  to  your 
castle  upon  your  parole — not  to  leave  it  till  the  Em- 
peror's pleasure  be  known — You  will  be  safer  there 
than  here. 

Goetz.  They  will  say  my  property  is  escheated  to 
the  Emperor. 

Seck.  So  say  we — but  still  thou  may'st  dwell  there, 
and  keep  it  for  his  service  till  he  restores  it  to  thee 
again.  Let  them  wind  like  eels  in  the  mud,  they  shall 
not  escape  us ! — They  will  talk  of  the  imperial  dignity 
— of  their  orders — We'll  take  that  risk  upon  ourselves ; 
—I  know  the  Emperor,  and  have  some  influence  with 
him — He  has  ever  wished  to  have  thee  in  his  service — 
Thou  wilt  not  be  long  in  thy  castle  ere  thou  art  sum- 
moned to  serve  him. 

Goetz.  God  grant  it  ere  I  forget  the  use  of  arms ! 

Seck.  Valor  can  never  be  forgot,  as  it  can  never  be 
learnt.  Fear  nothing !  When  once  thou  art  settled,  I 
will  seek  the  imperial  Court,  where  my  enterprises 
begin  to  ripen — Good  fortune  seems  to  smile  on  them 
— I  want  only  to  sound  the  Emperor's  mind.  The 
towns  of  Triers  and  Pfalz  as  soon  expect  that  the  sky 


should  fall,  as  that  I  should  come  down  upon  their 
heads — But  I  will  come  like  a  storm  of  hail  on  the 
unsuspecting  traveller;  and  if  I  am  successful,  thou 
shalt  soon  be  brother  to  a  prince.  I  had  hoped  for 
thy  hand  in  this  undertaking. 

Goetz  [looks  at  his  hand).  Oh !  that  explains  to  me 
the  dream  I  had  the  morning  that  I  promised  Maria 
to  Weislingen.  I  thought  he  professed  eternal  fidelity, 
and  held  my  iron  hand  so  fast  that  it  loosened  from 
the  arm. — Alas !  I  am  at  this  moment  more  helpless 

and  fenceless  than  when  it  was  shot  from  me. 

Weislingen !  Weislingen ! 

Seck.  Forget  the  traitor!  We'll  darken  his  pros- 
pects and  cross  his  plans,  till  shame  and  remorse  shall 
gnaw  him  to  death.  I  see,  I  see  the  downfall  of  my 
enemies,  of  thine — Goetz — only  half  a  year. 

Goetz.  Thy  soul  soars  high !  I  know  not  how,  but 
for  some  time  no  fair  prospects  have  smiled  upon  mine 
— I  have  been  in  distress — I  have  been  a  prisoner 
ere  now,  but  never  before  did  I  experience  such  a 
depression. 

Seck.  Fortune  gives  spirits — Come,  let  us  to  the 
periwigs — They  have  had  our  conditions  long  enough 
— we  must  call  for  their  resolution.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Palace  of  Adela— Augsburg. 

Adela  and  Weislingen  discovered. 

Adela.  This  is  detestable. 

Weis.  I  have  gnashed  my  very  teeth — So  fair  a 
prospect — so  well  followed  out — and  at  last  to  leave 
him  in  possession  of  his  castle  as  before !  That 
damned  Seckingen ! 

Adela.  The  Commissioners  should  not  have  con- 
sented. 

Weis.  They  were  in  the  net — What  else  could  they 
do?  Seckingen,  the  haughty  and  furious  chief,  thun- 
dered fire  and  sword  at  their  ear.  I  hate  him — His 
power  waxes  like  a  mountain  torrent — let  it  but  gain 
two  brooks,  and  others  come  pouring  to  its  aid. 

Adela.  Have  they  no  Emperor  ? 

Weis.  My  dear  wife — Old  and  feeble :  he  is  only 
the  shadow  of  what  he  should  be — When  he  heard 
what  was  done,  and  I  proposed  to  lead  the  readiest 
forces  in  his  service  against  them — "Let  them  be!" 
said  he ;  "  I  can  spare  my  old  Goetz  his  little  fortress, 
and  if  he  confines  himself  to  it,  of  what  can  you  com- 
plain ?"  We  spoke  of  the  welfare  of  the  state — "  Oh," 
said  he,  "that  I  had  rejected  every  advice  which 
pushed  me  to  sacrifice  the  peace  of  an  individual  to 
my  own  ambition !" 

Adela.  He  has  lost  the  very  spirit  of  a  prince ! 

Weis.  We  broke  loose  against  Seckingen — "  He  is 
my  faithful  servant,"  said  he ;  "  for  if  he  has  not 
acted  by  my  express  order,  he  has  performed  what  I 


844 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


would  have  wished  better  than  my  plenipotentiaries, 
and  I  can  ratify  what  he  had  done  as  well  after  as 
before." 

Adela.  'Tis  enough  to  make  one  tear  one's  very 
flesh! 

Weis.  Yet  I  have  not  entirely  renounced  hope. 
Goetz  has  given  his  parole  to  remain  quiet  in  his 
castle — 'Tis  an  impossibility  for  him  to  keep  his 
promise,  and  we  shall  soon  have  some  new  subject  of 
complaint. 

Adela.  'Tis  the  more  likely,  as  we  may  hope  that 
the  old  Emperor  will  soon  leave  the  world,  and 
Charles,  his  gallant  successor,  promises  to  bear  a 
princely  mind. 

Weis.  Charles !  He  is  neither  chosen  nor  crowned 
king  of  the  Romans. 

Adela.  Who  does  not  expect  and  hope  that  event? 

Weis.  You  speak  so  warmly  that  one  might  think 
you  saw  him  with  partial  eyes. 

Adela.  You  injure  me,  Weislingen.  For  what  do 
you  take  me  ? 

Weis.  I  do  not  mean  to  offend — but  I  cannot  be 
silent  upon  the  subject — Charles's  very  unusual  atten- 
tions to  thee  distress  me. 

Adela.  And  do  I  receive  them  as  it — 

Weis.  Thou  art  a  woman — and  no  woman  hates  a 
flatterer. 

Adela.  This  from  you  ? 

Weis.  It  cuts  me  to  the  heart  the  dreadful  thought, 
Adela! 

Adela.  Can  I  not  cure  thee  of  this  folly  ? 

Weis.  When  thou  wilt — Thou  canst  leave  the 
Court. 

Adela.  By  what  way  or  pretence  ?  Thou  art  here 
— Must  I  leave  thee  and  all  my  friends,  to  shut  myself 
up  with  owls  in  your  desolate  castle  ?  No,  Weislingen, 
that  will  never  do ;  set  thy  heart  at  ease,  thou  knowest 
I  love  thee. 

Weis.  That  is  the  sheet  anchor  while  the  cable 
holds !  [Exit. 

Adela.  Takest  thou  it  so  ?  It  is  in  vain.  The  un- 
dertakings of  my  bosom  are  too  great  to  brook  thy 
Interruption.  Charles — the  great,  the  gallant  Charles 
— the  future  Emperor — shall  he  be  the  only  man  not 
flattered  to  obey  my  power?  Think  not,  Weislingen, 
to  prevent  it — Soon  shalt  thou  to  earth,  if  my  way 
lies  over  thee ! 

Enter  Francis.    He  gives  a  letter. 

Adela.  Hadst  thou  it  from  Charles's  own  hand? 

Fran.  Yes. 

Adela.  What  ails  thee?— Thou  look'st  mournful ! 

Fran.  It  is  your  pleasure  that  I  should  pine  away 
and  waste  the  fairest  years  of  hope  in  agonizing  de- 
spair. 

Adela  (aside).  I  pity  him — Be  of  good  courage, 
youth !  I  feel  thy  love  and  truth,  and  will  not  be  un- 
grateful. 

Fran,  (sorrotvfully).  Ere  you  can  resolve  to  succor 
me,  I  shall  be  gone  from  you — Heaven !    And  there 


boils  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  my  veins  but  what  is  your 
own — I  have  not  even  a  feeling  but  to  love  and  to 
serve  you ! 

Adela.  My  dear  Francis ! 

Fran.  You  flatter  me.  (Bursts  into  tears.)  Does 
this  attachment  deserve  only  to  be  sacrificed  to  another 
— only  to  see  all  your  thoughts  fixed  upon  Charles  ? 

Adela.  You  know  not  what  you  wish,  and  yet  less 
what  you  speak. 

Fran,  (stamping  betwixt  remorse  and  rage).  No 
more  will  I  be  your  slave,  your  go-between ! 

Adela.  Francis,  you  forget  yourself. 

Fran.  To  sacrifice  at  once  myself  and  my  beloved 
master — 

Adela.  Go  from  my  sight! 

Fran.  Gracious  lady ! 

Adela.  Go,  betray  to  thy  beloved  master  the  secret 
of  my  soul !  Fool  that  I  was  !  I  thought  thee  what 
thou  art  not. 

Fran.  Dear  lady !  you  know  not  how  I  love  thee. 

Adela.  And  thou,  whom  I  thought  my  friend — so 
near  my  heart — go,  betray  me. 

Fran.  Rather  would  I  tear  the  heart  from  my  body ! 
— Forgive  me,  gentle  lady  !  my  heart  is  too  full,  my 
senses  forsake  me. 

Adela.  Thou  dear,  hot-headed  boy ! 

[She  takes  him  by  both  hands,  and  draws  him 
towards  her.  He  throws  himself  weeping 
upon  her  neck. 

Adela.  Leave  me ! 

Fr an.  (his  voice  choked  by  tears).  God!  God! 

Adela.  Leave  me !  Walls  are  traitors — Leave  me ! 
(Breaks  from  him.)  Be  but  steady  in  faith  and  love : 
the  fairest  reward  is  thy  own.  [Exit. 

Fran.  The  fairest  reward !  •  Let  me  but  live  till  that 
moment — I  could  murder  my  father,  were  he  an  ob- 
stacle to  its  arrival !  [Exit. 


SCENE  V. 

Scene  changes  to  Jaxthausen. 

Goetz  sealed  at  a  table  with  writing  materials.  Eliza- 
beth sits  beside  him  with  her  work. 

Goetz.  This  idle  life  does  not  suit  me.  My  im- 
prisonment becomes  daily  more  painful;  I  would  I 
could  sleep,  or  amuse  myself  with  trifling. 

Eliz.  Continue  writing  the  memoirs  thou  hast  com- 
menced of  thy  own  deeds.  Give  thy  friends  evidence 
under  thy  hand  to  put  thy  enemies  to  shame ;  make 
thy  noble  neighbors  acquainted  with  thy  real  char- 
acter. 

Goetz.  Alas!  writing  is  but  busy  idleness;  it  comes 
slowly  on  with  me.  While  I  write  what  I  have  done, 
I  lament  the  misspent  time  in  which  I  might  do  more. 

Eliz.  (takes  the  writings).  Thou  art  now  at  thy 
first  imprisonment  at  Heilbron. 


GOETZ  OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


845 


Goetz.  That  was  always  an  unlucky  place  to  me. 

Eliz.  (reads).  "One  of  the  confederates  told  me 
that  I  had  acted  foolishly  in  espousing  the  cause  of  my 
very  worst  foes ;  but  that  I  might  be  of  good  cheer,  for 
I  should  be  honorably  dealt  by."— And  what  didst 
thou  answer  ?    Write  on. 

Goetz.  I  said,  Have  I  so  often  risked  my  life  for  the 
goods  and  gold  of  others,  and  should  I  not  do  so  for 
the  sake  of  my  knightly  word  ? 

Eliz.  Thus  does  fame  speak  of  thee. 

Goetz.  They  shall  not  rob  me  of  this  honor.  They 
have  taken  from  me  all — property — liberty — 

Eliz.  I  happened  once  to  stand  in  an  inn  near  the 
Lords  of  Millenberg  and  Singlingen,  who  knew  me 
not — Then  I  experienced  rapture  as  at  the  birth  of  my 
first-born :  they  extolled  thee  to  each  other,  and  said, 
He  is  the  mirror  of  knighthood,  noble  and  merciful  in 
prosperity,  dauntless  and  true  in  misfortune. 

Goetz.  Let  them  show  me  where  I  have  preferred 
my  interest  to  my  honor.  God  knows,  my  ambition 
has  ever  been  to  labor  for  my  neighbor  as  for  myself, 
and  to  acquire  the  fame  of  a  gallant  and  irreproach- 
able knight,  rather  than  princedoms  or  power ;  and, 
God  be  praised!  I  have  gained  the  meed  of  my 
labor. 

Enter  GEORGE  and  LEKSE  with  game. 

Goetz.  Good  luck  to  my  gallant  huntsmen ! 

Geo.  Such  are  we  become  from  gallant  cavaliers — 
Boots  can  be  cut  down  into  buskins. 

Lerse.  The  chase  is  always  something — 'Tis  an 
image  of  war. 

Geo.  Yes — if  we  were  not  always  crossed  by  these 
imperial  gamekeepers.  Don't  you  recollect,  my  Lord, 
how  you  prophesied  we  should  become  huntsmen  when 
the  world  mended  ?  We  are  become  so  without  any 
great  chance  of  the  other  event. 

Goetz.  What  goes  on  without  ? — We  are  cooped  up 
here  in  a  circle. 

Geo.  These  are  mark-worthy  times! — For  eight 
days  a  horrible  comet  has  been  seen — all  Germany 
fears  that  it  denotes  the  death  of  the  Emperor,  who  is 
very  ill. 

Goetz.  Ill  ?    Our  weal  then  is  at  an  end. 

Lerse.  And  in  the  neighborhood  here  are  shocking 
commotions;  the  peasants  have  made  a  formidable 
insurrection. 

Goetz.  Where? 

Lerse.  In  the  heart  of  Swabia ;  they  plunder,  burn, 
and  slay.  I  fear  me  they  will  sack  the  whole  coun- 
try. 

Geo.  It  is  a  horrible  warfare !  They  have  already 
arisen  in  a  hundred  places,  and  daily  increase  in 
number.  A  hurricane  too  has  lately  torn  up  whole 
forests;  and  in  the  place  where  the  insurrection 
began,  have  been  seen  in  the  sky  two  fiery  swords 
crossing  each  other. 

Goetz.  God  preserve  my  poor  friends  and  neigh- 
bors! 

Geo.  Alas !  that  we  dare  not  ride  out !       [Exeunt. 


ACT  V.— SCENE  I. 

Scene,  a  Village  plundered  by  the  insurgent  Peasantry. 
Shrieks  and  tumult.  Women,  old  Men,  and  Chil- 
dren fly  across  the  stage. 

Old  Man.  Away!  away!  fly  from  the  murdering 
dogs. 

Woman.  Sacred  Heaven !  How  blood-red  is  the 
heaven !  how  blood-red  the  rising  sun ! 

Another.  'Tis  fire ! 

A  Third.  My  husband !  my  husband ! 

Old  Man.  Away !  away  ! — To  the  wood ! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Link  and  Insurgents. 
Link.  Whoever  opposes  you,  down  with  him  !  Let 
none  of  the  booty  be  left — Plunder  clean  and  quick — 
We  must  soon  set  fire — 

Enter  Mezler  coming  down  the  hill. 

Mez.  How  goes  it,  Link  ? 

Link.  Look  round ;  you  are  in  at  the  death — From 
whence  ? 

Mez.  From  Weinsberg.    There  was  a  feast ! 

Link.  How? 

Mez.  We  stabbed  them  all,  in  such  heaps  it  was  a 
joy  to  see  it ! 

Link.  All  whom  ? 

Mez.  Ditrich  von  Weiler  led  up  the  dance — There 
was  sport  for  thee!  We  were  all  in  a  raging  heap 
round  the  church  steeple.  He  looked  out  and  wished 
to  treat  with  us — Baf ! — a  ball  through  his  head — Up 
we  rushed  like  a  tempest,  and  the  fellow  soon  made 
his  exit  by  the  window. 

Link.  Huzza! 

Mez.  (to  the  peasants).  Ye  dogs,  must  I  find  you 
legs  ?    How  they  gape  and  loiter,  the  asses ! 

Link.  Burn  away!  Kill  and  roast  them  in  the 
flames !    Out  with  your  knives ! 

Mez.  Then  we  brought  out  Helfenstein,  Elters- 
hofen,  thirteen  of  the  nobility — in  all  eighty.  What 
a  shouting  and  jubilee  among  our  boys  as  they  broke 
loose  upon  the  long  row  of  miserable  rich  sinners! 
Heaven  and  earth !  how  they  struggled  and  stared  on 
each  other !  We  surrounded  them,  and  killed  every 
soul  with  pikes. 

Link.  Why  was  not  I  there  ? 

Mez.  Never  did  I  see  such  fun! 

Link.  On  !  on ! Bring  all  out ! 

Peasant.  All's  clear. 

Link.  Then  fire  the  place  at  the  four  corners. 

Mez.  'Twill  make  a  fine  bonfire ! — Hadst  thou  seen 
how  the  fellows  writhed  in  a  heap,  and  croaked  like 
frogs!  It  warmed  my  heart  like  a  cup  of  brandy. 
There  was  one  Rexinger  there,  a  fellow  that,  when  he 
went  to  hunt  with  his  white  plume  and  his  flaxen 
locks,  used  to  drive  us  before  him  like  dogs,  and  with 
dogs.    I  had  not  seen  him  all  the  while,  when  sud- 


846 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


denly  his  droll  visage  looked  me  full  in  the  face — 
Push !  went  the  spear  between  his  ribs — and  there 
lie  lay  stretched  all-fours  above  his  companions.  The 
fellows  tumbled  over  each  other,  like  the  hares  that 
were  driven  together  at  their  grand  hunting  parties. 

Link.  It  smokes  already  !  [The  village  burns. 

M  kz.  All's  in  flames ! — Come,  let  us  with  the  booty 
to  the  main  body ;  it  halts  betwixt  this  and  Heilbron. 
They  wish  to  choose  a  captain  whom  every  one  will 
respect,  for  we  are  but  equals ; — they  feel  it,  and  turn 
restive. 

Link.  Whom  do  they  think  of? 

Mez.  Maximilian  Stumf,  or  Goetz  of  Berlichingen. 

Link.  That's  well.  'Twould  give  the  thing  credit 
should  Goetz  accept  it.  He  has  been  ever  held  a 
worthy  independent  knight.  Away!  away!  Draw 
together ! — We  march  towards  Heilbron. 

Mez.  The  fire  will  light  us  on  our  way.  Hast  thou 
seen  the  great  comet  ? 

Link.  Yes — It  is  a  dreadful  ghastly  sign !  As  we 
marched  by  night  we  saw  it  well :  it  went  towards 
Eins. 

Mez.  And  was  visible  for  an  hour  and  a  quarter, 
like  an  arm  brandishing  a  sword,  and  bloody  red  ! 

Link.  Didst  thou  mark  the  three  stars  at  the  sword's 
hilt  and  point? 

Mez.  And  the  broad  black  clouds,  illuminated  by 
a  thousand  thousand  streamers  like  lances  and  little 
swords  ? 

Link.  I  saw  it  well — and  beneath  a  pale  white, 
crossed  with  fiery  ruddy  flames,  and  among  them 
grisly  figures  with  shaggy  hair  and  beards. 

Mez.  Did  you  see  them,  too? — And  how  they  all 
swam  about  as  if  in  a  sea  of  blood,  and  struggled  all 
in  confusion,  enough  to  drive  one  mad. 

Link.  Away!  away!  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  II. 

Scene  changes  to  an  open  country.    In  the  distance  two 
Villager  and  an  Abbey  are  burning. 

The  Insurgents  Kohl,  Wild,  and  Maximilian 

Stumf. 
Stumf.  You  cannot  wish  me  for  your  leader;  it 
were  bad  for  you  and  for  me :  I  am  a  vassal  of  the 
Palsgrave,  and  how  shall  I  arm  against  my  liege 
Lord  ?  Besides,  you  would  suspect  I  acted  not  from 
the  heart. 

Kohl.  We  knew  well  thou  wouldst  have  some  eva- 
sion. 

Enter  GEORGE,  LERSE,  and  GOETZ. 
Goetz.  What  would  ye  with  me  ? 
Kohl.  You  must  be  our  captain. 
Goetz.  I  am  under  ban  :  I  cannot  quit  my  territory. 
Wild.  That's  no  excuse. 
Goetz.  And  were  I  free,  and  you  dealing  with  the 


lords  and  nobles  as  you  did  at  Weinsberg,  and  rav- 
aging and  plundering  the  whole  lands,  and  should 
request  me  to  be  an  abettor  of  your  shameless  raving 
doings — rather  than  be  your  captain,  you  should  slay 
me  like  a  mad  dog! 

Kohl.  That  should  not  be  done,  were  it  to  do  again. 

Stumf.  That's  the  very  misfortune,  that  they  have 
no  leader  whom  they  honor,  and  who  may  bridle 
their  fury!  I  beseech  thee,  Goetz,  take  that  office 
upon  thee!  I  will  be  thy  witness  and  thy  surety 
against  the  ban.  The  princes  will  be  grateful ;  all 
Germany  will  thank  thee — Thou  may'st  persuade 
them  to  peace ;  the  country  and  its  inhabitants  will 
be  saved. 

Goetz.  Why  dost  thou  not  take  it  thyself? 

Stumf.  They  have  excused  me. 

Kohl.  We  have  no  time  for  dallying  and  useless 
speeches — Short  and  good ! — Goetz,  be  our  chief,  or 
look  to  thy  castle  and  thy  head !  Take  two  hours  to 
consider  of  it. 

Goetz.  To  what  purpose  ?  I  am  resolved  now  as  I 
shall  be  then.  Why  are  ye  risen  up  in  arms  ?  If  to 
recover  your  rights  and  freedom,  why  do  you  lay  waste 
the  land  ?  Will  you  abstain  from  such  evil  doings, 
and  deal  as  men  who  know  what  they  want  ? — then 
will  I  be  your  chief  for  eight  days,  and  help  you  in 
your  lawful  and  orderly  demands. 

Wild.  What  was  done  was  done  in  the  first  heat, 
and  we  only  needed  thy  prudence  to  have  prevented 
it. 

Kohl.  Thou  must  be  ours  at  least  for  a  quarter  of 
a  year. 

Stumf.  Say  four  weeks — that  will  satisfy  both. 

Goetz.  Well,  then,  as  far  as  regards  me 

Kohl.  And  we  agree ! 

Goetz.  But  you  must  promise  to  send  the  treaty  you 
have  made  with  me  in  writing  to  all  your  troops,  and 
to  punish  infringers. 

Wild.  Well — it  shall  be  done. 

Goetz.  Then  I  bind  myself  to  you  for  four  weeks. 

Stumf.  Good ! — in  what  thou  doest,  take  care  of 
our  noble  lord  the  Palsgrave. 

Kohl  {aside).  Watch  that  none  speak  to  him  with- 
out our  knowledge. 

Goetz.  Lerse,  go  to  my  wife — Stay  with  her — you 
shall  soon  have  news  of  me. 

[Exeunt  Goetz,  George,  Lerse,  and  some 
peasants. 

Enter  Mezler,  Link,  and  their  Followers. 

Mez.  What  hear  we  of  a  treaty?  To  what  pur- 
pose the  treaty  ? 

Link.  It  is  shameful  to  make  any  such  bargain. 

Kohl.  We  know  as  well  what  to  do  as  you ;  and 
will  do  or  let  alone  as  we  please. 

Wild.  This  raging,  and  burning,  and  murdering 
must  have  an  end  one  day  sooner  or  later ;  and  by 
renouncing  it  just  now,  we  gain  a  brave  leader. 

Mez.  How  !  An  end  ?  Thou  traitor !  why  are  we 
here  but  to  avenge  ourselves  on  our  enemies,  and  en- 


GOETZ  OF  BERLICHINGEN. 


847 


rich  ourselves  at  their  expense  ?    Some  slave  of  the 
nobles  has  been  tampering  with  thee. 

Kohl.  Come,  Wild,  he  is  mad. 

[Exeunt  Wild  and  KOHL. 

Mez.  Ay,  go  your  way — few  bands  will  stick  by 
you.  The  villains! — Link,  we'll  set  on  our  friends 
here  to  burn  Miltenberg  instantly;  and  when  they 
make  a  bustle  about  the  treaty,  we'll  cut  their  heads 
off  that  made  it. 

Link.  We  have  the  great  body  of  peasants  still  on 
our  side.  [Exeunt  with  insurgents. 


SCENE  III. 

A  Hill,  and  prospect  of  the  country.    In  the  flat  scene 
a  Mill.    A  body  of  Horsemen  ready  to  mount. 

Weislingen  comes  out  of  the  mill,  followed  by 
Francis  and  a  Courier. 

Weis.  My  horse ! — Have  you  told  it  to  the  other 
nobles  ? 

Cour.  At  least  seven  standards  will  meet  you  in  the 
wood  behind  Miltenberg.  The  peasants  bend  their 
course  that  way.  Couriers  are  despatched  in  every 
direction  to  summon  all  your  confederates.  Our  plan 
cannot  fail,  for  they  say  there  is  division  among  them. 

Weis.  The  better.— Francis ! 

Fran.  Gracious  sir. 

Weis.  Discharge  thy  errand  punctually — I  bind  it 
upon  thy  soul.  Give  her  the  letter — She  must  from 
the  Court  to  my  castle — instantly. — Thou  must  see  her 
departure,  and  send  me  notice  of  it. 

Fran.  Your  commands  shall  be  obeyed. 

Weis.  Tell  her  she  shall  go.  ( To  the  courier.)  Carry 
\is  the  nearest  and  best  road. 

Cour.  We  must  go  round;  all  the  rivers  are  up 
with  the  late  dreadful  rains.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IV. 


Jaxthausen. 


Elizabeth  and  Leese. 

Lerse.  Gracious  lady,  be  comforted ! 

Eliz.  Alas !  Lerse,  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  as  he 
took  leave  of  me.    It  is  dreadful,  dreadful ! 

Lerse.  He  will  soon  return. 

Eliz.  It  is  not  that.  When  he  went  to  wage  hon- 
orable war,  never  did  his  danger  sit  so  heavy  at  my 
heart — I  then  rejoiced  at  his  return,  which  now  I  fear. 

Lerse.  So  noble  a  man — 

Eliz.  Call  him  not  so — There  lies  the  new  misery. 
The  miscreants !— they  threatened  to  murder  his  fam- 
ily and  burn  the  castle.  Should  he  return,  gloomy, 
gloomy  is  the  prospect.  His  enemies  will  raise  scan- 
dalous falsehoods  in  accusation  against  him,  which  he 
never  can  disprove. 


Lerse.  He  will,  and  can. 

Eliz.  He  has  broken  his  ban : — Canst  thou  say  No  ? 

Lerse.  No  ! — he  was  constrained ;  and  where  is 
there  reason  to  condemn  him  ? 

Eliz.  Malice  seeks  not  reasons,  but  pretexts.  He 
has  joined  himself  to  rebels,  malefactors,  and  murder- 
ers— has  become  their  chief.    Say  No  to  that. 

LERSE.  Cease  to  torture  yourself  and  me.  They 
have  solemnly  sworn  to  abjure  all  such  doings  as  at 
Weinsberg.  Did  not  I  myself  hear  them  say,  in  half 
remorse,  that  had  not  that  been  done  already  it  should 
never  have  been  done?  Must  not  the  princes  and 
nobles  return  him  their  best  thanks  for  having  under- 
taken the  dangerous  office  of  leading  these  unruly 
people,  in  order  to  restrain  their  rage,  and  to  save 
their  lives  and  lands? 

Eliz.  Thou  art  an  affectionate  advocate.  Should 
they  take  him  prisoner,  deal  with  him  as  a  rebel,  and 
bring  his  gray  hairs Lerse,  I  could  run  mad ! 

Lerse.  Send  sleep  to  refresh  her  body,  dear  Father 
of  mankind,  if  thou  deniest  comfort  to  her  soul ! 

Eliz.  George  promised  to  bring  news — but  he  will 
not  dare  attempt  it. — They  are  worse  than  prisoners. 
Well  I  know  they  are  watched  like  enemies. — The 
gallant  boy !  he  would  not  quit  his  master. 

Lerse.  The  very  heart  within  me  bled  as  I  left  him. 
Had  you  not  needed  my  help,  all  the  dangers  of  grisly 
death  should  not  have  separated  us. 

Eliz.  I  know  not  where  Seckingen  is. — Could  I  but 
send  a  message  to  Maria ! 

LERSE.  Do  you  write : — I  will  provide  for  that. 

[Exeunt. 


SCENE  V. 

A  Village. 

Enter  Goetz  and  George. 
Goetz.  To  horse,  George  !  Quick !  I  see  Milten- 
berg burn — Is  it  thus  they  keep  the  treaty  ? — Ride  to 
them — Tell  them  my  purpose. — The  murderous  incen- 
diaries!— I  renounce  them — Let  them  make  a  very 
ruffian  their  captain,  not  me. — Quick,  George !  {Exit 
George.)  Would  I  were  a  thousand  miles  from 
hence,  though  I  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  deepest 
dungeon  in  Turkey ! — Could  I  but  come  off  with 
honor  from  them  ! — I  have  contradicted  them  through 
the  whole  day,  and  told  them  the  bitterest  truths,  that 
they  might  be  weaiy  of  me  and  let  me  go. 

Enter  an  Unknoum. 

Un.  God  greet  you,  gallant  sir ! 

Goetz.  I  thank  you  ! — Your  name  ? 

Un.  It  is  not  necessary.  I  came  to  tell  you  that 
your  life  is  in  danger — The  insurgents  are  weary  of 
receiving  from  you  such  harsh  language,  and  are 
resolved  to  rid  themselves  of  you — Lower  your  tone, 
or  endeavor  to  escape  from  them ;  and  God  be  with 
you !  [Exit. 


848 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


Goetz.  In  this  way  to  lead  thy  life,  Goetz!  and 
thus  to  end  it ! — But  be  it  so — My  death  will  be  the 
clearest  proof  to  the  world  that  I  had  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  the  miscreants. 

Enter  Insurgents. 

1ST  In.  Captain,  they  are  prisoners — they  are  slain ! 

Goetz.  Who? 

2d  In.  They  who  burned  Miltenberg — A  troop  of 
confederated  cavalry  rushed  on  them  from  behind  a 
hill,  and  overpowered  them  at  once. 

Goetz.  They  have  their  reward — Oh,  George! 
George ! — They  have  found  him  among  the  caitiffs — 
My  George  I  my  George ! 

Enter  Insurgents  in  confusion. 

Link.  Up,  sir  captain,  up! — Here  is  no  dallying 
time — The  enemy  is  near,  and  in  force. 

Goetz.  Who  burned  Miltenberg  ? 

Mez.  If  you  mean  to  make  a  quarrel,  we'll  soon 
show  you  we'll  end  it. 

Kohl.  Look  to  your  own  safety  and  ours! — 
Up! 

Goetz  (to  Mezler).  Darest  thou  threaten  me,  thou 

worthless Thinkest  thou  to  awe  me,  because  thy 

garments  are   clotted  with   the  blood   of  murdered 
nobles  ? 

Mez.  Berlichingen ! 

Goetz.  Darest  thou  pronounce  my  name? — My 
children  will  be  ashamed  to  bear  it  after  such  con- 
tamination. 

Mez.  From  thee  this,  villain?  —  Slave  of  the 
nobles! 

[Goetz  strikes  him  down — he  dies.  Exit  Goetz; 
the  rest  disperse  in  confusion.    Alarm. 

Kohl.  Ye  are  mad ! — The  enemy  breaks  in  on  all 
hands,  and  you  dally. 

Link.  Away!  away! 

[Cries  and  tumult.     The  insurgents  fly  across 
the  stage. 

Enter  Weislingen  and  Troopers. 
Weis.  Pursue!  pursue! — Stop  neither  for  darkness 
nor  rain. — I  hear  Goetz  is  among  them ;  see  he  escape 
you  not — He  is  sore  wounded,  say  our  friends. 
(Exeunt  troopers.)  And  when  I  have  thee — It  will  lie 
doing  him  a  favor  to  execute  his  sentence  of  death  in 
prison — and  then  my  foolish  heart  may  beat  more 
freely.  [Exit. 


SCENE  VI. 

Scene  changes  to  the  front  of  a  Gipsy  Hut  in  a.  wild 
forest. — Night. — A  fire  before  the  Hut,  at  which  sits 
the  Mother  of  the  Gipsies  and  a  Girl — It  rains  and 
thunders. 
Mother.  Throw  some  fresh  straw  up  the  thatch, 

daughter :  it  rains  fearfully. 


Enter  a  Gipsy  Boy. 

Boy.  A  dormouse,  mother ! — and  here,  two  field 
mice! 

Mother.  Skin  them  and  roast  them,  and  thou  shalt 
have  a  cap  of  their  skins — Thou  bleedest ! 

BOY.  Dormouse  bit  me. 

Mother.  Gather  some  thorns  that  the  fire  may 
burn  bright  when  thy  father  comes;  he  will  be  wet 
through  and  through. 

Other  Gipsy  Women  enter  with  Children  at  their 
backs. 

1st  Woman.  Hast  thou  fared  well  ? 

2d  Woman.  Ill  enough — The  whole  country  is  in 
uproar — one's  life  is  not  safe  a  moment.  Two  villages 
are  in  a  light  flame. 

1ST  Woman.  So  it  was  the  fire  that  glared  in  the 
sky — I  looked  at  it  long;  for  flaming  meteors  have 
become  so  common. 

The  Captain  of  the  Gipsies  enters  with  three  of  his 
gang. 

Capt.  Heard  ye  the  wild  huntsman  ? 

1ST  Woman.  He  passed  by  us  but  this  minute. 

Capt.  How  the  hounds  gave  tongue! — Wow! 
wow! 

2d  Man.  How  the  whips  clang ! 

3d  Man.  And  the  huntsman  cheered  them — Hollo 
—ho! 

Mother.  'Tis  the  devil's  chase. 

Capt.  We  have  been  fishing  in  troubled  waters. 
The  peasants  rob  each  other ;  we  may  be  well  par- 
doned helping  them. 

2d  Woman.  What  hast  thou  got,  Wolf? 

Wolf.  A  hare  and  a  cock — there's  for  the  spit — A 
bundle  of  linen — some  kitchen-ware — and  a  horse's 
bridle.— What  hast  thou,  Sticks? 

Sticks.  A  woollen  jacket  have  I,  and  a  pair  of 
stockings,  and  one  boot,  and  a  flint  and  tinder- 
box. 

Mother.  It  is  all  wet  as  mire,  and  the  clothes  are 
bloody.  I'll  dry  them — give  me  here  I  (Trampling 
without.) 

Capt.  Hark !    A  horse ! — Go,  see  who  it  is. 

Enter  Goetz  on  horseback. 

Goetz.  I  thank  thee,  God!  I  see  fire — they  are 
gipsies. — My  wounds  bleed  sorely — my  foes  close  be- 
hind !— Great  God,  thou  endest  dreadfully  with  me ! 

Capt.  Is  it  in  peace  thou  comest? 

Goetz.  I  crave  help  from  you— My  wounds  are  stiff 
with  cold — Assist  me  from  horse ! 

Capt.  Help  him ! — A  gallant  warrior  in  appearance 
and  language. 

Wolf  (aside).  'Tis  Goetz  of  Berlichingen ! 

Capt.  Welcome!  welcome!  What  we  have  is 
yours. 

Goetz.  I  thank  you. 

Capt.  Come  to  my  hut. 

[Exeunt  to  the  hut. 


GOETZ   OF   BEKLICHINGEN. 


849 


SCENE  VII. 
Scene,  inside  of  the  Hut. 

Captain,  Gipsies,  and  GOETZ. 

Capt.  Call  our  mother— let  her  bring  blood-wort 
and  bandages.  (Goetz  warms  himself.)  Here  is  my 
holiday-doublet. 

Goetz.  God  reward  you!  {The  mother  binds  his 
wounds.) 

Capt.  I  rejoice  from  my  heart  you  are  here. 

Goetz.  Do  you  know  me  ? 

Capt.  Who  does  not  know  you,  Goetz?  Our  lives 
and  hearts'  blood  are  yours. 

Enter  Gipsy  Man. 

Gipsy.  Horsemen  come  through  the  wood — They 
are  confederates. 

Capt.  Your  pursuers ! — They  shall  not  reach  you — 
Away,  Sticks,  call  the  others!  we  know  the  passes 
better  than  they — We  shall  bring  them  down  ere  they 
are  aware  of  us. 

[Exeunt  captain  and  men-gipsies  with  their  guns. 

Goetz  (alone).  Oh,  Emperor !  Emperor !  Robbers 
protect  thy  children.  (A  sharp  fire  of  musketry  is 
heard.)    The  wild  foresters!     Steady  and  true! 

Enter  Women. 

Women.  Save  yourself! — the  enemy  have  over- 
powered us. 

Goetz.  Where  is  my  horse  ? 

Women.  Here ! 

Goetz  {girds  his  horse  and  mounts  without  his 
armor).  For  the  last  time  shall  you  feel  my  arm — 
Never  was  it  so  weak.  [Exit. — Tumult. 

Women.  He  gallops  to  join  our  party.        [Firing. 

Enter  Wolf. 
Wolf.  Away!   away!     All  is  lost. — The  captain 
shot  dead  ! — Goetz  a  prisoner. 

[  The  women  scream  and  fly  into  the  wood. 


SCENE  VIII. 
Scene  changes  to  Adda's  Bedchamber. 

Enter  Adela  with  a  letter. 

Adela.  He  or  I !— The  presumptuous — to  threaten 
me!  What  glides  through  the  antechamber?  (A  low 
knock  at  the  door.)     Who  is  without? 

Fran,  {without).  Open,  gracious  lady  ! 

Adela.  Frank ! — He  well  deserves  that  I  should 
open  to  him.     {Admits  him.) 

Fran,  {throws  himself  on  her  neck).  My  dear,  my 
gracious  lady ! 

Adela.  Shameless  being ! — What  if  any  one  heard 
you? 

54 


Fran.  Oh,  all — all  are  asleep. 

Adela.  What  wouldst  thou  ? 

Fran.  I  cannot  rest.  The  threats  of  my  master— 
your  lot— mine. 

Adela.  He  was  incensed  against  me  when  you 
parted  from  him  ? 

Fran.  He  was  as  I  have  never  seen  him. — To  my 
castle,  said  he  ;  she  must,  she  shall  go. 

Adela.  And  must  we  obey  ? 

Fran.  I  know  not,  dear  lady ! 

Adela.  Thou  foolish,  betrayed  boy ! — thou  dost  not 
see  where  this  will  end. — Here  he  knows  I  am  in 
safety— Long  has  he  envied  my  freedom— He  desires 
to  have  me  at  his  castle— then  has  he  the  power  to  use 
me  as  his  hate  shall  dictate. 

Fran.  He  shall  not ! 

Adela.  Wilt  thou  prevent  him  ? 

Fran.  He  shall  not ! 

Adela.  I  foresee  the  whole  misery  of  my  lot.  He 
will  tear  me  by  force  from  his  castle  to  immure  me  in 
a  cloister. 

Fran.  Hell  and  death ! 

Adela.  Wilt  thou  rescue  me  ? 

Fran.  All— all! 

Adela  (throws  herself  weeping  upon  his  neck). 
Francis ! — Oh,  rescue  us ! 

Fran.  I  will  tear  the  heart  from  his  body ! 

Adela.  No  violence ! — You  shall  carry  a  letter  to 
him  full  of  submission  and  obedience— Then  give  him 
this  vial  in  his  wine. 

Fran.  Give  it !— Thou  shalt  be  free. 

Adela.  Free !  And  then  no  more  shalt  thou  need 
to  slip  to  me  trembling  and  in  fear— no  more  shall  I 
need  anxiously  to  say,  "  Away,  Frank !  the  morning 
dawns."  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  IX. 
The  Street  before  the  Prison  at  Heilbron. 

Elizabeth  and  Leese. 

Lerse.  God  relieve  your  distress,  my  gracious  lady ; 
— Maria  is  come. 

Eliz.  God  be  praised !— Lerse,  we  have  sunk  into 
the  abyss  of  misery— Now  my  forebodings  are  ful- 
filled !— A  prisoner— secured  as  an  assassin  and  male- 
factor in  the  deepest  dungeon. 

Lerse.  I  know  all. 

Eliz.  Know!  Thou  knowest  nothing.  The  dis- 
tress is  too  great  to  be  comprehended— His  age,  his 
wounds,  a  slow  fever — and,  more  than  all,  the  gloom 
of  his  own  mind — There  lies  the  mortal  disorder! 

Lerse.  Ay,  and  that  Weislingen  should  be  com- 
missioner ! 

Eliz.  Weislingen? 

Lerse.  He  is  despatched  with  uncontrollable,  un- 
heard-of powers.  Link  and  the  other  chiefs  have 
been  burnt  alive — two  hundred  broken  upon  the 
wheel,  beheaded,  quartered,  and  impaled.    The  couu- 


850 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


try  all  round  shows  like  a  shambles  where  human 
flesh  is  rife  and  cheap. 

ELIZ.  Weislingen  commissioner! — Oh,  Heaven! — 
A  ray  of  hope  ! — .Maria  shall  to  him :  he  cannot  refuse 
her.  He  had  ever ailexible  heart;  and  when  he  sees 
her  whom  he  once  so  loved,  whom  he  has  made  so 
miserable Where  is  she? 

Lerse.  Still  in  the  inn. 

Eliz.  Bring  me  to  her.  She  must  away  instantly. 
I  fear  all.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  X. 

Scene  changes  to  the  Castle  of  Weislingen. 

Weislingen  alone. 
Weis.  I  am  so  sick,  so  weak — My  very  bones  are 
empty  and  hollow — this  wretched  fever  has  consumed 
their  very  marrow.  No  rest,  no  sleep,  day  nor  night ! 
— and  in  the  night  such  ghastly  dreams !  Last  night 
again  I  met  Goetz  in  the  wood — He  waved  his  sword, 
and  again  defied  me  to  battle — I  grasped  mine,  my 
hand  failed  me.  In  sleep  as  in  reality  he  darted  on 
me  a  contemptuous  look,  sheathed  his  weapon  and 
went  behind  me — Dreadful  is  the  vision  as  the  scene 
it  represented.  He  is  a  prisoner;  yet  I  tremble  to 
think  of  him.  Miserable  man !  thy  own  voice  has 
condemned  him;  yet  thou  tremblest  like  a  malefactor 
before  the  vision  of  the  night— And  shall  he  die? 
Goetz!  Goetz!  we  guide  not  ourselves — Fiends  have 
empire  over  us,  and  lead  our  actions  after  their  own 
hellish  will,  and  to  our  eternal  perdition.  (Sits  down.) 
Weak!  Weak!  How  come  my  nails  so  discolored? 
— A  cold,  cold  wasting  sweat  drenches  every  limb — 
All  swims  before  my  eyes.  Could  I  but  sleep ! — Ha ! 
(Enter  Maria.)  Mother  of  God ! — Leave  me  in 
peace — leave  me  in  peace  ! — It  disappears  not.  She 
is  dead,  and  she  appears  to  the  traitor.  Leave  me, 
blessed  spirit !  Already  I  am  wretched  enough. 
Maria.  Weislingen,  I  am  no  spirit. 
Weis.  It  is  her  voice ! 

Maria.  I  come  to  implore  my  brother's  life  from 
thee — He  is  guiltless. 

Weis.  Hush ! — Maria,  angel  of  heaven  as  thou  art, 
thou  bringest  with  thee  the  pains  of  hell !  Speak  no 
more! 

Maria.  And  must  my  brother  die? — Weislingen, 
it  is  horrible  that  from  me  thou  must  hear  that  he  is 
guiltless;  that  it  is  my  lot  in  bitter  sorrow  to  restrain 
thee  from  the  most  abominable  murder.  Thy  soul  is 
sunk  low,  low  indeed !     Can  this  be  Adelbert? 

Weis.  Thou  seest — the  consuming  breath  of  death 
hath  blasted  me — my  strength  sinks  to  the  grave — I 
die  in  misery,  and  thou  comest  to  drive  me  to  despair 
— Could  I  but  speak,  thy  bitterest  hate  would  melt 
into  sorrow  and  compassion.  Oh,  Maria,  Maria ! 
Maria.  Weislingen,  my  brother  also  is  ill,  and  in 


prison — His  severe  wounds — his  age — Oh,  couldst  thou 
see  his  gray  hairs ! — Weislingen,  we  too  despair. 
WEIS.  Enough ! — Francis  ! 

Enter  Francis  in  great  agitation. 

Fran.  Gracious  sir ! 

Weis.  The  papers  here,  Francis.  (He  gives  them — 
Weislingen  tears  a  packet,  and  shows  Maria  a  paper.) 
— Here  is  thy  brother's  sentence  of  death  subscribed ! 

Maria.  God  in  heaven ! 

Weis.  And  thus  I  tear  it.  He  lives !  But  can  I 
restore  what  I  have  destroyed  ? — Weep  not  so,  Fran- 
cis !  My  good  youth,  my  distress  lies  deep  at  thy 
heart. 

[Francis  throws  himself  at  his  feet,  and  clasps  his 
knees. 

Maria  (apart).  He  is  ill — very  ill.  His  appearance 
rends  my  heart. — I  loved  him !  As  I  again  approach 
him,  I  feel  how  dearly — 

Weis.  Francis,  arise,  and  cease  to  weep — I  may  re- 
cover !     Hope  leaves  only  the  dead. 

Fran.  You  will  not !    You  must  die  ! 

Weis.  Must? 

Fran,  (beside  himself).  Poison!  poison! — from 
your  wife !     I — I — gave  it!  [Bushes  out. 

Weis.  Follow  him,  Maria ;  he  is  desperate. 

[Exit  Maria. 

Weis.  Poison  from  my  wife ! — Alas !  alas !  I  feel  it. 
Torture  and  death ! 

Maria  (within).  Help!  help! 

Weis.  (attempts  to  rise,  but  cannot).  God! — not 
even  that. 

Maria  (re-entering).  He  is  gone ! — He  threw  him- 
self desperately  from  a  window  of  the  hall  into  the 
river. 

Weis.  It  is  well  with  him ! — Thy  brother  is  out  of 
danger !  The  other  commissioners,  Seckendorf  ex- 
cepted, are  his  friends — They  will  readily  allow  him 
to  ward  himself  upon  his  knightly  word. — Farewell, 
Mary !     Now  go. 

Maria.  I  will  stay  by  thee— Thou  poor  forsaken ! 

Weis.  Poor  and  forsaken  indeed! — 0  God,  thou 
art  a  dreadful  avenger ! My  wife ! 

Maria.  Remove  from  thee  that  thought — Turn  to 
the  throne  of  mercy. 

Weis.  Go,  thou  gentle  soul !  witness  not  my  mis- 
ery !  Horrible !  Even  thy  company,  Maria,  even  the 
attendance  of  my  only  comforter,  is  agony. 

Maria  (aside).  Strengthen  me,  Heaven!— My  soul 
suffers  as  his. 

Weis.  Alas !  alas !     Poison  from  my  wife ! My 

Francis  seduced  by  the  detestable !— She  waits- 
hearkens  after  every  horse's  hoof  for  the  messenger 
that  brings  her  news  of  my  death— And  thou  too, 
Maria,  wherefore  art  thou  come  to  awake  every  slum- 
bering recollection  of  my  sins?  Leave  me,  leave  me, 
that  I  may  die ! 

MARIA.  Let  me  stay !  Thou  art  alone :— think  me 
thy  nurse— Forget  all— May  God  forgive  thee  as  freely 
as  I  forgive  I 


GOETZ   OF   BERLICHINGEN. 


851 


Weis.  Thou  spirit  of  love !  pray  for  me !  pray  for 
me ! — My  lips  are  locked. 

Maria.  He  will  forgive  thee — Thou  art  weak. 

Weis.  I  die  !  I  die ! — and  yet  I  cannot  die — In  the 
fearful  contest  betwixt  life  and  death  are  the  pains  of 
hell. 

Maria.  Merciful  Father,  have  compassion  upon 
him ! — Grant  him  one  glance  of  thy  love,  that  his 
heart  may  be  opened  to  comfort,  and  his  soul  to  the 
hope  of  eternal  life,  even  in  the  agony  of  death ! 


SCENE  XI. 

A  narrow  Vault  dimly  illuminated. — The  Judges  of 

the  Secret  Tribunal  discovered  seated,  all  muffled  in 

black  cloaks,  and  silent. 

Eldest  Judge.  Judges  of  the  Secret  Tribunal, 
sworn  by  the  cord  and  the  steel  to  be  unpitying  in 
justice,  to  judge  in  secret,  and  to  avenge  in  secret,  like 
the  Deity !  are  your  hands  clean  and  hearts  pure  ? — 
Raise  them  to  heaven,  and  cry,  Woe  upon  misdoers  ! 

All.  Woe !  woe ! 

Eldest  Judge.  Crier,  begin  the  diet  of  judgment. 

Crier.  I  cry  for  accusation  against  misdoers ! 
Whose  heart  is  pure,  whose  hand  is  clean,  let  him 
accuse,  and  call  upon  the  steel  and  the  cord  for  Venge- 
ance !  vengeance !  vengeance ! 

Accuser  (comes  forward).  My  heart  is  pure  from 
misdeed,  and  my  hand  clean  from  innocent  blood  : — 
God  pardon  my  sins  of  ignorance,  and  frame  my  steps 
to  his  way ! — I  raise  my  hand  aloft,  and  cry  Venge- 
ance !  vengeance !  vengeance ! 

Eldest  Judge.  Vengeance  upon  whom  ? 

Accuser.  I  call  upon  the  cord  and  upon  the  steel 
for  vengeance  against  Adela  von  Weislingen.  She 
has  committed  adultery  and  murder — she  has  poisoned 
her  husband  by  the  hands  of  his  servant — the  servant 
hath  slain  himself— the  husband  is  dead. 

Eldest  Judge.  Swearest  thou  by  the  God  of  truth 
that  thy  accusation  is  true  ? 

Accuser.  I  swear. 

Eldest  Judge.  Dost  thou  take  upon  thy  own  head 
the  punishment  of  murder  and  adultery,  should  it  be 
found  false  ? 

Accuser.  I  take  it. 

Eldest  Judge.  Your  voices? 

[  They  converse  a  minute  in  low  whispers. 

Accuser.  Judges  of  the  Secret  Tribunal,  what  is 
your  doom  upon  Adela  von  Weislingen,  accused  of 
murder  and  adultery  ? 

Eldest  Judge.  She  shall  die !— shall  die  a  bitter 
and  double  death  !  By  the  double  doom  of  the  steel 
and  the  cord  shall  she  expiate  the  double  misdeed. 
Raise  your  hands  to  heaven,  and  cry,  Woe  unto  her ! 
— Be  she  given  to  the  hand  of  the  avenger. 

All.  Woe !  woe  ! 

Eldest  Judge.  Come  forth,  avenger!  (A  man 
advances.)    There  hast  thou  the  cord  and  the  steel ! — 


Within  eight  days  must  thou  take  her  from  before  the 
face  of  heaven :  wherever  thou  findest  her,  let  her  no 
longer  cumber  the  ground. — Judges,  ye  that  judge  in 
secret,  and  avenge  in  secret,  like  the  Deity,  God  keep 
your  hearts  from  wickedness,  and  your  hands  from 
innocent  blood !  {Exeunt. 


SCENE  XII. 

The  Court  of  an  Inn. 

Lerse  and  Maria. 

Maria.  The  horses  are  enough  rested;  we  will 
away,  Lerse. 

Lerse.  Stay  till  to-morrow ;  the  night  is  dreadful. 

Maria.  Lerse,  I  cannot  rest  till  I  have  seen  my 
brother.  Let  us  away :  the  weather  clears  up — we 
may  expect  a  fair  morning. 

Lerse.  Be  it  as  you  will.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  XIII. 

The  Prison  at  Hcilbron. 

GOETZ  and  Elizabeth. 

Eliz.  I  entreat  thee,  my  dear  husband,  be  com- 
forted! Thy  silence  distresses  me — thou  retirest 
within  thyself.  Come,  let  me  see  thy  wounds ;  they 
mend  daily.  In  this  moody  melancholy  I  know  thee 
no  longer. 

Goetz.  If  thou  seekest  Goetz,  he  is  long  since  gone ! 
One  by  one  they  have  robbed  me  of  all  I  held  dear — 
my  hand,  my  property,  my  freedom,  my  renown ! — 
My  life ! — what  is  that  to  what  I  have  lost  ? — What  ' 
hear  you  of  George?  Is  Lerse  gone  to  inquire  for 
George  ? 

Eliz.  He  is,  my  love !  Raise  yourself — you  will  6it 
more  easily. 

Goetz.  Whom  God  hath  struck  down  raises  himself 
no  more !  I  best  know  the  load  I  have  to  bear — Mis- 
fortune I  am  inured  to  support — But  now  it  is  not 
Weislingen  alone,  not  the  peasants  alone,  not  the 
death  of  the  Emperor,  or  my  wounds — it  is  the  whole 

united My  hour  is  come!   I  had  hoped  it  would 

have  come  only  with  my  death — But  His  will  be 
done! 

Eliz.  Wilt  thou  eat  any  thing? 

Goetz.  No,  my  love ! — Does  the  sun  shine  without  ? 

Eliz.  A  fine  spring  day. 

Goetz.  My  love,  wilt  thou  ask  the  keeper's  permis- 
sion for  me  to  walk  in  his  little  garden  for  half  an 
hour,  to  enjoy  the  clear  face  of  heaven,  the  open  air, 
and  the  blessed  sun? 

Eliz.  I  will — and  he  will  readily  grant  it.      [Exit. 


852 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WOEKS. 


SCENE  XIV. 

The  Garden  belonging  to  the  Prison. 

Lerse  and  Maria. 
Maria.  Go,  see  how  it  stands  with  them. 

[Exit  Lerse. 

Enter  Elizabeth  and  Keeper. 

ELIZ.  (to  the  keeper).  God  reward  your  kindness  and 
mercy  to  my  husband !  (Exit  keeper.) — Maria,  what 
bringest  thou  ? 

Maria.  Safety  to  my  brother! — But  my  heart  is 
torn  asunder — Weislingen  is  dead ! — poisoned  by  his 
wife. — My  husband  is  in  danger — the  princes  will  be 
too  powerful  for  him ;  they  say  he  is  surrounded  and 
besieged. 

Eliz.  Hearken  not  to  rumor;  and  let  not  Goetz 
remark  aught. 

Maria.  How  is  it  with  him  ? 

Eliz.  I  fear  he  will  hardly  long  survive  thy  return ; 

the  hand  of  the  Lord  is  heavy  on  him. And  George 

is  dead ! 

Maria.  George !    The  gallant  boy ! 

Eliz.  When  the  miscreants  were  burning  Milten- 
berg,  his  master  sent  him  to  check  their  villainy — At 
that  moment  a  body  of  cavalry  charged  upon  them ; 
had  they  all  behaved  as  George,  they  would  have 
given  a  good  account  of  them — Many  were  killed : 
and  poor  George — he  died  the  death  of  a  cavalier ! 

Maria.  Does  Goetz  know  it  ? 

Eliz.  We  conceal  it  from  him.  He  asks  me  ten 
times  a  day  about  him,  and  sends  me  as  often  to  see 
what  is  become  of  George.  I  fear  his  heart  will  not 
bear  this  last  wound. 

Maria.  O  God !  what  are  the  hopes  of  this  world ! 

Enter  Goetz,  Lerse,  and  Keepers. 
Goetz.  Almighty  God !  how  well  it  is  to  be  under 
thy  heaven!    How  free!    The  trees  put  forth  their 


buds,  and  all  the  world  hopes. Farewell,  my  chil- 
dren !  my  buds  are  crushed,  my  hope  is  in  the 
grave ! 

Eliz.  Shall  I  not  send  Lerse  to  the  cloister  for  thy 
son,  that  thou  mayest  see  and  bless  him  ? 

Goetz.  Leave  him  where  he  is — he  needs  not  my 
blessing — he  is  holier  than  I.  Upon  our  wedding, 
Elizabeth,  could  I  have  thought  I  should  die  thus ! — 
My  old  father  blessed  us,  and  a  succession  of  noble 
and  gallant  sons  arose  at  his  prayer — Thou  hast  not 

heard  him — I  am  the  last. Lerse,  thy  countenance 

cheers  me  in  the  hour  of  death,  as  in  our  most  noble 
fights :  then  my  spirit  encouraged  yours ;  now,  yours 

supports  mine. Oh  that  I  could  but  see  George 

once  more,  to  warm  myself  at  his  look ! — You  look 
down  and  weep — He  is  dead!  George  is  dead? — 
Die,  Goetz  !    Thou  hast  outlived  thyself — outlived  the 

noblest How  died  he? — Alas,  they  took  him  at 

Miltenberg,  and  he  is  executed  ? 

Eliz.  No — he  was  slain  there! — he  defended  his 
freedom  like  a  lion. 

Goetz.  God  be  praised ! — He  was  the  kindest  youth 

under  the  sun,  and  a  gallant. Now  dismiss  my 

soul — My  poor  wife !  I  leave  thee  in  a  wretched  world. 
Lerse,  forsake  her  not ! — Lock  your  hearts  carefully 
as  your  doors.  The  age  of  frankness  and  freedom  is 
past, — that  of  treachery  begins.  The  worthless  will 
gain  the  upper  hand  by  cunning,  and  the  noble  will 
fall  into  their  net.  Maria,  God  restore  thy  husband  to 
thee ! — may  he  never  fall  the  deeper  for  having  risen 
so  high!    Selbiss  is  dead — and  the  good  Emperor-- 

and  my  George Give  me  some  water ! Heavenly 

sky ! — Freedom !  freedom  !  [He  dies. 

Eliz.  Only  above !  above  with  thee ! — The  world  is 
a  prison-house. 

Maria.  Gallant  and  gentle  !  Woe  to  this  age  that 
has  lost  thee ! 

Lerse.  And  woe  to  the  future,  that  cannot  know 
theel 


INDEX. 


*'  Abbot,"  Verses  from  the,  684,  685. 
Abercorn,  Marchioness  of,  97,  n. 
,  Marquis  of,    suggestion   of,  re- 
garding a  passage  in  Marmion,  78,  n., 

dedication  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake 

to,  176. 
Abercromby,  Sir  Ralph,  tribute  to  the 

memory  of,  97. 
Adam,  Right  Hon.  William,  a  specimen 

of  minstrel  recitation  obtained  from, 

552,  553. 
Addison,  his  criticism  on  Chevy  Chase, 

539,  540. 
Adolphus,  J.  L.,  Esq.,  extracts  from  his 

Letters  on  the  Author  of  Waverley, 

385,  n.,  516,  n.,  526,  n.,  533. 
"  Ahriman,"  708. 

Albania,  a  poem,  extract  from,  610. 
Albyn's  Anthology,  Songs  written  for, 

654,  655,  656,  669,  670. 
Alexander  III.,  "  the  last  Scottish  king 

of  the  pure  Celtic  race,"  542. 
Alexandre,    Mons.,    the    ventriloquist, 

"  Lines  addressed  to,"  705. 
"  Alice  Brand,"  205,  246,  n. 
"  Allen-a-Dale,"  315. 
Alvanley,  Lady,  649,  n. 
Ambition,  personification  of,  271. 
"An  hour  with  thee,"  711. 
"  Ancient  Gaelic  Melody,"  673. 
"  Ancient  Mariner,"  Coleridge's,  468, 558. 
Ancram  Moor,  battle  of,  594. 
Anglo-Saxons,  poetry  of,  676. 
Angus,  Archibald,  sixth  Earl  of,  called 

"  Bell-the-Cat,"  122,  134,  163. 
Angus,  seventh  Earl  of,  30,  65,  187,  235. 
"Anne  of  Geierstein,"  Verses  from, 

71.5-17. 
Annual    Review,   the,    critical   notices 

from,  7,  22,  43. 
Anthony  Now  Now,  554. 
"  Antiquary,"  Verses  from  the,  657-60. 
Anxiety,  effect  of,  in  giving  acuteness  to 

the  organs  of  sense,  290,  349. 
Aram,  Eugene,  remarkable  case  of,  356. 
Arbuthnot,  Sir  William,  657,  n.,  696,  n. 
Archers,  English,  118,  161,  456,  494,  721, 

722. 
Ardoch,  Roman  camp  at,  255. 
Argentine,  Sir  Giles  de,  417,  459,  496. 
"  Ariosto,  Translation  from,"  668. 
"  Armin  and  Elvira,"  559. 
Arran,  Earl  of  (1569),  597,  n. 

,  Island  of,  442,  485. 

Arthur,  King,  145,  379,  386,  405,  406. 

Arthur's  Seat,  696. 

Artornish  Castle,  463. 

"As  lords  their  laborers'  hire  delay," 

707. 
Ascetic  religionists,  241. 
Ascham's    "Schoolmaster,"    note  from, 

405,  406. 
Ashton,  Lucy,  Song  of,  672. 
"Aspen,  The  House  of,  a  Tragedy," 

796. 
Athole,  John  de  Strathbogie,   Earl  of 

(temp.  Rob.  I.),  475. 
,  David  de   Strathbogie,   Earl   of 

(1335),  213,  n. 
"Auchindrane,  or  the  Ayrshire  Tra- 
gedy," 770. 


"  Avenel,  Mary,  The  White  Lady  to," 

681. 
Ayr,  loyalty  of  the  men  of,  rewarded  by 

King  Robert  Bruce,  452,  n. 


Baillie,  Joanna,  letter  to,  on  Rokeby, 
345.  Prologue  to  her  Family  Legend, 
635.  Dedication  to  her  of  MacDuff's 
Cross,  738. 

,  97,  523,  n.,  721,  n. 

"Balfour  of  Burley,  Epitaph  on,"  660. 

"  Ballad,"  332. 

"Ballad,  the  Ancient,  Essay  on 
Imitations  of,"  554. 

"Ballad,  the  Ancient,  Imitations 
of,"  572. 

Ballads  and  Poems,  ancient,  very  few 
manuscript  records  of  discovered,  543. 
Printed  in  Garlands,  ib. 

,  Collections  of,  by  Pepys,  543.  The 

Duke  of  Roxburghe,  ib.  An  anony- 
mous editor,  ib.  Myllar  and  Chepman, 
ib.  James  Watson,  544.  Allan  Ram- 
say, ib.  Dr.  Percy,  ib.  Evans,  547. 
David  Herd,  548.  Pinkerton,  ib.  Rit- 
son,  ib.  Scott  (the  Border  Minstrelsy), 
549.  Sir  J.  G.  Dalzell,  ib.  Robert 
Jamieson,  ib.  Motherwell,  550.  Fin- 
lay,  ib.  Kinloch,  ib.  C.  K.  Sharpe, 
ib.  Charles  Leslie,  ib.  Peter  Buchan, 
ib.    And  Rev.  C.  H.  Hartshorne,  551. 

" from  the  German,"  606-622. 

Ballantyne,  Mr.  James,  Border  Min- 
strelsy the  first  work  printed  by  him, 
549,  567.  Letters  from.- Scott  to,  227, 
229,  285,  299,  303,  306,  315,  346.  His 
remarks  on  John  Kemble's  retirement 
from  the  Edinburgh  stage,  665,  n. 
Constable's  sobriquets  of,  704. 

,  Mr.  John,  660. 

Bangor,  the  Monks  of,  666. 

"  Bannatyne  Club,  The,"  703. 

Bannatyne,  George,  compiler  of  ancient 
MSS.,  703,  704. 

Bannerman,  Miss  Anne,  her  Tales  of 
Superstition  and  Chivalry,  558. 

Bannockburn,  battle  of,  454;  stanza  18 
to  end  of  poem.  Also  notes,  pp.  491, 497. 

Bansters,  what,  548,  n. 

Barbauld,  Mrs.,  564. 

"Bard's  Incantation,  The,"  written 
under  the  threat  of  invasion  1804,  628. 

"  Barefooted  Friar,  The,"  675. 

Barnard  Castle,  289,  299,  349,  353. 

Barrington,  Shute,  Bishop  of  Durham, 
523. 

"  Battle  of  Sempach,  The,"  616. 

Beacons,  22,  58. 

Bealach-nam-bo,  Pass  of,  201,  244. 

Beal'  an  Duine,  skirmish  at,  224,  259. 

Beattie,  Dr.,  lines  from,  on  the  power  of 
fancy,  298,  n. 

,  Mr.,  of  Mickledale,  4. 

Bellenden,  26,  62. 

,  Sir  James,  595,  n. 

Bell-Rock  Lighthouse,  lines  on  visiting, 
640. 

Belrinnes,  ballad  of,  549. 

Beltane-tree,  the,  587,  590. 


Ben-an  mountain,  180. 

Benledi,  178. 

Benvenue,  180. 

Benvoirlich,  177. 

Beresford,  Field-marshal  Lord,  tribute 
to,  275,  276.  His  training  the  Por- 
tuguese troops,  284. 

,  638. 

Berguer,  Lionel,  Esq.,  704. 

Berlichingen,  Goetz  of,  with  the  Iron 
Hand,  815. 

"  Bertram,  Harry,  Nativity  of,"  652. 

Berwick,  North,  126. 

"  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,"  remarks 
on  the  ballad  of.  552. 

Bethune,  or  Beaton,  family  of,  47. 

"  Betrothed,"  Verses  from  the,  707,  708. 

Bigotry,  personification  of,  269. 

Bihram's  Corse,  tradition  of,  152. 

Bitiug  the  thumb,  or  the  glove,  37,  67. 

"  Black  Dwarf,"  Mottoes  from  the,  660. 

Black  Knight  and  Wamba,  Song,  667. 

"  Black  Knight's  Song,  The,"  676. 

Blach-mail,  2:!,  L'54. 

Blackford  Hill,  113,  114. 

Blackwater,  battle  of,  in  Ireland,  360,  361. 

Blackwood's  Magazine,  550,  n.,  critical 
notices  from.  402,  512,  534. 

Blair,  Right  Honorable  Robert,  Lord 
President  of  the  Court  of  Session, 
death  of,  263. 

"Blondel,  the  Bloody  Vest,"  Song 
of,  709. 

Blood  of  which  party  first  shed,  an 
augury  of  success  in  battle,  204,  246. 

Blood-hound,  or  Sleuth-hound,  49, 179, 231, 
476,  477. 

"  Blue  Blanket,"  the,  696,  n. 

"  Boat  Song,"  189. 

Bohun,  Sir  Henrv  de,  his  encounter 
with  King  Robert  Bruce,  453,  492. 

"  Bold  Dragoon,  The,  or  the  Plain  of 
Badajos,"  637. 

Bolero,  a  Spanish  dance,  280. 

Bonaparte,  Napoleon,  allusions  to  in  the 
Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  270,  274,  275. 
And  in  the  Field  of  Waterloo,  501  to 
509,  passim.  Apostrophe  to  the  period 
of  his  fall,  449,  450. 

,  638. 

Bond  of  Alliance,  or  feud  stanching, 
betwixt  the  clans  of  Scott  and  Kerr 
(1529),  47. 

"Bonnets  of  Bonny  Dundee,"  Song  to 
the  air  of,  759. 

"  Border  Ballad,"  682. 

Borderers,  English,  excommunication 
of,  by  the  Bishop  of  Durham  (1498), 
240.  Disorderly  conduct  of  those  who 
attended  the  Protector  Somerset,  66. 
Custom  of  hanging  up  a  glove  in  a 
church  as  a  challenge,  371. 

Borderers,  Scottish,  moss-troopers  after 
the  union  of  the  crowns,  48.  Religion, 
51.  Speed  in  collecting  large  bodies 
of  horse,  59.  Places  of  their  herds- 
men's refuge,  ib.  March-treason,  63. 
Form  of  oath,  ib.  Instances  of  the 
cruelty  which  occasionally  attended 
their  warfare,  60.  Regulations  in  1648, 
65.     Friendly   intercourse    with    the 

(853  ) 


854 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL    WORKS. 


English,  65.  Font-hall  play,  ib.  Pur- 
suit of  marauders  called  the  hot-trod, 
66.  Bobbers  quelled  by  K.  James  V., 
288.  Manner  of  carrying  on  depre- 
dations, :'-">7.  Taste  for  poetry  and 
music,  542. 

Borough-moor  of  Edinburgh,  160. 

Bothwell,  Adam  Hepburn,  Earl  of  {temp. 
.lac.  IV.  i,  159. 

Bothwell,  Francis  Stewart,  Karl  of  (ft  mp. 
.lac.  VI.i,  235.  Verses  found  in  his 
pocket-book,  660. 

,  James  Hepburn,  Earl  of  (temp. 

Mary  I,  65,  110. 

"Bothwell  Castle,"  624. 

Bowhill,  42,  n. 

Brackenbury  Tower,  306,  356. 

Bracklinn  cascade,  188,  236, 

Bradford,  Sir  The. mas,  696. 

Branksome  I  lastle,  9,  44,  ib. 

"  Bridal  of  Triermain,  The,"  373.  See 
also  408. 

"  Bridal  Song"  in  Waverley,  642. 

"  Bride  of  Lammermoor,"  Verses  from 
the,  672,  673. 

"  Bridge  of  Dee,"  poem  of  the,  551. 

Brigg  or  Bridge  of  Turk,  178. 

British  Critic,  notices  from  the,  1,  82, 
291,  347,  431,  432,  435,  439.  461,  721,  729, 
737. 

Brodick  Castle,  Arran,  442,  485. 

"Brooch  of  Lorn,  The,"  419,  471. 

Bruce,  Edward,  brother  of  King  Robert, 

■  484,  489. 

,  King   Robert,   defeats  John   of 

Lorn,  467.  Defeated  by  the  Lord  of 
Lorn,  471.  Crowned  at  Scone,  470. 
Subsequent  disasters,  ib.  His  com- 
punction for  violation  of  the  sanctu- 
ary by  the  slaughter  of  Comyn,  476. 
Excommunicated  for  it,  ib.  Observed 
omens — one  of  a  spider,  ib.  Traced 
by  a  blood-hound,  ib.  Sequel  to  that 
adventure  told  by  Barbour,  479.  Tra- 
dition that  he  was  at  the  battle  of 
Falkirk  inaccurate,  478.  Crossed  the 
peninsula  of  Cantire,  483.  Landing 
in  Arran,  437,  484.  Instance  of  his 
humanity,  440,  484.  His  landing  in 
Carrick,  443,  445,  485,  486.  Defeats 
the  Earl  of  Pembroke,  488.  Blockade 
of  Stirling  Castle,  450,  490.  Affected 
by  leprosy,  and  founds  the  Monastery 
of  King's  Case,  487.  His  arrangements 
for  the  battle  of  Bannockburn,  491. 
Encounter  with  Sir  Henry  de  Bohun, 
453,  492.  Battle  of  Bannockburn,  454 
to  end  of  the  poem,  and  491  to  end  of 
the  notes.  Disinterment  of  his  re- 
mains at  Dunfermline,  431,  n. 

,  Mrs.,  of  Arnot,  548. 

-,  Nigel,  another  brother  of  King 


Robert,  474. 

-,  Sir  John,  of  Kinross,  548. 


Brunne,  Robert  de,  539,  545. 
Brunswick,  Duke  of,  slain  at  Jena,  97. 
"  Bryce      Snailsfoot's      Advertise- 

MKNT,"  692. 

Brydone,  Patrick,  Esq.,  170. 
Bucaniers,  302,  350,  3.r,;{,  355.  356,  358. 
Buccleuch,  ancestors  of  the  house  of, 

8.  a.,  44,  45,  46,  55.    Romantic  origin  of 

the  name,  67. 
,  Charles,  Duke  of,  87,  n.    Letters 

in  Verse  to,  641,  667. 
,  Harriet,   Duchess   of,  4,  87,  87,  n. 

Death  of,  407.  Tribute  to  her  memory, 

460. 
and  Monmouth,  Anne,  Duchess 

Of.  6,  n. 
Buchan,  Mr.  Peter,  his  collection  of  bal- 

lads,  "."it. 
Buchanan  of  Arnprior,  "King  of  Kip- 

pen,"  260. 
Bums,  Robert,  bis  "Scots  wha  ha'e  wi' 

Wallace  bled,"  493.    st  ractore  of  verse 

used    t.y    him    542.    The    poet   most 

callable   to  relieve  and  heighten    the 

character  of  ancient  poetry,  558. 
Bury,    Lady   Charlotte,    introduced   the 

author  to   M.   (;.   Lewis,  563,  and   to 

Lady  Anne  Hamilton,  599. 


Byron,  Lord,  remarks  on  a  conversa- 
tion betwixt  him  and  Captain  Mod- 
win,  5.  570.  His  satin1  on  Marmion, 
74.  Lines  on  Pitt  and  Fox,  78,  79. 
Resemblance  between  part  of  Pari- 
sina  and  a  scene  in  Mannion,  93,  n. 
Notice  by  him  of  the  imitators  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  287,  n.,  288,  n.  His  imi- 
tation of  a  passage  in  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles,  449,  n.  Notes  on  Waterloo,  284, 
499  to  504,  passim.  Poem  on  his 
mother's  marriage,  551.  Parallel  pas- 
sages from,  195,  ».,  196,  272,  290,  295, 
313,  381,  416,  428,  438,  449,  500,  504,  505. 


Cadell,  Mr.  Robert,  his  recollections  of 

the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  174,  it. 
Cadogan,  Colonel,  tribute  to  the  mem- 
ory of,  275. 
"  Cadyow  Castle,"  595. 
Cairns,  59. 
Caledonian  forest  and  wild  cattle,  595, 

597,  599. 
Cambus-more,  178. 
Cameron,    Colonel,    killed    at    Fuentes 

d'Honoro,  283. 
,  Colonel,  of  Fassiefern,  killed  at 

Quatre-Bras,  505,  649. 

,  Sir  Ewan,  of  Lochiel,  256. 

Cameronians,  601. 

Camp,  a  favorite  dog  of  the  author's,  107. 
Campbell,  Lady  Charlotte.  See  "  Bury." 
,    Thomas,    161.      "The    Bard    of 

Hope,"   560.     His  admiration   of  the 

poem  Cadyow  Castle,  599. 
Canna,  island  and  town  of,  434,  481. 
Canning,  Right   Hon.   George,  a  writer 

in  the  Antijacobin,  116,  «.,  796. 
Cantire,  peninsula  of,  483. 
Caraccioli,  Prince,  794,  n. 
"  Cable,  now  the  King's  come,"  Part  i. 

695.    Part  ii.  696. 
Caroline,  Princess  of  Wales,  97,  n. 
Cartwright,  Dr.,  the  first  living  poet  the 

author   recollected   of    having   seen, 

559. 
Cassilis,  the  Earl  of  (temp.  .Tae.  VI.),  770. 

Bond  by  him  to  his  brother,  772. 
Castilians,  their  skill   in   fighting  with 

darts,  51. 
"Castle  Dangerous,"  Mottoes  from, 

719. 
"Castle  of  the  Seven  Shields,"  bal- 
lad of  the,  526. 
Catiline,  death  of,  503,  n. 
"  Cavalier,  The,"  Song,  330. 
Cave,  MacAllister's,  in  Strathaird,  480. 
Caxton,  William,  109. 
Celts,  the,  541.    Their  music  and  poetry, 

541,  566. 
Chalmers,   George,   his  Caledonia,  155. 

His  edition  of  Sir  David  Lindesay's 

Works,  158,  261. 
Chapel  Perilous,  79,  145. 
Charles  I.,  King,  35S,  363. 

X.,    of   France,    in    Edinburgh, 


Claverhouse,  Grahame  of.    See  Dundee. 
Clerk,  John,  Esq.  (Lord  Eldin),  703,  n. 
,  John,  Esq.,  of  Eldin,  author  of  an 

Essay  upon  Naval  Tactics,  601,  n. 
,  Sir  George,  his  tenure  of  Penny- 

cuik,  603,  695,  n. 

-,  William,  Esq.,  571 


117,  n. 

-,  Prince  Edward,  one  of  his  places 


of  retreat,  233. 

Charms,  healing,  21,  22,  57. 

Charter-stones,  487. 

Chase,  the  royal,  in  Ettrick  Forest,  151. 

Chastity,  punishment  for  broken  vows 
of,  94,  156. 

Chatterton,  Thomas,  557. 

Chepman, Walter,  an  early  Scottish  prin- 
ter.   See  ■■  Myllar  and  Chepman." 

"Cheviot,"  627. 

"Chevy  Chase,"  539,540. 

"Child  Of  Kile,"  the,  547. 

Chivalry,  28,  56,  57,  63,  67,  363. 

"  ( Ihrisl  Kirk  on  the  Green,"  542. 

Christinas,  128,  165,  166. 

"Chronicles  of  the  Canongate," 
Verses  from,  712,  7b'.. 

(id,  the,  in  Spain,  metrical  poems  of, 
588. 

"  Claud  Halcro  and  Norna,"  689. 

"Claud  Halcro's  Song,"  687. 

" Verses,"  691. 


"Cleveland's  Songs,"  690. 

Coir-nan-Uriskin,  201,  244. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  his  Ancient  Mariner, 
468,  558.  His  Christabel,  5.  The  Bridal 
of  Triermain  an  imitation  of  his  style. 
373,  402. 

Collins,  his  flights  of  imagination,  377, 
404. 

Oilman's  Random  Records,  742. 

Colquitto,  465. 

Colwulf,  King  of  Northumberland,  92, 
155 

Combat,  single,  28,  56,  57,  63,  64,  124,  164, 
214,  255. 

Comyn,  the  Red,  419,  423,  472,  476. 

Congreve's  Mourning  Bride,  523. 

Conscience,  289,  292. 

Constable,  George,  Esq.  (Jonathan  Old- 
buck),  565. 

•,   Mr.  Archibald,   his  "bold    and 


liberal   industry,"  6.    Extract  from  a 
letter  of  the  author  to,  706,  n. 

Contributions  of  Scott  to  Minstrel- 
sy of  the  Scottish  Border,  537- 
605. 

Conyheare,  Rev.  Mr.,  his  illustrations  of 
Anglo-Saxon  Poetry,  553. 

Cornwallis,  Marquis  of,  633. 

Coronach  of  the  Highlanders,  198,  243. 

"  Count  Robert  of  Paris,"  Mottoes 
from,  717,  718. 

"County  Guy,  Song,"  701. 

Cowper,  560. 

Cox,  Captain,  of  Coventry,  548. 

Cranstoun,  family  of,  47,  55. 

-,  George,  Esq.,  consulted  by  the 


author  on  his  attempts  at  composi- 
tion, 5,  n. 

Crichtoun  Castle,  110,  159. 

Critical  Review,  notices  from,  7,  12,  16, 
24,  27,  35,  37,  132,  140,  180,  185,  190,  230, 
264,  266,  290,  291,  292,  303,  306,  311,  346, 
375,  377,  415,  424,  433,  434,  438,  531,  534, 
603. 

Cromwell,  Oliver,  his  conduct  at  Mar- 
ston  Moor,  307,  351,  352. 

"  Crusader's  Return,  The,"  674. 

"  Cumnor  Hall,"  poem  of,  547. 

Cunningham,  Allan,  his  ballad  poetry, 
558.  Critical  remarks  on  Auchin- 
drane,  795,  n. 

Cup,  a  drinking  one,  at  Dun  vegan,  469. 

( 'urrh.  the,  worn  by  Scottish  matrons,  241. 

"  Cypress  Wreath,  The,"  328. 


Dacre,  families  of,  61. 
Dahomav,  spell  of,  396. 
Dalhousie,  Earl  of,  tribute  to,  640. 
Dalkeith,  Charles,   Earl   of  (afterwards 

Duke  of  Buccleuch),  dedication  of  the 

Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel  to,  7.    See 

Buccleuch. 
,  Harriet,  Countess  of  (afterwards 

Duchess  of  Buccleuch),  4.     See  also 

Buccleuch. 

,  town  and  castle  of,  603,  n. 

Dalzeli,  mow)  Sir  J.  G.,  his  collection  of 

Scottish  poems,  549. 
,  Sir  William,  his  combat  with  Sir 

Piers  ( lourtenay,  147. 
"  Dance  of  Death,  The,"  649. 
l»ancs,  the,  invasion  of  Northumberland 

by,  316,  360.    Traces  of  their  religion 

in  Teesdale,  360. 
Daoine  Shi',  or  Men  of  Peace,  168.  250, 

252. 
David  I.,  King,  founded  Melrose  Abbey, 

51.     A  sore  saint  for  the  crown,  14,  n. 
"De  Wilton's  History,"  132. 
"Dead-bell,"  the,  156. 
"  Death  Chant,"  713. 

" of  Keeldar,  The,"  714. 

Death  of  Leith  Hall,  poem  of  the,  551. 


inde^:. 


855 


Death,  presages  of,  242. 

Debatable  Land,  the,  68. 

Deloraine,  lands  of,  49. 

"Don    Roderick,   The    Vision    of," 

263. 
"  Donald  Caird's  come  again,"  670. 
Donjon,  what,  147. 
"  Doom  of  Devorgoil,  The,"  742. 
Douglas,  Archibald,  third  Earl  of,  called 

"Tine-man,"  236,  722. 

,  Gawain,  Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  134. 

of  Kilspindie,  affecting  story  of, 

257. 
,  "  The  Good  Lord  James,"  charged 

to  carry  the  Bruce's  heart  to  the  Holy 

Land,  476.     In  Arran,  485.     Makes 

prisoners  of  Murray  and  Bonkle,  ib. 

Often  took  the  castle  of  Douglas,  489. 

His   "Larder,"  ib.    At  Bannockburn, 

454,  491,  493,  496. 

William,  eighth  Earl  of,  stabbed 


by  K.  James  II.  in  Stirling  Castle,  217, 
256. 

-,  William,  "  the  Knight  of  Liddes- 


dale,"  15,  52. 
,  the   House    of,    169.      Ancient 

sword  belonging  to,  164. 
Doune  Castle,  216. 
Dramatic    Pieces,     "  Halidon     Hill," 

721.     "MacDuff's  Cross,"   738.     "The 

Doom  of  Devorgoil,"  742.    "  Auchin- 

drane,"  770.    "The  House  of  Aspen," 

796.     "Goetz  of  Berlichingen,"  815. 
Drinking  to   excess,  custom  of,  in  the 

Western  Islands,  469. 
Dryburgh  Abbey,  592. 
Dryden,  his  account  of  his  projected 

epic  poem  of  the  Round  Table,  146. 
Duelling,  255,  256. 
Duergar  (northern  dwarfs),  251. 
Duff,  Adam,  Esq.,  640,  n. 
Dundas,  Right  Honorable  William,  6,  n., 

9,  n.,  73. 
Dundee,  Viscount  (Graham  of  Claver- 

house),  23.    His  character,  234. 
Dunmailraise,  378. 
"  Dunois,  Romance  of,"  650. 
Dunolly  Castle,  468. 
Dunstaffnage  Castle,  467. 
D'Urfey's    Pills   to  Purge  Melancholy, 

556. 
Durham  Cathedral,  520. 
"  Dying  Bard,  The,"  630. 
" Gipsy  Smuggler,  The,"  653. 


Echaius,  King  of  Scotland,  161,  n. 
Edelfled,  daughter   of  King   Oswy,  92, 

154. 
Edinburgh,  ancient  cross  of,  125,  164. 

,  old  town  of,  116,  160. 

Magazine,    the,    critical    notice 

from,  401. 

Review,    the,    critical    extracts 


from,  on  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel, 
7,  8,  9,  10,  14,  22,  23,  33,  37,  38,  39,  40, 
41,  43.  On  Marmion,  78,  85,  93,  96, 
124,  134,  137,  138,  142,  143.  On  the 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  176,  189,  193,  194, 
196,  198,  200,  209,  217,  222,  229,  230. 
On  the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  270, 
273,  274, 270, 277,  283.  And  on  the  Lord 
of  the  Isles,  409,  415,  418,  419,  446,  455, 
459,  460. 

Edward  I.,  King,  his  vindictive  spirit, 
475.  His  employment  of  the  Welsh 
in  his  Scottish  wars,  490.  Sets  out  to 
destroy  the  Bruce,  433,  481.  His  death, 
481. 

II.    at    Bannockburn,    455.     His 

gallantry,  495.    His  flight,  496. 

III.    Motto  on  his  shield,  545,  n. 

"Edward  the  Black  Prince,  To  the 
Memory  of"  667. 

Egliston  Abbey,  300,  353.  Visited  by 
Scott,  312. 

Eigg,  cave  in  the  Island  of,  the  scene  of 
a  dreadful  act  of  vengeance,  482. 

EiMon  Hills,  54. 

"  Elfin  Gray,  The,"  translated  from  the 
Danish,  246. 


Ellis,  George,  Esq.,  critical  notices  by, 
40,  to.,  116,  144,  146.  Dedication  to 
him  of  the  fifth  canto  of  Marmion, 
116. 

"  Elspeth's  Ballad,"  657. 

Elves,  252.    See  "  Fairies." 

Encampment,  Scottish  mode  of,  in  1547, 
161. 

Ennui,  512,  534. 

Epic  Poem,  a  receipt  to  make  an,  374. 

Poetry,  373. 

"  Epilogues."  To  the  Appeal,  a  tra- 
gedy, 669.  Play  of  St.  Ronan's  Well, 
705.    Queen  Mary,  706. 

"  Epitaphs."  Miss  Seward,  635.  Jon  o' 
ye  Girnell,  657.  Balfour  of  Burley, 
660.  Mrs.  Erskine,  678.  The  Rev. 
George  Scott,  717. 

"  Erl  King,  The,"  622. 

Errol,  Earl  of,  697. 

Erskine,  Mrs.,  Epitaph  on,  678. 

,    Thomas    Lord,    speech    of,    on 

humanity  towards  animals,  495. 

,  William,  Esq.  (Lord  Kinnedder), 

consulted  by  Scott  on  his  attempts  in 
composition,  5.  Dedication  of  the 
third  canto  of  Marmion  to,  96.  Passage 
in  Rokeby  quoted  by  him  as  descrip- 
tive of  the  author,  308.  Reputed 
author  of  the  Bridal  of  Triermain, 
408,  520,  n. 

"  Essay-  on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient 
Ballad,"  554. 

Ettrick  Forest,  151,  488. 

Eugene  Aram,  remarkable  case  of,  356. 

Evans,  Mr.  R.  H.,  his  republication  of 
his  father's  collection  of  ballads, 
548. 

,  Mr.  T.,  his  collection  of  ballads, 

547. 

"  Eve  of  St.  John,  The,"  591.  See  also 
566,  571. 

Evil  Principle,  the,  708. 

Ezekii'l,  quotation  from  the  prophecies 
of,  213,  n. 


Fain,  meaning  of,  315,  ra. 

"  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,"  Verses  from 
the,  713,  714. 

"Fair  Rosamond,"  ballad  of,  554. 

Fairies,  157,  250,  252,  253,  278. 

Fancy,  power  of,  in  youth,  298.  Lines 
on,  from  Beattie,  ib.,  n. 

"Farewell  Address,  Mr.  Kemble's," 
on  taking  leave  of  the  Edinburgh 
Stage,  665. 

"Farewell  to  Mackenzie,  High 
Chief  of  Kintail,"  from  the  Gaelic, 
647.    "  Farewell,  Imitation  of,"  ib. 

" ,  The,"  Song,  331. 

" ,  The  White  Lady's,"  682. 

" to  the  Muse,"  694. 

"  Felon  Sow  of  Rokeby,"  hunting  of  the, 
by  the  Friars  of  Richmond,  365. 

Ferragus  and  Ascabart,  183,  233. 

Feuds,  45,  46,  47,  770. 

"  Field  of  Waterloo,  The,"  499. 

Fiery  Cross,  the,  194,  195,  239. 

Fingal's  Cave  at  Stalfa,  435,  4s2. 

Finlay,  Mr.  John,  his  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 550.  His  imitations  of  the  bal- 
lad style,  558. 

"  Fire  King,"  ballad  of  the,  612. 

Flanders,  manner  of  reaping  in,  508. 

Fletcher,  his  comedy  of  Monsieur  Tho- 
mas, 553. 

Flodden,  account  of  the  battle  of,  138, 
170. 

"Flodden  Field,"  an  ancient  English 
poem,  extracts  from,  81,  n.,  159,  170. 

Florinda,  daughter  of  Count  Julian, 
278. 

"Flower  of  Yarrow,"  Mary  Scott,  62, 
152. 

Flying  Dutchman,  the,  355. 

"  Following"  (feudal  retainers),  119,  n. 

Foot-ball,  game  of,  65,  651. 

"  For  a'  that  an'  a'  that,"  639. 

"  Foray,  The,"  717. 


Forbes,  Sir  William  (author  of  the  Life 
of  Beattie),  tribute  to  his  memory, 
107,  158. 

,  Sir  William,  son  of  the  preced- 
ing, 108,  n. 

Forgeries  of  documents,  170. 

"Fortune,  Lines  on,"  717. 

"Fortunes  of  Nigel,"  Mottoes  from 
the,  697-9. 

Foster-children,  362. 

Fox,  Right  Honorable  Charles  James, 
"  among  those  who  smiled  on  the  ad- 
venturous minstrel,"  6.  Never  ap- 
plied to  by  Scott  regarding  his  ap- 
pointment as  a  Clerk  of  Session,  74. 
Tribute  to  his  memory,  78.  His  com- 
pliment to  the  author  of  the  Monk,  562. 

"  Fragments,"  624-628. 

Franchemont,  superstitious  belief  re- 
garding the  castle  of,  130,  169. 

Fraser  [or  Frizel],  Sir  Simon,  ancestor 
of  the  family  of  Lovat,  fate  of,  474. 

"  Frederick  and  Alice,"  614. 

Frederick  II.,  King  of  Prussia,  under- 
valued the  literature  of  his  country, 560. 

French  army  in  the  Peninsula,  appli- 
cation of  a  passage  in  the  prophecies 
of  Joel  to  the  movements  of,  282.  Re- 
treat of,  March,  1811,  283. 

Frere,  Right  Hon.  J.  H.  A  writer  in 
the  Antijacobin,  116,  ».,  796.  His  imi- 
tations of  the  ancient  ballad,  557. 

"  Friar  Rush,"  108,  158. 

"  From  the  French,"  651. 

Fuentes  d'Honoro,  action  of,  283. 

Fullarton  of  Kilmichel,  family  of,  490. 

"  Funeral  Hymn,"  677. 


"  Gaelic  Melody,  Ancient,"  673. 

Gala,  the  river,  410. 

Gait,  John,  Esq.,  epilogue  to  his  tragedy 

of  the  Appeal,  669. 
Garlands  (small  ballad  miscellanies),  543, 

554. 
"  Gellatley's,  Davie,  Songs,"  643,  645, 

647. 

,  Janet,  alleged  witchcraft,  645. 

George  IV.,   King,   his  opinion   of  the 

author's  poetry,  229,  n. 
,  Lines  on  his  Visit  to  Scotland, 

695,  696. 
"German  Ballads,  translated  or  imi- 
tated," 606-622. 
German  hackbut-men,  61. 
language,  similarity  of  the,  to  the 

Old  English  and  Scottish,  565. 
literature,  introduction   of   into 

this  country,  560.    Afterwards  fell  into 

disrepute,  796. 
"Ghaist's    Warning,    The,"    translated 

from  the  Danish  Ksempe  Viser,  249. 
Ghost  of  the  Ladv  Bothwellhaugh,  599. 
Gifford,  village  and  castle  of,  99,  156. 
Gilbert,  Davies,  Esq.,  556,  n. 
Gilli-Doir-Magrevollich,  the  conception 

of,  241. 
Gill  Morrice,  ballad  of,  569. 
Glamour,  20,  56. 

"Glee-Maiden,  Song  of  the,"  714. 
Glee-maidens,  222,  258. 
Glencairn,  "the  Good  Earl"  of,  598,  600, 

787. 
"Glencoe,  On  the  Massacre  of,"  638. 
"Glendinning,    Edward,  The   White 

Lady  to,"  681. 
"  Glenfinlas,"  5^6. 
Glenfruin,  conflict  of,  between  the  Mac- 

gregors  and  the  Colquhouns,  237. 
Gingarry.    See  Macdonell. 
"  Glossin,  Song  of,"  653. 
Goblin  Hall,  the,  156. 
Goblin  Pa?e,  Lord  Cranstoun's,  55. 
Goethe,  560,  796. 
Goetz  of  Berlichingen,  with  the  Iron 

Hand,  815. 
Golagrus   and    Gawane,   the   Knightly 

Tale  of,  543,  n. 
Goldsmith,  Oliver,  his  imitations  of  bal- 
lad poetry,  558. 
"  Goldthred's  Song,"  685. 


856 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Gordon,  Adam,  gallant   conduct  of  at 
Homfldon  Hill.  722. 

,  Colonel,  the  Hun.  Sir  Alexander, 

killed  at  Waterloo,  606. 

Gneme,  or  Grahame,  families  of,  68,  234, 
284. 

Graham,     Rot.     Dr.,    Notes    from    his 
Sketches  of  Perthshire,  1 78  passim,  255. 

,  Sir  John  the.  284. 

,  Sir  Thomas,  Lord  Lynedoch,  284. 

"Gray  BROTHER.  Tiik,"  601. 

"dray  Mare's  rail,"  the,  a  cataract,  153. 

Greta  Bridge,  858. 

river.  :;ui,  :;h;i,  353,  354,  358. 

Grotto  on  the  estate  of  Strathaird,  de- 
scription of,  180. 

.■'.,  of  Scotland,  166. 

Gnnn,  John,  a  noted  Highland  cateran, 
story  of,  254. 

"Guy  Mannering,"  Verses  from,  652. 


Haddington,  Charles,  tenth  Earl  of, 

695. 
Haig  of  Bemerside,  family  of,  579. 
Hailes,  Lord,  469,  486,  487,  491,  703. 
Hairibee,  12. 
"  Halbert,  To,"  679. 
"  Halbert's  Incantation,"  679. 

" Second  Interview,"  680. 

"Halidon  Hill,  a  Dramatic  Sketch," 

721. 
Halket,  Mrs.,   of   Wardlaw,    author  of 

Ilardyknute,  548. 
Hall,  Captain  Basil,  505,  re. 

,  Sir  James,  52,  505,  re. 

Hamilton,  family  of,  595. 

,  Alexander,  Duke  of,  695. 

,  Lord  Claud,  599. 

of  Bothwellhaugh,  account  of  his 

assassination  of  the  Regent  Murray, 

595 

-,  Right  Hon.  Lady  Anne,  596,  599. 

Right  Hon.  W.  G.  (Single-speech 


Hamilton),  389, n. 

,  Robert,  Esq.,  advocate,  640,  re. 

,  Sir  Thomas,  Lord  Advocate  (temp. 

Jac.  VL).  774. 

"  Hardyknute,"  ballad  of,  544,  548,  556. 
The  first  poem  the  author  learnt, 
556,  re. 

"  Harlaw,  the  Battle  of,"  an  ancient  bal- 
lad, 544. 

"  Harold  Harfager,  Song  of,"  688. 

"Harold  the  Dauntless," 611. 

"  Harp,  The,''  Song,  329. 

"llAKitv  Bertram,  Nativity  of,"  652. 

"  Hatteraick,  Dirk,  Song  of,"  653. 

Hawks,  67. 

Hawthornden,  602,603,  re. 

Hayler,  William,  Esq., 560. 

Barman,  Mrs.,  97,  ». 

"  Health  to  Lord  Melville,"  633. 

"Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,"  Verses 
from  the,  670-2. 

Heath-burning,  243. 

Hi'  r.  Richard,  Esq.,  dedication  of  the 
sixth  canto  of  Marmion  to,.  128. 

Hebridean  chiefs,  fortresses  of,  468. 

"  Hei.i.vei.i.yn,"  629. 

Henry  VI.,  King  of  England,  at  Edin- 
burgh, 161. 

Hepburn,  family  of,  65.    See  Bothwell. 

Hi  raldry,  63,  148,  158. 

Herd,  Mr.  David,  his  collection  of  Scot- 
tish songs.  548,  To:;. 

Herder's  popular  ballads,  or  Volkslieder, 
569. 

llvrint  or  Hi  ri-r.i'hl.  25,  ». 

Heron,  William,  of  Ford,  and  his  lady, 
120,  lis,  162. 

of  Gilmerton,  601. 

"Hero's  Targe,"  a  rock  in  Glenfinlas, 
203,  245. 

"  Hie  away,  hie  away,"  644. 

Hi.  1:1  u:  lX.ro  %    ill  1   li    then-  bospit  iht\ 

284,  Music,  189,  234,  237.  The  bard, 
a  family  officer,  284.  Epithets  of  their 
chiefs,  237.  Boat-songs,  ib.  Hardi- 
hood, 238.  Henchman,  289.  Tutelar 
spirits,    242.      Brogue    or   shoe,    243. 


Coronach  198,  243.  Respect  paid  to 
their  chiefs,  243,  244.  Oaths,  244. 
Body  guards  and  domestic  officers  of 
the  chiefs,  ib.  Cookery,  253.  Creaghs 
or  forays,  254.  Trustworthiness,  ib. 
Targets  and  broadswords,  255.  Modes 
of  inquiring  into  futurity,  244.  Anci- 
ent custom  respecting  marriage,  473. 

Hogg,  Mr.  James,  the  "Ettrick  Shep- 
herd," his  Mountain  Bard,  152,  re., 
156.  His  story  of  the  dead-bell,  156. 
Pilgrims  of  the  Sun,  460,  n.  Poetic 
M  i  i  ror,  408.    His  ballad  poetry,  558. 

Holy  Island,  or  Lindisfarne,  153. 

Home,  family  of,  65. 

,  Lord  Chamberlain  to  James  IV., 

his  conduct  at  Flodden,  171. 

Homer,  82,  re.,  374,  537,  538,  539. 

Homildon  Hill,  battle  of,  721. 

Horsemanship,  162. 

Horses,  shrieking  of,  in  agony,  456,  495. 

Hostelrie.    See  Inn. 

Hotspur.    See  Percy. 

Hot-trod,  the,  pursuit  of  Border  maraud- 
ers, 66. 

"  Houlat,  Buke  of  the,"  542,  re. 

"House  of  Aspen,  The,  a  Tragedy," 
796. 

Howard,  Lord  William,  "Belted  Will 
Howard,"  61. 

Howell  ap  Rys,  a  Welsh  chieftain,  371. 

Howison  of  Braehead,  his  adventure 
with  James  V.,  260. 

Hunting,  177,  178,  179,  231,  316,  359,  597, 
610. 

,  aerial,  superstition  of,  610. 

"  Hunting-mass,"  86,  733. 

"  Hunting  Song,"  634. 

Huntly,  Marquis  of,  the  last  Duke  of 
Gordon,  696,  re. 

"  Huntsman,  Lay  of  the  Imprisoned," 
227. 

"  Hymn  for  the  Dead,"  42. 

" ,  Funeral,"  677. 

" ,  Rebecca's,"  676. 

" to  the  Virgin,"  202. 


"  I  ask'd  of  my  Harp,"  Song,  707. 

Hay,  Island  of,  464. 

"Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Bal- 
lad," 572. 

Ineb-Cailliaeh  (the  Isle  of  Nuns),  242. 

Indian.-.,  the  North  American,  356. 

Inn,  or  hostelrie,  Scottish  accommoda- 
tions of  an,  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
156. 

"Inscription,"  395. 

"Introductory  Remarks  on  Popu- 
lar Poetry,"  537. 

"  Invocation,"  519. 

Iol  of  the  heathen  Danes,  165. 

Irish,  the  ancient  Tanistry,  361.  Dress, 
Hi.  Bards,  368.  Chiefs  required  to  as- 
sist Edward  I.  in  his  Scottish  wars,  490. 

Isles,  Western,  of  Scotland,  464,  468  to 
471,  477,  478. 

"  Ivanhoe,"  Verses  from,  674-8. 


Jacobitism,  the  last  contests  of,  recited 
in  ballads,  556. 

James  I.,  King  of  Scotland,  his  Christ 
Kirk  on  the  Green,  542.  His  educa- 
tion and  poetrv,  545. 

III.,  rebellion  against,  160.  In- 
ventory of  bis  treasure  and  jewels, 
488. 

IV.,  his   person  and   dress,   120. 

Penance  of,  160.  His  belt,  102.  Ap- 
parition to,  at  Linlithgow,  160.  Death 
of,  at  Flodden,  171. 

V.,  in   minority,  235.    Quells  the 

Border  robbers,  238.  His  progress  to 
the  Isles,  ib.  Why  called  "  King  of 
the  Commons,"  257.  His  attachment 
to  archery,  ib.  Adventures  in  dis- 
guise, 259,  260. 

VI.,  his  conduct  respecting  the 


Mures  of  Auchindrane,  773. 


Jamieson,  Mr.  Robert,  his  collection  of 

ballads,  549,  585. 
,  Rev.   Dr.  John,   his   edition    of 

Wallace  and  Bruce,  409,  496,  re. 
Jeffrey,  Francis,  now  Lord,  his  success 

professionally  and  in  literature,  2,  6. 

Extracts  from  his  criticisms  on  Scott's 

poetry.    See  Edinburgh  Review. 
"Jock  of  Hazeldean,"  654. 
Joel,  application  of  a  passage  from  the 

prophecies  of,  282. 
Johnson,  Dr.,  his  ridicule  of  the  ballad 

style,   559.     Reflections    on    visiting 

Ionia,  435,  n. 
"Jon  o'  ye  Girnell,  Epitaph  on,"  657. 
Jongleurs,  or  Jugglers,  258. 
Julian,  Count,  278,  280. 
"Juvenile  Lines  from  Virgil,"  623. 
"  Juvenile  Lines  on  a  Thunder  Storm," 

ib. 
" on  the  Setting  Sun,"  ib. 


JTcempe  Viser,  the,  a  collection  of  heroic 
songs,  246,  249. 

Keith,  Sir  Alexander,  697. 

Kelpy,  a  river  spirit,  242. 

"Kemble,  John  Philip,  his  Farewell 
Address  on  taking  leave  of  the  Edin- 
burgh stage,"  665.  His  opinion  of  the 
House  of  Aspen  in  relation  to  the 
stage,  796. 

Kendal,  a  contemporary  of  Thomas  the 
Rhymer,  545. 

"  Kenilworth,  Speech  of  the  Por- 
ter at,"  685. 

" ,"  Verses  from,  685-7. 

Kennedy,  Sir  Gilbert,  of  Barganie,  771. 
•,  Sir  Thomas,  of  Cullayne,  770. 


Kerr  or  Carr,  family  of,  47. 
Kerrs  and  Scotts,  feuds  of  the,  ib. 
King's  Case,  well  and  monastery  of,  487. 
Kinfoch,  Mr.  G.  R.,  his  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 550. 
Kirkwall,  church  and  castle  of,  69. 
" Kittle  Nine  Steps"  the,  303,  re. 
Knighthood,  63. 


"  Lady  of  the  Lake,  The,"  173. 

Laidlaw,  Mr.  William,  618,  n. 

Laing,  Mr.  David,  his  Select  Remains  of 
the  Ancient  Popular  Poetry  of  Scot- 
land, 542,  n. 

"Lament,"  227. 

Lancey,  Sir  William  de,  killed  at  Wat- 
erloo, 505,  re. 

Largs,  battle  of,  156,  629. 

"  Lay  of  Poor  Louise,"  713. 

" the  Imprisoned  Huntsman," 

227. 

" the  LaSt  Minstrel,  The,"  1. 

Learmont,  Thomas,  see  "Thomas  of  Er- 
cildoune." 

"  Legend  of  Montrose,  A,"  Verses 
from,  673,  674. 

Lennel  House,  seat  of  Patrick  Brydone, 
Esq.,  170. 

Lennox,  district  of  the,  237. 

"  Lenorfi,"  Burger's,  564. 

Leprosy,  487. 

Lesley,"  General  David,  at  the  battle  of 
Marston  Moor,  351. 

Leslie,  Charles,  a  ballad-singer,  550. 

Letter  in  Verse  to  J.  G.  Lockhart, 
Esq.,  on  the  composition  of  Maida's 
Epitaph,  704. 

"  Letter,  The  "  338. 

"Letters  in  Verse  to  the  Duke  of 
Buccleuch,"  641,642,667. 

Leven,  Earl  of  (1644),  350,  351. 

Lewis,  M.  G.,  some  particulars  respect- 
ing him,  562.  His  Monk,  ib.  His  po- 
etry, 563.  His  Tales  of  Wonder,  566.  His 
correspondence  with  the  author,  570. 

Leyden,  Dr.  John,  his  Spectre  Ship,  355. 
Ballad  poetrv,  558.  A  contributor  to 
Lewis'  Tales  of  Wonder,  567.  His  bal- 
lad of  the  Cloud  King,  571.  His  death, 
130,  re.,  435,  483. 


INDEX. 


857 


Lham-dearg,  the  Spirit  of  Glenmore, 
157,  242. 

Lichfield  Cathedral  stormed  in  the  civil 
war,  171. 

"Life  of  Napoleon,"  lines  written 
while  engaged  in  writing,  711. 

Lindesay,  Sir  David,  of  the  Mount,  109. 
Edition  of  his  works  by  Mr.  George 
Chalmers,  158. 

Lindisfarne,  or  Holy  Island,  153. 

Lindsay,  Lord,  of  the  Byres,  600. 
Lines  on  Captain  Wogan,"  646. 

on  Fortune,"  717. 

."    See  "Juvenile." 

to  Sib  Cuthbert  Sharp,"  712. 

,  When  with  poetry  dealing,"  711. 

Linlithgow  Palace,  description  of,  111,  n. 

Littlecot  Hall,  story  of  a  murder  com- 
mitted in,  370. 

Llywarch  Hen,  a  translation  from  the 
heroic  elegies  of,  369. 

Loch  Coriskin,  427,  428,  478,  479. 

Loch  Katrine,  174,  ».,  180. 

Loch  of  the  Lowes,  88,  152. 

Loch  Ranza,  436,  483. 

Loch  Skene,  89,  153. 

Lochard,  description  of,  178,  n. 

"  Lochinvar,"  Lady  Heron's  song,  121. 

"  Lockhart,  J.  G.,  Esq.,  letter  in  verse 
to,  on  the  composition  of  Maida's  Epi- 
taph," 704. 

"Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir  Walter 
Scott,"  notes  explanatory  and  crit- 
ical from,  6,  *.  8,  9,  36,  40,  42,  74,  75. 
78,  97,  143,  144,  173,  174,  175,  176,  204 
275,  277,  311,  312,  345,  347,  375,  402,  403 
407,  462,  507,  511,  593,  599,  603,  618,  622 
623,  624,  627,  633,  634,  641,  660,  666,  711 
712,  717,  775. 

"  Lord  Henry  and  Fair  Catherine,"  bal- 
lad of,  556. 

"Lord  of  the  Isles,"  464.  Controversy 
regarding  the  representation  of  the, 
465. 

"  Lord  of  the  Isles,  The,"  407. 

Lorn,  the  House  of,  467. 

Love,  power  of,  19.  The  gift  of  Heaven, 
32. 

"Luckie  Macleaky's  Tavern,  Scene 
in,"  644. 

"  Lucy  Ashton's  Song,"  672. 

"  Lullaby  of  an  Infant  Chief,"  652. 

Lynedoch,  Lord,  284. 

"Lyrical  and  Miscellaneous  Pieces," 
in  the  order  of  their  composition  or 
publication,  623-719. 

Lyrical  Pieces.    See  Songs. 

"  Lyulph's  Tale,"  379,  382. 


MacAllister's  cave  in  Strathaird,  de- 
scription of,  480. 

Macdonald,  Ranald,  Esq.,  of  Staffa, 
"  Lines  addressed  to,"  641. 

Macdonalds  suffocated  in  the  cave  of 
Eigg,  482. 

Macdonell,  the  late  Colonel  Ronaldson, 
of  Glengarry,  697. 

MacDougal,  of  Lorn,  family  of,  467,  471. 

MacDuff,  law  of  the  clan,  738. 

"  MacDuff's  Cross,"  ib. 

MacGregor,  Rob  Roy,  245,  656,  n. 

"  MacGregor's  Gathering,"  656. 

"  MacIvor's,  Flora,  Song,"  645. 

Mackay,  Mr.  Charles,  of  the  Edinburgh 
Theatre,  705. 

Mackenzie,  Colin,  Esq.,  of  Portmore, 
107,  n. 

,  Henry,  Esq.,  548.    His  Essay  on 

German  Literature,  561. 

,  High  Chief  of  Kintail,  "  Fare- 
well to,"  647.    Imitation  of,  ib. 

,    the    Honorable    Mrs.    Stewart, 

648,  n. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  his  opinion  of 
the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  15,  n.,  36, 
n. ;  and  Lady  of  the  Lake,  176,  n. 

Mackneil  of  Barra,  family  of,  468. 

"  Mackrimmon's  Lament,"  669. 

"Maclean,  War-Song  of  Lachlan, 
High  Chief  of,"  648. 


Maclellan,  tutor  of  Bombay,  beheaded 
by  the  Earl  of  Angus,  169. 

MacLeod,  Laird  of,  his  cruel  revenge  on 
the  Macdonalds  of  Eigg,  482. 

of  MacLeod,  family  of,  422,  w., 

469,  669. 

Macpherson,  James,  publisher  of  Os- 
sian's  poems,  548,  566. 

"Madge  Wildfire's  Songs,"  670-672. 

"  Maggie  Lauder,"  song  of,  553. 

Magic,  52,  passivi,  57,  66,  157,  169,  302,  n., 
355,  357. 

"  Maid  of  Isla,  The,"  694. 

" Neidpath,  The,"  632. 

" Toro,  The,"  631. 

Maida,  battle  of,  506. 

Maida's  Epitaph,  Letter  on  the  Compo- 
sition of,  704. 

Maitland  MS.,  548. 

,  Sir  Richard,  of  Ledington,  six- 
teenth century,  poem  by,  150. 

"  Major  Bellenden's  Song,"  660. 

Makers  (of  poetry),  the,  538,  539. 

Malefactors,  infatuation  of,  304,  356. 

Mallet,  David,  his  imitations  of  ballad 
poetry,  558. 

Mammon,  770. 

March,  "Black  Agnes,"  Countess  of,  575. 

March-treason,  28,  63. 

"Marmion;  a  Tale  of  Flodden 
Field,"  73. 

,  family  of,  148. 

,  Robert  de,  165. 

Marriott,  Rev.  John,  dedication  to  him 
of  the  second  canto  of  Marmion,  86. 

Marston  Moor,  battle  of,  350-352. 

Martin,  Dr.  John,  his  Description  of  the 
Western  Highlands,  241. 

,  Rev.    John,   minister   of   Mer- 

toun,  99,  n. 

Mary,  Queen  of  Scots  (Epilogue),  706. 

"Massacre  of  Glencoe,  On  the,"  638. 

Massena,  Marshal,  282,  283,  ib. 

Maurice,  Abbot  of  Inchaffray,  494. 

Mauthe-Doog,  the,  Isle  of  Man,  71. 

Mayburgh,  mound  at,  379,  405. 

Mazers,  drinking  cups,  488. 

Medwin's,  Captain,  remarks  on  his  Con- 
versations of  Lord  Byron,  5,  570,  571. 

Meg  Merrilies,  Songs  of,  652,  653. 

Melbourne,  Lord,  570,  571. 

Melrose  Abbey,  13,  14,  51,  52. 

,  battle  of,  46. 

Melville,  Henry,  Lord  Vise,  "Health 
to,"  a  song  on  his  acquittal  in  1806, 
633.    Death  of,  in  1811,  263. 

,  Robert,  Lord,  696. 

"  Men  of  Peace."    See  Daoine  S7d'. 

Merlin,  265,  278,  578,  586. 

"Mermaids  and  Mermen,  Song  of 
the,"  688. 

Mickle,  W.  J.,  his  imitations  of  ballad 
poetry,  547,  553,  558. 

Milan,  artists  of,  their  skill  in  armory, 
147. 

Miller,  Colonel,  of  the  Guards,  505. 

Mingarry  Castle,  464. 

Minstrels,  order  and  office  of,  544,  554. 

"Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Bor- 
der," Scott's  Contributions  to,  viz.: 
Introductory  Remarks  on  Popular 
Poetry,  537.  Appendix  to,  552.  Es- 
say on  Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Bal- 
lad, 554.  Appendix  to,  569.  Imita- 
tions of  the  Ancient  Ballad,  572-605. 

Minto  Crags,  50. 

"  Monastery,"  Verses  from  the,  678-684. 

Monk,  Lewis'  romance  of  the,  562. 

"  Monks  of  Bangor's  March,  The,"  666. 

Monmouth,  Duke  of,  8,  n. 

Montagu,  dedication  of  Marmion  to,  76. 
His  collection  of  ballads  destroyed  by 
fire,  543,  544. 

Monthly  Review,  critical  notices  from, 
on  the  Lay,  7.  Marmion,  77,  86,  88, 
94,  136,  142,  143.  The  Lady  of  the 
Lake,  213.  The  Vision  of  Don  Rode- 
rick, 266,  269,  271.  Rokeby,  298,  299, 
305,  306,  324,  328,  338,  342,  346.  The 
Lord  of  the  Isles,  419,  432,  435,  449, 
455,  457,  461.  The  Field  of  Waterloo, 
503;  and  on  Halidon  Hill,  734,  737. 


Montrose,  James,  first  Marquis  of,  234. 

Moore,  Sir  John,  omission  of  his  name 
in  the  poem  of  Don  Roderick,  the 
author  censured  for,  277,  283,  284. 

Thomas,  Esq.,  his  imitations  of 


the  ballad  style,  558. 
Moors,  the  invasion  of  Spain  by,  278. 
Morritt,  J.  B.  S.,  Esq.,  letter  to,  on  the 

death  of  Lord  Melville  and  President 

Blair,   263.     On   the  Vision   of    Don 

Roderick,  277.    Dedication  to  him  of 

Rokeby,  289.    Letter  on  Rokeby,  311. 
"Morte  Arthur,"  romance  of  the,  ex- 
tract from,   regarding  the   "Chapell 

Perilous,"  145. 
Mortham  Castle,  description  of,  355. 
Morton,  Earl  of,  236. 
Moss-troopers,  48.    See  Borderers. 
Motherwell,  William,  his  collection  of 

ballads,  550. 
"  Mottoes  from  the  Waverley  Novels," 

GoSpasHm  719. 
Mottoes,  "  sooner  make  than  find  them," 

660. 
Mull,  the  Sound  of,  464. 
Mummers,  English,  166. 
Murder,  superstition  formerly  resorted 

to  for  the  discovery  of,  773. 
Mure,  John,  of  Auchindrane,  770.    His 

son  James,  772. 
Murrav,  Mr.  William,  manager  of  the 

Theatre-Royal,  Edinburgh,  706. 

,  the  Regent,  death  of,  595. 

,   Thomas   Randolph,  Earl   of,   at 

Bannockburn,  454,  489,  491,  493. 
"  My    Aunt    Margaret's     Mirror," 

Motto,  713. 
Myllar  and  Chepman,  their  Miscellany, 

the  earliest  surviving  specimen  of  the 

Scottish  press,  543. 
Mysteries,  ancient,  166. 


Neal  Naighvallach,  an  Irish  King  of 
the  fourth  or  fifth  century,  362. 

Neck  verse,  the,  12. 

Necromancy,  47,  48,  66. 

Nelson,  Lord,  tribute  to  the  memory  of, 
77,  104.  "Unpleasant  chapter  in  his 
history,"  794,  n. 

Newark  Castle,  on  the  Yarrow,  8. 

Nicholas,  Grand-Duke  (now  Emperor) 
of  Russia,  "  Verses  sung  after  a  din- 
ner given  to  him  at  Edinburgh,"  656. 

"No,  John,  I  will  not  own  the  book," 
647. 

"  Noble  Moringer,  The,"  618. 

"  Nora's  Vow,"  655. 

Norham  Castle,  147. 

"  Norman  Horse-shoe,  The,"  630. 

,! the  Forester's  Song,"  672. 

"Norna's  Incantations,"  691,  692. 

" Song,"  689. 


North  Berwick,  126. 


"  Old  Mortality,"  Verses  from,  660. 

Oman,  Mr.,  696. 

"On    Ettrick    Forest's    Mountains 

Dun,"  694. 
"On    the    Massacre    of    Glencoe," 

638. 
O'Neale,  family  of,  360. 
Orelia,   the  courser  of   Don    Roderick, 

268,  280. 
Orleans,  Duke  of,  his  poetical  exercises 

in  English,  546. 
"  Orphan  Maid,  The,"  673,  674. 
Otterburne,  battle  of,  51,  133. 
Ovid,  2,  770. 


Padua,  a  school  of  necromancy,  11,  47. 
Page,  the  order  of  the,  in  chivalry,  363. 
Paisley,  597. 
"  Palmer,  The,"  631. 
Palmers,  151. 

"Pardoner's  Advertisement,  The," 
684. 


858 


SCOTT'S    POETICAL   WORKS. 


Park,  Thomas,  his  edition  of  Ritson's 
collection  of  songs,  548. 

Passion,  the  ruling,  98.  Lines  from  Pope 
on,  U.s,  n. 

TVilni,  Alexander,  601. 

Pi  el-town.  Castle  of,  Isle  of  Man,  71. 

Penance  vaults,  155. 

Penrith,  Round  Table  of,  379,  405. 

Pepper,  Father,  565. 

lVpvs,  Secretary,  his  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 543. 

Percy,  Bishop,  his  copy  of  Chevy  chase, 
540.  Reliques  of  Ancienl  Poetry,  544. 
Imitations  of  the  ancient  ballad,  557, 

,  Henry,  at  Homildon  Hill,  721. 

,  Thomas,  his  defence  of  the  bishop 

against  Ritson's  criticism,  547. 

"Pevekil  of  the  Peak,"  Mottoes 
from,  699-701. 

"  Pharos  Loquitur,"  610. 

Philipson,  Major  Robert,  called  "Robin 
the  Devil,"  372. 

"  Pibroch  of  Donald  Dhu,"  655. 

Pibroch,  the,  237. 

Picton,  Sir  Thomas,  505. 

Picts,  the,  a  Celtic  race,  541. 

Pilgrims,  151. 

Pinkerton,  John,  his  collection  of  bal- 
lads, 548,  703.  List  of  Scottish  poets, 
548. 

"  Pirate,"  Verses  from  the,  6S7-693. 

Pisistratus,  Homer's  Works  collected 
by,  538. 

Pitcairn,  Robert,  Esq.,  Editor  of  Crim- 
inal Trials  of  Scotland,  775.  Extracts 
from  his  work,  771,  772,  774. 

"  Pitt  Club  of  Scotland,  Songs  written 
for  the,"  639,  640. 

Pitt,  Right  Hon.  William,  633.  "Among 
those  who  smiled  on  the  adventurous 
minstrel,"  6.  Procured  for  Scott  the 
office  of  Clerk  of  Session,  73,  74.  Tri- 
butes to  his  memory,  77,  143.  His 
grave  beside  that  of  Mr.  Fox,  78,  79. 

/'/  tteoi  /.',  summons  of,  preceding  the  bat- 
tle of  Flodden,  125,  165,  649. 

"POACHEE,  The,"  636. 

"Poetry,  Popular,  Introductory  Re- 
marks on,"  537.  Continuation  of  the 
subject  under  the  title  of  Essay  on 
Imitations  of  the  Ancient  Ballad.  554. 

" ,  Romantic,"  Remarks  on,  373. 

,  state  of  the  art  of,  at  the  end  of 

the  eighteenth  century,  560. 

Poniatowski,  Count,  504. 

Ponsonby,  Sir  William,  505. 

Poi  e,  lines  from,  on  the  ruling  passion, 
98,  n. 

"POETEB  at  Kenilworth,  Speech  of 
the,"  685.  ' 

Priam,  107. 

Pringle,  the  late  Alexander,  Esq.,  of 
VVhytbank,  87,  n. 

"Prophecy,  The."  653,  672. 

Pryse,  "to  sound  the,"  597,  599. 

Pye,  Henry  James,  Esq.,  565. 


Quarterly  Review,  critical  notices 
from,  .hi  tli  ■  Lady  of  the  Lake,  188, 
I'.ih,  21"..  I>,,n  Roderick,  266,  209,  270, 
271,  276.  Bokeby,  289,  292,  343,  844, 
346.  Bridal  of  Triermain,  877,  379, 
381,  882,  886,  401,  402.  And  Lord  of 
the  feles,  W9,  417,  424,  427,  432,  440, 
460,461. 

"Quentim  Durward,"  Verses  from, 
701,  702. 


Bae,  Bighi  Hon.  Sir  William,  108. 
Ramsay,  Allan,  Btructure  Of  stanza  used 

by    him,  542.     As  a  ballad   collector, 

Ml.      His   Tea-Table    Miseellanv,   CI, 

544.    And  Vision,  548. 
,  Captain,  at  the  action  of  Fuentes 

d'Honoro,  288. 
,    Sir    Alexander,   of    Dalhousie, 

cruel  murder  of,  52. 
Randolph,  Thomas.    See  Murray. 


Rattling  Roaring  Willie,  the  Border 
minstrel,  64. 

Bavensheuch  Castle,  39,  70. 

Bavensworth  I  lastle,  315. 

"  in  BECCA'S  Hymn,"  676. 

"  Receipt  to  make  an  epic  poem,"  374. 

"Red-Cross  Knight,  The,"  by  Mick'le, 
547. 

Rede,  Percy,  352. 

"  Redgauntlet,"  Verses  from,  707. 

"RETVEE'a  Wedding,  The,"  627. 

Repentance,  tower  of,  742. 

Rere-Cross  on  Stanmore,  359. 
Resolve,  The,"  634. 

"  Return  to  Ulster,  The,"  654. 

Riddell,  family  of,  50. 

Risingham,  352,353. 

Ritson,  Joseph,  his  criticism  of  Percy's 
Reliques,  544,  546.  His  collection  of 
songs,  549,  703.    Robin  Hood,  549. 

Rob  Roy,  death-bed  anecdote  of,  227,  n. 
See  MaeGregor. 

"  Rob  Roy-,"  Verses  from,  667,  668. 

Robert  the  Bruce.    See  Bruce. 

Robertson,  Rev.  Principal,  his  account 
of  the  death  of  the  Regent  Murray, 
595. 

Robin  Hood,  218,  258,  538,  543,  549. 

Roderick,  Gothic  King  of  Spain,  de- 
feated and  killed  by  the  Moors,  278, 
280.  His  enchanted  cavern,  279,  282. 
See  Don  Roderick. 

Rogers,  Samuel,  Esq.,  "the  Bard  of  Mem- 
ory," 560. 

"  Rokeby,"  285. 

Castle,  300,  354,  364. 

,  family  of,  354,  364. 

.,  Felon  Sow  of,  365. 


Roman    antiquities    at   Greta    Bridge, 
353. 

camp  at  Ardoch,  255. 

"  Romance  of  Dunois,"  650. 
literature,  birth  of,  161. 


Romilly,  Sir  Samuel,  his  opinion  of  the 

Lady  of  the  Lake,  222,  n. 
Rose,  William  Stewart,  Esq.,  dedication 

of  the  first  canto  of  Marmion  to,  76. 
Roslin,  70,  603. 
Ross,  John,  Earl  of,  his  treaty  with  King 

Edward  IV.,  463. 

,  Sir  Walter,  484. 

-,  William,  Earl  of,  deed  containing 


his  submission  to  King  Robert  Bruce, 

492. 
"  Round  Table,"  145,  405. 
Boxburghe  Club,  the,  704. 

-,  John,  Duke  of,  543,  566. 


of 


Rum,  Island  of,  482. 

Russell,    Major-General   Sir   James, 

Ashestiel,  73. 
Rutherford,  Miss  Christian,  aunt  of  Sir 

Walter  Scott,  173,  622. 
of  Hunthill,  family  of,  67. 


St.  Clair,  family  of,  69,  70. 

"Saint  Cloud,"  64S. 

Saint  John,  Vale  of,  405. 

St.  Mary's  Lake,  152. 

"St.  Ronan's  Well,"  Mottoes  from, 
702. 

"  St.  Swithin's  Chair,"  644. 

Saints.  St.  Bride  of  Douglas,  71.  Chad, 
142,  171.  Columba,  590.  Cuthbert, 
153,  154,  155.  Dunstan,  235.  l'illaii, 
151,590.  George, 506, 819.  Hilda,  92,  154. 
Maronock,  236.  Modan,  235.  Mungo, 
11.  Oran,  590.  Hcgulm  (Scollice  Hole), 
151.  Rosalia,  150.  Serle,  217.  Trimon, 
788. 

"Sale  Room,"  the,  an  Edinburgh  peri- 
odical, 661,  n.,665,  n. 

Sallust,  Extract  from,  on  the  Death  of 
( 'atiline,  508,  ». 

Sangreal,  the,  145. 

"Savon  Wae-Song,"  675. 

Saxons,  the  Anglo,  their  language,  541, 
545,  553;  and  poetry,  675,  676. 

Scalds,  antique  poetry  of  the,  676. 

S  al  's-tarn,  Lake  of,  379,  n. 

Schiller,  560,  562,  796. 


SchUtrwm,  signification  of,  49 :,  n. 

Scots  Grays,  696. 

Scots  Magazine,  the,  extracts  from,  96, 
534,  591. 

Scott  and  Kerr,  feuds  of  the  families  of, 
47. 

Scott,  Hugh,  Esq.,  of  Harden,  now  Lord 
Polwarth,  166,  564,  n.,  566,  n.  His  lady, 
564,  n.,  565.  Inscription  for  the  mo- 
nument of  the  Rev.  John  Scott,  their 
son,  717. 

,  John,  Esq.,  of  Gala,  410,  n. 

,  Major  Sir  Walter,  the   author's 

eldest  son,  652. 

,  Mary,  "  the  Flower  of  Yarrow," 

25,  62,  152. 

,  Miss  Sophia,  the  author's  daugh- 
ter, 618,  n. 

of  Buceleuch.    See  Buccleuch. 

of  Harden,    family   of,    62,    152, 


,  Rev.  George,  Inscription  for  the 

monument  of,  717. 

Robert,  of  Sandyknowe,  the  au- 


thor's grandfather,  99. 

,  Sir  John,  of  Thirlestane,  61. 

,  Sir  Michael,  15,  52,  53,  54. 

-,  Walter,   Lessuden,   the  author's 


great-grandsire,  129,  166. 
Sea-fire,  phenomenon  so  called,  468. 
Seaforth,  the  last  Earl  of,  647,  n. 
Seal,  its  taste  for  music,  410,  464. 
"Search  after  Happiness,  The;  or, 

the  Quest  of  Sultaun  Solimaun,"  661. 
Seatoun,  Christopher,  fate  of,  474. 
Second-sight,  account  of  the,  232,  590. 
"Secret  Tribunal,  The,"  715. 
"Selectors  of  the  slain,"  70. 
"  Sempach,  Battle  of,"  615. 
Serendib,  661. 
"Setting  Sun,"  Juvenile  Lines  on  the, 

623. 
"  Seven  Shields,  The  Castle  of  the,"  ballad 

of,  526. 

Spears  of  Wedderburn,  30. 


Seward,  Miss  Anna,  criticisms  by,  17,  n., 
23, 7i.,  40,  n.  Letter  to,  40,  n.  Epitaph 
designed  for  her  monument,  635. 

Seymour,  Lord  Webb,  370. 

Shakspeare,  his  description  of  a  popular 
song,  555. 

Shane-Dymas,  an  Irish  chieftain  in  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  363. 

Sharpe,  Charles  K.,  Esq.,  of  Hoddam, 
540,  n.,  550,  n.,  742. 

" ,  Sir  Cuthbert,  Lines  to,"  712. 

Shaw,  Mr.  James,  notice  of  a  list  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott's  publications  prepared 
by  him,  565,  n. 

Sheale,  Richard,  the  author  or  transcri- 
ber of  Chevy  Chase,  540,  553. 

"Shepherd's  Tale,  The,"  624. 

Sheridan,  Thomas,  Esq.,  359. 

Shoreswood,  the  priest  of,  150. 

Sibbald,  Mr.  James,  703. 

Siddons,  Mrs.  Henry,  Epilogues  written 
for,  669,  706. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  his  opinion  of  the 
ballad  of  Chevy   Chase,  539,  n.,  540, 

Sinclair,  Right  Hon.  Sir  John,  697. 

"  Sir  Caulin/'  ballad  of,  547. 

"Sir    Charles    Baud  win,"    Chatterton's 

ballad  of,  557. 
"  Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grime,  and  Sir  Greysteil," 

romance  of,  541. 
"Sir  Martyn,"  a  forgotten  poem  of  Mic- 

kle,  extract  from,  553. 
"  Sir  Patrick  Spence,"  old  Scottish  song 

of,  569. 
"  Sir    Tristrem,"   metrical    romance  of 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,  539,  557,  581. 
Skene,  James,  Esq.,  of  Rubislaw,  dedi- 

cat  ion  of  the  fourth  canto  of  Marmion 

to,  105. 
Skirving,  Mr.,  author  of  a  ballad  on  the 

battle  of  Prestonpans,  556. 
Skve,  Island  of,  description  of  its  scen- 
ery, 427,  ITS. 
Smailholm  Tower,  description  of,  591. 
"Smith,   Miss,   Lines  written  for," 

605. 


INDEX. 


859 


Smith,  Sir  Sidney,  tribute  to,  97. 

Sniythe,  Professor  at  Cambridge,  571. 

Snakes  and  Serpents,  70. 

Snood,  worn  by  Scottish  maidens,  196, 
241. 

Snow,  description  of  a  man  perishing  in, 
106, 158. 

Snowdoun  (Stirling),  229,  260. 

"  Soldier,  Wake,  Song,"  707. 

Soltier,  Sir  John,  62,  63. 

Somerled,  Lord  of  the  Isles,  412,  465. 

Somerville,  John,  fifteenth  Lord,  410,  n., 
694,  n. 

,  Lord  (temp.  Jac.  III.),  anecdote  of, 

704,  n. 

"  Song,"  311. 

,  326. 

,  521. 

,  522,  ib. 

,  637. 

on  the  lifting  of  the  banner  of 

the  house  of  Buccleuch  at  a  great  foot- 
ball match  on  Carterhaugh,  651. 

Southey,  Dr.  Robert,  letter  from,  on 
Marmion,  143,  n.  Lines  from  his 
Roderick  contrasted  with  some  of 
Scott's,  267,  ra.,  268,  n.,  273.  And  Pil- 
grimage to  Waterloo,  500,  n.,  passim 
506,  n.  His  Imitations  of  Ballad  Po- 
etry, 558,  567.  Extract  from  his  Life 
of  Nelson,  794. 

Spain,  defence  of,  under  the  invasion 
of  Bonaparte,  280. 

,  invasion  of,  by  the  Moors,  278. 

,  war  with,  in  1625-6,  358. 

"Speales  and  raxes,"  story  of,  704. 

Spells,  57. 

Spencer,  Earl,  74. 

Spenser,  Edmund,  116,  300.  Extract 
from  his  Faerie  Queene,  276. 

"Spirit's  Blasted  Tree,"  legend  of  the, 
166-8. 

Spirits,  intermediate  class  of,  48,  157, 241, 
242,  354,  599,  600. 

Staffa,  Cave  of,  435,  482. 

Standard,  the  battle  of  the,  156. 

Stanhope,  Lady  Hester,  6,  n. 

Stewart,  Professor  Dugald,  559,  564. 

Stirling  Castle,  217,  256,  259. 

Stoddart,  Sir  John,  5. 

Strafford,  Earl  of,  253. 

Strathbogie.    See  Athole. 

Strathmore,  Earl  of,  killed  at  Sheriff- 
muir,  737,  n. 

Strutt,  Joseph,  his  romance  of  Queenhoo 
Hall,  257. 

Stuart,  Sir  William,  of  Ochiltree,  mur- 
der of,  in  1588,  235. 

"  Sub-Prior,  To  the,"  679. 

Sultaun  Solimaun,  661. 

"Sun  upon  the  Weirdlaw  Hill, 
The,"  666. 

Superstitions,  Popular,  157,  773.  See 
also  "  Fairies,"  "  Ghosts,"  "  Spirits." 

Surrey,  Earl  of  (beheaded  in  1546),  69. 

Surtees,  Robert,  Esq.,  523,  n. 

Sutherland,  Duchess  of,  697,  n.  Earls  of, 
726. 

Swinton,  Sir  John,  722.  Arms  of  the 
family  of,  724,  n. 

Swiss  Guards,  Massacre  of  the,  in  1792, 
604. 

Swords,  enchanted,  236. 

Sympathy,  cure  of  a  wound  by,  57,  58. 


Toghairm,  a  Highland  mode  of  augury, 

iu,  245,  246. 
Tales  of  Wonder,  Lewis's,  566. 


"  Talisman,"  Verses  from  the,  708-11. 

Tamstry,  Irish  custom  of,  361,  786. 

Tantalian  Castle,  127,  164. 

Taylor,  William,  Esq.,  his  version  of 
Lenore,  564. 

Tecbir,  the,  the  war-cry  of  the  Saracens, 
268,  280. 

Tees,  the  River,  316. 

Teith,  the  River,  178. 

"  Tempest,  Song  of  the,"  687. 

Terry,  the  late  Mr.  Daniel,  comedian, 
652,  n.,  742. 

Theatre,  the,  546. 

Themis,  2. 

Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  or  "  The  Rhym- 
er," account  of  him,  572.  His  Pro- 
phecies, 573,  574.    Legend  of,  627,  n. 

,  541,  542,  545. 

"Thomas  the  Rhymer,"  a  ballad  in 
Three  Parts,  572. 

Thomson,  Mr.  D.,  of  Galashiels,  670,  n. 

,  Thomas,   Esq.,   Deputy-Register, 

488. 

"Thi-nder  Storm,"  Juvenile  lines  on 
a,  623. 

Tickell,  Mr.,  his  Ballad  Poetry,  556, 
558. 

"Time,"  194. 

,  657. 

and  tide,  346. 

Tinckel,  the,  225,  n.,  566. 

"To  a  Lady,  with  flowers  from  a  Ro- 
man wall,"  624. 

"  To  the  Moon,  Song,"  298. 

"  Town  Eclogue,"  25,  n. 

Train,  Mr.  Joseph,  his  assistance  in  col- 
lecting information  for  the  author, 
486,  487.    Note  from  (1840),  452,  n. 

Tribunal,  the  Secret,  or  Invisible,  of 
Germany,  796. 

Triermain,  family  of,  404. 

.    See  Bridal  of  Triermain. 

Trosachs,  the,  179. 

"Troubadour,  The,"  651. 

Trouveurs,  or  Troubadours,  538. 

Tunes,  attachment  to,  on  death-beds, 
259. 

Tunstall,  Sir  Brian,  slain  at  Flodden, 
171. 

Turnberry  Castle,  486,  487. 

Turner,  J.  M.  W.,  R.  A.,  427,  n. 

"Tweed  River,  On,"  678. 

Twenge,  Sir  Marmaduke,  at  Bannock- 
burn,  495. 

Twisel  Bridge,  136,  170. 

"  Twist  ye,  twine  ye,"  653. 

"Two  Drovers,  The,"  Motto,  712,  713. 

Tynemouth  Priory,  155. 

Tytler,  A.  F.  (Lord  Woodhouselee),  his 
collection  of  ballads,  550.  His  version 
of  the  Robbers,  562. 

P.  F.,  Esq.,  his  History  of  Scot- 
land, 541,  n. 


Uam-Var,  mountain,  177, 178,  231. 
Unthank,  chapel  at,  56. 
brisk,  a  Highland  satyr,  244. 


Valcyriur,  or  "  Selectors  of  the  Slain," 

70. 
Valor,  personification  of,  269. 
Vaugban,  Right  Hon.  R.  C,  281. 
Vaux,  family  of,  404. 
Venetian  general,  anecdote  of  a,  737,  n. 
Vengeance,  feudal,  a  dreadful  tale  of, 

482. 


Vennachar,  Loch,  178. 

"  Verses  found  in  Bothwell's  pocket- 
book,"  660. 

"  Violet,  The,"  623,  624. 

Virgil,  his  magical  practices,  54,  66.  His 
iEneid  translated  by  Gawain  Douglas, 
Bishop  of  Dunkeld,  134. 

"  Virgil,"  Juvenile  Lines  from,  623. 

"  Vision,"  the,  a  poem,  548. 


Wales,  Caroline,  Princess  of,  97,  n. 
Wallace,  Sir  William,  trial  and  execution 

of,  473. 
Walton,  Sir  John,  defeated  by  "the  good 

Lord  James  of  Douglas,"  489. 
"  Wandering  Willie,"  632. 
War,    personification    of,    from    Childe 

Harold,  272,  n.    Apostrophe  to,  437. 
"War-Song  of  Lachlan,  high  Chief 

of  Maclean,"  648. 
" of  the    Roy-al    Edinburgh 

Light  Dragoons,"  604. 

" ,  Saxon,"  675. 

Warbeck,  Perkin,  story  of,  149,  150. 
Waterloo  battle  of,  283,  284,  499-509. 
Watson,  James,  his  collection  of  ancient 

poetry,  544. 
"  Waverley,"  643. 

-,  Lines  by  author  of,"  647. 


-,  Lines  of, "  Late,  when  the  autumn 


evening  fell,"  643. 

"  Verses  from,  642-7. 


Wellington,  Duchess  of,  dedication  of  the 

Field  of  Waterloo  to,  499. 
,    Duke    of,    273,    274,    275,    282, 

283,  284.    The  Field  of  Waterloo,  503 

passim,  638,  639,  640. 
Whistling  to  raise  a  tempest,  354. 
Whitbread,  Samuel,  Esq.,  633. 
Whitby  Abbey,  153. 
"White  Lady  of  Avenel,  Songs  of 

the,"  678-682. 
Whitmore,  John,  Esq.,  Ac,  dedication  of 

the  Vision  of  Don  Roderick  to,  264. 
"  Wild  Huntsman,  The,"  610. 
Wilkes,  John,  Esq.,  175. 
"Will   Jones,"   Lewis's  ballad   of,  570, 

571. 
"  William  and  Helen,"  606. 
Willich,  Dr.,  teacher  of  German,  561. 
Wilson,  Professor,  550,  n. 
Wine,  presents  of,  162. 
Witchcraft,  302,  «.,  357. 
"  Wogan,  Captain,  Lines  on,"  646. 
Wolfian  hypothesis,  537,  n. 
Woman,  apostrophe  to,  140. 
Woodhouselee,  Lord.    See  Tytler,  A.  F., 

Esq. 
"Woodstock,"  Verses  from,  711,  712. 
Wordsworth,   William,  Esq.,   his    poem 

on  Yarrow,  36,  ».,  42,  n.    Letter  from, 

on  Marmion,  143,  n.    Eulogium  on  the 

Zaragozans,   282.      Imitations   of   the 

ballad  style,  558. 
Wrestling,  prize  at,  258. 
Wynken  de  Worde,  109. 


Xeres,  account  of  the  battle  of,  280. 


Zaharak,  race  of,  396. 
Zaragoza,  account  of  the  siege  of,  281. 
Zernebock,  519. 

"  Zetland  Fishermen,  Song  of  the," 
690. 


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